The other day a friend and I were discussing lottery winners and the good fortune those people have had. Naturally the conversation turned to “What would you do if you won 30 baquillion dollars?”– or whatever amount was designated. We ran through the usual “vacation for a few years”, “buy a boat”, “pull insanely complicated and costly pranks on dear friends.” Then the subject got to “Where would you live?” I mentioned that it really wouldn’t matter where I lived, because my kids would be with me. Now before you think I got all sentimental and sappy, let me set you straight. What I mean is that no matter how massive the mansion, how gargantuan the grounds or how humongous the home, my kids will position themselves within 3 feet of me at all times. Any and all extra space will be utterly wasted as I make my way from room to room with my omnipresent cloud of circling children hovering just beyond the border of my bodily exterior.
I suppose I should be flattered that they want to spend this much time tied to my hip, but sometimes I need a bit of a break. A few minutes ago as I was doing some work on a deadline and as I scrambled to get it done, I had one under my desk and the other just to my left testing the volume of his plastic microphone. Shockingly, it’s exactly as loud as his voice can get. This is happening within a home that is a fairly good size. They both have their own rooms, a large livingroom/ dining area and an outdoor patio they could go to completely unsupervised. But instead of utilizing the sprawling expanses of “anywhere else in the house”, they choose to be within touching distance of me all the time.
Maybe it’s because I grew up sharing a room with my brother that was, and this is no exaggeration, 6’ X 8’ (the room, not the brother…. he’s a dainty little guy), but nothing would have pleased me more when I was younger than to have my own space to do things. These two, on the other hand, sure do enjoy proximity. So if I were to win the lottery it wouldn’t matter where I lived, or the vastness of my compound. As far as my kids are concerned, I might as well move in to the old 2002 Civic we used to own. Even that might leave a little too much empty space between us. For now I’ll just enjoy the fact that they want to be near me. I keep being reminded by people that once they grow out of it, I’ll want that back. I keep trying to believe them, but I’m pretty sure I’ll enjoy a smidgen of space here and there.