RouletteWeekend

When I was young, I dreamed of having a yard full of trees that would drop their leaves and I could rake them into a pile so big my kids could disappear in them.

It’s funny how that pile becomes a burden when the kids are grown and you inherit the trees.

I spent almost 5 hours in the yard yesterday mowing/mulching leaves. Going back and forth across the yard until all that was left was perfectly manicured rows of grass. It’s a job that usually gives me about 16,000 steps in one go. Yesterday, I gave me closer to 21,000. My fitness tracking watch said I walked 11.1 miles yesterday….all in a circle. Which kind of felt like a metaphor for my life right now.

There’s been a lot of those lately: bad weather, rainy days, uphill climbs. I really do keep trying to get to the lemonade out of lemons part of this situation.

Maybe I’m getting closer. Mowing is one of my favorite things to do since moving here. I talked about it before. A tiny little piece of this new life that I have control over. One strip of grass at a time… on my time, in the direction that I want, taking a break when I needed.

Ha! And there was the real metaphor. In this new life, I am literally in control of everything, whether I enjoy it or not. I am in control of what the house looks like. I am in control of the food we eat. I am in control of the yard work. I am in control of the animals being fed and vetted. I am in control of everything except the finances. And seemingly my reaction or emotions about being in control of everything.

And just like the row by row of grass I meticulously mow, I’ve been going room by room in this house meticulously trying to balance what mother in law needs to feel familiarity, what Will needs to feel productivity, and what I need to feel some kind of settled.

I’ve always prided myself on being able to be happy and find joy in any situation, and while there are not any blogs going back as far as when I was a single mom raising three young kids and trying to juggle work, college, and motherhood, I know for a fact that it was harder than this.

Back then, “the struggle was real” was more than a phrase to throw around to let people know you’ve been through it. It was everyday life. How do I feed my kids three meals a day? How do I make sure they have memorable birthdays? How do I raise them to be good humans? How do I ensure they don’t end up as teenage parents? Am I being too honest with them? Am I not being honest enough? Can I pay the rent this month? Will I have to heat bath water on the gas stove because the electric is off? And on and on and on.

Those were the struggles back then.

The struggles back then were not…this million dollar house is just too big to clean. We have to take good care of this house because we will be inheriting it. There are so many bedrooms and not enough people to sleep in them. It’s going to take an extra 20 minutes to blow the grass off the neighborhood sidewalk in front of our house. A sidewalk that leads to a lake that I have access to every single day. And on and on and on with a bunch more “problems” that so many people I know would love to have.

And that’s when it hit me. There’s nothing “wrong” with this life. This is just not the life I thought I would have, but when I was in high school and I was dreaming of being a Rockette, an actress, and a world traveling writer, I didn’t think I’d end up being married at 18, having 3 kids (by three different dads), be struggling to get a college degree while trying to work and spend quality time with my kids, fighting for custody of my daughter, and spending way too many moments worrying that if I died before my kids turned 18, would they be separated from one another?

And yet, like the saying goes, I survived every single one of my worst days. And this life. This new chapter isn’t even close to any of my worst days.

Sometimes a little perspective and some yardwork can go a long way in bringing some clarity into the picture, especially when you’re so hell bent on being miserable if things are “just so.”

And so, I’m walking into today, the way church people walk into Sundays, with a little more optimism and a lot more hope.

I can’t promise that “happy go lucky” Angie is here to stay, but I’m going to give it a hell of a try. Because let’s face it, things could be way worse. Who cares I don’t live close to downtown? I have a car and can drive there. Who cares none of my friends live over here? My best, best friends don’t even live in this state anyway. Who cares that I have to take care of an aging woman with Alzheimer’s? Nobody is going to do it as well as Will and I and isn’t that the least we (he) could do for the woman who raised him?

And let’s be real honest, when I’m not happy, nobody is happy. When I’m being negative, it spreads to everyone around me. And if I’m being super honest, I’m getting pretty tired of my own shit.