generation x: halfway to heaven and just a mile outta hell

Every fool's got a reason for feelin' sorry for himself

And turning his heart to stone

Tonight this fool's halfway to heaven and just a mile outta hell

And I feel like I'm comin' home

These are better days baby

There's better days shining through...

From Springsteen's Better Days

Robert this week in the abyss of a sewer main.

Writer Robert Sibley had an article published recently in the Ottawa Citizen, The Family is Back, in which he explains that Generation X and its younger brothers and sisters looked into the abyss of unmarriage and decided not to go there.

What I think makes me most proud to call myself a Gen Xer is the way our generation has valued family, desiring work-life balance above the corner office. We are passionate about a variety of flexible work arrangements, because we know what it was like to grow up as latchkey kids. God, it was lonely. And scary. Who was hiding in the closet when we got home from school? Some Friday the 13th monster or the neighbor's weird son? As Sibley writes,

"...you let yourself in to an empty house after school -- if you're not stuck in an after-school crèche -- to find your own snack, nutritious or not, and retreat to your room to entertain yourself with the latest video violence."

Marriage is hard work, and so is raising a family. Sometimes, I think I might go crazy. It was hard being a working mom and now, it's hard being a stay-at-home mom trying to manage a business from home. What am I? On a perpetual merry-go-round of discontent? Somedays, I pray to just get through it all. My Gen X husband, is pursuing a second degree, gone more than he is home. His temples are graying, and the lines around his eyes are deepening. So are mine. We are so tired. And, we're not just trying to carve out a little bit more of the American dream. Sometimes, we're just trying to carve out the survival of choices we made when we younger and stupider. 

Do you know how expensive repairs are on a Volvo? I wish I'd bought an ugly minivan. As for the charming historic home we bought when we had two fewer children, it's turned into a proverbial money pit. $20,000 is sitting in our driveway and we can hardly see it. It's the massive trees we cleared after they busted through the sewer main. It's the brick driveway we had to bust open to fix the main. It's the brick driveway we reluctantly decided to put back. Oh, dear lord, we're going to have to bust it open again. I'm going to start parking my car in the front yard.

Oh, and the fence. We put that up after the tree cover was gone. Presently, there is an 11 foot crater in my backyard. This year we get to connect our sewer line to the city main, honey. Yellowstone will have to wait. I think I'm growing numb and listless. I wish we'd bought a pre-fab and stuck it on a patch of treeless prairie. I'd be rich!

I'm learning that each generation has its measure of grit, and Generation X is no different. As much work as having a good marriage takes, many of us endured our parents' divorces and would pretty much rather die than get divorced ourselves. Then, there are the children. My oldest sister, a Baby Boomer, is a school principal. She's told me about how difficult Gen X parents can be to deal with. I understand this and know her concerns are valid. The pendelum swings wildly, huh? Gen X as children of neglect to Gen X as moms and dads who overparent. We're kind of a mess, folks.

Over the last year, I have followed two bloggers, My Gen X and Junkdrawer67. Both have written about trials in their marriages. Miraculously, both ended up staying married. This, among a slew of other anonymous confessions, supports Sibleys thesis. The family is back.

A few months ago, I wrote a post, the mornings are perfect. Truly, there is perfection in dawn. Sully gets up, the chipper child that he is, greets everyone with a hug and a kiss and an individual Goodmorning, Daddy! Goodmorning, Mommy! Goodmorning, Ju-yet! Goodmorning, Bridgy! Soon enough, he'll be telling us all to go away. He'll be bouncing on big sister's bed and tearing legos from Bridgy's little hands.

But at dawn, he is perfect, and this serves as a metaphor of sorts for our very lives. The first taste of coffee passes my lips and Robert stirs his oatmeal. Soon enough he'll be pushing through the molasses of traffic and time -- to work, to school. I'll see him again at 1030 tonight when he pulls into the driveway and falls into bed.

And, Super Bridgy, with a mess of fine hair, drags her light blue blanket behind her, a bottle held in the crook of her arm. I'm sure anyday now she'll be turning 21. And, Juliette, she spot cleans her uniform skirt and searches for the never-to-be-found missing white sock. She'll be having kids of her own before we know it. And, Sully, cousin to the cricket, bounces in his Buzz Lightyear pajamas. He reminds me of my nephew Jayson, who is now off to war. Dear God, I hope Sullivan never winds up carrying a machine gun on the streets of Baghdad.

Indeed, life is perfect, broken sewer main and all. We are all alive in this moment. We have the blessing of another day. And if we can just get through the next 23 1/2 hours, the family won't just be back, it will stay together; so many Gen Xers determined not to let it go.