Moving out of the box

As always in our house, we are dealing with change. At the end of this month my mother will be moving back in with us and that means moving back upstairs. Yes, we are giving up the Master Suite, again. There are whole list of reasons, the easiest answer being, “It is our choice. Suck it.” I am considering making that my answer for everything.

The impending change has meant that I have been spending most of my non-work/baby-free time moving things around and packing non-essential items. I can’t do too much because my brother-in-law is currently using the bedroom that we will be using once we no longer can sleep in the Master Suite. We are waiting to use our own room. Sad, isn’t it?

I have managed to make the office livable and usable. Adam and I are back to sharing office space. It is nothing special, just walls with a door, but at least I can take an hour out my day to surf the ‘Net, blog, answer emails (write me) without my soon-to-be-toddling daughter nipping at my toes and chewing on power cords. She is a total rodent freak. It would be hysterical if it wasn’t annoying.

Sometimes it feels like Adam and I are trying to live in the middle of everyone else’s lives. We are shoved in to the corner of our own house and we did it to ourselves. We recognize that. Actually, it would seem that we are committed to making our lives our own, without the extra baggage of everyone else’s drama. At least it didn’t take a huge blow-up and me possibly leaving to work out a real plan of action. Hooray for maturity. And learning from our mistakes in a timely fashion.

Adam and I need to start taking care of ourselves. He realized the other day that he is going to be thirty in January and he still hasn’t picked a religion. (He told me when we first got together that he didn’t want to go blindly in to faith without researching everything he could and I support that.) He just hasn’t had time. We spent the first nearly four years together taking care of Wayne and my mom and this last year has been all about his brothers and by the time we fall in to bed, there are no philosophical discussions whispered over the pillow because if you talk while the baby is sleeping, the baby will wake up. (Yes, I love the idea of having Mazzy back in her nursery. I hand-painted that sucker and she should be able to use it.) I recognize that I haven’t figured out anything. Like, I am totally stupid. I hate being stupid.

And I am tired all of the time. Yes, I would be tired anyway, but this is tired in my soul. I feel drained and used and it is because I let people use me. I don’t take the time to heal myself. I just hurt, throw a band aid over it and run to rescue the person crying the loudest.

I wanted to put another bit here. I re-wrote it five, or six, times and it never said what I am really feeling, so I am done.