Boxes, boxes, Everywhere

… And no room to spare. My machines, except for one, are in their boxes. My yarn is (almost) centrally located. The book shelf has been cleaned off, but still needs dusting. I can barely move, in my workspace.

You’d think I was planning on quitting, at this state of affairs.

We’ve been cleaning the rest of the house. I can’t clean, if I don’t rearrange. I went to Target the other day, and picked up some cubes. I spent an evening drawing out floor plans and mockups of what my space could look like.



This, is what I started with. ^

And this is what I have-

It ain’t purty. By a freaking longshot.

My goal was to get everything moved today. By myself. Hubby moved the shelves, everything else is light stuff. Well, the machines are heavy.

Do you have a tissue? Let me see, sore joints, achy feeling, stopped up and/or runny nose- yep. I’ve either got a huge allergy flare up, or a cold.

All the cleaning, plus all the drama going on around me. All the life happening, and my body -the stress meter of my life- has given out. It’s succumbed to a silly cold. I could whine and say,”But I can’t get sick now!?!?”, or I can just let the stupid thing run its course. You know, take it easy, lie in bed.

Um, yeah…

Spring cleaning, particularly this spring cleaning is vital. We are trying to create a home that I am comfortable in. Sounds funny, doesn’t it? I have’t finished a project in months. I’ve started several. Some are just stitches away, but I can’t do it. I can’t get myself to finish them.

Yes, there are puppies, boys and husbands who interfere in my knitting. After all, it is all about them. Right? This house was laid out around their needs. My bedroom was full of toys, 2 different video game consoles and televisions. People coming and going, in and out. Therapists, respite care providers, maintenance men- they all got to hang in my bedroom. Yes, my dirty clothes in the bin and hubby’s lying on the floor, reaching further everyday towards the door. My privacy, my embarrassment.


This ^ is the work table where I tried to knit, when the garage got too cold. As you can see, it is a huge clutter cluster. I got chased off of this, onto the computer desk. Which also started to accumulate clutter.

If you’ve read this far, hang in there. I’m getting to my point. I can’t speed up, or you might miss the weight, slowly moving up your shoulders. That feeling of not being wanted in your home. The fact that there was no room for me, in the House of Boy. Oops, I’m skipping ahead.

I tried to knit in the recliner. It’s comfy. It also seats me, two boys and two animals of your choosing. Things kept getting stuffed on my side table. My knitting basket got sat in, knocked over. My needles spread to the four winds of light saber duels. I found wrappers in my knitting, my back pockets, everywhere. (Sebastian has a hoarding issue with wrappers).

They chased me out of my home. I still leave between 4 and 5, and often don’t come back until 8. I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t feel wanted. My kids would want to sit in my lap, the one space that was me, and sometimes, I could not, would not, let them.

The air was stifling. Gasping for air, where the air is supposed to wrap around you and hold you like your favorite, warm comforter. It is quite confounding.

Yes, freezing my a$$ off on a park bench far from home, was better.

I could tell you why it happened. Why I allowed them to do it to me. Why I gave up. I’ll simplify it by saying I was invisible. These boys that I love and hold dear, forgot that I was Momma. They treated me like another place to put clutter. I was furniture.

They still do.

Take a man’s wife away? Leave him with the kids. Let him get worn out with reality. It took a lot, to get him to look around.

I have issues. I have so many issues, that even he got over whelmed. He didn’t get it. It took a lot more than me just walking out of marriage counseling and walking home. Something I’d been asking for, for years now really, and I walked away. It took more than him getting some counseling of his own. I’m not sure what it is really going to take.

He’s still not there yet. After all the talk, tears and yelling, he’s almost gotten to a point of knowing that I need a place. I need to be in the family. Not just another automaton making his life easier, but I’m still waiting for it to click into place.

This spring cleaning is about me. I’m the central pillar that holds it all together. The flame, that pulls the moths out of hiding, or the bathroom, for that matter. It’s about time, that they remember I am more than just a tool that makes breakast and lunch. More than a nanny or maid. More than just a bed warmer, to be turned on and off.

We’re not there yet. But creating a physical place for me, is a good start. I can’t honestly say that any of my boys understand. I don’t know how many shocks to their system, it will take. I can’t even say that I’m here to stay.

My bookshelves are long and dusty. And right now, they are empty. We’ll get on with the spring cleaning, and maybe move forward.

After all, physical is only one nature of a human being. There’s so much more than just a body.


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