Home Sweet Home

As a child we moved quite a bit. It was often just my mom and I, with a period of time when she was in a long term relationship and even engaged. But mostly, just us... moving each year, never really having a place to call home. There wasn't a reason that I know of, we just moved. Change of scenery I guess. 

Somewhere along the line it became a running joke of calling our moves "spring cleaning". I can't remember who coined the little joke of our gypsy-like lifestyle, that wasn't really gypsyish at all since we always lived within less than a 10 mile radius, but the no roots part gave it a gypsy sort of feel. I was in 3 different elementary schools until 5th grade, when we finally settled... to live with my Pap. That was my home until I was 16. My mom's childhood home became the only place I ever knew as "home", though, it really wasn't "ours".

Ironically, twenty years later, my mom still lives in the same little house we moved in to after that, with my now stepdad. She found a place she calls home. The thing is, I only lived there two years before venturing off to college so it's my mom's home, not my home. I haven't even had my own room there in many years. 

In college, I of course moved a lot. Each year in fact, as most college students do. I lived in Charleston, SC one summer, subletted a place in State College another summer and the summer before graduating took me to California for an internship. I then took a job out there and moved twice in the 9 months I was there. If you didnt keep count... that's 9 addresses in 4 years. Upon returning to State  College for another year and 1/2, I added 3 more addresses to my tally before venturing down to South Beach (Miami) for grad school. 

From there I moved on to AmeriCorps the following year and then landed in St. Louis upon finishing my service. I actually ended up at the same address for over a year there! Then I called off my engagement and moved... Again. Upon finishing grad school I made my way "home", to my Pap's. Things finally slowed down when my now husband and I found our way back to each other and planted ourselves in Lancaster. We actually owned a home! The three years we spent there was the longest I lived anywhere, other than my Pap's house growing up. It was my first home.

I got married while living in that house. I brought both my babies home to that house. And then, we were off and running once again. Another house, another place to call home. Though I knew it was a 5 year plan and not a place to call our forever home, over 2 years under the same roof was something to relish in a bit. If you follow my ramblings here then you know I had a love/hate relationship with that old house. It was a pain in my backside, with something needing fixed practically every month. Heck, I was allergic to the darn place! But it felt like home. I adjusted to life in that house and our community quicker than I did anywhere else I had ever lived. And then... 2 days after listing it and sticking that for sale sign in the yard, it was gone. 

I wasn't ready. I'm still not... even as I once again find myself going through the rigmarole of changing my address on every credit card, utility, online shopping site I use, doctor bills and bank accounts... it's still a bit unreal. And it's amazing how much harder it is to move the older you get! It was easy to have 9 addresses in four years back in the day. Change utilities, pack up my clothes and I was off to the races, so to speak. 

So that my friends is where I've been these past couple months. Well, moving, working through some medical stuff with the kids and being addicted to my paranormal romance books. While I knew the move was coming since October, once the ball got rolling it sort of found a mountain and was released and I was more expecting a nice slow game of crochet! To avoid the stress, I threw my mind into my ebooks to avoid everything else as much as I could.

All our things are in storage some 250 miles away and the kids and I are renting a little house so I can continue to teach my yoga classes and privates and they can continue to go to school with their friends, where they are happy and comfortable. Which means once again, I have no home. My kids no longer have a place to call home and while we are blessed to have a roof over our heads to keep us warm and somewhere safe to go (my mom's) when our water becomes tainted with chemicals, my heart still aches that ache only a parent can feel. I want more for my kids. I want their life to be different and substantially better than mine ever was. It's what every parent wants for their child. It's like it's part of a parent's DNA to desire such things. I don't want them moving every couple years and not having a place they can call home.

I'm also certainly aware that my kids are far better off than I was and then most kids are. They have been provided for in a way my mom worked her butt off, often working 6 days/week, to do for me. Yet it still pains me. My husband and I made a rookie house hunting mistake by waiting 12 hours to see one more house rather than making the offer on the house we knew in our hearts we wanted. Now that house is gone. There's nothing left to see and no other place we can envision calling our forever home, at this point. So we wait. Every day I get my new home listing and every day I want to cry as nothing new comes in, nothing we want or ones we may want but are just out of reach financially. 

We've both done it all on our own. We paid for school ourselves and are paying down student loans. We didn't have parents or grandparents in a position to help us financially in getting started. Our families are more than generous and our kids want for nothing, which has enabled us to better ourselves in many ways and keep our credit card debt far below that of the average Americans. Yet I still always feel this sense of struggle. 

