of me. By 7 am, I needed an attitude check. Whatever mine was it was not one of gratitude, and I had just received a lesson in gratitude over the weekend. Had I allowed those teachings to evaporate that quickly? I wrestled with a million thoughts. I made a bowl of frosted mini wheat and gave a half hearted prayer of thanks for the food. My son came asking for a towel, I direct him to the couch. He emerged from the bathroom stating that there was literal human feces in the tub. I knew he must be kidding, but his expression was deadlock serious. I ran through scenarios, no one had been sick or drunk, he must be mistaken, it’s probably cat poop. I entered the bathroom and peered behind the shower curtain. Yep, there is a big ol chunk of human doo doo in the tub. Looks like it must have been stuck to the plunger when someone at a different time unclogged the porcelain throne. No one came to rescue me from this situation, so I requested a plastic Walmart bag, put it on my hand and grabbed the mass. I scalded the stain with hot water and bleach, scrubbed the tub with the toilet brush. I made a mental note to hose down the plunger and bleach the brush later. I mumbled to my son that I simply don’t get paid enough for this job, as I tossed the bag of trash onto the back porch.
My husband emerged from the bedroom at precisely 7:08 am and grumbled as I was scrubbing imagined traces of poo residue from my hands. I swallowed my smorgasbord of doctor prescribed meds because they cannot work if I do not take them. (right?) The Golden Dog rooted at my feet as I assured her that my fat self had eaten all the cereal and not dropped even one shredded morsel for her. I adjusted my broken toilet seat and used the bathroom, decided that I should brush my filmy teeth. I washed my hands two more times just because somehow I felt dirty from this morning’s clean up deed. I struggled with my attitude, knowing I should shove my face into my bible, I shoved my face into a Lisa Jackson novel instead.
Today is the eve of my first son’s 17th birthday. He never took a breath on this earth. Every year on the anniversary of the day he was removed from my body, I usually light a candle, have a cake or something. It was supposed to be his birthday. I was 22 years old when that baby was given, yet taken away. Since that day I have given birth to two very living, very breathing children. One is a boy 14 and the other a daughter of 9. I value them greatly though my attitude does not always reflect this reality. I am often fearful that my decisions these last few years will scar them for life. I am uncertain that I can provide for them the life they need.
Today has been pretty mundane. Reading on the porch because the four walls of the house feel like they are closing in. I am a self diagnosed co dependent, and I find myself with too much alone time even though my spouse is usually around. I have run out of ideas on how to make money, I have already scheduled the needed medical transportation ride for tomorrow, to see the psychiatrist. The sleeping medication she gives does not really help. I am expecting she will simply write a stronger dosage. Dinner tonight will likely be egg and cheese omelets, but my daughter does not like eggs. Maybe a quesadilla for her instead. I am out of ideas on how to make and save money. I took the UFM challenge and studied at https://www.frugalwoods.com/ all last month. I have gleaned as many scraps of information as I can to keep money from spilling from our pockets.
I will divert homework efforts of my nine year old to her older brother. This will force them to spend time together, and circumvent me arguing with her over getting it done. I don’t know what else to do……
Hiding in plain sight,
Masquerade Jade 🙂