I am two espressos into the morning. I keep forgetting to buy coffee beans. This morning i sent my daughter across the road to the coffee shop to get me something. Instead of drip she came back with the thick syrupy espresso.
I like this. I like this village living. I like the streetlights.
I haven't lived near streetlights for six years. I wander home from work, late at night, under their orange glow. The village is empty, quiet, peaceful. The flashing red light at the intersection is the center of my universe.
The kids rush in from school, tossing backpacks and the day aside. Grabbing pocketfuls of snacks and run back out the door to find friends and wander the village giggling and laughing and getting up to the perfection of kid trouble.
I watch them from the windows of the restaurant. They march by in packs of two's and three's. I sneak out the side door to watch and listen. "Doesn't your mom work there?" There are whispers and adrenaline as they embrace this new freedom.
They are village rats now. They own this town. All three square blocks of it.
I woke up this morning feeling bleak. I have been feeling a little bleak lately. Not in a super depressed way, more of an "is this it?" kind of way.
I think i have finally slowed down. When i drop the kids off at school the day spreads it's expanse in front of me and i think "im just going to stay home today."
I think that every single day.
I can't remember the last time i wanted to just stay home, enjoy being home. I'm getting caught up on rest and phone calls and myself.
I am getting caught up with myself. I have been in a state of flux, not just since the fire, but since september 7, 2007. The day i first walked out of my marital home. I have moved six times. Once back into that house for eight months. I haven't felt grounded, rooted, at home, in almost two and a half years.
I finally do. I finally feel like i have a home, i am home.
And, my god, it feels fantastic.
And, this morning? That bleakness? I figured it out. I want to just be me again. Me – mother, daughter, sister, friend. I want to spend my nights in that bed, curled up with a good book. I want to bake cakes and banana bread for my children. I want them to laugh and love and grow. I want to laugh and love and grow.
I will bake cakes. I will do everything we do in homes. I will sit by the wood stove in the evenings chatting with my children. I will plant a garden and watch it grow. Year after year i will watch those flowers bloom and the apples fall from the tree. I will have roots that are strong and sturdy.
I sit in my room with my oldest daughter, whom i have to constantly remind myself is not even thirteen yet, and i ask her "what should i write about?"
"missing buttons…"
And she giggles and i giggle.
I am getting ready to go out for dinner and to drop them off at their dads. She helps me pick out clothes and chooses her favourite coat of mine. It is missing a button. We decide i will wear it anyway.
We have been missing so many things that suddenly a missing button seems like no big deal.
Over the past few days i found myself in the middle of an Olympics based debate on tipping and automatic gratuities. I was going to write about it, but have decided it may be best to just walk away and bang my head on the wall a few more times.
I will say one thing. I believe that a 10% tip is a bare minimum and should be applied to service that is acceptable at best, if you enjoy your dining experience you should tip 15-20%.
Important things i have been doing include cutting down two ugly, half dead, trees in my yard to let the sun shine in and give me some space to grow some vegetables. Having a veggie garden is very high on my list of things that give me immense joy. The kids and i love growing things and eating them too. I'm fairly certain they get the majority of their green vegetable intake during the summer months. Last summer i grew watermelon! That was awesome. I think we'll go simple this first year. The standard peas and carrots, salad greens and root vegetables. No potatoes because last year we got those worms in them and that was just gross.
Also, my bedroom. It is a huge room and i don't have very much furniture, but what i do have i love. I have a little antique desk and chair that sits under my window and when i sit here i can look out and see the lake (thanks to previously mentioned tree removal) which is magical. I also set up my turntable that i got from santa in here and that is lovely. I fear i may listen a bit too loud when i get home from work and the kids aren't here, but i'll let my neighbours decide on that one. I also have some pretty cute company in my room.
Who? Well his name is Chewie and he's orange and petite and purrs really loud. Our newest addition, a wee orange tabby who's six months old and came home from the SPCA last weekend. Now i have company when i'm all alone.
I should have been on an airplane at this very moment. But all of this is pretty darn good too.
Did i tell you i was going to Baltimore? To visit this lovely lady and her beau?
Yes? No?
Well, i'm not going now. I will go, in april. Just not now.
Things have been all wiggly around here. I mean, i love my home. Love it, capital l, love. But, it has cost me way more than i had anticipated – which is all fine and good – just emptied out the savings and credit cards and all that.
The wiggly part is the kids. They are very happy in this house, but at the same time unsettled. It comes out in anger mostly. Anger directed at me. And, oh, it's tiring and heartbreaking. Parker lashes out at me all the time calling me and "idiot" and other harshities. I try and keep my head about me, remind myself he is only six. Have consistent consequences for bad behaviour. But when he is yelling at me and toby is moping and eliza is being stubborn – all at the same time – i feel like flopping on my bed and crying. Big sloppy tears of frustration and sadness and isolation.
So yes. I can't leave them right now. No matter how i'd like to. How i'd love the escape to snowy baltimore and friends, but as tracey said, i need it to be an escape, a holiday. Not something stressful.