Good Will

The three young orphans in our care have generated enough Christmas charity that I feel a danger of becoming a Goodwill Donation Center. Been there before many times and am feeling a bit squeemish over finding myself here again. It was hard enough to find homes for all that stuff when I had time to do the do. Squeezing all that work between setting up a workable home for school runs and extra-curricular activities has my retirement age bones aching like a pain-reliever commercial. I don't s'pose any of you would care to donate some muscle and/or child distraction? Nah? Zoom on good buddy, zoom on. Take your thing piles with you when you go.

The toy donations have been trickling in from churches, etc., but Hubby's corporate office went overboard. They donated so many gailey wrapped packages that a truck is needed to carry them all. Apparently Hubby's bee buggy is the only truck available for the job. My wife sense says he really wants to make the 6 hour commute for a solid variety of other reasons he is afraid to talk freely about. He liked his life in Music City far better than I liked my life in The Toxic Mom Gilded Cage. Can I get this freakin' job description in writing, please? How many middle aged children am I catering to today? Am I really supposed to give a fuck where your socks are?

In regards to the property Hubs and I bought for our retirement homestead in 2011, Hubs and I are still in different libraries. Here at the end of 2019, we are still getting allot of healing mileage out of the library analogy. We both have accurate and valid information regarding the chaos surrounding that property, but we arenae reading the same books nor referencing the same experts. His library has a security guard to enforce restricted access. There in the busy metroplex where we raised our family, he hasnae spent many hours in my library. He showed up with commendable reliability for emergencies and occassionally for story hour.

Here in this strange new world of our prayers to provide a stable base for our 3 recently orphaned GKs, I mostly trust that Hubs and I have been doing hopefully well at cognizant awareness and mutual respect of which library each of us is speaking from, but in regards to the bachelor pad, we remain a train wreck. My heart feels ready to implode at the thought of adding care for middle aged children (retirees?) on to the load of young child care.

Breathing. . . Plying therapy tools. . . 

Gee. . . Why is Hubby afraid to speak freely on the subject? Is it progress that Hubby has become my equal in that emotional chaos? He was far calmer when he could just it all as he left for the relative safety behind that corporate security desk.

As of last night, Hubs was still waffling on whether today would be a good day to pick up the gailey wrapped packages from his corporate office. My wife sense says he would also like to check in on his outyards, guitar/office buddies and several other sets of etceteras. That same wife sense is quivering anxiously over the potentials of being assumed back into a position that was tough enough when I was blessed with middle aged strength. At 65? ? ? Can we have some reality checks in here, please? ? ? I donae believe this was what Frankie had in mind when he crooned about being Young At Heart.

Breathing. . . Plying therapy tools. . .

I moved the keyboard from the coldest room in the honey barn into the corner of the new house which was christened as, "The Christmas Corner." Think I'l go tickle the imitation ivories.

I'm still wishing for the rapid cycling icon while I leave the available choices on the median. I am fine. How are you?