All the sacrifices seemed for naught. I had dressed in my metaphoric SuperMom suit and tackled the staging and ad nauseum cleaning of our old house, during the Christmas holidays, while homeschooling 3 kids. Two of which had birthdays. Thankfully, my realtor was a good friend. She knew where the mop was if I missed any footprints on my way out. In the next town over, I painted every wall surface in my new home, including a mural in one room, while continuing to try to sell "old" house and still homeschooling. Did I mention my youngest was 2? Did I mention that "new" house was a stripped down foreclosure with not one light fixture, a/c vent, door knob, cabinet pull or appliance? After 2 months of DIYing, we were able to have the celebratory, although cliche, glass of ice tea overlooking the strawberry fields from the back lanai of our new home. The birds sang. I think. I hung my SuperMom suit in the closet for another time.
Oh, at first we blamed it on seasonal pollen. Logical. But the breathing problems continued past pollen season. Then our new appliances and air conditioners required servicing during which we discovered all the copper parts had become black (a tell-tale sign) After 6 months of suffering in our new home, we found ourselves packing again and moving into a borrowed home in a nearby retirement community. I was left trying to simulaneously metabolize the diagnosis of Chinese Drywall and the shock of the white carpet in my borrowed home.
On the upside, we only had to pay for the utilities, and we could breathe (no small gift). The "challenge" column was a little longer. The owners had not vacated. Every closet, pantry, cabinet stuffed to capacity with the ben-gay, polident, polyester and out of date, easy to fix meals. SuperMom pointed out that WalMart carries plastic containers for such an obstacle, and the paint to decorate them. There was a pool. Yay! Except it was nearly November. Boo! It was on the golf course. We don't golf. And they mow at 5 a.m. which is just about a half and hour later than the train barrels through town, driven by the sadistic and horn happy engineer. I'm sure he's a lovely man, "bless his heart" (which is southern for "I'd like to kill him, but I can't say that in Christian company)
We did get to meet some of the neighbors. Mostly when they approached the house with the assistance of a walker to peer in the front window and ask "how long will you be staying?" Translation: "This is a retirement community and you have kids. When will you be leaving?" Besides, we didn't own a shih tsu which was clearly the homeowner association approved pet, and apparently a requirement. We were able to take care of some maintance things for the homeowner. Changing filters, scrubbing grout and capturing and humanely relocating the family of raccoons that had taken up residence in the attic. Just so you know, they like tuna.
Holidays were a real tickle. I had just bought the fabric and plastic bones to craft Pebbles and BamBam costumes for my youngest 2 and was looking for a place to plug in the sewing machine when the whole family came down with swine flu. No matter how many times I thanked God for a roof over my head, it never seemed to made the hard-sided, needle point patterned sofa any more comfortable. But I did have plenty of time to contemplate the thought process behind the homeowners placing it at a 45 degree angle to the TV. When Christmas rolled around, SuperMom pulled off the most holy, non-commercial Christmas ever. She's brilliant, that one. Advent boxes, gifts for the less fortunate. Who needs a tree when you can handcraft a nativity out of homemade flour/salt playdough with a recipe found online? And since we were studying Aboriginal culture, we made paint out of crushed leaves, clay and spit. To surprise the kids, we woke them up Christmas morning and drove to our house where my husband and I surprised them with the tree we had set up and the fact that Santa had, in fact, come. We just opened the doors and windows and exchanged 42 degree, cold damp air outside for the build up of toxic Chinese drywall air inside, and it was worth it to be in our own space. After all the unwrapping, we loaded in the van, stocked up on chocolate donuts and coffee from the local quicky mart and headed to SeaWorld for the day. They had giant, decorated trees, sea lions in santa hats, the Polar Express ride and a jazz saxaphonist backed by a church chior singing Christmas songs. I 'got my praise on' to a Shamu performace of 'O Holy Night' with a finale of fireworks. It was the best SuperMom could do to try to forget that we were a displaced family with no long term solution to the fact we had to continue to pay a mortgage on a home we could not live in and whose resale value was about 20% of what we paid for it.
But I'd not hit bottom yet. Bottom came for me after I let my hairdresser cut my long hair off and donate it to locks of love. It's a great cause. It is. But I was left looking like I should dye it blue, wrap it around some foam rollers and sit a spell under a large commercial hair dryer. I was starting to look like the ladies my retirement community. I asked my stylist if she knew a shih tzu breeder. I became nostalgic for my 20's. I was young, thin, free. I was cool. I had a cool, black Mazda MX3, 5-speed. I thought it was a worth while sacrifice to trade it in 11 years ago for a very uncool, mini-van when I was pregnant with my first son. But tonight, it was worse. The van was in the shop and I was punching in the code at the security gate, sporting my geriatric hairdo, driving my great grandmother-in-law's 1992 Caprice Classic low rider with AM radio and I may have actually been wearing something polyester (probably not, but I felt like I might as well) I had taken up crocheting and the borrowed TV only seemed to tune to 60 Minutes with Andy Rooney. I had lost my home....but good grief, not my cool. I was done. How could I go on? All that was left for me was to take up Bingo and mix up a Metamucil cocktail. This would probably make more sense if I told you I had just turned 40. I stayed at the security key pad, crying, until I was forced to move when another resident, over 80 with a cooler car, pulled in behind me. I dried my eyes, and drove 6 miles an hour thru the gate with my left foot pressing lightly on the brake pedal so that my brake lights shone in the night. I wasn't sure if it was a rule, but I had seen all the other residents doing it, and I didn't want to cause trouble.
So I had my moment. My mid life pity party. I received the cleansing that can only come to a woman through tears, well placed in the space when she gets a few moments alone. Then I remembered, the pewter, platform, peeptoe Madden Girl pumps I had just purchased (on sale). I checked my makeup in the rearview, before entering the house and hugging my pajama clad, freshly bathed kids. I love that smell. I soaked in the sound of their precious voices, "Love you, Mom. Good night." I love you, too. My husband was even encouraging. He took one look at my hair and said, "it'll grow back". I thanked him, and walked right passed my crochet to the master bedroom. In the 18 inches of the closet I sqeezed out for myself, I picked out my sassiest (and yes, modest) dress to wear with my Madden Girls to church the next day.
I felt strong and tall as I practically struted down the aisle in those shoes, to my seat, in my church to worship my God. He has always been faithful to me. He has blessed me beyond what I deserve. He reminds me to consider it all joy, when I encounter trials of various kinds. He is testing my faith to produce patience. He wants it to have the work of making me perfect and complete, lacking no good thing. This is not my first time. Nor is it my worst trial. But it is an assurance that I belong to Him and His favor is upon me. Because He wants me to know, that I know that I know, He will never leave me or foresake me. I am much more valuable than the birds of the air and the flowers of the field. He knows my every need and that I have no greater need than to know Him.
Dorothy had red ones. Mine are pewter. This is not my home.
