The older I get, the less significant time seems to become.  Or more significant, depending on how you define significance.  There are seemingly fewer minutes in the day.  There are seemingly fewer days in the year.  I remember when the two months of summer break felt like a decade and the school year felt like a lifetime.  But now, with only two short weeks left in the boy’s kindergarten year, it seems like only yesterday we had our first meeting with his new teacher.  Like only a week ago, he was gone to his dad’s for the summer.  And in the blink of an eye, he will be back there again for this summer.  Part of me, I suppose the more selfish part, is looking forward to his (and my) vacation.  I will still see the girl as normal, but I won’t have child or children around every day.  That part of me looks forward to me time.  That part of me looks forward for the opportunity to do what I want, rather than what is expected of me.  That part of me looks forward to shucking off a good portion of responsibility, even if it is only for a short while.  But the rest of me dreads his departure as one might dread the amputation of a limb.  As I dread each and every time I have to say goodbye to one of my children.  More often with the girl, but in no way less painful.  You’d think I would have gotten used to the idea by now.  I’ve been saying temporary goodbyes to one or both of my children since the boy was a year old and his father “decided” to be a father.  Granted, there isn’t the stream of tears that once followed his departure, even if only for a weekend.  At least not an outward display of them.  But there is still the inconsolable pain of loss in my heart.  Thankfully this gradual shortening of time does make their times away seem slightly less “significant,” if not any less painful. 

But really, why does time shorten as years on the planet lenghten?  I remember when an 8 hour day was more than sufficient to finish any project I decided to take on.  In my mind it still is.  But in reality, 8 hours is a drop in the bucket.  In reality, I can lose an entire 8 hours to researching the compatibility of Rock Band and Guitar Hero games and equipment.  Or more recently, researching wedding invitations and photographers, only to not find a suitable option for either.  Apparently time has a cruel sense of humor.  The older I get, the more I have to accomplish, or alternately, the more I take on.  And the less time I seem to have.  Does this time-warp phenomenon only exist in my life, or is it universally true?  I could have sworn it was only 10am five minutes ago.  Only now I look at my clock and realize I have less than an hour left at work.  Where did the day go? 

It might be different if I accomplished something every now and again.  Or even if I just sat, but had incredibly prolific thoughts all day.  But no.  I simply maintain.  I maintain a household, barely.  I maintain a couple children, most of the time.  I maintain a functioning body and mind, sort of.  Even my maintaining is lacking in accomplishment, and I swear it’s because I just don’t have the time to do it right!  10 years ago, I could get things done, done well, and still have time to party all night and do it all again in the morning.  15 years ago I could write an impressive 10 page report in a couple hours.  And 20 years ago, days seemed like they would never end. 

Today?  Today I accomplished nothing.  Today I will feel hurried and tired all day.  Today the sun will go down before I realize the time.  Today I will go to bed exhausted, far to late, and dread tomorrow as I fall asleep.  And in two weeks I will have all the time in the world, yet will accomplish nothing with it.  And two months later, the boy will come home. The school year will start anew.  And life will keep on trucking at far to fast a pace, leaving me gasping for breath until the end.  How very depressing it all is.

Some people feel they must, or rather, have a very real need it seems to butt in where they don’t belong or are not wanted, or both.  Why?  Here are a couple key hints: when someone says “that’s not what I was talking about” and then goes back to their conversation totally leaving you and your unwelcome comment our of it, back off!  When someone says “I’ve got this” while holding up their hand in the international sign for stop talking and go away, give some serious thought to doing just that.  If someone seems to be a perfectly functioning human being probably fully capable of accomplishing some inane duty or another, leave them alone and later, if warranted by some momentous mistake, you may revel in their inabilities and ignorance.  Silently.  In your own head.  All in all, if you find yourself spontaneously drawn to events or conversations without invitation halfway through the progression of said event or conversation and are not typically met with sighs of relief or expressions of joy at your mere presence, reconsider opening your mouth at all, except maybe to eat or drink.  All necessary communication can be effectively achieved with occasional head nodding.  Thanks.

I had a detailed post done two days ago explaining all this, but when I was a spell-check away from publishing, my computer shit itself and all was lost.  Hrumph.  Yeah, it’s been that kind of week. Month. Year?  Bear with me as I try to recap…

Moving, wedding, teenagers, the boy and the girl, too many projects at work, finances, Mr. W…I think that was all.  You know, basically everything that encompasses my everyday!  No biggie.

We move in 9 days.  We aren’t packed.  I packed 9 boxes in the last two days and besides the boxes sitting in there, you wouldn’t know it.  We don’t have a truck.  We don’t have definite moving help.  We don’t have someone to rent our house.  WTF?!  And I’m about 3 inches from blowing up on someone about it.  Someone being Mr. W unfortunately as he is pretty good at being a target of opportunity.  Not that he’s totally innocent, but still, I’m holding back.  Things promise to be better, much better once we move…and as much as I want to believe promises, part of me is always skeptical.

The wedding is in just over 100 days.  We don’t have a DJ.  We don’t have invitations.  We don’t have tables, chairs, a tent, or any other rental stuff.  We don’t have garments except for my dress and shoes, which is unwearable until it’s tailored.  And we are slacking on the desire to have a wedding at all.  (Talk of doing the elope thing has been flung around lately) What do we have? A minister and a location.  Sweet.  September 25th promises to be number 3 on my “best day ever” list when all is said and done, but that’s not for another 100 plus days.

Teenagers…need I say more?  I love them, but they are teens, and teens bring drama.  I think it may be part of their lifeblood.  I remember my teen years vividly (well, the ones that aren’t clouded by chemicals anyway…) and I have hold no grudge to any other teen…but still.  And the little ones, again, need I say more?  The girl got Lyme from me so now I am forced to watch her go through what I did and feel nothing but pure, unadulterated guilt for “infecting” her.  And the boy, well, one more month until the end of the school year, which means a summer away with his dad. 

