The move back home was not supposed to be like this.

THE PLAN (April 2010):

  • Greg, Charlie, Friday, and I pack up our world, wave good-bye to our California friends and the sunshine, and move back to New Jersey. Okay, technically Pennsylvania.
  • We stay with my parents (since they have the most room for us) for a month or two while we look for and find steady employment and childcare for Charlie. Sure, it will be inconvenient, but it’s only temporary, right?
  • Once we land jobs and find daycare, we contact a realtor who will then help us find a home (in New Jersey) nearby to our new workplaces.
  • Then, we relax into our new East Coast life, and relish living back near family (i.e. a steady supply of babysitters).

THE REALITY  (March 2011):

  • Greg, Charlie, Friday and I pack up our world and move back to New Jersey Pennsylvania.
  • We both look for jobs, but it’s tough going (yay, sucky economy).
  • My father passes away rather suddenly and unexpectedly in September. I don’t want to leave my mother alone in her PA house for the winter. I don’t have a job anyway, so it’s best to stay.
  • Greg finally gets a job in October. But it’s a temp gig and it’s a two hour drive from my mom’s house, so he spends the weekdays at his mom’s house and we see each other on weekends.
  • We spend far too much time in car traveling between houses and our semi-nomadic lifestyle thwarts most attempts at structure and routine for Charlie.
  • I resolve to be out of my mom’s house by the spring even if it means dipping deeper into our savings to pay for a rental place of our own.
  • I still have no luck finding a job.
  • My mom then has a minor stroke. Thankfully, it’s not too bad, but still, for now she can’t drive and I am needed to drive her to doctor appointments and therapy. I am afraid to leave her alone for too long, because now, well, she’s the only parent I’ve got and I’d like to keep her around.

I know, right?

And yet. I’m not altogether miserable. Not all the time anyway. I don’t regret the move. I know this is where I am supposed to be.

Don’t get me wrong. My situation sucks. There are times I turn into a petulant child and want to stomp and pout and shout, “It’s not fair!” There I times I call my husband sobbing because I just can’t handle it. I miss him, and I miss working, and I pray every day for our situation to change. I can’t wait can’t wait CAN’T WAIT for Greg, Charlie, Friday and I to have a home and a life of our own again.

And yet.

I keep thinking of the a line from Joel Osteen’s sermon about blooming where you’re planted: “It’s not happening to you, it’s happening for you.”

There’s something I’m supposed to learn from this. So I search every day (well, on the days I’m not being petulant or sobbing) for what it is I should learn.

I am learning to roll with the punches. I am learning to be more grateful for the good things in my life. I am learning to be patient.

This is hard.

There are days I sob.

And yet.

I am hopeful.



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