When this happened back in 2009 I felt like I was in the back seat of a car that was headed for a cliff.
This time I feel like I am in the same situation yet I have asked for a shot of whiskey from the driver, just to slightly numb the upcoming pain.
It feels a bit like falling off the side of the earth and floating through space, not knowing where I will eventually land.
Yet the good news is that I have been here before, so I know that I will have to employ coping mechanisms asap or suffer through sleepless nights and hopelessly long days.
Friday MFP arrived home suspiciously early, around 2:30 p.m.
I was typing on the computer, Youngest was napping, and the older boys were still at school.
When I heard the door knob turn I thought I was either being robbed or that MFP had lost his job.
The latter was true.
My body went numb from head to toe, as I had taken a figurative swig of whiskey, knowing too well the road ahead was going to be bumpy.
To add insult to injury, we only had a few moments to discuss the details before the rest of the children showed back up and MFP’s parents pulled back into the driveway following a side trip up to Northern California.
I knew this would happen. I knew it.
That is why I had such a bad marathon last month, the reason I have lost countless nights of sleep this year.
I am almost relieved, yet I regret not having slept better then to save myself a bit of the deprivation that lies ahead now.
The tragedy in this is mostly the fact that we have been here before, and that for the last three years we have been trying to rebuild all that was lost the last time.
Which means that we are not as optimistic as one might be, hopeful that things will turn out just fine, that all of this is actually just a blessing in disguise.
We know what it is like. And it really, really sucks.
Neither MFP nor I grew up in a financially unstable household where twice the provider was unemployed within a three-year span. We grew up always believing that next year would be better than the last.
Our children, on the other hand, will never forget the tension and uncertainty that a job loss brings. They will be different.
I thought about not sharing this with all of you; however, when I started this blog, I didn’t want it to be shallow or falsely optimistic. I want to be honest.
My husband is fussy. My kids can be really annoying. I feel like a hag some days. We live on a very tight budget. I don’t have all the answers. I worry a lot.
That is real life. And it is messy. And it is mine.
And it is about to get a lot messier, which frightens me. A lot.
No matter how fussy or how annoying, my family means the world to me. I crave stability and happiness, and I want my kids to grow up feeling loved and enriched by the environment we have created here.
When that happiness is at stake, I feel like I am floating. Like I am too wispy to pin down.
Of course the saving grace in having a brood of boys is that I have to put on my happy face, even if it is a mask. I have to show them that I feel okay, that I think things will turn out fine.
I have to show them that I have faith in MFP, that I believe that this time will somehow be easier on all of us.
I am going to continue writing, continue running, continue supporting my children in all that they do.
We are so lucky that MFP’s parents are visiting, that they are here to distract us from each other.
We are making meals, telling lots of funny stories, and generally forcing ourselves to be strong.
We are planning our Thanksgiving meal, talking about Christmas, talking about the next job.
I will continue to blog, and at this point, I will still train for Boston.
I will continue to be real, to see the humor in every day life and to run my heart out.
Thanks for continuing to join me on this bumpy ride.
(Even if it might require a shot of whiskey from time to time.)