Moving Is Emotional

Today I was lucky to have my closest friend (okay, my only friend) come over and help me pack up my kitchen and odds and ends for a few hours. I ran out of boxes, but it was close. Then she had me pick up the pizza and go to her house for dinner, where the children quietly watched cartoons and blissfully followed her dogs around. Her son is wonderful with my children.
Yesterday my favorite daycare teacher told me she had a lot of excess furniture in her family that they wanted out of their house. She wants to drop it all off next week at the new house. It is all things I need. I am luckier, still.
As always, as in everything, the people are the best part.
Those are the positives.
I am also not going to be able to cook for a week. That is probably a positive, I hope I can use the additional time in my life (hours per day) to play with the kids. A week of takeout and peanut butter sandwiches will not kill them. Today is National Peanut Butter day, by the way.

My middle child has burst out crying six times today, and one of those times he told me he wanted to be hit by a car. Because his sister got to ride in the shopping cart with a car seat over her head, like a fort. I rigged up one of the sleds in the car to sit over his head in the car all the way home. I am truly sympathetic. He can only spend an hour in his bed before nightmares wake him and send him to my room. Last night he came out three times and kept trying to stay in his bed, but ended up in mine just after I did. He hasn’t wished to die like that since before I started his medication.
If I ever have to move again I will try to send him to his auntie’s house, to somewhere he is happy. He cannot handle the change, the memories of moving.

I found a box I forgot I had. With the shirt in it that I was wearing when they photographed me for evidence. I washed it, because I wash everything compulsively, but it is still torn from elbow to wrist. My clothing had worn out that year, and it was the only shirt I had before he tore it. It was not mine, but a cast off of his. I was down to that shirt, one pair of pants, and no shoes at all, having worn mine completely through the bottom.

I wish I did not have to explain all these things to them. But I do. Someday they will ask me to, again.


No Knead Bread

I do not like making Artisan/Peasant No Knead Bread. It is simple enough, but so far the taste is not for me.
I need to try a sandwich bread variation before I write it off completely. Hopefully by putting this here, I will not forget.

Alone Again

I think I have finally accepted that I am alone, that my relationship did not work out.

It was a nice dream for a while, though.

Since figuring that out I have :
Offered to take over my mother’s care
Enrolled in school
Applied for a bigger apartment
Been accepted into a townhouse, moving in a few weeks
Spent buckets of money on Christmas.

I would rather be alone. I am a more efficient person on my own.
I need to test in and start classes.
I need an education, not a man.

My Mother Has Been Visiting

Per the title I suppose you can see why I have not posted.

I have not had much time to myself. I moved into the children’s room to give my mother her own space during her visit. She feels unwell much of the time, and I am sure would suffer were she given the sofa.

She is elderly. She decided to move far away from her family, again, a year ago. I am trying to convince her to move to my town. I cannot fly to her, leave my children, to oversee her care or help her do anything should she need it. I simply cannot afford to do so and haven’t anyone to leave the children with for any extended period.

My mother kicked me out at eighteen. But I left before that, really, because I could not bear to be someplace I was not welcome. I stayed away as much as I could.

It might have been my fault, but probably not, I was not much of a troublemaker in my late teens, having got it out of my system earlier. My brother was also asked to leave at eighteen, and he was only home to sleep and required no looking after. He had worked full time since age fourteen and paid me to do his chores in addition to my own and my two part time jobs.

My best friend has taken to her and has been chatting with her. She asked my friend, ¨Did you know Jane was living out of a duffel bag under bridges and washing up in gas stations?¨ She finds it in contrast to how I live now, which is pretty domestic. But really I lived much better in my twenties, when I was putting my in-laws through school and working overtime. I went shopping for fun, then. Which sort of makes me feel sick, now, when I remember.

Anyway, it will add to my stress and responsibilities but it is the right thing to do. I have six phone calls to make to get housing applications for her, but encouraging her to move will still be easier said than done.