I am quite sure there has been some very large mistake. My calendar in my planner clearly shows that tomorrow is the first day of September. Since Father's Day, time has congealed into a big blur and not in a good way.
I even have concrete proof that this time has disappeared into a vortex--our adoption agency requested 8-12 photographs to accompany M3's 3-month post-placement report. I had photos from April and May and early June. And, I had a photo of her first day of school this past Wednesday. Seriously? What a bad parent. But, in my defense, I'm sure the 3rd kid in any family has fewer photos of themselves than those before, especially if they join the family as a school-aged kid and during a time of tremendous upheaval. I'll need to do better, though, for the 6-month one. I need to try and document some things each month, especially just to show her growth. Hubs has taken some photos lately, including the one at the right. But, as you might imagine, they aren't always the clearest and he doesn't always catch the actual smile portion of the photo taking moment--he'll catch the nostril-flaring, eyes almost blinking, looking like a doof portion...so, I skipped those.
Still working like the proverbial dog, but after four days of this 'in school' schedule, I was starting to find some footing. Then, Hubs had his regularly scheduled eye doctor's appointment and yet another wrench comes to land in the works. You'd think with an eye pressure of 6 (lowest yet) and a medical release to return to full activities plus very little blood visible behind his lens, we'd be golden. But, not so fast...this is us we're talking about, remember?
What this means is that Hubs' disability insurance (as paltry as it was) goes away and he will be returning to work. We have, however, no idea in what capacity he will return or when he will be approved to return to work. So, there could be even slimmer days coming and we're already threadbare. Even if Hubs could see from his eye, which he can't, and could return full steam ahead to his job as a delivery driver, this now means that we need to figure out what to do with M3 in the mornings and after school. Because, you see, in my old life, I'd have no problems ferrying children to and fro and meeting buses, etc., but I over-committed myself to keep things afloat awhile longer and so even if I don't need to be working like a manic, I'm committed to work like a maniac for the foreseeable future. Maybe instead of being committed to my work schedule, I should be committed to an institution and call it a day. I'm sure I could find some kindred spirits and some nice Jell-O to enjoy.
I wish, sometimes, that I were more optimistic and could just take the good news at face value and not turn it over to see that it's been sitting in a nasty spot on the ground. It isn't that I'm not thankful that healing is actually occurring. I'm just still kind of pissed off this happened in the first place. My life and the choices I've made to land where I am are not easily flexible and 'do over' type things. Any changes are big changes and it's resentment in the making to constantly be shifting gears, refocusing and carrying huge loads because of nothing you, yourself, have chosen/done/experienced.
I have a hard time being a transcendental about it and have no time to wonder what this means and what lesson I'm supposed to be learning or what God is trying to tell me. Usually, when I'm in a position to go into survival mode (which has happened relatively frequently and without ceasing for the past couple years), I see what's happening as more of a big "YOU SUCK" from the universe than anything else. I have a hard time seeing past that message and spend so much time with my head down, driving on that I don't notice if there are signposts of knowledge or even shortcuts scattered about the trail. And, should a reprieve from the horribleness come, I'm just grateful to be from beneath the cloud and I sneak off before someone notices I'm doing okay and puts the screws to me again.
I find my way of thinking to be more comfortable than the constant wishing and hoping and praying things will be different. Sure, I pray for people. I've even prayed for myself. But, I don't get all bent out of shape if things don't change or, if I do get bent, it isn't because I'm surprised by the stagnation. It's mostly, again, just because I'm pissed whatever it is happened in the first place. And, I find that whatever everyone has been praying for--in this instance, that my husband would be able to 'get up and move around again' never quite coincides with the overall goal "please let the man see" and we will create another conundrum and be back at square one suck-wise.
You can chuck me on the shoulder and tell me I'm wrong. Or a pessimist. Or a miserable human being. Or cynical. I won't disagree with you on any but the first. If you can look over the past two years of my life and provide demonstrable proof where one degree of ick ending didn't plunge me into the abyss of another pool of ick, I'll give you a prize. Seriously. Go ahead. I could have missed a memo, but I doubt it.
This isn't to say I'm not thankful for things like my kids, my home, my family, etc. It is to say I wish all this BS would stop swirling around me so I could enjoy all those people and things for once.
School is so far, so good. I put up some first day news at the adoption blog and plan to update with more concrete school news later tonight if I can. Until then, enjoy.