I was a good, obedient child. I didn't curse at my parents or tell them no. Actually, I don't recall ever being disciplined, because it wasn't necessary. My parents weren't strict, but I just followed the rules that were given to me. I enjoyed receiving instructions, and it made me feel content knowing that I successfully completed the tasks at hand. I always did well in school because of this. I actually was excited to receive to-do list, as I still am today. I liked to organize my toys into the correct areas of my room, I loved organizing book shelves in alphabetical order, I cleaned my room before I left so that I could return to a clean room, and I was absolutely thrilled at the opportunity to help grandparents with spring cleaning!
SO how the hell did I end up with Terrance? When I was 16, I was invited to his house to meet his mom. He wanted to show me his "music studio" in his room. When he opened that door, I should have ran. I should have ran back to my Honda Accord and sped home. I remember him having to push the door pretty hard to open it all the way. There were laundry baskets, shoes, books, Cd's, empty Arizona Iced Tea cans, and who knows what else. I honestly didn't know where his bed was. Come to find out, it was a daybed, which had collapsed (no doubt under the weight of trash) and was safely located under his entire wardrobe despite the 5 foot tall wooden dresser that was also in the room.
I remember one night, a few years into our relationship, I was keeping his mom company since he was working overnight. She had mentioned how she was, rightfully so, disgusted by his room. She was concerned about her parenting telling me she "didn't raise him like that." I think she was irritated by her messy son and also a little embarrassed. That night, I drank a rock star and stayed up til 5 am cleaning his room. I thought this would delightfully surprise him and make his mother happy as well. Well, I was wrong.
He tried to hide his upset, but I could see right through it. I asked him why it made him upset that I cleaned his room. I had figured he was just so busy with school and work (and of course being a boy since school and work never deterred me from keeping my apartment clean.) He said it was his mess. It was his organized chaos. He said he now knew where nothing was! I was in disbelief! I showed him where everything was, and that it was organized and would always be in the right spot, so long as he put it back. This meant nothing to him. He thanked me for trying, but it was an empty appreciation, and it was disheartening. I left it at that, and I never tried to clean his room again- until I moved in with him a year later.
I was helping him pack and when I opened his closet, it was filled with trash and underneath that trash was a laundry basket. I had never smelled anything that bad. As I was digging through it I found a broken bong that had leaked bong water onto this pile of clothes. If you have never smelled bong water, let alone, moldy bong water clothes, you've never smelled anything this bad. I was disgusted. I probably should have backed out then. But I held my nose closed and tried not to puke while I shoved it all in a trash bag and demanded that he take it to the trash, stat.
Almost ten years later, we have a two year old, who is EXACTLY like him. When it's shower/bath time, I follow them through the house and pick up two pairs of pants, two pairs of underwear, two pairs of shoes, two pairs of socks, and two shirts. Every night. Oh, and just shoot me if they decided to get creative. There is paper, paint, glitter, pieces of paper, crayons, markers, etc. on the table, in the kitchen, in the bathroom, in the living room, and under the blanket in the bed. It drives me batty. Terrance is the kind of person that will go left if you tell them to go right, because they think you're keeping them from some magical adventure by having them go right. He thinks that rules of the road are merely suggestions. He believes in aliens and becoming enlightened and that desk jobs are for corporate slaves. Autumn feels that she is the queen of the world and that when she wants something done a certain way, it must be done this way. She does not waste her day doing peasant things like picking up the three totes full of toys that she has dumped out. Her royal highness is much too busy to worry about the paint that has found it's way into her hair, or the pieces of jello that have managed to get stuck in her underwear. She actually tells me "No mom, I'm too busy." I don't tell my daughter that I'm "too busy" to do something, because she will MAKE me stop what I am doing to pay attention to her if I don't immediately stop. I don't know where she learned it, but she did.
I have two children to care for now, and both of them are driving me absolutely insane. They're alive and they are well, even after all the stress they've put me through. They are careless and they are destructive, and they are messy, but they are alive. That's all that matters, right? Because sometimes when they've finally managed to wear each other out and are cuddled on the couch I watch them sleep and thing that I could never live my life without them. Yet, sometimes when they're pushing every button and getting on every one of my nerves, I just want a fairy god mother who would turn them into mice, or something small I could keep contained in a cage. I'm just trying to find the silver linings so that I can keep that image in my head when I'm about to implode.
I tell myself, be thankful he's alive, because he has acute kidney failure and was hit by a car last year. He managed to make it out with just a broken leg and a bruised rib. Then the other part of me says he's an idiot for jay walking. Autumn broke her leg around the same time, by jumping off of the same couch I yelled at her not to for months. Part of me is so happy it was just a broken leg, and not a fractured skull. The other part wants to strangle her for being such a defiant dare devil. How does one keep the positive in the forefront of their mind without pulling all the negative feelings that come with a situation? Help! I'm living in chaos and the longer I'm around it, the more I realize there is nothing that can be done. This is who they are. They lack inhibition, they lack fear, they lack organization, where I lack creativity and spontaneity.
I wish I could be that cool breeze of a person who just rolls with the punches and happily cleans up after their artistic family while cherishing the moment that they're able to experience. I wish I could say "Oh yes Autumn, that painting on the wall of a power ranger helmet is beautiful, I think I'll let it stay there until you fall asleep." Alas, I cannot. My blood pressure rises and I get irritated and she sees it. She asks me "What's wrong mama? I'm sorry I make a mess." She doesn't even know she's making the mess, she thinks she's drawing a masterpiece, and then feels bad when I start to lose my shit. I hate surprises, I hate when things don't go according to plan, and I hate messes more than anything. I can't sit and watch a TV show if the living room is a mess. I have to clean it before I sit down. Even if I'm exhausted. I just have to rearrange the pillows on the couch so it looks like it's supposed to. I have to move the cable box so that it's centered on top of the TV stand, or it bothers me. I have to put all the correct toys in the correct bins or they stare at me while I'm staring at the TV, and it makes me cringe.
I think it's time I seek therapy. It's either I get it under control or I get rid of the two people I love the most. Could Terrance be more supportive? Absolutely. But I think the way I see him as insane for appreciating the chaos that his messes are is as insane he sees me for flipping out every time something is moved from it's designated area. So, I'll work on the only thing I have control over- myself, and see how that goes first.
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