What better way to begin a Thankful Tuesday post than by stating what’s really been a bummer lately. This past weekend was a thing of beauty with some pretty fierce toxins thrown in. Toxins tend to poison everything.
Friday night, we rejoiced to host Sarah the super sitter! When I left the house, husband on my arm, decked out in my hippest skinny black pants and heels, August was staring lovingly into Sarah’s babysitter eyes (did I mentions she’s the greatest?) and he shed not a tear. We had a lovely night out at our friend Rush Beam’s art show, where we bought our first piece of art. (Such a significant life milestone!) From there, we went out for a drink and made plans for a late night pizza snack…cause that’s how we felt like rolling.
Speaking of rolling, my husband left me standing at the restaurant, with plans to pick me up and protect my blistered feet from more high-heeled city walking. While he was on his four-block walk to the car, our babysitter called me to say there was a police officer at our house, informing her that our car had been broken into. Poor Sarah the super sitter had not planned on having to make that call. At the same time my husband had already arrived at the scene, where the police were waiting for him. Shattered glass. Missing GPS. But that was all, amazingly. The thieves had been scared off by my favorite anonymous citizen who had called 911 and disappeared into the mist.
Saturday, take two. While Chris was speaking to the cops Friday night, he’d missed a few calls from our landlord, a nice guy from San Francisco who currently lives in Europe. Chris, of course, didn’t return his call that night. The next morning we woke to the landlord’s email explaining the difficult financial state he’s in. How he’s going to break our lease and sell our apartment. Pronto.
What? Can a landlord even do that? Yes, sort of (if we’re compensated). And after we spent the day figuring out how to get our broken windowed car off the street and into a shop, Chris and I sat for a few minutes, letting the apartment loss soak in. We’re sad. We’ve been here for 7 months. This is a fantastic apartment, a great deal. We know the families at the park! We don’t want another neighborhood. I don’t want to pack our junk and move again. For a day I shoved past my feelings of sadness over the loss of this place and thought about possibilities. What if August’s room could be bigger than a closet?! What if we had a parking spot and a free laundry in our actual apartment?! Yes, good things could come of this.
But on Sunday (the day of the Mother!) after a lovely morning of sleeping-in while my husband made my favorite: Eggs Benedict. (Yes, he does make hollandaise sauce from scratch. Jealous?!) and brought it to my bed with coffee. After riding the bus to and from church, which August loved as much as you can imagine. Chris stayed at the church for a meeting. I put August to bed. And I sat on the couch, looking at apartments on Craigslist and feeling panic crawling up my guts.Sometimes I wonder if as a mom I’m able to turn my selfish feelings into a false sense of fear for my kid. Maybe that’s how I can make myself feel the fakeness of the “life’s not about me anymore” mystique. Because, honestly, it’s not true. Life is still very much about me, a lot more than I care to admit. I can let worry birds build nests in my hair (that’s a Chinese proverb) and settle themselves into everything that I can imagine will break my son into a disturbed little soul. But the truth is, all that worrying is for me. It’s how I try to control his life (which, by the way, I can’t control). Sunday night, after a lovely Mother’s Day which ended with a walk with friends to the beach, some digging and football playing in the sand, and a sweet little Mexican dinner, I lay down in my bed and had about 5 minutes of hysterical full body sobs, sniffling to Chris between hiccups that I didn’t want August to have to get used to a new room.
Honestly, the thought of it did make me sad. But Monday morning, it didn’t matter so much. August will survive another move. My cry fest was really about me. Mama doesn’t want to pack the house during naptime. I want to write. I want to feel stable. I’m sick of being the new person at the park. I’m sick of months of first time conversations and trying to remember the names of every person I meet.
I miss our friends in Philadelphia. I miss our life there.
So, here. I’ll brush this worry nest out of my hair. Anxiety birds, you stink. Be gone.
Happy Thankful Tuesday. I’m thankful for Mr. Anonymous, who was brave enough to stop whoever shattered my car’s window. Thanks for being bold and courageous, and for calling the cops. I’m thankful for the kind police officers. I’m thankful for our car insurance. I’m thankful for the body shop, which kept our car out of the rain yesterday even though they can’t fix it till tomorrow. I’m thankful for the chance to live in this amazing neighborhood, my favorite place in San Francisco, for the past 7 months. Even if we leave it, it was good. I’m thankful for the bus and a way to get to church that made my toddler hysterically happy. I’m thankful for the woman on the bus singing “You are my Sunshine” on her phone next to our seat. I’m thankful she didn’t mind our singing along with her. I’m thankful that Mother’s Day came just in time to remind me that I have the sweetest possible life…my man and my boy are the dearest, and I am blessed.
PS What are you thankful for?