I Own A House!

Somehow it seems un-real still.

I want to write that I own my own home but it doesn’t feel at all like home when I can’t move in yet.

As it was one I could afford it needs alot of work and care.  But atleast the work will benefit me and mine.  I have something substantial and solid to show for the daily toil.  My family has a secure plave to live and grow.

I’d like to celebrate but I’ve got to be chipper and alert for tomorrow’s toil.  Well, they probably would understand if just this once I was a wee bit hungover but I wouldn’t feel right about it.  Also, my job’s not all toil, just often seems like it.  And besides, maybe by the weekend I’ll finally be over whatever this sinus crap is.  I start to feel alittle better but then it comes right back with a vengence.  I’m taking all kinds of allergy meds already.

Right, I haven’t been here for a week now.  Let’s see, in the last seven days:  I’ve been miserably sick since last Saturday (OK, that’s 10 days), I faced the reality that I won’t be making it to the gym for some months and cleaned my locker, my car broke, I got the car fixed, I managed to hold my cool through all the stress leading up to buying the house, PB required a sick day after a vomiting incident (why can’t he do it before I shower and dress?), and I bought a house.  That ought to qualify for the longest/shortest seven days ever.  Oh yeah, and the kids have started wondering around in the middle of the night so I’m not sleeping.

All this grown-up stuff makes me feel old.  Even worse, realizing that I understand all this grown up stuff.  I keep feeling like I should go play outside with the kids while the adults take care of business.  Insurance jargon.  401K plan changes (me in a room with middle aged men, does no one else in their 20’s realize that the company automatically invests a percent without anything from us?).  Yeah…. I feel…. boring already.  But then again, this ordinary life is what I’ve worked to hard for.  There is no nut-case in the bed room clicking the safety on his rifle.  I know where dinner’s coming from.  If the roof leaks I’ll learn how to fix it.  We have a damn good life, really.

About m

My ego wants to think I'm a writer but my heart knows I'm just another one of God's Kids who sometimes has words to say. 2 human kids and 3 feline kids call me Mom. Or Mooooooom. Or mewom, depending which you ask. I'm kinda-sorta busy being a student again; this time I signed myself up for a bizarre torture known as Graduate School. Theoretically in 4ish years I'll have earned some more nice letters to put with my name. Let's face it, I'm addicted to learning and probably need rehab to restore me to sanity and remove the obsession to read books. I don't remember what free time is but I think I like to spend it sleeping or playing in the mud on a river bank.
This entry was posted in abuse, domestic violence, family, home, single mom, Uncategorized, working mother and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s