When I took my young children with me to mother's meetings, they got to socialize. Sort of. Whereas we adults were thirsty for conversation and connection, our little ones just zeroed in on a fresh stash of toys. The term parallel play explained it to my incredulous mind. Why did my son not talk to the other two year olds, but rather just inhabited nearby space? 

 

It helps me comprehend what goes on with Benjamin who at twenty-four still does this. If we take his friend out for a treat the two of them might talk to each other, but then again they might not. I no longer try to change him. 

 

For much of our married life I ruled the kitchen. We had stereotypical roles, such that John left the house for his job and I stayed home with a passel of kids. I spent long hours with wet hands, often with a toddler splashing beside me on a stool, or a sleeping baby in a sling with a few soap bubbles on her soft hair. 

 

Now that the population of our home has sharply declined, things have shifted. John does most of the cooking and a fair bit of the dishes too. Although my fantasy was that we work together on meals and clean up, we have settled into a sequential system. He stacks and rinses bowls and plates. and an hour or so later I place them in the dishwasher. The next morning Benjamin empties it. The result is that only one of us works by the sink at a time. This made sense back when we lived in Albuquerque and the square footage of our kitchen was less than our current dining room table. In that scenario I could not open the dishwasher and the fridge simultaneously. But now our space is generous. I could do a cartwheel and not crash into the wall except that I cannot do cartwheels. 

 

My imagination was not concocted out of nowhere. When we were dating and I visited his family everyone crowded in to wash, rinse, dry and put away. Often they sang. But that never really materialized for our brood. 

 

I could find fault with the solitude of it all, but instead I feel comfort. I walk into the room seeing signs that John has been working on our behalf. I take up the dishcloth and carry the task along. Our work may not be synchronous, but it is sequential. 

 

It reminds me of our spiritual cleansing. I am not working with him when I hold my tongue, but it leads into the effort he makes later. At least that is how it looks. 

 

Our marriage may be less of a three legged race and more of a relay. But in my experience the three leggers usually fell down in a heap half way across the field.