I want to live my life in peace. I want to have lazy days in my own home with my family. I want to let my kids run around and make messes. I want to make them meals. I want them to have their own space. I want my husband to have his own space. I want my own space.
I don’t want to sit in a car, hiding from my husband’s grandmother or sit in her basement, again hiding, listening to her footsteps above, feeling like my kids and I are in a dungeon.
It breaks my heart that as I write this I’m in the car with my two boys watching a movie, they’re strapped in their car seats. They ate, but I didn’t. I typically don’t eat breakfast anymore. I’m focused on getting the things we need so we can hide “comfortably.”
I watch the gas in our car slowly dip lower and lower. I watch my boys try to get comfortable after sitting in these seats for hours. I can’t take them to the park, it’s too cold and windy outside. I can’t take them to the mall, too much gas will be used. I still have to be able to get to work.
I can’t stand this!
I grabbed two small bananas from the counter before I left her house and I stare at them hungrily, but I grabbed them for my boys. I don’t want them to cry with empty bellies.
I feel homeless. I haven’t showered in two days, my boys haven’t bathed in four days. The grandmother gets pissed at us for using so much water. She expects us to save our shower water and bathe all three kids in the same water. And she thinks I should only shower once maybe twice a week. My husband can shower every day because his job leaves him caked in cornstarch residue.
Our belongings are spread out in four different locations; her house, the other grandparents house, our storage unite, and our car.
I can’t go to the other grandparents house until later because their landlord is a dick and doesn’t give a shit about our hardships. He says we need to pay $500 a month to live there, regardless of the fact that we don’t live there. But we do our laundry there. I take my showers over there. My kids eat there. I often don’t because I know they’re low on food.
We might be able to get a place in a month or so, but I don’t want to get my hopes up because the owner would have to sacrifice a good bit to let us rent her home until we can buy it. If that falls through we’re back to square one.
My oldest boy, my middle child, is such a sensitive boy and this situation is extremely stressful on him. He’s used to being able to go lay down in his own bed when he gets upset, but now he has nowhere to go. He has gone backwards in his steps to potty train. Both grandparents get on him about not going potty in the toilet. It doesn’t help him. He’s two, almost three. I just want to give him his own space. He’s so much like me. It hurts me so bad that I’ve put my kids through this.
If I never came here with my family things would be better. My husband’s grandmother wouldn’t show her hatred of me. All those fights never would have happened. Things would be better.