Some time ago my brother asked me how it is that I can so easily let go of things. It seems to him that personal property has no value to me. He would have been shocked to see the absolute meltdown I had yesterday over, yet another, missing shoelace. I screamed. I called a family meeting. I exhausted the cursing section of my lexicon time and again until it seemed I would be sick. Some time later I shook my head sadly and quietly let go. I let go of the idea that I will ever own anything nice for any longer than it will take my children to destroy it.
Over the course of this year my shoelaces have been disappearing one by one. I don't know where they are going but one of the children is the culprit and NO ONE will admit to it! That is only one minuscule example of the children's effect on my belongings. I pay almost 1/2 of my take home pay in rent. Fighting twins put a hole in my bedroom door. I looked; those are expensive. I have started saving for the new door - never mind that I am never sure how I am going to keep these ever hungry bellies full. Another fit of rage put a fist sized hole in the wall next to the boys' bedroom door. The decision to move furniture resulted in yet more wall damage. My other twins who decided to cook themselves eggs on the griddle had a fight over the spatula, brought the fight into the living room and smeared 1/2 cooked eggs onto my sofa. I cannot even begin to enumerate the number of things that just mysteriously "break". I feel that I know my children well enough to always know who the culprit is but their truth-telling skills are wanting and their acting skills are amazing. They somehow manage to flip it right back on me. I mean how could, I, their mother even think that they would do something so terrible. I mean, what kind of mother would do that? The furniture and the home itself isn't even the half of it.
I go to brush my teeth and my, MY toothpaste is gone. I go to wash my hair and I have no shampoo. Someone keeps removing the TP from MY bathroom. I find my make-up throughout the house. It doesn't matter that I don't wear it, maybe I would if I weren't always mourning the loss of my sanity. I find my shirts and shoes on my daughter. I explain to her that she can't wear my things because there is no more where those came from. She shrugs and claims that I put them in her clothes pile after doing laundry. I doubt myself.
My little bit of peace is my garden. My son cuts the grass and cuts down my tomato plant. My other son decides to play soccer in the back yard and I come home to 8 tomatoes on the ground and the plant tipped over.
So you see, I am learning to accept that I have nothing. Well, other than 5 little mouths to feed and minds to educate and bodies to exercise. But I do dream... all of my precious things exist only on Pinterest.