Brilliant … But Bouncy

Dylan is Just Like Him.

About 15 years ago, I married a wildly entertaining man. Born with an overly kind heart, Bill is incredibly intelligent and brilliantly funny – two qualities that go so well together, and sold me on him from the first moment we spoke.

Although he is almost a decade older than I am, Bill’s enthusiasm for life and non-stop activity have always made it hard for me to keep pace with him. He’s constantly moving – doing some sort of project, working on something, taking care of something or someone. He’s a natural problem-solver and the way his brain works makes him incredibly handy.

But after 15 years of marriage, Bill drives me absolutely crazy. I thought he would mellow with age. No.

On the weekdays, he is up obscenely early, making tons of noise and shining bright lights everywhere. He rushes off to the gym on most work day mornings, mostly for the social aspect, rather than the exercise. I’ve been going to the gym for two years longer than he has, and I know maybe two people. He knew two people in the first day, and everyone in the gym by the end of two weeks. He’s a very friendly guy.

Again, that happy sociability in the morning drives me nuts.

Then there are weekends. This weekend, for example, we specifically had nothing planned. Bill got up on Saturday and hopped in the shower. We ushered the kids off to a buffet breakfast at church, then came home to (what I thought would be) a relaxing day.

Bill went to the hardware store. He went to the closest store, because he didn’t want to deal with Home Depot on a Saturday. He came home with a few items, including sarsaparilla.

I have no idea why he would buy sarsaparilla.

“It’s hard to find!” he exclaimed, as if that explained it.

Then he pitter-pattered around in the garage, followed shortly thereafter by another shopping trip. This time, he went to Home Depot. He came back with a bunch of potted plants – “for fall” – which he plopped on our porch.

After so many years, I realize that the “fall flowers” will live on our porch, in the pots, for the next few months until they wither and die. Then they will stay there, dead, for a year or more, until someone (ME) dumps them out of their pots. Then I will pile the pots in the garage with all the other old pots.

The pots inside the house never get any light, unless I open the curtains. Bill never opens curtains. During the years when we were dating, I just watched all the indoor plants starve to death.

But with the outdoor flowers safely on the porch, Bill partially mowed the lawn before asking Dylan to finish it. Then while Dylan was mowing, Bill went back to Home Depot to return something he bought earlier. He is currently fixing something in the kitchen (very loudly) which was not even broken. I don’t even want to know what it is.

Meanwhile, Dylan breezed around the yard in the sunshine. Dylan loves to mow the lawn.

And therein lies the crux of my real issue with Bill: Dylan is just like him.

So I am living with two absurdly sociable noise-makers who love bright lights and lots of activity. They never stop moving, except to sleep. They constantly start projects, lose pieces and hang onto garbage as if it’s the got great value. The hoarder mentality is quite prevalent here – and it’s my job to keep it under control.

And someone, someday, is going to have to live with Dylan, too.

I’d rather Dylan find someone, later in life, who doesn’t have to clean up after him. Perhaps Dylan could learn how to take care of himself now – without allowing the house to be overrun