Waiting is THE PITS!
No, dear one…the other kind, the rut-kind, the filled with muck and swampage stew kind.
And I’m not one for waiting…
Right now I’m “waiting for life to be awesome.” That sounds so leaving-it-to-prayer which is the lamest way to say, “I give up on participating in my own life I’ll just let someone else handle it and praise them for a job well done and blame them for screwing things up for me.”
Some months back I found myself in a pickle. Man, I wish I’d found myself in a pickle, aren’t they just fermented cucumbers? I could have lived in a fermented cucumber for 6 months, I’m sure. I digress, I was in a predicament; a lease up, no place to call home and no real idea what the next few months would bring.
When the girls and I were forced out of the fairy tale albeit temporary lodgings and took up residence in such a far away land I had no way of knowing that the next few months would bring an ugliness: sadness, melancholia, hatred, pain, frustration, and a feeling of impotence…but they did.
Immediately my girls were terrorized by the
little shit dog owned by the man whose house I moved into. I had lofty ideas of socializing the beast the demon Satan himself our resident dog and teaching him how to properly interact with other (my) dogs but watching both girls cower in fear at the mere sound of his movement filled me with a rage that I felt it better left alone, especially after he ripped into my knee after I threw myself in front of Rose to keep him from her and I had never felt so strong an urge to punt the little fucker. It’s not his fault. I know it’s not. I have two 50 + pound dogs. I have been socializing them and teaching them appropriate behavior since the day(s) I brought them home. Silence is victim of the classic “he’s little and cute doesn’t need much exercise or socializing.” It’s not true or right but it happens and I get it.
In the past few months, I have watched my über sweet, über shy Analaigh come into her own. Truly she was become a young lady full of confidence and joy. Conversely, I have watched my happy-go-lucky “HERE I AM, WORLD!!!” Rose withdraw into herself.
Away from the house, on walks with friends, or visits to the dogpark, all is right in the world and I feel like a good mom as I watch my girls smile and play with their friends. It is when I have to coax them into the backyard with the promise that “he’s not out here” because in my haste 3 days ago I didn’t check and he was that I feel like I failed them. It is when I remember the look of panic in their eyes as he pinned them in the corner when they trusted me to keep them safe that I feel like I have let them down. It is when Rose looks at me says, “I hear the mean doggie and I don’t trust you to keep me safe,” that I feel like an utter failure.
Secondary considerations are the trials and tribulations of living with a man who wants more from you (anything) than you want from him (nothing)
(I just want the fucking toilet flushed regularly); the knowledge that the solution of some ailments merely begets more ailments just as mysterious; and dearly beloved friends and hobbies being so far that visiting too often means every month the budget is blown.
The past few months I have swung in the extremes of waking up with the sun and keeping my girls as far from this terrible place for as long as possible to hunkering down together cooped up in a single bedroom venturing out together only to potty and rushing back to the warm of our comforter.
So I’m waiting…waiting for life to be awesome.
Every choice I made was mine so I blame no one. I don’t believe in wrongness of choice because all decisions take us somewhere else we are meant to go and present us with the next set of choices for our future so I try not to regret that I made them.
And here we are.
I’m not aimlessly hoping life will just get its shit together without my helping it along. Oh no. I’m not one for prayer, remember? I’ve made choices and others have made choices and we’ve made some of them together. The waiting is so we can finally embark on the journey of those choices.
I can not wait to see my girls smile again while freely moving about their own home while mama and Ms. Caroline catch up on their days while learning how to create wonderous masterpieces that Auntie M and (someday) Aideroo can enjoy without physical pain. I can not wait to teach Aidan all about my girls and watch them all fall in love with each other. I can not wait for the feeling of coming home to family as we bicker about who left the toilet seat up, Tom, but thankfully flushed and will there be chicken nuggets for dinner for the children who don’t like vegetables and healthy foods.
I can not wait for life to be awesome.
…and pants will be optional…