mud, motherhood and meaning

Sometimes, we are given “gifts” after years spent longing and dreaming and hoping for these unimaginable, unbelievable, beautiful gifts. Sometimes, these gifts are small, sentimental items that we can carry with us wherever we go. Other items are much too large to carry.

I was having lunch with some friends recently; one is more like a mama, really. We were discussing hew new home. She has waited an entire lifetime for this home. She is seventy-four. Her children are all grown. Her grandkids are mostly grown, except the littlest, newest one. And, they…well, they are best friends!

She is “supposed” to be excited about this home; eagerly jumping at the opportunity to make every single decision. But, she isn’t. She doesn’t care about paint colors. She doesn’t get excited about shower doors being installed. She doesn’t much care for all those details. The house is “coming along,” she will say.

At lunch, I learned why she isn’t simply over-the-moon right now. This is no longer her dream. The circumstances of life have changed. Her youngest son is no longer at home. Hell, he is no longer even in the same town. He is grown, married, and now a dad. While a nice, cozy, pretty home was the dream before, that dream has changed.

The dream has morphed and become more about being near her adult children and grandkids. But, was she heard? Did her husband really understand this? I’m not sure. And, she feels bad that she isn’t excited. In her words, she is “ungrateful” and she knows it.

I feel that, too. I tell myself day in and day out that I have to be grateful for what I have. And, part of me really, really is. I am grateful for my home and the provisions my family has. I know that not everyone has this kind of life.

Ya see, my home came after years of hoping, dreaming, praying, and pushing, to be honest. We ran into a bit of a snag in the “plan of life” and decided to take matters into our own hands. We discussed all the options we could come up with and landed on building on family land. We dreamed BIG and then reeled that dream in to a more manageable situation.

I was not going to be involved on any paperwork or loan items as a stay-at-home mom with no actual income. I assumed it wouldn’t be helpful for me to be on the documents. I pushed my husband to do all of that on his own. We ordered our home and made the downpayment using some retirement funds. I was told the loan was taken care of and everything was in order.

I found out after the basement and home were on the property that was not the case. There was no loan. I had been lied to and manipulated for years. I had shopped for nearly three years and filled a storage unit with new, pretty items for our new, pretty home. I accept responsibility for that. Pretty things do not make you happy. Gosh…

This took place in 2022. That was, also, the year a Bipolar diagnosis was handed out (not to me).

I have tried to be grateful every day while, also, knowing the truth. Nothing is finished. We didn’t move into a finished home like I told our kids we would. We still do not have a fully finished home because we are the. ones doing the work. While we are fully capable of most projects we undertake, this is not in our realm of expertise. We have tried. We have done…decent. Not even our best. We have been in a hurry at times, and, then, not done anything at all from lack of motivation and skill. Our plan was for the kids to be basement dwellers. I had a lot of big Pinterest dreams. Oh, they were beautiful! Still are. Still not happening. I mean, if I could win the lottery, I would totally tear it all down and hire someone to do the work for me. (Side note: I have never even bought a lottery ticket…the husband does, though.)

I look around and see all the projects left undone and I get mad. Or, sometimes, I am just saddened by how everything went downhill. The dream of a beautiful space to raise our family was disparaged, really, I felt like the dream meant more to me and held more value to me. I guess, I felt like, if the dream meant as much to him as it did to me, he wouldn’t have risked losing it all….plus me.

Learning that someone you trusted so much would manipulate you in such a way is devastating. Heartbreaking, really. Being heartbroken is vulnerable. No one likes being vulnerable. It is easier to be mad and ungrateful. It is easier to be pissed off and scowling at everyone. It is easier to push everyone away than to risk being hurt again.

Is this being ungrateful? In either of our cases? I’m not sure.

Maybe we feel unseen. Unheard. Invisible, really. I think we are both doing the best we can with what we have been given, or “gifted.” We have been handed cards through the years that couldn’t be simply discarded. We have had to hold them. We have had to hold them and managed them even though we never wanted these damn cards. Yes, we wanted certain things, but we never asked for all the shittiness along the way.
Does this make us selfish? Maybe. I do not really care. We are all entitled to be selfish occasionally. If me wanting something better for my kids was/is sefish, then so be it.

I do feel bad in the moments of ungratefulness. I know I am being awful. I think I am entitled to those feelings, though. After everything that has happened, a little ungratefulness every now and again isn’t the worst thing….

I could have given up, walked away, and never looked back. I could have. I chose not to be a quitter. I may be slightly ungrateful but I don’t quit.