Monday, March 16, 2015

a bit of a rant

I’m done.

For the last two years, I've been constantly defending my choices.  Constantly explaining why I made that choice. Any choice.  Every choice.

So, I'm done.

This is what I want.

I want my littles to be prepared for whatever life is going to throw at them.
I want them to be happy.
and I want to be happy.


Every choice I make, I make with those goals in mind. In that order. Those goals are always on my mind. Always. I am not capable of making choices without thinking about the effects on those goals. I am not capable of making choices that lead away from those goals.

I CANNOT do it. I spend days, weeks, months examining every option and how it affects me and mine.  I am not capable of making a poor choice. I can't. I've been on the verge of making choices that were...very, very poor choices, but would've been so very, very gratifying. I couldn’t do it, every time. I cannot knowingly hurt those I care about. 

I don’t care if you agree with those choices. 
I don’t care if you understand those choices.
and I certainly don’t care what choices you would make for me.

I am not you.  I am me, and I am not impulsive.  If a choice feels rushed, it is because I don’t share, not because I am jumping without looking.  No one is going to push me into making a decision before I'm ready.  No one. I can be stubborn. I will do things when I decide to. When I decide to.

One more thing:

I'm not settling. I'm not picking "good enough."  I don’t want a forever. This isn't just something I am telling myself.  This is a truth I feel so deeply I cannot express it.

I have exactly what I want.

I don’t want more.
I’m happy as things are.

If I weren't happy, it wouldn't be worth my time and energy. Between the littles, the animals, the house and the full time job, there isn't a whole lot of time or energy left at the end of the day.  I wouldn't waste it on something that I didn't enjoy.  I like talking about him. I'll happily tell you about him. 

But I’m done defending our friendship.

I'm done explaining it.

My littles understand it.  
No one else needs to.

Wednesday, March 11, 2015

a single-parent day

Today is what I call a “single-parent day.” A single-parent day is a day that really reinforces the fact that I’m the only adult in my household.  It doesn’t matter what I want, what I need, or how I feel.   My littles still need me to function enough to get dinner going and facilitate the evening.

I wanted to do was drive straight home from work, put on sweats and pull the blankets over my head.

But. No.

I’m the only adult in my house.  So, I have to adult.
Every day. No choice. Not adult-ing is not an option.

I stopped at the store and got necessary items.  
When I got home the kids promptly turned off the video games.  They picked up their messes when I asked and went to play in their rooms, where they wouldn’t be noisy.

I love my littles.

I picked up the kitchen and started making dinner. 
It’s Wednesday.  Pancake night.  Easy dinner.

As I pulled clothes out of the dryer I realized this was the first single-parent day I’ve had in a very long time.  A year ago every day was a single-parent day.  It was a trial to get through every day.  

Every day was hard.

I can’t remember the last single-parent day I’ve had.

I marveled at this as I dumped the clothes on the ever-growing pile of clean clothes.
Today was hard.
Is hard. 

I want nothing so much as someone to kiss my forehead and hug me tight. 

Hugging a warm pile of clothes works.
Yeah, not really.

I realized that even though today was a single parent day, it still wasn’t quite so overwhelming.

The eldest took care of the chickens. I didn’t have to.
The boy took out the garbage. I didn’t have to.
The littlest fed the dog and started the dishwasher. I didn’t have to.

All this was done before I got home from work. Amazing, my littles.

“All” I needed to do was make dinner, do the dishes, are facilitate our evening routine.

And keep the laundry going. 

Because. Laundry.

So, even though today is a single-parent day, even though the world is too much and all I want is no responsibilities and no one to take care of, it's not as bad as it's been.  

Oh, the emotions are still there. 
I’m exhausted, my neck and shoulders ache, and I'm three and a half minutes from tears..
I’m counting down the minutes until I’ve tucked-in the smaller two and switched the laundry one more time so I can lock up and go to bed. 

Because.  Laundry.

Sleep will not come easily, never does. But curling up under my pile of quilts, surrounded by my pillows and listening to a good book will be enough.  Going to bed alone won’t add to my list of sorrows.

And tomorrow I’ll wake up and do it all again.

Sunday, March 1, 2015

time to go

I used to be able to see decades into the future. I had a pretty picture of two rockers on the porch with grandkids playing in the yard. 

Four years ago my then-husband and I found our little slice of heaven in the country.

Three years ago we moved our family into the home we built, planning to grow old together.

Two years ago that forever bubble popped and rockers on the porch were gone.  

I found myself unable to see past tomorrow. I had no sense of where I would be in two years, let alone twenty.

For months I let life wash over me. I kept my head above water, mostly.  I struggled to get through every day, finding the little happinesses  and trying not to think about what comes next.  Life settled into a predicable series of trials to get through and pleasures to enjoy.  But under it all, I was still overwhelmed.  I was completely overwhelmed.

Bills. Feeling like I was drowning in debt.
Three months of no employment will do that.

Keeping house. I can never get caught up.
Three littles, a big dog, a little cat, a firstful of chickens and an acre of grass and mud will do that.

I love my acre of grass and mud, my chickens, cat and dog.
I love the sunrise in the winter and the milky way at midnight.
I love it.


I do not love the house.
We built this house for us, our forever house.
There is a whole lot of “us” in this house.

It's too big for me, there's too much space.
When it’s just me, I get swallowed by the space.

We built it for big family gatherings and room to grow.
Instead of filling the house with laughter and joy, we rattle around.
There's just me and my littles.
I need less. I want less. 

But could I? 
Could I really pack up and move?
Financially, emotionally, realistically, was it even possible?

So. I stewed.
I mulled.
I tossed and turned.
Then, I decided.


This is right. This feels right.
This is not my home. 
This house is not my home any longer. 
It’s time to go.

In a few months I'll be putting this house on the market.

I'm starting a new chapter.
I’ll be finding a home.
A home that's all kinds of Kristin.

Just me and my littles. And the dog. And the cat. And a few chickens.

It certainly won't be a new home, It will probably be old, little and quirky.
I like little. I like quirky.  
All kinds of Kristin.

I’m still not sure how it's all going to play out.  I'll be talking with a mortgage broker. I’m a single mom with a mountain of student loans and a bit of credit card debt.  I'm not in the best shape, credit wise.
Divorce tends to do that.

I honestly don't expect many possibilities, but I've got other options.
Go until they say no, Right?

There you have it.
Changes are coming.

Big changes.
Really big changes.


Anyone got any boxes?
Or any clue how to downsize my clutter to fit in a house half the size of what I'm in now?