Dig Deep

My mother-in-law stood in the middle of our carpeted living room with the sun from the skylight on her face, across from the man I had met only an hour ago, with his clipboard.  I had just come back from my bedroom, after peeing for probably the third time that hour.  She had a really concerned look on her face. I made sure not to bump her with my belly as I went to stand by her.

“He doesn’t have very good news,” she said.

The man proceeded to tell me that our home, that we needed to sell because we were moving very soon, to another state, needed thousands of dollars of foundation repair before it could even be put on the market.  All I could think about was how I would have to relay this information to my husband, who was out of town, AGAIN, for the job he would no longer have soon.  But he was not there right then, when I needed his shoulder, specifically, to cry on.

The only other thing I could think about was grabbing the clipboard out of that man’s hand and throwing it across the room.  Damn pregnancy hormones.  And lacking bank accounts.

I’m sure I looked ridiculous with my big belly and my last fitting pair of flip flops and the jaw-dropped look plastered across my face.  Even though my jaw is only like half of my face.

No one mentioned anything about foundation problems five years earlier, when we bought the home.  And last time I had checked we were not growing money trees out back.

The next week they came and dug deep, rocky holes below the house that was still ours.  I saw a man literally standing in one of them, beneath my bedroom.  I saw the backyard deck we  JUST had repainted, taken apart for more holes.  I saw dollar signs.

I holed up in my den (pun intended), on the other side of the house, that was not sinking into the ground, thankfully.  I wallowed in our monetary sorrows and packed a few boxes.  I wished for these days to pass quickly and I hoped that the stress would be something Tim and I would laugh about later.  More than the fake, half-laughs I was spouting out at the time…

See, I had to dig deep too. I hate when shit goes wrong.  It makes me flushed and my heart beats too fast and it gives me epic anxiety.  I especially hate when shit goes wrong and my husband is not there to share the initial shock and even more especially, when it costs a lot of money.

My mother-in-law was a saint that week.  She took care of my little boys for me and supported me, like the adult she was.  I felt kind of like a kid again, trying to deal with big person problems.  And that’s not fun when you’re 6 months pregnant with two littles already trailing behind you.  Frankly, it’s never fun.

But I put my big girl panties on (this is not just me using a cute phrase, they really were quite big) and with the help of my husband’s rationality over the phone, I made decisions like the adult I am.  I kept children fed (including the one I was growing, Chick Fil A milkshake(s) anyone?) and I made sure their teeth were brushed and they felt safe in the home that we would soon leave.

Those first few weeks before we moved to Louisiana were NOT fun.  But no one ever said life was always going to be fun. Right?

I’m remembering them right now because it has been six (plus) years since we moved and soon my baby will be 6 years old.

And I had to continue digging deep after we moved.  Because I’m not one for change.

But change can be good.

In this case it has been pretty darn good.

And I didn’t want that stupid house that was sinking into the ground anymore anyway.

So there.

 

P.S. I also wanted to let y’all know that I am totally stoked that I found out last weekend that I will have an essay in the next Her Stories anthology, So Glad They Told Me.  This was my third try submitting to one of their anthologies so I guess in this case, third time is a charm! 😀

Last week was good for acceptance emails and I will let you know a couple of other online places where I will also be featured soon! (hint, BonBon Break and Mamalode! WOOT!)

P.P.S. Old School Blogging will be back this Thursday!