The last couple of weeks have just been pretty up and down for me.
OBIL's birthday was last Monday (July 4th), so DH and I went to lunch with the ILs, and then we all shot off fireworks together.
...
There's nothing I hate more than when everyone's together trying to have a good time and someone wants to be a total buzzkill.
That is, someone wants to be with you while you're doing everything, but they don't actually want to DO anything. They just sit or stand there, and then complain.
Now, I'm sure I've had a few instances where that's happened (with me being the culprit), but it still irks me when it happens.
Earlier that day before we went to lunch with the ILs, I moved the majority of the rest of my stuff out of my dad's house.
Why?
Because his wife wanted my room to store extra clothing. Supposedly "winter" clothing, but really just extra stuff.
I'm assuming she'd been giving him hell about it.
But WHY? The closet she and my dad share is twice the size of the one I share with DH, AND she has more drawer space than we do, and we still manage to make everything fit.
And I assure you, I have a LOT of clothing. And shoes.
She even had the gall to pack up a box of what she assumed was my stuff and put it in my room - really, it was some of my sister's stuff.
I don't understand how someone can take advantage of the fact that another person is lonely. She frustrates me with all the stuff that she does - or, for that matter, DOESN'T do.
And she knows good and well that she would raise hell if my father treated her kids the same way that she's had the nerve to treat me. I can guarantee that when her oldest hellion moves out of the house, she'd have a fit if my father suggested or said that she needed to move ALL of her stuff to her own place.
Let me clarify:
"All of her stuff" is the equivalent to every childhood thing for the last however-long.
In my case that's the nearly-21-years of my life, most of which is now sitting in the living room floor at our 1-bedroom apartment. That's at least 4 moves from by the Air Force (that I can REMEMBER), one move out of base housing, high school and graduation, and then 3 years at college (but not including the graduation because we had an apartment by then, all of a day). That's NOT including a tub of stuffed animals, a tub of Barbies (yes, I still have them... no clue why), the new set of luggage I bought for myself and DH after Thanksgiving because we don't need them yet, the Christmas ornaments DH got me for Christmas, the stuff I had to put in storage because I'm pretty sure she's not willing to put ANY of her crap into storage, and a few other odds and ends. Like my very first TV, which actually still works quite well (I know this because I took all 13 inches of it to college my first year) and therefore there's no need to get rid of it if you need to put another TV elsewhere.
And for the last week and a half I've been sitting in the apartment (when I'm not with a client), staring at the giant piles that have to go somewhere.
Like Goodwill.
Because where else will I be able to fit nearly 21 years of my life, 2 elementary schools, 2 middle schools, 1 high school, and one college, into a one-bedroom apartment?
DH and I purposely decided not to spend the extra $50/month to rent a garage, and if we had it would've been for one of our cars - probably mine.
And after multiple moves in my life, I can pack quickly... But that doesn't mean I like doing it.
That also doesn't mean I like to unpack.
And I know how much of this stuff will be going to Goodwill.
We finally took 2 boxes of our wedding stuff to Goodwill (see also: the stuff we shouldn't have gotten back in the first place), and we bags and excess of my stuff. Clothing. Shoes. Old prom dresses (which I suppose it was time for them to go anyway).
Now I have to decide on other clothes and whether or not I want to get rid of them.
Like the shirts that my dad and I paid for, from marching band, from varsity choir. The sweatshirts from said groups.
It's easier to get rid of things when you don't think about the memories invested in them.
Some people make them into quilts.
I have no idea how to quilt. And we already have enough blankets here, including at least one quilt that my dad's mom made - which we probably have with us as a guarantee that my dad's wife wouldn't trash it if given the opportunity.
I've also got a picture frame that I've had since not too long after I was born. With my name on it, a teddy bear (I've always loved teddy bears), and a poem. I think it was the "Sugar and spice and everything nice" poem.
I've also got a frame that my sister gave me around my tenth birthday that, again, has my name and a bear on it, and it breaks down good qualities, things that I "am" or "have."
