Tuesday, May 1, 2012

Worries...

This is why it feels like summer. There is stickiness on my neck from where Louise wrapped her little fingers.  I remember a time where it felt like I would never leave the house again without baby spit up on my shoulder.  I was finished with my second pregnancy and none of my bras fit me.  I wore tennis shoes and yoga pants with a hole in the knee.

I talk about this a lot, how things are always hard and they're always not.

We have problems.  With money and bedtime and a little house that is much too full of stuff.  The lawn needs mowing and I need to pot my tomatoes. I have problems with feeling dizzy sometimes, with eating sugar and finding comfortable sandals.  Sometimes I have a problem with feeling like a person.  With falling asleep at night, with pushing the tightness in my guts away.  I want to be off of this medication.  I want to eat only raw food.  Scouty has a minor health problem that causes us so many moments of stress and sadness.  Some months, I put groceries on the credit card a few days before payday.

Life is hard.

But, there was time where we had $400 after we paid our bills.  There were three of us and our tiny house was new and we didn't have enough stuff to fill it up, yet.  I stayed up sewing for a few extra dollars until midnight most nights.  I pecked away at a book that wouldn't ever see the light of day.  Sometimes there were two weeks left until the end of the month and we had to ask for help from Grandma and Pappy.  Lots of times, Daddy just didn't eat.  He was too worried or pent up, or there simply wasn't any food.

Life was hard, then.  It must be easier, now, but it's hard to see.

I grew up in a trailer park and the evangelical church.  Everything was a sin.  Rock and roll, homosexuality, wine and being a girl.  Our ceiling leaked, and my dad was away or locked into his room.  My mom was out in the yard, under a perpetual sun, mowing down the dandelions.  My brother was quiet and had giant glasses and buck teeth.  Everyone thought my sister was a boy.  My youngest brother was something we couldn't even hope to afford.  We ate white rice with cinnamon and sugar.  My shorts rode up and were the wrong size.  They belonged to somebody else, before me.

What is it that feels so terrible, now that we have everything we need?

I have two daughters who are so bright and perfect, they make a fool out of the beautiful sun.  I have a husband who loves me and my problems with sneaking the last of the birthday cupcakes while he is at work.  We own a home and it's so full of gifts, we don't have enough room for everything.  Nobody is hungry.  Nobody is sick.  We're going camping once the nights are warm enough.  The girls and I are headed to the beach.

Sometimes it feels like problems multiply with things and responsibilities.  The jobs I am so grateful for turn into long nights and bleary eyes.  Birthdays turn into piles of unopened packages in the hallway.  The new job means that dinner is late and I have to come up with a way to entertain the girls for an extra hour every evening.  I can't seem to find a pair of comfortable summer shoes.

This is all nothing.

I am simplifying.

I've finished day two of my modified juice fast, and all I can think about is a veggie dog from Dormont Dogs.  I'll have one, someday and it's going to be so fucking good.

I'm getting rid of things.  A child's table and chairs, Scouty's toddler bed, toys and books and the high chair.  I'm getting rid of other things, too.  This medicine, worrying about what time it is, and piling myself with deadlines and tasks.  There is nothing to worry about, not really.


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