Sturm und Drang

23 11 2007

I think I woke up on the wrong side of the bed.  Actually, I woke up sandwiched between two little boys.  Michael was warming his feet on my thigh, and Patrick was combing his fingers through my snarled hair.  This is what always happens when it gets suddenly cold during the night, because the little boys aren’t going to wake up and try to pull a blanket over themselves!  Of course not!  They trot down the hall and crawl into mommy’s nice warm bed and snuggle under the down comforter and put their cold feet on mommy’s back.  Wouldn’t you?
But I didn’t mind the cold or the small people packed around me like bubble wrap.  I woke up in gloom today.  It’s Thanksgiving holidays- I had a lovely time at the Mathew’s yesterday, and I’m driving to see my mother and my sister today.  Elizabeth is going to help us make quilted pillows, which will be fun. But I’m depressed.
I think I’m depressed because I typed in that book list last night.  I can’t imagine EVER writing that many books.  I’ve started too late.  I’m nearly thirty five, and this morning thirty five feel like thirty seven feels like forty and there’s half my life over and I haven’t really written a thing.
I am obsessed with the idea of adopting.  I keep trying to find a home with enough bedrooms and doors.  (Open floor plans were not meant for homes with six children.  If you have six kids, you need to be able to separate people who are getting on other people’s nerves as much as possible.  And forget the lovely cathedral ceilings, what I need is another bedroom!)  I finally found a floor plan that I absolutely love & that doesn’t seem appallingly expensive to build (expensive, but not appallingly so).  My in-laws pointed out that there’s no bedroom on the first floor for people who are finding it increasingly hard to climb stairs.  And that is a real problem.  I spent a lot of time last night looking up handi-cap elevators and different kind of lifts on the internet last night.  $10,000 is seeming pretty unreachable.  So the house plan is no good, and I’m in a funk.
Even if it was good, building would take so long!  I was hoping that within a year of moving we could apply for home visits & stuff.  The process takes about a year, so that’s already two years, and the kids are growing so fast…  If I added a year or two to build I would be 38 and Neal would be 52!
I have not found anything I’m really charmed with in the new town.  All the houses are too small, too expensive, in the wrong area, or really inconveniently designed.  I’m struggling with disappointment.  I finally fought out a prayer yesterday & told God that I was grateful for the job… but I was sad about losing my dream of a really interesting and beautiful house.  I really wanted, well, I wanted something amazing!  Instead I’ll probably have to live in a rented modular home for months looking for something acceptable.  A two bedroom modular home.  (Neal doesn’t want to rent a three BR when we don’t know how long it will be until we join him.)  With kids crawling all over me and no privacy and no peace and no time to write.
The alternative, of course, is that I’ll be stuck here for months waiting on the house to sell and handling this bunch of hooligans all by myself.  Which is not easy when you have kids who stay up till midnight and kids that get up at seven and never a moment alone without putting them all in time out!
(I just had to go down and clean up the mess where Patrick dumped a bowl of Cornflakes and milk all over the floor, wall, and heating vent.)  Even when Neal is here and I lock myself in my room to write I feel so guilty.  They pound on the door and cry for me.  They watch too much TV, and Neal shouts at them, and everyone cries and is unhappy, and they beg me to come and kiss them goodnight over and over and over…
I know this won’t last- I know they will grow up and it will seem very fast.  Some days I tell myself it’s better just to concentrate on the kids now and not worry about writing.  Other days I tell myself that other mothers work and that they won’t actually perish from grief if I take two hours every evening to write.  Then again, I tell that I could be perfectly happy just being a mother for the next eight years, but most of the time I know I’m lying.
The sensible thing would be to give up the idea of adopting and realize that I have enough kids to deal with now, but when have I EVER been sensible?  For two years I have been trying to let it go, to cut it out of my heart.  Actually, longer than that.  I started praying to God to let me adopt right after Brenna was born.  Two “no’s” and two babies later, I’m still at it.  The definition of pig-headed persistance.
Neal is moving to a great job where he will be the center of their SAP team.  Donal is moving to a really good scout council & the YMCA swim team.  Brenna’s destiny is waiting at the In His Steps Christian dance studio.  But what will there be for me?  A house?  A writer’s group?  A friend?
I have so little faith.  Lord, I have so little faith!  But twice now we have bought houses that turned out to have major, major problems and were extremely difficult to sell when we needed to.  And I am afraid.  Please forgive me, and help me get out of this funk and face a six hour drive with four cranky kids to grandma’s.

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2 responses

26 11 2007
Linda Miller

Angela,
It really did end up being a miserable drive up for you and the kids. I hope your visit up home gave you a bit of a break in routine even if it wasn’t restful. We enjoyed having you and I think the kids were excited by the quilting lessons with Aunt E. Neal said the trip back home was a bit easier for you. Won’t it be nice when you guys are so much closer in Goldsboro. I hope Goldsboro far exceeds your expectations. Love, Mom

27 11 2007
Sarah Smith

I am waiting . . . can’t wait to read what you have to say!

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