arrowed

Amazing artwork by my friend, Erin Ruiz

Oh, where do I even start? *The two stories waiting to be edited, plus the one I still need to write. *Mount Laundry waiting to be washed, folded, and never put away. *The dirty dishes, the dirty floor, the dirty counter, the Goldfish crackers all over my carpet as though my family room were suddenly an ocean. *Every closet, drawer, nook, and cranny of this house in need of a good purging and scrubbing. *The pile of bills sitting here next to the computer screaming, "Pay us!" *My hair that needs cut.  *My poor cousin's novella I've been dragging around with me for three months promising to read and edit that I'm only 5 pages in to. *A design client's project that needs researched before Saturday. *Backpacks to look through with papers to sign and homework to go over. *A Valentine's mailbox to make before tomorrow morning. *Dinners to plan, and lunches, too, should school happen to be serving "gross stuff." *And the second round of MFA applications hovering over my head--something about a critical analysis of a poem in one of them.

And admidst this two things happen:

1. Like an arrow to my heart, my son said the other night, "Mom--You always seem to be really happy to come home from work and see us and then by night time you look all depressed."

Ouch.

I'm going to chalk it up to junk teenagers say when they don't want to go to bed, and the fact that all the mental hardwiring that allows kids to interpret emotions correctly doesn't really come into play until their early 20's.

I'm really not "depressed" in the sense that I'm debilitated mentally in any way, the word he's looking for is....overwhelmed. I look overwhelmed. And burdened. Even though I don't feel (or, in my defense, LOOK) nearly as overwhelmed or burdened as I SHOULD for what I'm asked to carry--it would be impossible for the circumstances not to make their mark on me.

2. I get an email from Brad saying that, "For as many jobs as (I) work, (I) should be able to support myself. Single mothers do it all the time," Yadda. yadda. yadda...he needs to adjust how much he pays me every month.

And I continue to kick myself for EVER declaring that any portion of his monthly payment be considered alimony--which I did at the recommendation of my accountant as a "favor" to Brad for tax purposes. Back when I still felt all the tenderness and pity in the world for him--believing he'd never, ever hurt me.

Not that I'm angry or hateful towards him now...or at least hateful, I just laugh. Let's see--I sleep between 3 and 7 am, I suppose I could find some job that would occupy those hours to make up for the monetary difference? Ya know, because my current 5 jobs aren't enough...

Fraction wise, I take betwen 1/3 to 1/2 of each of his checks. But that is to raise FOUR of his children, whom I have 85% of the time. While he has the benefit of being married to a second wage earner and has ONE child in his full-time care.

I have come up nearly $500 short every month since October as far as what I owe and what I make, and yet-- thus far I've been blessed with extra work of some type to make up the difference, and kept myself out of any major debt. It's not easy. I'm exhausted, and I HATE taking time away from my kids who now read me as "depressed", but we're doing it--and I'm doing it FOR them. It's just so, ugh, to figure out how on earth I'm going to make up yet more of a difference.

Good things are on the horizon though. A possible raise at work promised once housing sales pick up again. A possible acceptance to a funded MFA. A new, HUGE design project that I just took on. Steady work coming in from the magazine if we can pull off a killer March issue.

I should be afraid. But I'm not. I'll fight the adjustment as much as is reasonable. I do not plan on dueling lawyers in court, winning us both empty pockets and angry hearts by the end of it, but I will do what I can to make sure he pays what is reasonable and not just what is comfortable. And I will keep trusting God to make up those gaps.

I would give anything to go back to being just the  nurturer of this family. I would love to just hold my boys when they cry and tell them to go ahead and cry. I can do that now, but with my additional *fatherly* roles of protector and provider thrown in, I feel compelled to follow it up with a  "quit your crying now and be brave."

We all have to be brave. And quit our crying. There will be a time to rest soon.

And in the mean time, living the way we should keeps us--if not ideal-- at least happy. And I say that with all the honesty in my heart. :)