The Not-So-Great Oscar Escape

It's funny when life throws you a curve ball. Actually, that's not always true. Sometimes the curve ball is scary.

This was one of those times.

I was walking home from work this afternoon and all I could think about was our bathroom. For the past two weeks, we've been waiting patiently for plumbers, tilers, and painters to rip apart our bathroom and then, hopefully, put it back together. As you can probably guess, it's been slow. In fact, we didn't have a toilet for most of Sunday. And today, Tuesday, they were supposed to be done. Hurrah!

So I had a little bounce in my step on the warm walk home. Thoughts raced through my head. Bridget, who gets home before me, hadn't called and I couldn't figure out if that was good or bad. Maybe everything was done and she was smiling peacefully on the couch? Maybe nothing was done and she was shaking her head in disbelief? I couldn't decide. I knew it was one or the other.

(This may sound a little dramatic, but we're exhausted. Getting work done on your apartment is frustrating. Getting work done on your apartment, and dealing with a baby and a dog is frustrating times seven.)

I turned onto my street and picked up the pace. It's done. It's not done. It's done. It's not done. Then I saw one of our neighbors walking down the street with her adorable daughter. I stopped to say "hi," mostly planning on just flying past to get home to find out if I could use the toilet.

"Hi," she said. "We found Oscar today."

"Hi … what?! Did you say you found Oscar? What do you mean?"

"He's okay," she continued. "He's home. But we found him at the top of the street."

I had no idea what she was talking about. My mind couldn't make the transition from the bathroom. "Oscar?" I asked. "Wait, our dog?!"

"Yeah, but he's okay. He was at the top of the street and he seemed scared. I recognized him and thought he was yours, so we started calling to him and he eventually came."

"Oh my god," I said. "Thank you so much. I don't even know how to start thanking you. Do you know how he got out?"

"I think went out the door when the plumber was there," she said.

"Oh, no. Again, thank you so much. I'm so relieved."

I ran upstairs, saw Bridget with a smile on her face (the bathroom was done) and told her the story. Like me, her heart sank. We hugged Oscar and realized how lucky we were. He tilted his head, wondering when I was going to feed him.

The whole episode, we realized, was our fault. Oscar had met the plumber before and the plumber said he'd watch him, but we took a risk. We took the risk because Oscar had been to South Boston, Vermont, and at a neighbor's place within the past two weeks because of the work on our apartment. We didn't want to send him away again. But we should have. And we're really lucky nothing happened.

Life, as John Lennon so famously said, is what happens when you're busy making other plans. If something had happened to Oscar, we wouldn't care about a bathroom, an apartment, or really much of anything. We'd be devastated. So, thank you, again, kind neighbor. And thank you to our wonderful neighbors downstairs who helped find Oscar.

Hug your pets. You never know when life might throw a scary curve ball.

Are New Parents Boring?

A few weeks ago, we hung out with some friends we hadn't seen in a while. After the obligatory hugs and handshakes, we got down to talking about what we had been doing for the past few months and what was ahead for the spring. As you might expect, this newly married couple talked about traveling, bachelorette parties, and their favorite types of beer. They talked about Vermont, New York City, and New Orleans. They talked about good food, good movies, and good fun. 

And then they asked about us.

"Well, we had a baby."

(Silence.)

(Awkward silence.)

(Where did those damn crickets come from?)

We all laughed about it, of course, because they're nice people and our sudden change in lifestyle is kind of funny. But "Well, we had a baby" is a pretty good summation of our last five months on this Earth. It'll be a pretty good summation of the next five, too. And as the conversation moved in a different direction, it struck me: Are we boring? And, on a larger scale, are all new parents boring? 

At face value, I suppose the answer is yes. I mean, we must seem very boring to newly married couples and, undoubtedly, to single people we know. Let's face it: Falling asleep before 10 PM on a Saturday night has never been "cool." "Do you mind if I don't shower today?" is not a distinctly sexy question. 

It's not like we don't do things. We go out for dinner, visit friends, take naps, and take long family walks. We have date night and we're even going to a concert next month. So, we do stuff. It's just that the stuff (save the concert and the occasional date night) usually includes our beloved Belle.

In fact, Belle was with us that day with our friends. As I answered the question about our recent activities, I immediately thought of her as a great accomplishment that made the last five socially slower months seem acceptable.

That's how people think of babies -- as accomplishments. I sat in a conference room of health care professionals last fall and listened as 29 out of 30 people talked about their kids as the most important thing in their lives. (One dude was crazy about triathlons.) But babies aren't really accomplishments. Accomplishments fade. You accomplish something -- an A on a test, a game-winning shot, a new raise -- and then eventually move on and forget about that thing. Babies, on the other hand, define your life. At all times, you're thinking about your child. Maybe not literally every second, but certainly every hour. What's she doing? Is she happy? I can't wait to see her smile again. I hope she likes me when she grows up. These thoughts constantly swirl in your head. 

And along with defining your life, babies are a convenient excuse to get out of social situations we dislike, which makes us seem more boring. I've used Belle as an excuse and I'll continue to do it in the future. The simple reality is that no reasonable person can say, "Oh, that's really lame that you want to hang out with your daughter." (I mean, you can say that, but you'd be a huge jerk.) 

This week, though, I watched a video that immediately changed my perspective on this boring question. I'd seen the video before, but this time, it really hit me. It's called "This is Water" and it's an illustration of a commencement speech by the late author David Foster Wallace. Here's the link. (If you haven't watched it, I strongly encourage you to take the nine minutes.) 

It made me realize that we're boring -- and new parents are boring -- only if we choose to be. It all comes down to altering your perception and how you feel during the everyday, grind-it-out moments of your life. To put it in specific terms, I'd rather feed Belle oatmeal than get drunk at a bar. And a trip with Belle to the Curious George store in Harvard Square brings me more joy than a round of golf. 

So it may seem, at first blush, like new parents are boring. Early bedtimes, middle-of-the-night wake-ups, and eating at restaurants at 5 PM to beat the dinner rush can certainly sound boring to newly married couples, single friends, and even retirees. But, in reality, this is, without question, the most interesting my life has ever been.