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".