Saturday, February 11, 2012

One year later...

It's been a year. A year since I've had a paying job. A year since I got off a plane in rainy Seattle with two tired boys in tow. A year since I walked into Trader Joe's behind our rental condo and was shocked at how tall and white everyone was.

And a year later, I miss not working. I volunteer at the YMCA. I work my parent hours for my 5 year old's co-op preschool. But I don't get paid. I hate not being paid. Money gave me validation that "thank-you" and "see you next week" do not.

And a year later, my boys are bigger, but are not any less challenging. The 5 year old needs to be evaluated for speech therapy. I just thought he couldn't enunciate clearly because he didn't speak English until last year. But after his pediatrician and his preschool teacher both thought he needed help, I have started making phone calls. In the meantime, he solves his communication problems with his fists and by willful disobedience. I spend my evenings reading more parenting texts.

And a year later, we are still in the condo, but hoping to close on a house on 2/28. The builder wants to push the date out, but doing so may cost us not only money, but a chance to get DS2 into the same elementary school as his brother. So we are keeping the pressure on to make that date.

And a year later, I still get hormonal and weepy. I hate being a woman if it means my hormones turn me into a sobbing mess. Yesterday was the worst, and yet, I couldn't tell you why it was any different from other days. DS2 and I had been in a pissing match in the morning, which isn't unusual. I dropped him off at preschool, for my 2.5 hours of free time. And I promptly fell apart. I tried chocolate. I tried a nap. I tried music. But all I did was weep and berate myself for my inability to get anything done. It was not a good day, but like a toddler after a temper tantrum, I fell asleep really fast last night.

I have more I need to write, but I will save it for a different post.