What I bought at the flea
Yesterday was a bad day.
A teary, I cannot stand one more single moment of all this confusion and constant tension and arguing kind of day.
Dave and I live a very quiet kind of life. We never argue. About anything really. Since grandpa died three months ago it has been constant arguing with everyone over EVERYTHING.
Arguing with relatives who are not pleased about what my portion of the inheritance was, arguing with relatives over the stuff in my new house, arguing with relatives over jobs to be done at the new house, arguing arguing arguing.
You get the idea.
And now that we are in the midst of the remodel there is constant arguing with everyone about what to do with the house, who to hire to do what to the house, blah blah blah.
I am SO OVER THE ARGUING.
To make matters worse Jack got himself into some poison ivy about 10 days ago. It started as a small bit on his arm and then he had some sort of immune overload reaction and he had hives all over which sent us scurrying off to the ped. He has been on the evil prednisone for a week now. Which makes him crazy. Screaming, crying, rolling on the floor, totally out of control crazy.
All.day.long. For a week now. (And he still has the hives anyway. Pfft.)
And have I mentioned how badly the new preschool thing is going? He screams and cries about going there. He refuses to get dressed. He refuses to get in the car. He refuses to get out of the car. He has to be physically removed from my leg when we get there.
I am not sure what's worse - all of his crying about going or his new found love for trying to manipulate me out of taking him there. Every day it's something else. His neck hurts, he's too tired, it's too hot there, it's too cold there, it's too early to go there, blah blah blah.
I feel like I am locked in an epic battle at every turn.
So yesterday I cried. At the new house. Which, of course, freaked out the guy working for us. But come on people. There are cigarette butts all over the floor of my grandparents home! Even though I have said please stop turning my home into an ashtray.
It is NOT just a "construction site."
It is everything tangible my grandparents left in this world.
And *I* am responsible for it.
And somehow cigarette butts pushed me over the proverbial edge.
So. That's where I was yesterday.
Today is a new day.
Somehow I am going to do today better than yesterday. I am going to bake a muffin or vacuum or take Jack to the movies. Anything that feels like what my life used to feel like.
Most importantly, I am giving myself permission to be really sad that I will never again find my grandpa's shoes by the couch at the other house or his cologne on the windowsill or messages from him to buy him some pickleloaf and bread.
Because *that* is where I am on this journey.