A Fork In The Road And No Pasta In Sight

"You're beginning to wonder exactly who is in charge of quality control for all those treasure maps."


I'm in the midst of wrapping my head around all the goings on and the things to come. I had mentioned previously that my mother-in-law will soon be taking up residence under our wee roof. There is still much in the way of red tape and legal battles to overcome. The entire process has taken a monumental toll and yet remains in the early stages. It now seems I have eagerly volunteered myself into the predicament of handling it alone. 

Quite some time back, my 'Ol Man identified a passion in life he wanted to pursue. It requires schooling of a very specific nature, which is only offered in three states - the closest of which is still well over 700 miles away.  I made it crystal clear from day one I would never interfere or impede upon his dreams. That I would support him in anything he wanted to do. Although it has taken some fancy footwork and much convincing, it now looks like the pieces are beginning to fall perfectly into place. A plan in motion. I couldn't be more thrilled for him.... the adventure of it all! The doors to be opened! A dream to be realized!



In other news, there's the pesky details contained in the reality of it all. The fine print. The flood of "what ifs?" and "how on earth?"... Am I strong enough? Am I brave enough? Am I sane enough? Am I, quite simply, enough? Only time will tell on each of these fronts. 

What's odd - or truly - what's entirely predictable is that it's the silliest things that have enveloped me in panic. It's late on a Saturday evening and we've just run out of diapers and dog food.... I didn't have a chance to shower and the wee one has an ear infection while the eldest has already fallen asleep. I must wrangle the boys together, pack them into the car.... oh shit, I forgot to get gas and the light is blinking furiously at me.....  we begin backing out of the driveway and I've forgotten my purse and OH JESUS, WHERE IS THE GARAGE DOOR OPENER!? MY HOUSE KEYS WERE IN MY PURSE!!!! *panic* Where "normally", I could have avoided the entire ordeal by batting my eyelashes and reminding my dear better-half that I have unreasonable fears of leaving the house to which he may roll his eyes or mutter something under his breath, he'd put on his jacket and save the day. When he's 700 miles away? Not as much. 



It seems, he has become my crutch.

I have been a "latch-key" kiddo since about 7, out of the house since 17, and the primary breadwinner to date. I can handle most things without a second thought as it's simply in my nature. I've endured crises and have always tried to smile in the face of adversity. But at this very moment, I'm terrified. Paralyzed even. I've been allowed to settle into my delectably paranoid state. One in which I'm not expected to leave the house for any errands (aside from work, of course) between the hours of 3am and at least 11:30pm. One in which I can count on someone holding my hand and preventing me from escaping into the ventilation system if there IS some need to venture out during that time frame. One in which I can simply call my amazing Big Bag of Man Candy, begging him to pick up milk on the way home from his show. One in which, when I'm sitting with the wee one on the recliner downstairs in the middle of the night to calm him after an evening of ralphing, I can shriek out for him when I feel the retching sensation coursing throughout wee one's tummy -and he appears like the superhero he is with a bowl for the vomit just in time. One in which I'm not alone with my thoughts.

In real life, I do not utter a word of any of this. But this is my "safe place" and this is what's truly occupying my thoughts. Can I really do this?


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Kitty

Friday, February 24, 2012

A Fork In The Road And No Pasta In Sight

"You're beginning to wonder exactly who is in charge of quality control for all those treasure maps."


I'm in the midst of wrapping my head around all the goings on and the things to come. I had mentioned previously that my mother-in-law will soon be taking up residence under our wee roof. There is still much in the way of red tape and legal battles to overcome. The entire process has taken a monumental toll and yet remains in the early stages. It now seems I have eagerly volunteered myself into the predicament of handling it alone. 

Quite some time back, my 'Ol Man identified a passion in life he wanted to pursue. It requires schooling of a very specific nature, which is only offered in three states - the closest of which is still well over 700 miles away.  I made it crystal clear from day one I would never interfere or impede upon his dreams. That I would support him in anything he wanted to do. Although it has taken some fancy footwork and much convincing, it now looks like the pieces are beginning to fall perfectly into place. A plan in motion. I couldn't be more thrilled for him.... the adventure of it all! The doors to be opened! A dream to be realized!



In other news, there's the pesky details contained in the reality of it all. The fine print. The flood of "what ifs?" and "how on earth?"... Am I strong enough? Am I brave enough? Am I sane enough? Am I, quite simply, enough? Only time will tell on each of these fronts. 

What's odd - or truly - what's entirely predictable is that it's the silliest things that have enveloped me in panic. It's late on a Saturday evening and we've just run out of diapers and dog food.... I didn't have a chance to shower and the wee one has an ear infection while the eldest has already fallen asleep. I must wrangle the boys together, pack them into the car.... oh shit, I forgot to get gas and the light is blinking furiously at me.....  we begin backing out of the driveway and I've forgotten my purse and OH JESUS, WHERE IS THE GARAGE DOOR OPENER!? MY HOUSE KEYS WERE IN MY PURSE!!!! *panic* Where "normally", I could have avoided the entire ordeal by batting my eyelashes and reminding my dear better-half that I have unreasonable fears of leaving the house to which he may roll his eyes or mutter something under his breath, he'd put on his jacket and save the day. When he's 700 miles away? Not as much. 



It seems, he has become my crutch.

I have been a "latch-key" kiddo since about 7, out of the house since 17, and the primary breadwinner to date. I can handle most things without a second thought as it's simply in my nature. I've endured crises and have always tried to smile in the face of adversity. But at this very moment, I'm terrified. Paralyzed even. I've been allowed to settle into my delectably paranoid state. One in which I'm not expected to leave the house for any errands (aside from work, of course) between the hours of 3am and at least 11:30pm. One in which I can count on someone holding my hand and preventing me from escaping into the ventilation system if there IS some need to venture out during that time frame. One in which I can simply call my amazing Big Bag of Man Candy, begging him to pick up milk on the way home from his show. One in which, when I'm sitting with the wee one on the recliner downstairs in the middle of the night to calm him after an evening of ralphing, I can shriek out for him when I feel the retching sensation coursing throughout wee one's tummy -and he appears like the superhero he is with a bowl for the vomit just in time. One in which I'm not alone with my thoughts.

In real life, I do not utter a word of any of this. But this is my "safe place" and this is what's truly occupying my thoughts. Can I really do this?


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