Work is work is work.  And finances are finances.  I spread myself too thin in both areas and then suffer the wrath of my own decisions after.  I could kick my own ass for it, but really, what good would that do? 

And Mr. W…relates to all of the above.  Stress is contagious, but when we both have it, it only multiplies exponentially.  I long for my loving man who is just so overtired these days that he seems to be in hibernation…permanently. 

I passed by his old apaprtment the other day, and ever since have been reminiscing on our time there.  It was small and humble, but I have nothing but fond memories of those four walls.  We got to know each other there.  We fell in love there.  We had “our” time there.  Yes, we had fights and heartbreaks and even broke up more than a couple times, but there were far more wonderful days, and nights, in those spaces.  And I miss them so.  We were genuinely excited by, and about each other there.  We held each other up.  We cared and loved and were one. 

Today I picked up a package from the post office.  When the lady brought it to me, she had a giant grin on her face and asked if it was a diploma or some other equally exciting document.  I told her I hoped so, and then ripped open the package right there while she gave me an impromptu drum roll.    And it was!  As the lady at the post office applauded and showered me with congratulatory praise, I opened my official Bachelor of Science diploma, beaming, I’m sure!  Yea!  I brought it to work to show off, and my dear, dear friend and maid of honor, C, has been announcing it wherever we go, bringing out smiles and praise and congratulations from all around me.  Finally getting hold of Mr. W, I gave him my wonderful news, to which I was first ignored, then given a half ass, forced, not even trying to show any emotion at all (unless boredom is an emotion) “yea, you got your diploma.” Period**.  Hmmm….if I hadn’t already been choking back tears for days and therefore mastered the art, I’m sure that would have brought on quite the waterworks.  Nice.  Well, at least my less than personal friend co-workers are happy for me. 

**His excuse? “You graduated months ago and haven’t been excited or brought it up until today.”  Well today I got my Pretty Piece of Paper!  My countless hours, thousands of dollars, and days off my life due to stress have amounted to something concrete, finally.  Excuse my hopes for some small amount of validation.  *Sigh*

Things are seemingly getting resolved…or coming to a head, whichever way you look at it.  We have (probably) someone to rent our townhouse, and we’ve had a house to move into since February.  The move will officially take place in three weeks…that 17 days!  Are we packed? No.  Do we have a definite renter? No. Are we in any way shape or form ready for this? No! But we are going with the flow…sort of.

Our renter is section 8, so that brings a whole new set of, uh, “stuff” that we weren’t really ready for.  I’m all about the section 8 program.  It’s a good thing, when not taken advantage of.  Especially these days when good paying jobs are so hard to come by, and single-mom households are more frequent, and the economy isn’t really helping anyone.  She’s really sweet, has 4 kids, and is, at the moment at least, a single mom.  (She’s engaged) Beyond all that, I don’t know why more landlords aren’t more accepting of section 8.  Half the people that looked at the house were part of the program, and ALL of them had been looking for months for someone, anyone who would accept their vouchers.  Why?  I get the negative connotation, but really… 1) you get paid on time, every time.  The check comes from the program, not the tenant.  So no “sorry it’s late.” No “I lost my job and can’t pay.” No “something came up.”  You just get paid.  2) the program does all sorts of background checks so you don’t have to.  Less stress, less work, less out of pocket expense for you.  3) the program inspects.  Yes, the tenants are responsible to keep the property up to par, and the housing office checks on it. If they don’t, they run the risk of losing their vouchers.  Seriously, win-win-win! 

But…the one downfall is the waiting.  I filled out her paperwork to give to the housing office.  Now we are waiting for an inspection of the property, you know, to ensure we aren’t attempting to rent some rodent infested, broke down, lead painted, no windows having house. Then we draw up a contract with the housing office followed by a lease agreement with the tenant.  Then she takes all that to Social Service, which gives her the money for the security deposit.  So, in essence, we won’t have that “warm-fuzzy” feeling of having next month’s mortgage payment taken care of until it’s actually due.  *sigh*

But we are still moving on.  Really, we are.  It may not be obvious to the casual observer, you know, with the not packing and the not planning and the not really even acknowledging that we only have 17 days to pack up 4 kids, 2 adults, a dog, and all the 4-previous-family-living-situations that they bring.  Not to mention our own separate but equal battles with clutter…Mr. W with computer-geekery stuff and clothes, me with, well, everything really.  17 days!

And the new house? Ah the new house!  It’s perfect.  It’s beautiful.  It’s BIG!  It’s a 5 bedroom, 2 1/2 bath house with a partially finished, fully usable for something basement, a den, hardwood floors, gigantic kitchen, sunroom (yea!), 1.5 acres of land, 1 neighbor with no likelihood of more, huge front porch, built in brick grill in back, 2 car garage, open floor plan, and a  pellet stove.  And the best part…it has a “Christmas tree spot!”  It was a requirement when we were looking, to have a spot for any size Christmas tree that didn’t require rearranging of furniture and allowed ample floor space below for presents and a required decorating all 360 degrees of the tree (because it isn’t stuck in a corner somewhere).  I have a thing for Christmas.  It’s always been a dream to have a “tree spot.”  I know…kooky. 

Wanna see the house?

This picture doesn’t really do it justice, but I will post more once we move in.  Love it!

17 days!

Once we are moved in and the townhouse is rented, I will get down and dirty with the remainder of the wedding planning.  The kids will be gone most of the summer, so I can dedicate those two-ish months to getting a bizillion other things accomplished…but that’s another post.