And, well, there's the frame with a picture of the Sailor Scouts on it (yes, the Sailor Scouts).
Those 3 frames have been with me for the last decade. If not on my dresser then on the wall, or both.
Where are you supposed to put childhood things like that, things that clearly belong in a childhood bedroom and that were given with good intent, honesty, and lots of thought? I mean, a picture of the Sailor Scouts probably doesn't belong hanging up in the bedroom I share with my husband, or on the dresser I've had ever since I was born that's now in our bedroom (complete with the stickers I stuck on the side in elementary school, but you'll never see them unless you go in our closet).
I guess I could put the frames with my name on the wall above my desk, but that's just borderline overkill with hanging things up above my desk.
Somehow I've got to figure out how to merge the life I had as a child and the life I'll be leading as an adult.
Last I checked, when you live together you have to make some adjustments.
I've gotten past the stage of being angry at my dad's wife for myself.
Like when I rang the doorbell and then waited for about 3 minutes for her to open at, at which point she just handed me my mail and closed the door. And apparently didn't pay attention to the fact that the dog managed to get outside, so she had to open the door to let him in. And she said nothing to me. Just called the dog and then kept on going.
That angered me, but this is nothing new.
I should've been boiling FURIOUS.
But honestly? As much as it kinda irritates me, like a mosquito bite (and trust me, I scratch those. can't help it!), I'm kind of over it. Because she's whatever to me, at least in that sense.
Instead what infuriates me is how she is with my dad.
In public she's no nice to people. The fake-ness of it all it just disgusting. DH and I saw them at a public picnic last week, and she was just smiling away at everybody.
I have a picture of her and my dad at my wedding dancing. My dad looked happy to be with her.
And she looked equally happy to be with him.
I figured, "Oh, maybe there's just something I'm not seeing."
But I've always known what she's like. And I will always be a daddy's girl and stick up for him. And I know when something's not right.
The fact is that my dad will stick up for me as best he can without pissing her off because, let's face it, he has to live with her. I know that. I accept that.
My dad doesn't like arguments. My dad's a good guy. There's no way around that.
Sorry, this wasn't supposed to turn into a blog about my frustrations about the evil thing that my father married because he was lonely and thought she would make him happy.
But I guess that's where my thoughts have led.
Day after day I stare at the piles of stuff in our living room. And it depresses me to know that I have to clean it up. But I also don't WANT to. Because when this stuff goes to Goodwill, well, that's pieces of MY life that I'm throwing out. It's not just throwing out bits and pieces at a time because I know I won't use them or because the clothes won't fit or because it's now meaningless to me.
And I don't really have hoarding tendencies. Trust me, I try to avoid that. Actually, I prefer to have places clean.
In all reality, it's really not that much (when I count out the bags of recycling that the hubs forgot to put out yesterday. Oi...).
But going through it, alone... it's just rather daunting.
The past two days I had a friend over, to keep me company while I cleaned.
Granted, nothing got done yesterday because work took hours longer than I expected. But the day before? progress was made. Last week? I had another friend over, and a lot of progress was made.
I know that moving is considered a "major life event."
Where does this fall? Because technically DH and I already had our own place.
But at our parents' we each had our own bedrooms.
Granted, DH's room now has an exercise bike in it, in addition to the rest of his stuff. And he stayed in that room years longer than I stayed in mine - at least 5 years longer.
Now my bedroom, the bedroom that my dad, my brother, and I painted the perfect shade of sky blue after I hunted and hunted through all the paint samples, is going to be turned into a guest bedroom.
If "we need a guest bedroom" was the initial reason for it, I wouldn't be as bothered as I was by "She needs space to put her clothes." I mean, there was a bunk bed in that room. Full-size mattress on the bottom, but nonetheless there was metal above your head when you woke up. And if you weren't used to it, well, I'm sure that would hurt a lot if you woke up and sat straight up.
I dunno, I guess it just hurts.
I'll get over it at some point. I hope.
Maybe when the evidence of it all isn't just sitting in our living room floor.
