*Disclaimer* Should the person, I'll call her "Mary", that this memory represents happen upon this paltry blog and actually put herself through the monotony of reading all of these ramblings... know that I remember your family fondly and think you were all as sweet as they come. Really, the tone of this should convey the fact that I respect your mother more now than I ever could've as a child. I'm in awe at her strength, resilience, and obviously deeply rooted love for your father. With that being said, please excuse the snark...
As a child (and let's just say this was roughly *cough*twenty*cough) years ago a new girl began at our school. Ah Mary, she was as sweet, bright, and bubbly as they come. I just had to be her friend. We had a quick bond, and seeing as how my mother was opportunistic and eager to pawn me off on other guardians, we began having play dates. At her house.
Looking back, I thought her house was the single coolest thing ever. EVER. This will require a tiny bit of backstory to set the scene: Imagine, if you will, a new house. A BRAND new house. Err, and unfinished brand new house. That's right peeps. This family was living in their, as of yet, incomplete new house. Mother, Father, Mary, token adorable little sister, and my fogerty ol' brain forgets if mama was knocked up, or if bouncing baby brother had made his arrival yet. Either way, you catch my drift. Heinous. And don't miss my point when I say "unfinished". I'm not being exaggerative (as I am 154% of the time). I'm telling you, the entire first floor, save for the kitchen, was plywood. PLYWOOD. Not subfloor, not "missing trim", but wood and nails AWAITING subflooring and trim. And this was the livable part. Upstairs was, as of yet, unusable. Read that again and let it ferment..... I'll pick a cuticle while you ponder. Oooo, get it? The WHOLE family was living together in the plywood "family room" (not sure that was the intended use when the room was given that name).
Well, 10 year old me thought this was beyond awesome. I mean, seriously?! It was so cool! They bunked out in the cavernous living area, the echo's alone were sublime. I'm fairly certain I ran straight home that day and told my mom "You can ROLLER SKATE in Mary's living room!" Can't get much more boss than that. What kid doesn't love a house where the rules pretty much consist of "Don't go in bare feet or you will get tetanus"? Their kitchen was the sole completed room in the house, so that is where the parents were usually hiding while we had full reign. The basement was full of boxes, and if we could find it... we could play with it! Their lot backed up to woods, complete with creek and ravine. Now, my elderly brain has long since forgotten why this was, but there was a TON of old china in the woods. Yes, china.. as in cups, saucers, etc. Mary told me it was a dumping ground, but why would there be a china dumping ground? Whatever, in all honesty, it was far more likely that thrift store whores or divorcees took the china to the woods for target practice. Either way, we had a blast digging around for the rare complete dish or matching chunks. The stuff of childhood dreams.
I hung out with Mary quite a bit that first year before the hustle and bustle of Brownies and elementary school got the best of us. I'd say at least one solid, fun filled year of play dates. What I now remember with distinct clarity is that I'd never seen Mary's house complete. I do remember progress. Stairs were built to the second floor, drywall was put up. The bathrooms eventually got actual fixtures and showers/tubs. I specifically remember the vent covers being put on as the youngest daughter would throw things down them endlessly. So that was a YEAR that the family lived in an unfinished home.
I don't remember why. Maybe dad was a DIY king, maybe some unforeseen circumstance came up that even the most wise 10 year old guest hadn't been privy to. Either way, a FULL year had passed. A baby had been born and began walking... on plywood. Now, keep in mind that nothing has changed about that year except my perception.... (well, in all truth, I sincerely hope that the house was finished some time in the last 20 years, and it is my assumption that Mary and siblings eventually grew up and moved out, but I'd hate to be presumptive.)
Looking back, now as a mother and a wife.... how in the hell did Mary's mother not lose her everloving mind? Actually, to be honest, I now assume she had. How could she be in her right mind and agree, while very pregnant and with two young daughters in tow, to live in what was, essentially, a grown-up tree house? Sleeping on beds in a plywood living room? Showering in an unfinished bathroom without flooring or towel racks? RECOVERING from a delivery without a cupboard to keep the chuck pads in?! Absurd! There is no way I'd ever sign up for that.
She must've had one of those deep, crazy, against all odds/come what may cinematic romances where he: eccentric, scatterbrained genius with golden intentions a'la Rick Moranis, meet she: beautiful pixie-ish wife with glowing personality and no desire for personal space or window coverings. And the bells peal and the birds sing and they just KNEW. Pretty much an on-the-verge-of-being-committed commitment. That, or she was being held hostage. Those are the only two conceivable scenarios I can imagine. I know they remained married, because I saw them occasionally around town and they were together and not yelling or glaring. I just don't know HOW they remained married.
Yes, as I child I thought it was awesome squared, but now as an adult and a mom... it is my idea of the perfect hell. Control freak tendencies aside, I just don't think I could live in a construction zone for such an extended period of time. To move in and not be able to unpack anything because there is no where to put it. To have zero clue where anything is other than the blanket phrase "in boxes". Sure, material possessions are really unimportant and blah blah blah... I NEED to know where my stuff is. What if I want to make fondue?
Everything was always coated in a fine white dry wall powder. You couldn't go bare foot because of splinters or nails. There weren't outlet covers on all of the outlets.. let alone safety plugs. Just the echo of the children screaming will haunt me to this day. I have no idea how she did it. How she even came to the point where she actually agreed to sleep there, even if it was only a promised week would be beyond me. She spent a YEAR there.
So, as neat as I thought it was, and as cool as I thought Mary's parents were for living like this... now? Now I see either the craziest effing woman to ever roam the planet, the strongest woman I've ever met with an intense love for her husband that sees past insanity, or the best captor a kidnapping victim ever had... because not once in that year did she ever slip me a napkin that said "help me" and she had every opportunity to... I was there all of the time.
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