I doubt it can be a secret to anyone that reads this blog that I want a home of my own. What might be less obvious is how miserable I have made myself waiting for the day to come. My thoughts are stuck in an endless cycle of planning, waiting, hoping, delaying, postponing, planning, waiting, hoping, delaying, postponing, and more of the same. I cannot resolve 1 problem until we resolve another. I cannot adopt a rabbit without permission from my landlord. I cannot park our RV without permission from the city. I cannot plant a garden, paint walls, pull-up carpet, tear off wall paper... And then I pause and reflect and give thanks for the good things, and I resolve to make do with what I have, until my husband shows me houses and lots, dreamscapes and open spaces, then I feel small and unworthy again, because those dreamscapes are not for me, not yet.
It's a pity party, I know, but knowing right from wrong is no defense against sadness. Sadness comes and stays, even when we love, and believe in positive thinking, even when we hear the kind concern of caring people.
I don't want sympathy. I don't want to be exceptional or different. I want to settle into a space where I feel at home, where I know where the stapler and the staples are. I want to put my things away, without apology, without permission. I want to unpack and move-in, and even to begin to believe that I won't have to start over again in 2, or 3 or 4 years.
Isn't there some study to confirm that my symptoms, my issues, are a result of the stress of moving? Ask me where the fuse box is, and my mind pictures the fuse box in the garage of the Circle Park House, then the living room of Neptune, the pantry of El Rancho, the back of the Tree House, and I don't know where the fuse box is in this place. I am confused and muddled. I feel uncertain.
So many problems I have seem to lead back to, or stem from, moving.... or anticipating the next move. Every move means upheaval and chaos, and starting over. I want to believe that with 4 children, hobbies, pets, projects, tools, paperwork and life's accessories it helps very much to adapt a system of organization that keeps things in order... it must help, I imagine, to have a familiar path, with familiar surroundings. It must help, when facing the usual disasters and setbacks, to not have to compound life's challenges by putting every single possession into boxes for the
So, I give myself some sympathy, compassion, and I reason that of course things are hard right now, because after all, these are hard times. But. But, I have begun to fear that I set too much store in home. What if home sweet home is a myth? What if I have only been making excuses, making messes I don't want to clean, because I can't do it in some idealized fashion, in some idealized space? What if I am no better in a place of our own, and find that I am simply a poor homemaker, a lazy mother? Maybe chickens and gardens are just a lot of work, mortgages distressful? What if our own clogged toilets are no better than rental toilets?
It's like climbing and struggling to a summit, maybe people are watching, and all along I think how nice it will be to sled down the other side, how there will be fresh water and rest on the other side, flowers and birds singing... so much anticipation, such a build-up. What if I fail? What if it's no easier when I reach that place I have been hoping for, and what if I have been my own hinderance and obstacle the whole time?
It has become a regular habit of ours to say that we will know what to do, or where to go, in 6 months. Jobs, projects, deadlines, market forecasts, opportunities... all of these have taken turns in delaying our decision, and if friends and family think we are crazy and dull, imagine how we feel. We have been waiting for 6 months for 5 years. I am sorry to say, projecting my happiness and success as a mother, wife, artist, writer, person on the future and on a place just out of reach, has kept me from living in the present. I have not failed utterly, but I have not done my best. I have not been as much of a success as I ought to be. I am bitter about lost and wasted time and things I cannot change, and I am fearful of the future, and I am missing too much of the here and now.
Someday, maybe in 6 months! we will be in our own home, making our own repairs and managing our own gardens, and I know it will be good and bad, fun and frustrating. It will not be the end of disappointment or strife, it will not be an idyllic rose petal cottage, where rainbows end and spills never happen. But I hope it can be the end of questing and waiting, the end of wondering, and feeling small and adrift. I hope I find that I can make order, most days, welcome guests often, and feel a sigh of relief... a sense of belonging, with the opportunity to find I am proficient and capable.
I think looking at the same issue over and over and over again, and never finding a resolution can be very taxing. It can undo the mind and spirit. I am ready for a new point of view.
I don't think I need to explain this, to say that it was time to head home and she did not want to go...
We stayed a little longer. William and Alex walked and talked, and Max climbed and then he encouraged Maria to try the slide. She found it was a very fast slide with a great big bump in the middle, and then she learned what it is to land without the benefit of diaper padding. She patted her bottom, with tears brimming her eyes, and said, "I wear panties now. That was a big bump!"
I have love and faith, and one viola that bloomed from the seeds I planted last year. I have 4 children and my one true love, and favorite colors, and my bed is extremely comfortable. The children are healthy and make good jokes, and they sing together. My one true love sends me on adventures then calls me home to him, he reaches for my hand in the dark. I must remember that the view from this home is in my heart.