This weekend we put a fridge in our garage. We have a garage fridge.
Exciting, right? Okay just stay with me here, I have a point, let me muddle about to get there a sec.
We put a fridge in our garage… and then I had an emotional breakdown. See? There’s the hook you were waiting for.
So, we’re redoing our kitchen, like, top to bottom. We aren’t finished yet because we’re straight DIYing it, but if I can sum up the process like the opening of The Real World, it’d be like…
This is the true story of a family of five, picked to live in a house like hobos and test the boundaries of their marriage, to find out what happens when people stop being polite, and start having real fucking epic meltdowns in the drawer pull aisle of Lowes.
It’s seriously the most ridiculous thing we’ve voluntarily decided to do. We’re painting walls and cabinets and thrifted and vintage furniture and laying new floor. And the thing is, there’s no going backsies. Once you start, you have to finish or else you look like the before photos on Property Brothers.
If Andy had a quarter for every time I was all, can’t we just burn it to the ground and buy a new one? He’d have a zillion quarters, less whatever CoinStar withholds, because who even uses coins anymore?
So, as a byproduct of all this, we’re switching out appliances, and while the stove, dishwasher and mounted microwave will all be picked up and donated, we decided to hang on to the fridge to toss in the garage for extra food storage.
For an entire month, our pillow talk has consisted of things like, oh hey we have to get the garage cleaned out for the fridge, and oh my God I can’t wait to have all that extra storage, and dude, think of how much extra room we’ll have for Trader Joe’s naan!
So last weekend was the big day. It was 50 degrees out, the kids were playing outside, and we tackled all the shit that accumulated over the course of a winter; Christmas decorations that had to go up in the attic, lines of Diet Pepsi cans on shelves that I lazily pull from my car cupholder to replace with a fresh one each morning, bags of clothes to donate, wooden palettes for all those Pinterest crafts I was planning on fucking up.
We put everything away, and finally, finally, glided the fridge into it’s spot.
And then I immediately started sobbing.
What the hell is wrong with you?
We have a fridge, Andy, in our garage.
I know! These are happy tears, right?
No. They’re not happy tears. We’re at the point of our life where we put fridges in our garages now!? What the hell?
We had an extra fridge in our house in college?
Yeah, for like beer and pizza and stuff, not this. Not like this. Do you know what we’re putting in this fridge?
Um, bread? Pop? Juice boxes?
Our youth. We’re putting our youth in this fridge.
We’re at a point in our lives where we’re buying food in bulk and storing it appropriately? It’s responsible and efficient, and the exact thing I remember my parents doing. You know, right before they started wearing drawstring pants and cutting their own hair because it was just easier.
Growing up is hard for me. It sounds like a selfish and ridiculous thing to say, and there are some parts of age that are awesome. I’m more comfortable in my body and braver in my actions at 30 than I ever was at 20. But, when I find myself doing the things I have memories of my mom and dad doing… going to an accountant, getting life insurance, putting fridges in garages… I don’t know, I just get like, super emotional about it.
It’s these moments that make me feel old. It’s these moments that make life seem fleeting. I use eye cream. I filed a tax extension with the appropriate paperwork. I can’t watch anything on MTV without wondering what everyone’s parent think. Wyatt and Jude have girlfriends..twin girlfriends…I can’t even, you guys!?
So I went inside and made lunch and then took a nap with the kids on my bed. When Andy shook me awake, it was dark, and he led me to the garage and opened the fridge.
Christened. Perhaps we’re not too old, after all.