The Waiting Place

Alas, much to our chagrin, we have arrived in that most dreaded of places (according to Dr. Seuss, at least)…The Waiting Place.

“Waiting for the fish to bite or waiting for wind to fly a kite. Or waiting around for Friday night or waiting perhaps for their Uncle Jake or a pot to boil or a better break or a string of pearls or a pair of pants or a wig with curls or another chance. Everyone is just waiting.”

…A place for people just waiting. Like us. Waiting is hard. Especially for Elise and I, people of action. Not only are we eagerly awaiting the arrival of the fifth member of our family, but we are also waiting for a promised list of places, one of which we will be lucky enough to call home for the two years following our forced eviction from Brazil.

And while we are not waiting for the fish to bite or Uncle Jake, we are learning that patience is not only a virtue but sometimes the best strategy available at the time. I learned this the hard way during my stint as a triathlete. While it seemed completely intuitive at the time to hammer the bike leg in hopes of putting a few seconds on my rivals, I quickly learned there was no honor in a fast bike split if it cost you the race. Instead, I learned to wait. I pedaled only hard enough to stay with my adversaries, sometimes shamelessly hiding in their slipstream, knowing that I might put a good minute per mile on them on the run. Even in a sprint race, I could be downing a second stack of flapjakes or halfway into a 9 a.m. High Life while my foes were still wishing away the lactic acid bubbling in their quadriceps.

We had every reason to believe the bid list would be released last Friday, but as 8 p.m. rolled around (close of business in Washington), we gave up hope. Now we have no idea when it might come and perhaps it is better this way as we don’t know exactly when the baby will come either.

So, instead of micromanaging every second of the day, we take Sam to his swim lesson, get the oil changed in the Soob, shoot newlyweds, and have dance parties.

The dance party has been around for awhile, but had never before included The Who. I mistakenly assigned the guitar riff from the opening theme of the Pixar movie Cars to “I’m Free” from The Who’s Tommy. Little did I know it was Sheryl Crow. Sheryl Crow?! I would much rather Pete strum his air guitar to Roger Daltry. Yeah, there was just something a lot cooler to the boys dancing around the living room to classic rock that Choo-Choo Soul.