Jump

Have you ever felt like you were standing on a precipice, ready to make a decision, take that leap, change your life forever? Doesn't it feel like our country is about to do the same thing? The funny (not really) thing is, I don't understand a damned thing that is going on the news. Am I alone here? I know I should be concerned. I know I should know what they are talking about. But all I keep wondering is:

Should I start stock piling food, water, etc in the basement?
Should I start saving aluminum foil like my Mema did since the last "Great Depression?"
Should I really be buying a bunch of things for the new house ( and how like me to finally own a house when all is about to go to hell?!)

Should I be getting a bunch of cash and sticking it in crevices in the walls (or a hole in the ground?)

Is anyone else looking around like me and wondering what is going on here? I don't GET it. I am not a stupid person, but I don't GET it.

I also took another leap this week. I cut out my morning dose of oxcarbazapine. (I finally learned how to spell and say the damned thing and now -- hopefully-- it will be exiting my life!) And of course, like the last ten doses of meds, my teeth started "twinging" a little, but so far I am doing ok with just ibuprofen -- whoo hoo! Three more doses to go and MAYBE I will be meds free.

I will always be suspecting that monster to claw its way into my face again. I will expect it to show up at the worst moment so as to not be totally comfortable in my life -- and at the same time I will be appreciative for not having pain in my life. What a horrible year I have witnessed.

And so I am standing on a precipice, scratching my head, looking around at the world with a perplexed mind, but I am pain free and willing to take that jump into the non-med life.

Even if it is from under the house with my ramen noodles, cash and a big ol' ball of aluminum foil.

Sleep and Such

Interesting. How else can I put the last few weeks? Living in hotels, living in the car, eating fast food for lunch and dinner (breakfast was the healthiest meal as the hotel quietly set it up just to have my kids run in and cause a ruckus). Our outlet for a restless day stuck in a car? McDonald's Playland (an inside one! whoo hoo!)

Everyone, at one time or another, had their meltdown. Including me. Especially after the "Front Desk" (remember The Desk? Apparently there are these all over the world!) called me to tell me of a Noise Complaint from our seemingly sleepy neighbor. Never mind that it was 8:30 in the morning. Never mind that I heard kids running around the hallways at 2 AM but didn't complain. Never mind that I had HAD IT. They were sleepy. Oh...I called that Front Desk back and gave them a piece of my mind. For whatever that matters. So, yes, I had my meltdowns. And new lows. (walking down to breakfast I spoke very immaturely loudly in the hallway-- I am such a bad influence)

Of course, hubby didn't have meltdowns or lows. I think they train soldiers to be completely numb to everything, but come on. This is considered torture. Three kids in a hotel, for weeks, in a car for days, and trying to buy a house in a town we don't know at all? And still....nothing. He sits with his eyes focused on the road in front of him. Listening to "Geronimo Stilton and the Cheese Pyramid" for the 642 time (yes I am glad my son likes audio books instead of movies...but come on. A little "Toy Story" or "Ninja Turtles" wouldn't hurt anyone right?)

He is a stone cold killer. His eyes sweeping the horizon. Ignoring the cries of desperation surrounding him (coming from me) he searches for his target. Nothing phases him. And then...there it is. A gas station with a slushy machine. Yes. Another mission completed. (as for me...I had to ONCE AGAIN drag my daughter with the smallest bladder in the entire world into another filthy gas station bathroom. Oh the horror. )

And then we get to our destination. Another week in a hotel/barrack. Post housing is what it is called. A tiny, tiny apartment. Two rooms and a closet for a kitchen. It smelled. I can't describe it. But the final kicker was when my oldest son came into "my room" and told me about the "sleeping mouses" he found in his room. I think I held it together very, very well.

I asked him to show me the "sleepy mice" and he did. And there they were. All curled up under the air conditioner stuck to a sticky trap. I had had enough. I called down to the desk and told the chirpy, helium sucking, brain dead girl unlucky enough to answer the phone at that moment to get someone up to the room to remove the sleeping mice.

I had had enough. (Never mind the fact that my son found the mice in the morning and didn't tell me until that evening because he thought he would get in trouble. What is up with that? Am I that horrible of a mother that he thinks I will punish him for putting mice to sleep?)

And then we finally get the house. And the house is beautiful, big -- not without problems -- but it is ours. Finally a house we can call ours. After nearly seven years together, all over this world, we have a home. Well...almost a home. As soon as we unpack and figure it all out it will turn into our home. But we have our own house. And that was my mission all along.

Now I am not saying the meltdowns have stopped (especially mine -- I can't find anything!) but at least I don't have to worry about the guy in the next room calling the Front Desk. I am the Front Desk in these parts. And my husband? He is still searching for the illusive slushy machine closest to the house. Life is getting back to "normal".