growing pains

I’m at my mom’s house waiting for my laundry.  My new drier as a defective door seal.  My new washer’s an electrocution hazard.  I’m trying to get my own internet but with everything else I’ve got going on these days it’s a lower priority than I’d like it to be.  I want to get enough of my life unpacked that I can find myself.

I’d really like to vent about work but 1) it probably isn’t a good idea and 2) i don’t have time to write the whole back story before the spin cycle’s over.

I’m amazed at how much PB & J have grown.  They’re still a bit anxious with all the changes we’ve gone through but starting to settle in.  PB’s suddenly an independant child who wants to tackle the world on his own terms but sometimes needs to return to the security of Mama.  J’s articulate and verbal and less and less shy.

And me, I think I’ve grown too.  A back bone that is.  I’d lapsed back into my shy doormat alter ego, again becoming the girl who’s coping skill consisted of “curl up in a ball and don’t move.”  That’s good advice with a wild bear.  Sadly, that’s also how I was tought to cope with the world.  Over the years I’ve gotten better at sticking up for myself.  Alas, it took being directly threatened to snap me out of it this time.  But dang it, that’s not all I am.  I am also someone who’s willing to fight for something she believes in.  So, in a sense, I’m growing up, too.

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, working mother and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

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

You are commenting using your 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