Back to Work

The day before I left the trees were a golden yellow.

This is what I came home to. That in itself is depressing.

After three full days at home I’m exhausted. Hours and hours of custody meetings, educational meetings and court hearings. Not much fun in that.

I’ve been cleaning and cooking and cleaning some more. So nice that my housework was waiting for me to return. Yes, read sarcasm into that statement.

The snow held off. I finally have a day that shouldn’t be spent away from home running here and there which means I have to get outside and do a weeks worth of work in a day. Or two. The snow won’t hold off forever.

Last night I found some peppers and tomatoes in the greenhouse to make salsa. Wouldn’t it be something to have a long enough growing season to pick the fruits of your labor many months rather than just a couple?

Olivia picked the last of the Asters that were hanging on through the frost.

The beds are full of nasty rotten, frozen plants that I am not excited about cleaning out.

Lucas helped Homer move my geraniums inside. There were seven pots. Hopefully it isn’t too late for them to survive.

Emily and I harvested some seeds from the marigolds, roses and lilacs. Maybe this time I’ll actually get them properly stored so they can be used next spring.

Lucas spent some time running Rusty around the yard. I’m not even sure this sounds believable, but if you’ve followed me long enough to know my constant string of bad luck, you will believe it. Roxie who in seven years with us has never ever run away or left our yard randomly bolted from Homer last week as fast as she could down the road. She was hit by a car and killed at the same exact moment I held my mother’s hand as she passed away 3000 miles from here.  What are the odds?

I’m struggling missing my family.

Elijah has become a full-time job. Actually, he’s always been with his learning disabilities and behavior issues, but they’ve been exaggerated with his brain injury. For six weeks I spent most of the day Monday through Friday on the phone, in meetings, at schools, with doctors fighting the educational system that wanted to throw him away. I now have him in program with a handful of other kids with behavior problems. He’ll get therapy and counseling. I pray it helps. The mood swings, hostility, lying, destruction, hate and anger is taking its toll on me and the rest of the family. His unpredictability requires supervision. He’s crafty. I want to scream and cry, but I can’t. I’m his mom and I have to be here for him no matter how hard it is. I welcome sleep even if I have to keep one eye open on him at all times. I love him and fear him with all my heart.

I ache to be with my Emily. In the last two months I’ve hardly seen her with 11 days at the hospital with Elijah and 10 days in California and the weeks she is with her bio dad and the days now spent at school. I really need to spend some time with her, but I’ll have to wait another week. It sucks.

I’m not feeling sorry for myself. This is my life and I have to accept what I cannot change, but I don’t necessarily have to like it. While I was gone losing my mother the hex was filing a flurry of  motions against me in court that I haven’t even had time to study or respond to. I’d say it was an all time low for him, but he was equally heartless when my father passed 18 years ago. Oddly enough when his grandmother passed he never would have been able to be with his family and attend her funeral had it not been for my brother loaning us a vehicle that would make it to the States and back because we sure didn’t have one. I’ve spent almost half my life wondering how he survives without a heart. Or conscience.

There are givers and takers. I’m so glad I was raised in a family of givers and I’m fighting hard against genetics to make sure my kids are givers, too.