And on Wednesday, I stopped

Life has been…interesting…the past few…I don’t even know how long.  We’re renting a house that was obviously built on cursed land and is in need of an old priest and a young priest (we’re way past that frou-frou smudging technique), Maura’s been obnoxiously, everyone’s been busy and stressed, and then the property manager called to state that in light of all the expenses of the house, they decided to sell once our lease is up in June, so we need to find a new place to live in a highly competitive rental market.

On Monday, I wrestled Maura onto the bus, as she didn’t want to get on, and tried not to let her accidentally injure my already pulled muscles from the previous bus-wresting match.

On Tuesday, I took her with me to the grocery store.  Only for her to have a complete meltdown because she didn’t want to go to the store for food, she wanted to go to Chipolte.  But we needed food for the house.  But she chose to scream instead as I wrapped an arm around her to keep her from running into the parking lot and tried to bribe her with ice cream in the store.  It didn’t work.  We went home without groceries, and I ordered pizza.

Wednesday morning, I spent a good ten minutes dealing with a very angry stubborn Maura who was upset by the new rule of “no dolls can go to school”.  Once again, I had to maneuver her physically – but from a seated protesting position on the floor, then out the door, then down the stairs, then down the sidewalk, driveway, etc.  She screamed.  She bit her hand.  She was generally awful.  I did manage to get her on the bus.

And then I went inside, and I just stopped.

I was done.  D.O.N.E. Didn’t matter what, I just couldn’t.  And because it was a Wednesday, which is early release day every Wednesday, I knew that at 12:10, Maura would be back and there may or may not be yet another battle of wills again.

And I couldn’t anymore.  The stress, anxiety, worrying, all of life, the muscles throbbing in my right shoulder from Maura continually pulling on them – it all welled up.

Done.  I laid in my bed and caught up on tv shows and did nothing.  I ignored calls from friends.  I hid out.  I couldn’t deal with one more thing all while knowing that in a few hours, I’d have to at least deal with Maura.

This is a reality of my world, the reality of a parent who’s also a lifetime caregiver.  You do so much every day, and then one day, you stop.  You’ve hit “empty” on the emotional tank and you crawl into bed after taking your anxiety pill and hide for a bit.

Ironically, when Maura did get home that day, she was in a happy mood, didn’t pester me for tv, just happily played with her dolls. I watched tv and listened to her happy doll chatter.  Then she came in, climbed into bed with me to play with her dolls, lining them all up against my legs.  A few moments later, I heard a little snore.

She had fallen asleep.

It’s been a long time since she’s napped without being ill.  Obviously the mood swings of the past several days had exhausted her too.

That Wednesday afternoon, we both stopped for a while.

And then later on that evening, I totally cracked on my husband, sobbed and whined and voiced all the anxiety that had been building up.  How I hated to have to move again, how I was too emotionally drained to do anything creative most days, how I couldn’t even cook dinner anymore.  I was sucking at everything.

He assured me I wasn’t, and then we made a new game plan for life – because he’s awesome and I’m a lucky gal to have someone who’ll put up with my anxieties and stress. Teens crept in the room to ask if things were okay.  I totally lied and said that they were, then felt sappy that I have such caring teens, and knowing that they weren’t dumb enough to believe my lie.  And then somewhere along the way, we started watching “Honest Trailers” and laughing over them and life started back up again.

Thursday I woke up feeling better, once again able to handle what life throws at me.

So of course, what life threw at me was a flooded downstairs bathroom.  Which we spent the day going “Gee, why did it flood?”.  The boys who predominantly use said downstairs bath, swore they didn’t do anything to cause the flood – one used it and it was dry.  The other went in later to use it and it was flooded.  I chalked it up to the wonky toilet that clogs, that it must have overflowed, and chucked sopping wet towels into the washer.

And then the downstairs shower drain bubbled up and spewed again.

Because the main drain is clogged.  So when we ran a shower upstairs, or the washer, or even flushed a toilet, the drain backed up and out of the shower downstairs.

Which is how we spent our Friday.  Waiting for plumbers, showing more plumbers into the house, hearing the plumber say “Oh my God!” as he fished a camera through the drain pipe, having the plumber show me where the other plumbers who put in the new water line (because that’s how we spent March, with the main water line feeding into the house bursting) – in putting in the new line, they oops, went through the sewer line, busting it, chucking clay piping into the sewer line, causing anything we flushed to get caught on the shards of sewer pipe, causing a clog. I would have rather them have found a skull clogging the drain to be honest.

Which is why at this point, we need an old priest and a young priest – because the levels of ridiculousness have become astounding in my life.

Luckily, when evil starts bubbling up from the shower drain, you suddenly look at moving as a great thing.

And I have realized that this post sums up why I’m taking anxiety meds.  Because wow.

If you’d like to help, please send boxes and sangria.