The Never Ending Arena

At dawn I was awakened by a child's panicked sprint to the bathroom so she could find a place to vomit.  The bathroom was locked because yesterday, in keeping with this summer's theme, the toilet had become clogged and overflowed.

That kid made it to the garbage can and the next came staggering into my room with barf all over his face and hair, "I barfed on my bed, mama." 

And so it goes.

Last week we made some offers on houses, none of them worked out.  During the weekend we took an overnight break from the last three weeks of house hunting and went to St George to see the Little Mermaid, tickets we'd had as gifts for Christmas from Hush. 

 It was a much needed respite (though it was 103) and we also stopped at the Fillmore hot springs as per our tradition.

But on the way home we were again confronted with our interminable homelessness and I started weeping. I just do not want to start all over again.  Sure we could find a place that's too small for a bunch of money, but there goes my kid plan for next year and see you later to the last year of investment in friends.  We've moved every year.  More packing, another change of schools, another preschool search, a new ward to trick into thinking we're normal, friends that will not measure up to my adored neighborhood friends. Forced change.

So down came the tears.

In the words of Wayne Campbell, "What the hell is going on? I lost my show. I lost my best friend. I lost my girl.  I'm being shit on, that's all, shit on."

After our five hour drive from St George on Sunday my sweet wise husband banished me from Utah until he finds us a house and moves us in.  He loaded us all back in the car at 7 at night and drove us 12 hours to Dville. 

And six hours into the drive Jude barfed all over himself, no warning and no bag.  Hush looked at his watch and said,"Right on schedule."  Then Jude barfed seven more times apparently unaware of the utility of a plastic bag.  Poor sick boy trapped in the car. Poor all of us getting covered in vomit.

We arrived at 6am and put Hush on a plane at 10.

Then somebody overflowed the toilet yesterday and today more barfing.

None of this is funny yet. Of course we could play the at least game (at least my husband is wonderful and supportive and doesn't ditch us, at least we have sufficient funds, at least we have working air conditioned cars, etc) but any way you slice it this forced move at 8 months pregnant sucks. And I am ready to be finished with the compounding series of unfortunate events.

Edited: Everything will be okay in the end. If it's not okay, it's just Tuesday in Nor's life."

As for attitude, I'm also done being positive as I generally am during my biannual life crisis.  Not all of them have been blogged, but literally every six months I am slammed with a random and unnecessary trial.  I think I might be cursed. I set up and plan for a simple life and the rug gets pulled out.  Things improve and I think finally, finally we are out of the trials crosshairs and then the bottom drops out.  It's getting to the point where I'm nervous to get out of bed in the morning.

I wrote bit of prose during my previous crushing life blow. It seems to apply every six months.  If you're wondering how I manage these challenges, the answer is I just wake up every morning. I don't have any choice but to live through this.  Anger, yes. But mostly resignation.

The Never Ending Arena

I guess I'll stand in the arena

I'll be there standing in the cold

With weather beating on me

And yes, it's getting old

I'll watch as I'm encircled 

By the lions and the wolves

I'll stand there solo, if I'm bidden

Stand there naked, stand there clothed

My oar will be thrust deepest

I'll be in up to the hilt

My hands they will be messy

My body gone full tilt

It'll rain until I'm soaking

My heart buried by the jeers

Trip and fall as usual

I long gave up on tears

But still I'll be recipient

Of another deadset blow

Designed to push me lower

Unnumbered sly arrow

And though my spirit sinketh

And my body begs give in

I still stand up each morning

I still seem to begin

Because the next day always wakens

The first light a disappoint 

That the end of trouble isn't 

That I'm still here in this joint

Perhaps because I will it

The dread fight lingers on 

My unsinking spirit drowning

In this arena I've made home

Brought low each passing season

With another arrow's sling

The next wave of of misfortune

And my ever living being.