A while back, I claimed that I was going to fake it until I make it. I think- maybe- that I’ve finally made it.
I woke up today and felt awake. It took me a few hours to realize that I’ve woken up every morning this week and felt like I was ready to face the day. I’ve wanted to play with the girls and cook dinner and clean my house. Those seem like small goals, don’t they? But the last time I can remember really wanting to do any of those things was at the end of last summer. I pretended, smiled and did them anyway, but I really didn’t care. It was routine that forced me through the day. This week, I haven’t thought about moving back to Orange County or thought about leaving the Husband. It’s been months since I could say that one of those two thought hasn’t crossed my mind each day. I’ve felt content, happy even, with my marriage. I wasn’t sure that I would make it back to a place where I was comfortable with my relationship with my husband. I haven’t gotten irrationably angry over something the girls have done. Instead, I watched them playing in the yard today and thought about how lucky they are to have the opportunity to grow up simply. It struck me that I have spent the week enjoying my girls, really seeing their sunny personalities for the first time in too long.
I’m not sure I can explain it if you’ve never been in that dark place. It’s not something that you think about every day. Sometimes you don’t even realize the reason you can’t find the energy to get off of the couch. It seems normal. You begin to think that everybody lives like you do, that every one’s days are filled with thoughts of running away. Then you have a day that isn’t filled with dark thoughts, and then another. When you are standing in the light it is easy to see the shadows.
I can’t say that it will last. But I think- hope- that it will. I think it has a little something to do with making a decision, finding a direction. We are staying here. It’s time that I made a place for myself. It’s time for me to stop pretending that this is just a detour on our journey. This is the destination. Somehow, knowing has made a difference.
Filed under - A Redneck Life, The Angst
Pictures I promised and so pictures there shall be…
Remember the before pictures? Here are the in-progress pictures:
Four walls, people! Complete with a door and an angled wall that caused no end of debating between the Husband and myself. I wanted an angled hallway; he wanted an easy build. I wanted the bedroom door on the angle; he wanted the door close to the living room. We compromised like adults. *Ahem*
The in-progress photos are much less impressive from the other side. But, here you can see the future of the angled hallway. Why would we need a hallway going into a blank wall? Silly! Soon there will be a gaping hole through that wall, leading into two bedrooms. But first we need to build a bathroom instead of the current office/tool storage space you see here.
I don’t dream small.
Are you wondering what we do with the children while we are busy tearing our house apart?
Why, let them color on the windows, of course!
Who ever invented this particular product obviously was childless. Or they chose to do all of their product testing without parents involved. This is the worst thing ever invented. The kids loved it but now they assume all markers are for coloring on windows and walls. I can forgive the person who bought these window markers for them because she was childless at the time. After all, I am the idiot that didn’t immediately throw them into the trash. I can’t forgive the creator of the markers though. They should know better.
I do think the windows look festive however.
*You do not see the mounds of construction debris outside the windows, got it?*
Filed under - Making it Pretty, Pretty Pictures, Stupid Ideas, The remodel that wouldn't die
When I was a kid, there were two pictures ceremoniously hung in each house we lived in.
In oak frames, two tiny babies with swollen eyes and smooshed noses peaked over the edges of white hospital blankets to stare into eight different hallways over eighteen years. I remember asking my mom which baby was me and which was my brother. I remember being incredulous that she couldn’t look at the pictures and instantly tell me that I was the baby on the right or the baby on the left. How could she not know? How could she look at two pictures of her children and not know which was the girl and which was the boy? (No, it never occurred to me that I couldn’t tell which was a picture of myself either. This is about my mom. Leave me alone.) Didn’t she love us? Didn’t she know who we were?
Two days ago, the Kid wandered into my bedroom (Now with FOUR walls!) clutching a picture of a six day old baby.
“Look Mommy! I found a picture of me when I was a baby!”
I glance up from the table I am dusting, “Uh-huh.”
“I kinda had spiky hair, didn’t I?”
“Umm-hmm.”
“What was I doing?”
Suddenly my brain catches up with the conversation. Spiky hair? The Kid was completely bald until she was one. I look up at the picture again.
“Kid, that’s the Baby.”
Sorry, Mom. I get it now. You weren’t apathetic. You were just tired.
Very, very tired.
Filed under - Bright, Working Girl
