Melted Chocolate and Other Ordinary Mishaps
On Maycember and likely messes
“Mom! We got a box and it looks…wet.”
So shouted one of our in-house mail collectors, who’d gone down to the metal boxes that act as the USPS depository for our block. I was in the middle of a massive catch-up, surrounded by piles that were slowly shrinking, making their way into trash bins or file folders or other places where papers and other random items needed to go. But I knew I’d have to check out this box before it succumbed to the curious investigations of inquiring fingers. And the investigations would happen soon, like in minutes or seconds, if I didn’t get there first. So on that day in late May, I left the mess I wanted to clean up and went to see for myself what looked to be another mess.
Sure enough, the box sported a dark, suspiciously damp exterior along one seam. I opened it up and gasped. There, in a giant plastic bag, was a huge amount of Lindt truffles. Rather, the bag used to contain individual chocolates. They’d been converted to a runny, admittedly-sweet-smelling mush, with melted chocolate running outside the bag and onto another bag in the box, which held a dress, that was now also covered in smeary, sticky, stain-happy chocolate.
Mysteries abound in this world, and no small number of them likely stem from choices some people, or some bots, make in package delivery. Chocolate mailed in late spring? Sure, the unreliable USPS sounds like a great idea, instead of using a door delivery service, or better yet, putting some sort of heat sensitive label on said merchandise and restricting its shippage. (Yes, in retrospect I felt dumb for even trying to order chocolate through the mail.) And throw in clothing, especially light-colored clothing, in the same container with the chocolate, too! Great idea! I hope you can hear my face palm as I write this. The obvious mystery: who thought that was a good idea? Or more succinctly put: why?
I’ve told more women than I can count the last few months that April and May tend to be the months where I question my life choices. No doubt, the end of the school year brings on my existential angst. How did I think we—a family of ten—could juggle school activities—just school activities, like field trips or music showcases or skits and plays—plus anything else, like sports or music lessons or any single event beyond, I don’t know, basic eating and cleaning? Maybe we should homeschool again (I know, I know. Go with my thinking for a minute). But how would that work, and given the enormous blessings of our amazing Lutheran school, would I even want to? Maybe we pull one kid or two and homeschool that kid or those? This is silly. Silly! Oh, and how will we eat dinner tonight with three other activities going on? And look at that sweet face—we have a baby! A beautiful, happy, growing baby! Who still requires me to feed him fairly frequently and thus not do one of the many, many things that should be done! And we’re on day 17 (or more) of me having to leave the house at some point, thus interrupting whatever progress I’ve started to make on those extra messes.
The obvious mystery: who thought all this Maycember was a good idea? Or in other words: why?
I’m not sure who coined the word “Maycember,” but a friend shared this video with me earlier in May. It’s a parody of the song “September,” and it’s a hilarious take on the blitz that is final projects, events, recitals, concerts, sports, and other staples of American education in the spring. I can’t stop thinking about how accurate it is. And this couple probably has, what, like 2.5 kids?
As I looked at the melted chocolate, I did an online chat insisting I deserved a refund (which was successful, thank God). I also got snacks ready for kids, cleaned up the kitchen a little, and wondered when I’d ever get back to the mess I really wanted to clean up when things like soggy boxes just kept happening. Then it occurred to me, a soft dawning like the feeling you get when you mush sticky goo on a finger after holding a sun-warmed truffle: huh—melted chocolate is the norm, not the exception.
I mean that figuratively, of course. I don’t actually think most chocolate that gets shipped from hither to yon ends up a literal mess. But I do think ordinary mishaps and cleanups are our default, not our outliers. I’ve been slowly reading a beautiful, thoughtful, and practical book, Home Comforts. Written in the late 1990s, I find it refreshing because Cheryl Mendelson taps into what was and still is an impulse of modern Americans to adopt two contradictory philosophies when it comes to their homes: one, to housekeep is definitely something no respectable, educated person—especially enlightened women—admits doing, let alone enjoying; and two, every single person desires a neat, well-kept home.
So something has to give, right? A neat, well-kept home requires, well, actual, regular housekeeping. Among other things, Mendelson stresses the importance of neatening in regular home maintenance. It’s a term which captures, I think, the sort of constant plugging away and paring down and occasional major purging (I’m thinking of numerous people I know who are in the process of moving) we all need to, well, clean up and make livable the spaces that make our homes. Since we live in our homes, and don’t keep them as untouched monuments (I’m looking at you, HGTV), we will absolutely have to deal with messes. Small and big, minor and major, over and over.
And we do the same thing with our time. We live and die by schedules so often, but the interruptions—the doctor visit due to a possible concussion, the dentist appointments for cavity fillings, the last-minute playdates, the quick store run-ins—those are life, too. Sure, we can and should have conversations about priorities and good planning. Which, I suppose, reminds me that Maycember can be adjusted to a less-hectic time. But it’s also a season like others, a short time of juggling and finalizing and hurrying and yes, celebrating when celebrations are due.
We are in a life stage, as June 2024 dawns, that encompasses many childhood stages, from a baby to a preschooler to elementary kids to middle schoolers to teenagers, including a young man on the threshold of driving. Most of what I see in others’ lives around us, from IRL (in real life) to social media, just doesn’t cover this many growing seasons. The pictures portray lives that are much more manageable, being confined to the little years, say, and bittersweet milestones, like graduations and empty nester life.
I can’t deny that our family’s life circumstance means that we will—not maybe, but will—encounter higher rates of uncontrollable factors, from juggling to increased need for neatening time to messes. Sheer, repeated, multiple messes. But the question beyond the who thought this was a good idea or even to how will we possibly manage this goes deeper to a harder truth: would I change this—this family, this situation, this life?
No, I wouldn’t change it. I need breaks and naps to keep my sanity, certainly, amidst ordinary mishaps. And a willingness to take deep breaths, roll with the interruptions, and do a fair bit of cleanup.
“Can I lick my fingers, Mom?” One curious son had touched some of the runny chocolate.
Sure, honey. Go ahead and lick those fingers. Messes can occasionally be tasty, too.
As you know, I’m well beyond the school-age child raising age, but we are currently in the same mode as two of those other movers you know are. Selling here and moving there makes one feel as I think a trained animal at the circus must feel — never-ending hoops to jump through. BUT … we will be Missourians soon! 🎉 Hoping the chocolate/dress situation is resolved quickly and to your satisfaction.