I read something good today. It reminded me.
Sometimes, I sort of look around at the heaping pile of Things I Can't Do. I think all of us have a pile like that. I sort this pile like laundry. There's the regular stuff. I can't train elephants. I can't drive two cars at once.
I should digress at this point and say that I did devise a plan that involved me driving one car as far as I'm willing to walk, walking back to the second car and driving it that much further, and so on. Brilliant, really. I wonder if it's legal.
Anyway, then there are the other Things I Can't Do. These are things that I could do if I had more time, energy, pain tolerance. Mow the lawn on a regular basis. Find a way to make my kids go to sleep. Volunteer at church or something.
There's another pile, and I don't know if it's any bigger than the others, but it sure feels that way. Cleaning until everything is clean. Finding socks. Keeping track of coats. Buying a decent car. Buying anything. Remembering to soak beans the night before. Catching up with 1700 emails from school and co-op. Groceries. Oh, groceries.
Basic things people do. I recently thought about putting signs all over my house for my kids to remind them to do things. Flush toilet. Close the fridge. Brush teeth/hair. Put socks on. Wear shoes. Eat. But then I realized I need signs for myself, too. Buy food. Cook it. Eat. Cars use gas. Pay for electricity. Last week, I spent an entire night awake because I was afraid I'd forget to go to work in the morning. True story.
I read that story and I remembered a time, a few years ago, when my story was quite similar. I'm not sure that things are better now than they were the day my neighbors were traipsing through my house in the tiny we used to live in, bargaining with me on kids' dressers and my beloved bookshelves. But it's getting better. I'm closer to better. The first time I had $20 of my own, I bought shelves. My own version of a hope chest, I guess, they hold books I have treasured almost my whole life. I rebelled against dressers for awhile, but I've given in. My kids all have one now.
To this day, I can't drive through that town with dry eyes. But today, I live in my hometown, and it's home. I have a job, and although I still treat it with care - afraid it will disappear with the smallest mistake, I'm slowly realizing that I just may be able to do this bread-winning thing. So, I guess it's better. I'm just as overwhelmed as I was that day, but being overwhelmed with kids, a house, a yard, a truck, and a job is better than being overwhelmed with losing those.
