I ran away from home the other
day. I did it in flip flops, with no
money and on a 4 wheeler. I know that’s
not really something that 29 year old moms are supposed to do but before you
recommend me for commitment, let me explain.
I’ve had a rough couple of
weeks. Things have been crazy
hectic. My neighbor killed my dog. Then, my dad got hurt really bad. And, on top of everything Little Miss has
been extremely difficult and Hubby has been working nights so it’s been me
against the masses. So, all of that led
up to Monday and a very frazzled mommy.
Little Miss woke up in a bad mood and she doesn’t believe in being
miserable alone. She screamed
constantly. She broke things. She hurt her brothers. She hurt herself. She was rough.
That evening
I tried to get the kids together to take Captain to karate class but Little Miss
dislikes karate since it’s the one time each week that the world revolves
around someone other than her. That’s a
big deal to me. I am in a constant state
of guilt and worry that Captain is suffering because of our choice to
foster. I really think he has benefited
from it overall but he doesn’t get near the amount of attention as he did as an
only child. It’s important to me that he
feels like a little star at something. Little Miss has all of this figured out
so any time we go to karate she has meltdown either on the way or as soon as we
get inside. This means that I have to be
one of THOSE moms that sit in the car waiting for their kid to come out of
class instead of the cheerleader that I desperately want to be. I feel like I’m letting him down when I miss
out on watching him fall down three times while they are running laps and his
uncoordinated attempts at round houses.
Back to
Monday. I was insisting that we really
were going to karate and getting Captain dressed and finding shoes for the baby
when Little Miss got mad and let our new dog out the front door. So, I’m running around outside frantically
trying to catch the dog before the neighbor shoots her too but apparently in
corgi-world it is hysterical to run right up to your owner and then bolt just
before she can reach you. She kept
running in the road so I was going that direction when I looked back and saw
the baby walking barefoot through the yard.
I ran back for him and the dog chose this moment to disappear. So, then I loaded up the kids and we drove up
and down the road looking for the dog, who you wouldn’t think would be that
hard to spot in a hot pink dress. After
several minutes I went to Hubby’s mom’s house up the road and woke him up to
make him help (he sleeps there when he’s on nights cause our house is so loud
during the day that a deaf man couldn’t get any rest). We drove and drove till we finally caught
Princess Minnie Mouse Firedog and brought her to safety. At this point, karate was over and we had
missed it.
Hubby
knew that my nerves were frayed to when we went back to his mom’s to get the 4
wheeler he had driven over there, we agreed that I would drive it back while he
followed in the car with the kids. That
was the plan. I intended to follow that
plan, I really did. But then I got to
our house and I just couldn’t make myself turn into the driveway. Instead I just pushed the throttle in and kept
right on going. I had this moment of exhilarating
freedom. It was awesome. And then it back fired, the 4 wheeler I mean. And then it backfired again. Within just half of a mile, I was stuck on
the side of the road with an ATV completely out of gas. Let me tell you that it was awkward calling
my husband to explain that I had attempted to run away from home but ran out of
gas and now needed to be rescued.
Luckily, he’s a good guy so he came right on down. Unluckily, we had no gas at the house. But we stood in a driveway with the dead 4
wheeler while the kids sat in the car and talked for a few uninterrupted minutes
which was actually pretty nice. We were
just about to start pushing it to a safer spot when one of my neighbors drove
by. She’s another oilfield wife so she
understands having the occasional break down.
She didn’t judge at all. She just
got me some gas from her house and invited me to bring the kids over for pizza
next time hubby is on nights for a hitch.
When we finally made it home, Hubby thought it would be a good idea to
let me ride while he took the kids for burgers.
I raced around our pasture till my thumb hurt and the world made more
sense. Then I sent an email to our
foster adopt specialist and reminded her that we had to get respite this
weekend.
Fostering
isn’t easy. It is rewarding and I usually
think it’s worth it but it is not easy.
Foster parents need help and we need breaks. When we don’t get that, we sometimes throw 2
year old style temper tantrums. I’ve
seen a lot of debate recently on whether it’s ok to send foster kids on
respite. Some people think it just isn’t
fair to these kids. I’ll write more on
that some other time but let me just say that I think my kids will benefit more
from me spending the weekend with hubby and some really good friends than they
would from me tolerating them without any rest.
If nothing else, it has to be better to plan a short getaway than to
randomly have a mini nervous breakdown and run away from home in flip flops,
with no money and on a 4 wheeler with no gas.
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