I'm sure it's 100% related to that parent DNA of wanting more for their kids. It's like I can taste the fight my mom put up to give me everything she could. I watched her struggle and I watched her pain when she had to tell me "no" to things. She couldn't afford gymnastics, no matter how much I begged, but her dance teacher growing up ensured she could afford to put me in dance. While I wasn't very good, it still provided me with a sense of confidence every young girl needs. It warms me to know I don't have to worry about such things. My kids aren't even in school yet and have done more activities than I was able to be involved in throughout my whole childhood! Gymnastics and swimming. Violin and soccer. We've got T-ball and more soccer on the horizon and really, anything they desire. They will have the opportunity to find their calling, whatever it may turn out to be, and follow their dreams with few obstacles in their way. I know we are lucky and they won't know that struggle I did as a child.

I'm able to stay home with them which is something I dreamed of as a kid. I wished my mom could be home when I got home for school. I hated daycare and begged and cried until she finally let me come home on my own at the age of 8. There weren't the laws then as there are now and the owners of the house lived downstairs if I needed anything. I dreamed of the day though that I could be that mom who was always there. The one who could drive my kids to school and volunteer in the classroom or on field trips. I never dreamed that staying home with my kids would be so damn hard, of course! I'm certainly not my mother. She had patience and would have been a fantastic stay at home mom. I keep thinking I'll get better but my patience grows more thin each day and I've been questioning this dream quite a bit lately. But that's another post for another time.

I have other dreams though. To ensure my kids are raised Jewish, to pay for their college and to provide them a place to call home are a few of the biggies. A place they can be proud to come home to each day. One they are excited to invite their friends over to. One they look forward to coming back to after they are grown and spread their wings. I know deep down it sounds so shallow and materialistic of me because in the end, it's just a house, but I can't help what I want for them. I want them to have what I didn't. And everything in between. 

It's what keeps me holding on tot the sliver of hope that their father will get the help he needs to be sober for the long haul, so that they have a dad. It's what keeps me from going back to a full time job outside of the home, so I can be there with them until they spend their days in school. It's what keeps me putting money into their college fund when I'm sure it could be put to good use in other places  right now. And it's what breaks my heart when I search each day and can't find them a home. 

Sure, home is where the heart is and all that. I get it. My home is my mom. As cliché as the home is where the heart is... old habits die hard. Lifelong dreams, no matter how trivial they may be in the grand scheme of life, are difficult to let go of. I'm sure we'll find something. Eventually. I just hate to let go of any part of that dream and settle in any way. I've settled in many ways when it comes to life and I fear one more might just break my will to fight for each of my dreams. It may just be a bunch of wood and nails, but this house we search for represents so much more than that at this point. The symbolism of it, of providing our kids a home is all I can hold on to right now when it feels like so many other parts of my life keep crumbling down. 

So, fingers crossed, positive vibes, and all that goodness is much appreciated. And I apologize for such a lengthy absence. I hope this explains it and all is forgiven!

Please keep uplifting thoughts for all those effected my the chemical spill where I live as well. It's a long road ahead here in West Virginia. It's a scary thing to think your water may have a nasty chemical in it for many years to come and no one knows it's lasting effects on people or the environment. Maybe someday we humans will learn. Our planet is not unbreakable and we need it to survive. 

Namaste friends. 

Bye Bye Home

 

 

 

Scorpio Passion

The other day I spoke to someone who was genuinely surprised to learn my birthday was coming up, thus making me a Scorpio. When they said, but you're so nice, I chuckled a bit and said, well, you've never scorned me. I was also recently complimented on my energy as a yoga instructor. Not like the energizer bunny sort of energy, because we all know I desperately lack that, but the energy that radiates from each of us. I was told it was positive and uplifting and my students can feel it, and that it's not something you can teach to new instructors, or anyone for that matter.

These couple compliments, combined with my utterly unhealthy obsession with my vampire novels and my continuing drama of being married to an alcoholic, all got me to thinking about a few things.

1. I must have some vampire magic to be able to exude such energy or a positive and uplifting aura, if you will, because God knows... as does my family, most days that's just not me.

2. Perhaps my obsession with reading stories of epic love, magic and fantasy is what allows me to hide the anger, resentment and negativity that otherwise consumes me.

3. The passion that engulfs Scorpios is like an addiction. It is an addiction.

I've often wondered why I get so addicted to whatever it is I find that pulls me away from reality. Ultimately, I know we create our own reality. Yoga, as well as many self help books I read as a teen and young adult, and my Jewish faith has reminded of this truth time and time again. I can only feel consumed by anger and resentment if I allow myself to. I am only down on my self or life or all that feels wrong if I focus on those things and allow myself to feel down. Despite knowing this, there's that side of me that is passionately pulled by truth, so to not feel these things seems like I'm lying to myself. Because the fact is, I'm not happy. It's that simple.

