Little Moments

I was driving home from a cancelled class on Wednesday and was not in the best of moods.  I had arranged for my sons to go to their father's house a day early for Thanksgiving break so that I could attend the class.   When he picked them up, we had a screaming match over socks in the driveway.  Adults fighting about socks?  Are we insane?  The sock fight, it an ongoing one, and it has absolutely, positively nothing to do with socks.  So, when I got school and found that class was cancelled after I had rearranged work and kids, only to find a sign on the door and no graded papers waiting again, I just had another thing to add to my list of things that are pissing me off.   #3,242 Ethics Class, right behind #3,241  The Sock Fight, which is really The $27,392.02 Fight.
I was driving home on fumes.  My cash funds are running dangerously low.  As I was driving on the expressway so near to the dreaded E, I saw an image of myself stuck on the side of the road, walking with a red gas can up the expressway, three kids in tow, silent tears running down my face, only to get to the gas station and have no money and have to ask someone for help.   I have no red gas can, my kids weren't with me, and I have friends and family I could call for help, but that was the vision I saw.  I stopped at the gas station, swiped my card, and began filling my tank still thinking about that vision.  I hadn't noticed a car pull up to the pump next to me.  I heard a woman talking and looked up and realized she was talking to me.  "I am sorry, I didn't hear you?"  She was standing a bit away so not to scare me.  She repeated herself quietly.  "My fuel gauge doesn't work.  I ran out of gas, and I just need to get home.  Do you have a few dollars you could spare?"  I said, "I am sorry, I don't."  I felt an immediate twinge of regret.   She said, "That is okay.  I understand."   I felt a pang in my heart.   As she turned to walk back to her car, I saw two kids in the car.  The smallest one in the back turned his sweet face and looked me in eye with the biggest, brownest eyes.  This time I felt it in my soul.  What if that were me and my boys?  I can't let those children sit there watching their mother ask not one person, but maybe two, or three, or who knows how many people for gas.  I knew if my 12-year-old son was there, he would he ask me why I said no.  He would say "Just give it to her, Mom.  I will pay you back when we get home.  Please, Mom"  I walked over to her car, she rolled down her window using her old fashioned crank.  I thought I was the only person left in this world with a crank to roll down my window!  I silently handed her money.  With a look of relief and gratitude she quietly thanked me with appreciation.  I said nothing because of the lump in my throat and held back the tears until I got into my car.  Thank you to her, to her brown-eyed boy, to my own generous brown-eyed boy, to my family, to Ron, to all the people I know would come and help me without a second thought if I were the one on the side of the road.  Thanksgiving is a hard day for me.  Not because I am not thankful for all that I do have, but because five years ago on Thanksgiving day my world cracked open, and selfishly I just do not want to share my boys with father on that day, ever.  That lady made Thanksgiving slightly easier for me.  Sharing when you feel you don't have enough for yourself, giving when you feel you have nothing to give, whether it is in the form of money, time, patience, love, it is returned to you in unexpected ways. 

In Search of Home

I have been having a difficult time lately, more difficult than usual.  We have worn out our welcome in my parent's home, a long time ago, but it has come to a point where moving is inevitable.  My parent's have been so very helpful and I am grateful for that.  We have been here for five years, three years longer than planned.  I feel homeless, not in the sense that I do not have a roof over my head, but that I don't have a home, and I need that-we need that.  I have considered letting the boys stay with their dad for awhile while I get on my feet, but to be dead honest when the thought crosses my mind, I also start planning my ending.  A good, good friend, the very best of the best, has offered to keep my boys for as long as I need while I get things in order, but that doesn't feel right either.  So, while it is difficult to stand on these two feet of mine while I have three kids tugging at my hem of my pants, that is my only option.  I need them to motivate me to keep going, and they need me.  They are my family, my heart, my reason for being.
So, the home hunt begins.  At this point, my mind is thinking I either want to find an inexpensive, three bedroom rental home near here, or move as far as I can, which is legally not far, within a 100 mile radius.
You are thinking, what about that man you are dating?  You know that handsome, tall, bald guy I see you around with occasionally?  Haven't you been with him for three years?  Are you two planning a life together?  He knew I was upset.  He asked what was wrong.  I didn't say.  When I finally did tell him that I was considering letting the boys live with their dad even though it would kill me, or that I had to find a place on my own, he excused himself to go to the bathroom.  When he came back, he inquired about spray cheese in a can.  He didn't ask, how are you, how is the house hunt, what are you thinking, how can I help, let's find a house, don't let your boys go, want to stay here, will you marry me?  He said "Want me to go get cheese in a can?"  I left.  Three years.  He knew I was not okay.  The next time I talked to him, and the next, and the next, he didn't inquire, offer support, loving words, a card, a drink.  He loves me, I do know that, and I love him, but for whatever reason neither of us can open up and say what we really want and need from each other.
That leaves me at me, myself, and I.  I need to do this on my own.  I need to find a way, and I will because I have to, because I need to, and because I really want to.
On this Thanksgiving day, I really don't feel like celebrating.  I am grateful for my blessings, my children, my parents, my boyfriend, his son, my siblings, my nieces, having a job, having a car, but holidays without my kids, aren't really holidays at all.