My kids are 2.5 and 4.5. Saying that they frustrate me sometimes is like saying, “Hey! They’re still breathing!” They are very developmentally appropriate–I read lots of books to check. I am extremely clear that my anger over their behavior is about control not really about them. And for a couple of months here I have managed to over schedule us. It was an accident–I swear. We will ride it out and change our approach after February.

The first thing to go will be group therapy that I have to drive a cumulative more than two hours for. I don’t need to spend $50 and I don’t know how much on gas so I can listen to three people talk about their lives in that kind of detail. Yesterday I listened to a twenty minute recital of the fertility history of this woman’s dentist. I watched the god damn clock. I understand that she was trying to place context on how this story overlapped with her life and all but man. I’m an asshole and I don’t give a shit how many times your dentist has done IVF and how many failed adoptions have happened. I mean, in the vague sense of the ether “I’m sorry and that sucks” but I don’t need the specifics.

And we had another twenty minute digression about whether the extra-sexin lover of one of the group members should tell her new boyfriend that she is lovers with the group member now that she is *pregnant*. So far the plan was for the boyfriend to just not know that the good friends who hang out together three times a week are…. just friends. They don’t have sex regularly what’s the big deal?

I flat said, “This woman is now pregnant with this guy. She will know him for the rest of her life. This kind of thing comes out. The only ethical option is to tell him now and deal with it. Otherwise your friend is a lying liar.” I don’t think you are obligated to tell every fling about every other fling in your life. Once you are procreating the rules change. If you don’t like that maybe you shouldn’t be having such risky sex.

The kicker was when I got to my turn and I relayed a few of my frustrations with parenting that have been keeping me on edge lately. The advice was obviously well meaning. A lot of it was “Hey! You should use ______________ service!” that does not exist within a thirty minute drive of my house. If I have to drive more than an hour round trip it’s no longer a good resource because my stress from driving outweighs the half hour of not really being “off” I would get in trade for the discount childcare.

If I lived in Oakland or Hayward I would be closer to my networks of support. I would have a lot more other resources as well. So my therapist said, “I know you have painted the walls and all but why don’t you just sell the house and move.”

That was the point when my neck muscles locked and I literally screamed, “This is not up for a fucking committee consensus.”

As if moving is that easy. From the word “go” moving would cost us around $70k in realtors fees. Do I have an extra $70k sitting around I don’t mind losing? Not so much. I kind of have a life plan. Being $70k behind all of a sudden would put rather a big crimp in my plans. That’s a lot of forking money to come up with all of a sudden. That’s *if* we could find a house in our price range to make a lateral move. I doubt it. Given how small and unimpressive our house is I don’t anticipate us being able to buy a better property for cheaper so we are going more into debt either way.

No. No. No. No. That interferes with pretty much all of my plans. And I’m furious with the therapist for acting so off-hand about it. I miss my last therapist so much. She is no longer listed as being involved with any organization I can find online. I’m not sure this therapist is working out.

She isn’t interested in encouraging me into working things out on my own. She wants me to bring my life to the committee so they can vote on which approaches they feel are most appropriate. Half of the group has DID. The remaining woman is extremely non-functional in life. They are nice people. I like them. But I honest to god don’t want to be like them. I am not going to be fifty and still chasing the next easy lay.

They keep telling me what I “should” do as if they had any idea of what would be best for me. Fuck them. Fuck them with a fucking two by four. How in the god damn hell do you think you are even vaguely capable of advising me. How do you dare to have such hubris as to feel you understand what is best for me. You don’t fucking know me.

And as we were walking out I was invited to walk the lake with them. It’s four miles around–a nice distance. Usually I would say yes. But I wore the wrong shoes. I looked down and said, “Enh, I can’t. If I try to walk long distances in these shoes I will limp for three days because my knee will hurt.” And the fucking response was “Oh come on. It will be fine.”

Cue head explosion.

I’m ok with saying, “I’m too big of an asshole for group therapy.” I can live with that if it is true. I have lived with knowing much worse things about myself. I get the general impression that the group facilitator is trying to turn the women in this group into a family because they are all very lonely and isolated. I am not going to move to Oakland so I can start hanging out with them. That isn’t going to make my life better.

And someone acting like the six years of hard labor I have put into my house and yard are no big deal? Oh man. I feel pretty insulted. I shouldn’t feel any attachment to the fact that I have put so much of my time and energy and soul into my property. It doesn’t matter right–it’s just a house. Move on.

I have moved and moved and moved and moved and moved and fucking moved. Don’t try to fucking tell me what moving is like. This is the house where my children were conceived. My daughter was born here. I have painted several murals so far. I intend to paint more. I have planted trees. We have a heavily fruiting orange and young apple, cherry, and plum. I have a blackberry tangle to make you weep with jealousy. I have grapes. I’m starting asparagus amongst other wonderful additions in the front yard. I do a lot of cooking with the sage and rosemary in the yard.

“I know you have painted the walls and all but why don’t you just sell the house and move.”

*explode*

This is my home. This is the home my husband gave to me. He has worked very hard to pay for it. He has been very supportive every step of the way with me changing it to suit me. Sure, it isn’t all that large but such is life. It’s a size I can keep clean. It’s a size of yard that keeps me busy but doesn’t overwhelm me.

Just up and sell my fucking house. Maybe I should get a shotgun so I can stand around declaring “Over my cold dead body.”

I’m not sure when it happened. When did this go from being Noah’s house that I am camping out in to someplace that I mortally offended when someone tells me to treat it casually. This isn’t just where I live. This is the first place in my life where it has been ok for me to behave how I want. This is the first place I have been safe. I have lived in this house longer than I have lived anywhere in my life. When I am an old woman my yard will be wonderfully fruitful and I won’t have to do a lot of work any more. But I will get to look out at the things I find beautiful forever.

I think I will always have weird niggles of feelings about the ghosts in the walls–the ghosts of time before me. But by the day that time recedes further and further into the past. I’m just left with all the wonderful memories I make every day.

“Gud mownin! I mithed you. I wuv you.” I need to get a video made of her speech impediment. It is the cutest fucking thing in the history of ever. She is currently lying next to me. I’m not sure why Noah is sleeping on the couch (we aren’t fighting or anything) so Calli asked if she could climb in next to me. Of course baby. I’d be happy to feel you heavy against my side while you sleep. I don’t think there is much in the world that can make me happier.

I was told I need more down time. Tell me something else new. This phase of life is not forever. I feel like that was a lot of the problem with the group. Never once was I asked why I have arrived at the bizarre combination of factors I have right now that is freaking me out. They just jumped straight to telling me what I “should” do instead of what I am doing. Because of course there isn’t a careful thought process behind what I’m doing. I should just up and change so that I can be more suitable to them.

Geez. Why am I so resistant to change.