I realized the man I have loved for what feels like forever was hiding his addiction too late. I was already overtaken by the passionate idea that fate reunited us and our paths crossed once again because the universe was screaming, this is the way it was meant to be, you silly girl. Don't ignore it or walk away again. Over the years, I have watched this man I knew in college, who was wild and crazy and loved me like no one else in the world existed, slip into a version of the man I knew he could become. I also always knew he could have just as easily morphed into a different man, if only he cared enough about himself to become that person. It's heart wrenching to watch and even more grueling to accept this reality when you love someone.

So, I'm back to submerging myself in the fantasy world of supernatural beings and magic and well, stories of the kind of love that takes your breath away. I become obsessed with, addicted to, stories that describe the passion that can surround two people so completely that the drama, trials and tribulations and darkness that undoubtedly lives in this world seems like daisies and rainbows as long as they have each other. Many times, a long time ago, our love felt like this. Despite not keeping in touch very often, if at all, for a couple years, that love I once knew was part of the pull that told me many times, before I finally listened, to call off a wedding to someone I was never meant to marry but rather I had simply lost myself in the idea. That love saved me from a very different path I was on. Yet, that love that pulled me back to my path seems to have gotten stuck back in that other life I once knew.

Facing my current reality is not something I can emotionally tackle. I've reached a point that I have too much anger to cry. Even when a "normal" feeling person would and "should", I find myself stoic, at least to the sadness. The anger is something I'm quite able to express. Lately though, I get this overwhelming need to cry. Often many times each day. Yet I still can't. Sometimes I think I can't because if I let myself, I won't ever stop. Every regret, every ounce of anger, frustration, resentment, sadness, grief will seep through and because there is just SO much of it now, how could I ever stop? There's just no time for tears. While I feel it's important that my kids learn that tears aren't a bad thing, I also don't want them to think I'm always sad. I don't want them to know I'm always sad. I want them to be happy. So, I fake it. The best I can anyway. It seems, based on some of the recent "compliments" I've received, I'm doing pretty well at faking my positive, content and uplifting vibes onto the world.

Based on what I know about, be the change you wish to see in the world or be the light you wish to fill the world with, as I like to picture it, the fact that I'm able to do this so well would imply that I would start to feel that light within. It's been quite some time now, over a year since I started my yoga teacher training anyway, which is when I was able to hone in more clearly on pushing that light outward, yet I still can't seem to feel it within me. Maybe I just won't allow it in because it seems every time I feel a glimmer of it, I taste the bitterness of another lie, another letdown and the hope once again fades.

This makes me wonder. Is it my brooding, serious Scorpio side that prevents me from absorbing the very energy of light and love and contentment I can exude? If others actions can't control how I feel, then it must be me, right? Is it the side of me that screams, be careful not to scorn me or you will feel my inability, or lack of desire, to forgive and forget, forever? And thus, I hold on to that feeling of being scorn, over and over, and allow it to consume me. Is it possible for a person to change their essence? I do believe everyone has both darkness and light within them. Despite my paranormal fantasy books being just that, fantasy, there is a great deal of truth to them. That is one of the truth's I certainly believe.

My addiction to these fantasies is clearly a representation of what I crave the most in my reality. My inability to put one of these fantasy books down once I start is part of my personality that desires a passionate life. A life of meaning beyond what mere words can describe, a life of love that means something, of trust that has no limits. My Scorpio side that feels everything to the umpteeth degree tells me to keep reading because my reality is too painful. To truly face real life and accept it for what it is, at this moment, would mean I have to let those tears escape. To do that would mean not knowing when or how to stop them. So, my overly practical, I am strong enough to face anything side, runs in the opposite direction, leaving my own light and darkness to battle it out inside as I show the outside that all is calm.

Right now I simply know no other way. Meditation forces me to accept things I don't want to. Playing with my kids reminds me that I must make very difficult decisions that will impact their lives forever, and I am beyond terrified of making the wrong decision for them. Practicing yoga feels selfish, as well as being a road towards accepting reality. But teaching it allows me to "fake" my reality, my light. It's all very ironic, really. The one thing I desire most in life is trust. Passionate and irrevocable trust. And here I am forcing myself to pretend. To lie to myself. To lie to all those who see something around me and within me that I simply do not feel. As always, it seems we've come full circle.

As fate would have it, I started another one of my vampire books today
and this quote started the second chapter.