"I" am home

The last few days have been troubling to understate the gravity of our situation--we've discovered a wet corner in our house w/mildew growth, bubbling paint and wet carpet. There is no sign of where the moisture is coming in and we're quite sure that this problem was known to the previous owner who must have decided NOT to disclose the problem to us.

I have cried and recovered, cried and recovered. I've even gone into strategy mode--what do we need to know, what should we do and what can we do? I mean, what else am I going to do--there's no return policy on houses!

So I went out and bought a heavy duty dehumidifier, 50 pint, and we have had a lot of luck--countless dumping of the water chamber later, the symptoms have retreated (for now). There's still the small matter of getting to the root of the moisture but at least we have bought some time. My only concern now is a big, fat, fucking surprise on our electric bill--whatever, I can't think about that right now.

As this was going on, in the dead heat of the moment, the source of my greatest pain and discouragement had little to do with the moisture enigma and more to do with my own expectations of myself for my children. I just want a freakin' shelter spot that I can call my own, where we can rest and breathe and laugh and cry and feel secure. I want them to have a place that they remember when they grow up, a tree that they carve on in the front yard, a garden they plant, stories that begin with "remember when" and bring their minds back to this home. I want to "be" and I want them to be able to "be". I want them to love their home, to have fond memories of their home--sure, they might say, "it wasn't much but..." but they will recount the stories they tell with fondness and adoration.

I am threatened by this moisture, by the thought that something beyond my control, at least certainly beyond my financial control, could threaten the security of my children's well-being, of their foundation, of that which nestles them until they are strong enough and ready enough to set out on their own.

I had my own ideas on why this was not possible but they were buried under many layers of woe and then I had the phone call. My other mom and I were talking and I started to cry when I began to tell her about the situation--I couldn't help it, my pain was right on the surface ready to pour over and so it did. And she reminded me of what I already knew, of what I was telling myself in a whisper, that I was their home, that their memories of their childhood would be fastened to my role as their mother. She told me I was the best mother she had ever seen and while that might be an exaggeration on her part to move me past my tears, it worked.

This house will never be the anchor that I am to my children, no house for that matter. I am the nucleus, the anchor, the epicenter and all that flows from my heart for these children will sustain them when the wet seeps in and the walls no longer stand on this mere structure.