The Road Less Travelled...

Well, here I am, 51 years old, and starting over.

From scratch.

After 14 years of ups and downs, I moved out of my family's ancestral home on Monday, leaving Hubby, Stepkids, and Dog behind, to take up residence in a one-room basement apartment with my Cat.

I know, I know, it's MY ancestral home, it's usually the woman who keeps the house, etc etc etc... But I don't know where this "separation" is going, and neither does Hubby. Stepdaughter will graduate from high school this June (with a little luck) and then we'll see about whether the ancestral home is still a prime location, whether a move is desirable, whether Stepson has (really) got himself a JOB yet, whether this, whether that, or whether not.

We'll see what the "whether" is.

Now, when I say "one-room basement apartment" I don't want any pity. It's a BEAUTIFUL big room, lots of interesting angles, not in the least bit box-like. And I had to turn the heat off for the first 2 days - it's dry and it's warm. And there are windows, two of which my Cat can sit in... if she ever comes out from under the bed, that is.

The Landlady is an animal-lover, so she's allowing visits from the Dog. Dog came over last night for a quick visit, incidentally. She was overjoyed to see the Cat, who wasn't quite sure she was overjoyed to see the Dog... Dog left willingly with Hubby, and Cat stayed firmly on the bed and watched them leave, then immediately rubbed herself all over me, as if to say "I think I just want to stay here with you for a bit." Come the summer, her tune may change, given the beautiful yard at the House, with birdfeeder to watch and bushes to lie under. But for now, this room's as good as any, to Cat.

Hubby is a basket case, but his jaw is set with grim determination to prove to me that I'm making a terrible mistake, unquote. I still love Hubby very much. But the absolute truth is - I don't miss the Chaos one little bit.

Getting to work from the House involves yelling at Stepkids, yelling at Hubby to get back up out of the bed he snuggled back into after his breakfast, yelling at him to get dressed instead of reading the paper from cover to cover, yelling at him to take a shower more than once a week, yelling at Stepdaughter to get out of the shower, off the phone, and get ready for school, yelling at Stepson to get the mattress out of his back before 4 pm and to GETAJOB... Lots of yelling going on. I don't miss that, and I won't miss that. Not for a second.

I won't miss the piles of laundry, either. A couple of months ago, a Dear Friend of mine came over to do a laundry intervention. I showed her the six-foot-high piles of teenager clothing and asked her "Is this me? Am I overreacting? Or is this as bad as I think it is?" She calmly assured me that, and I quote, "NO HUMAN BEING SHOULD LIVE LIKE THIS." Unquote. Whew. From that day the Stepkids were responsible for their own laundry. Stepson stepped up to the plate - three times already he's washed something... Stepdaughter, on the other hand, has wheedled her RealMom into buying her new stuff. Stepdaughter's piles of dirty clothes are growing... slowly, though, because she runs downstairs and takes things out of the piles to wear. But not a single load has soiled her laundry-free hands so far...

I won't miss the improperly-loaded dishwasher, the urine collecting around the toilets, the razors, toothpaste, hair elastics, and puddles of water that collect around the sink. The toothbrushes, glasses, and personal items falling onto the floor, the sopping wet bath mat and the hair collecting on the bathroom floor.

I won't miss the total lack of cooperation, the Stepson-cum-Sloth who lies in his bed till 4 pm, eats everything not specifically labelled for a specific dinner, puts breakables out of sight on the floor under the couches so they get knocked down on the cement floor at every available opportunity, whose dirty dishes, encrusted with Ramen and Kraft Dinner, lay under his bed for weeks at a time, whose unwashed bed linens smell to high heaven, and who regularly hides the remote controls.

Nope, I'm not going to miss that bit of attitude at all.

I could get up in the morning and walk 30 feet, from my bedroom door to the front door, and trip over six or seven things that annoy me, every single morning of my life. Used diabetes needles, and the used cases they come in, and the used labels that used to hold the needles in the cases, and the used test strips on the floor ... towels on the hairy floor of the bathroom, dirty socks on the floor or on the kitchen table, plates encrusted with kraft dinner - NOT placed in the sink to soak, but left on the table to dry out, coke tins, bread wrappers left open so the bread goes stale, milk left on the table to spoil, spills left to crust over, tea towels encrusted with previous spills that should have been wiped up with a dishcloth or paper towel...

I've been saying to Hubby, over and over, for fourteen LONG years: discipline your children. When they make a mess, MAKE them clean it up, don't clean it up for them, or they'll never learn.

But each and every time either of us pointed something out to either kid, the Kid would say "Oops, sorry," pick up the item, and go about dropping hundreds of identical items along their path each and every day.

I've tried humor. I've tried reverse psychology. I've tried sarcasm. I've tried tough love. I've tried calmly explaining. I've tried shrieking like a banshee. I've tried social workers. I've tried marriage and family counsellors.

Nothing ever changes. Hubby and his kids are like rocks. I'd break my spirit on them, I'd break apart, before any of them would show a little consideration for the other people they live with, or speak in a soft voice to me or to each other.

Life with THEM is full of Chaos, Screaming, and Frustration.

Well, I stuck it out for fourteen years, and on Monday, I left. The day after Valentine's day, after receiving a dozen roses, a handmade card, and a box of Laura Secord chocolates.

Hubby doesn't understand why. I've been telling him for 14 years: "Stand up to your Ex. Discipline your kids. Learn to communicate."

But he doesn't do any of those things. And he still doesn't get it.

Well, I can't help that. And I can't help him anymore. I need peace and quiet, I need to feel safe in my own home. I need to have some control over the state of my home, and over my state of mind.

So I got out. Started over. Day before yesterday, I took that "Road Less Travelled."

And I can tell ya already - it's a beautiful, serene road.