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A BIG OL' PUZZLE | PAGE 2 OF 2 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Over the next two weeks we worked on the puzzle together, when we could -- usually after I'd put Noah in his crib for the night. We sat at a table in the room we call our study and sorted the pieces by color and type: all the roof-looking ones here, all the stained glassy ones there, all the columny ones to the side. We forgot about the television, our usual refuge at the end of our long days. As we pieced little bits together, almost embarrassingly excited when two pieces fit, David told me about his day in the clinic at dental school, in more detail than I'd usually get over dinner and a couple sitcoms. He had seen a woman who was so addicted to chewing ice that she bought five-pound bags of it each day. And he'd treated an older man who was convinced that David's own teeth were dentures. I told him about how Noah was learning to dance in place, and how he insisted on holding our dog's leash during the walk. Somehow, the puzzle became less a game than a magnet that kept us in the room, talking. Ever since Noah's birth, I'd lost the ability to concentrate on one thing at once. If we watched TV together after Noah fell asleep at night, I would also be folding the laundry or reading the New Yorker or a book on baby care, attempting to cram into those hours all the productivity I could. While I was reading or folding and half-watching the tube, I was also worrying about whether Noah was eating enough, or what I should do about his cold, or whether I'd be able to pump enough milk for him the next day at work or should I defrost some of the precious three bottles in the freezer. For a while it looked like I was going to lose my job, so I'd worry over that, too, and then I did lose my job and that added to the store of things I had to think over once my mind was free of Noah's immediate needs. Did I really want to be self-employed? Was it horrible to keep Noah in day care while I made a go at it, or should I give up and go on unemployment and let us take out even more massive student loans until David got out of school? What if we wanted to have another baby? Was this my last chance to make contacts that would allow me a career at home? "Hello!" David would sometimes tease. "Over here! It's me -- Dave. Remember?" But he had been distracted, too, attempting in the months after Noah's birth to get into a competitive postgraduate program. He was often at school until 8:30 or 9 at night and had given so much of his attention to patients in the student clinic that, like me, he felt worn to a nub by the time we had a half hour to ourselves in the evening. Even then, there were big topics we had to discuss. Did we want to stay in Massachusetts or should he apply to programs elsewhere? Could we afford to fly to San Diego for Christmas? Could he take on a part-time job, or would that subtract too much from his already scarce time with Noah? Our life felt a lot, actually, like a 952-piece Super Challenging 3-D puzzle made of choking hazards, one we weren't at all sure we could put together. But we did put Notre Dame together. We set the last buttresses against it on Martin Luther King Jr. Day, when school was closed for David and I could afford to be away from my desk and we had day-care coverage. We had vowed we would spend some couple time together that day -- see a movie in a theater for the first time in more than a year and doze and cuddle in bed for the remainder of the afternoon if we felt like it. We were both exhausted that morning, but instead of taking right to the bed or shower, we bent over the study's table, assembling Notre Dame. We gasped together as large sections fit into place, laughed when part of the roof caved. We brushed hands and heads, shifting to get the best vantage point. We kidded each other about who had gotten to assemble the choicest parts of the puzzle. We forgot all about the movie. It was an hour or so after we stood back and admired the beautiful little cathedral that I realized what we'd been doing. We'd been playing, just like old times. It's been almost a week now since we finished the puzzle, and the feeling of lightness and togetherness hasn't left us yet. Later that afternoon we carried Noah into the study and held him up to see Notre Dame. "Hey, Noah," we said, "check out what your mom and dad did! Can you believe it?" He stared at the puzzle-building with, understandably, no comprehension of the wonder and humor of a miniature cathedral sitting on a table in our messy, drafty house. At the sound of our voices, though, he twisted around in my arms and smiled his dear four-tooth grin at us, planting a plump hand on my jaw. "He gets it," we said, knowing he had caught the mood and needed no lessons on the importance of play. "He always gets it," we said. I kissed Noah in the fold of his neck to make him laugh. Neither David nor I
can remember what it was like to be that smart.
Beth Wolfensberger Singer is a former children's book editor and staff writer at the Boston Phoenix and Boston Magazine. |
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