UP and away

The solitude of my room can never be appreciated enough.

I am the first to admit that I am not an easy woman to live with-- I'm very particular.... well, okay. I'm borderlined OCD about the way I keep my home. It is not just the "everything has a place and a nametag" syndrome that I possess, but also "everything has a time". Ecclesiastes "there is a time for every purpose" is basically the order in my home. When the laundry piles are overflowing onto the floor again, I know this is the time for turning on a netflix miniseries, grabbing the baskets, do a quick yoga stretch, and prepare to delve into the depths of denim and dockers. There is a time to make colorful and glorious messes, filled with bubbles and blocks, paints and pretending, where under the bed is going camping and behind the chair is a fort, and baby dolls are kept warm by being wrapped in mommy's hoodie. There is a time to play detective to the strange smell in the refrigerator, and a time to give a little leeway before rushing into the bathroom in order to prevent the poop picasso masterpiece on the wall. There is a time for making beds and being sent to bed, and the best time of the morning when everyone is freshly rolling over in their bed, seeing the morning light beam through the blinds. I love all of these moments-- they are glorious.

but then, there is also a time for me to back off... a time when my words are not heard, not adhered, and there is no place for me anymore. that is the time when my knowledge of Mikey's dietary needs gets tossed aside, and the fact that dairy makes him more aggressive and ultimately gives him more meltdowns gets forgotten, or eyes get rolled when i make a side comment that eggs, vegetables, smoothies, fish, hot dogs, hamburgers, popcorn, and many other foods are just as gluten free as the specialized processed GF brownies, oatmeal, knockoff oreos, breads, pastas, pretzels, and gummi snacks that fill Mikey's daily diet. There is a time when my stay-at-home mom experience means nothing, and being a child that had many behavioral issues doesn't make me an expert, as Chara and daddy go head-to-head over him refusing to give her mashed potatoes that she saw in the refrigerator-- mainly because he wants her to eat the tator tots instead. it doesn't matter if i say bedtime is at 7, because he wants to snuggle Ana until 8, because he works all the time and doesn't see her enough. these are the same nights that i have to stay up until almost midnight to make sure that the gourmet meal using every pot and pan in the house is clean, magically make more room in the frig for the leftovers that will ultimately become the strange smell lurking in a week, or blast music in my headphones, heavy basses and electric harmonies making me jump and shake off all the frustration and anger i have with the inability to fit into this awkward home has become. these are the moments I beg for God to fill my heart, because I am empty and running on fumes.

I've heard it so many times that my marriage can work if I only let God handle it, that nothing is too big for the Savior, that the Creator of the universe put us together and so He will ultimately decide when we are through. I keep hearing that it takes two, and that where one is unwilling, nothing will work. I have heard it from both sides, and I can understand both opinions. But from where I sit, all I see is his back-- the face of divergence. If you break up the word divorce, the latin prefix di- means "away"; in the Greek, it means "two" and "across"-- it gives the visual that two people have crossed paths, and anyone who has ever had the misfortune of taking algebra, trigonometry, geometry, or any other math that includes letters, equations, shapes and angles, paths that cross have a point where they are joined, and then they continue on forever in different directions. In the French, it was written as divertere, the past perfect meaning to "turn different ways". Even the Edenic, the word is PaRaSH, specifically meaning to "divide or separate". This is nothing new for me-- based on the meaning of this word, and the severity of the pain of being split, i can honestly say that spiritually, my home has been divorced for many years.

as i can hear them all arguing in the next room, the kids screaming during their bathtime, i include them in the divided home because this isn't my night. literally. It would be one thing to say that we, as spouses, were going our separate ways. but the home is now divided-- the kids have nights with daddy, and nights with mommy, alternating holidays, and the little geniuses often try to play one parent against the other. I try to understand the behavior and change it, still having the tendency to lose my temper on occasion when I've heard my name called for the 50th time in 15 seconds, while I am without coffee and barely surviving on 3 hours of sleep, particularly if I know he is sleeping in the next room and has the ability to help at any point. i do what i can to maintain consistency, while still having fun-- as i said beore, the Ecclesiastes approach. but, on the nights that aren't mine, much like tonight, i sit in my room, secluded from the kids, or unable to jump in and help (well, technically I can, but i try not to), and listen to the sound of brokenness coming from the other room. i can hear the sound of frustrated kids getting in trouble when they do not blindly enjoy the harsh pressure of the shower water, or the screams that ensue when they have already had a cookie but now they are told they can have no more. i hear the "I don't want to!", "I'm telling mommy!", the "you're not listening to me!", and a multitude of choice explicitives, and I can do nothing but sit here... it is miserable. many have asked me how i manage to live in the same house with this man, knowing that he wants nothing to do with me, that he refuses to give up the vice that separated us only months into our marriage to begin with, and why i continue to put up with the nonsense. I have been told to leave, I have been told to work it out. I have been told to "let it be" and "just do you". and truthfully, the only answer I have is: God.

alone, I have no strength to go through this day in and day out. my pain as a woman, a mom, and a wife of a broken marriage would have killed me a long time ago. i cannot truthfully sit here with a hand stretched up and say the typical cliches that would be heard on the Christian television network. I am far too emotional and many days, down-trodden, to sound cliche. What i can say is that there is comfort from my heavenly love everywhere-- even as the sound of tacky country music and screaming toddlers fills my living room, an Italian peach tea and garlic veggie pita bread fills my tatste buds with enough of the hallelujah chorus to tune it out. This morning, I heard the crunch of freshly fallen snow under my feet, and I walked extra slow into the building, just to enjoy the crispness in the air and the subtle first delight of my favorite season. Chara and I have been looking at things that she wants for Christmas, and it turns out that her love of The Little Mermaid is about as serious as mine was when I was little. The more time I get with them, planning on snowball fights, making hot cocoa and watching the Polar Express, reading my old favorite stories to them at night, chapter by chapter, while they are cozy and wrapped up snug-- it all brings a comfort that even the worst of my living situation can't ruin. I'm blessed enough to have my own room to retreat to when the night becomes stressful; when i curl up in my own covers, and i hear my darling Ana across the room in her big girl bed, lightly snoring and snuggling her baby Elsa and "Be-beth" (her two almost-matching Cabbage patch dolls she got from my mom), and it reminds me of the great connection I have with my kids. All of them have slept in my bed, snuggled with me, gotten sick and asked for me, gotten sick ON me, play with me, bake with me, laugh with me, pray with me... and yes, they give me attitude, and they argue with me, they test my limits, and the push the envelope more often than I'd like. And though, in the moment, I feel I'm about to break-- when i tuck them in at night, i couldn't be more grateful that they are here, and they are so beautiful, that these moments are happening. I am alive, and I look out the window at the lights, the iridescent reflections on the street as the snow falls, and knowing that my time will come.

it has been a journey, and i do not know the exact day it will come to a close. but what i do know is that an ending is just a new beginning, that in the silence of the room, there is still the melodious whisper of my creator singing to me that His love never fails, that I am not too far gone, that He loves me in spite of everything that has happened in the last 8 years. and as the home becomes more split, as the wound becomes more open and the cut more complete, i can know that the divergence from him is only turning back to God, looking up, and putting away of anything that isn't of Him. maybe this is an epiphany, and maybe it isn't. But in the silence of the room and the chaos just outside, it gets me through days like today.