This week with Rob working till all hours, I have been going through the house trying to reorganize the chaos. I was putting away some shoes and found that I needed a basket. Not just any basket, but a basket for my shoes. This is not a new phenomenon. I had a basket for my shoes...several in fact...but they all seem to get taken up by other things. My shoe basket becomes the kids' basket or Rob's basket or the outside basket or a space ship or a boat. The truth is that it is never just mine.
I really want a space that is mine, all mine. I want to put my shoes away where they won't touch anyone else's. I want a place to put my coupons that doesn't have a kid's crayon in it. I want a desk that isn't littered with random treasures from the day.
I console myself that this will end. But then again...it won't. When my mom comes to visit, I still drink from her tea glass. After all, mom's tea always tastes better. Her purse is always cuter, so I take it. Her shoes are always more comfortable, so she gives them to me. She is well on her way to retirement, and she still doesn't have a basket that is all her own.
Maybe it isn't the basket of my own that I miss. Maybe it is the idea that my identity is forever intertwined with someone else's. First with marriage, then with kids, one day (hopefully) with grandkids. It will never be just me...no matter how many baskets I buy.
Maybe that's ok.