Whoa. Has it really been nearly two months?
That makes total sense actually. I lost the last two months, for the most part, to a crazy abusive relationship that I got into with “The New Mmpartment,” as Edie likes to call it. The place was perfect, except for the dirty disgusting walls the color of bandaids, the filthy screens, drawers, cupboards, windows, ceiling fans, garbage disposal, and urine soaked carpet in Edie’s closet.
How did I not notice these things upon first sight? Desperation. Not just to get out of my mom’s house, because really, things are not too shabby there (hello, free babysitting!). But I was and have been for a good portion of my adult life, desperate for a home. Like…a HOME. Something with muddy boots on the porch and little cups with seedlings growing on the kitchen windowsill. A spinning corner, a cozy handknit rug, complete with cat sleeping in front of the fireplace. A wall covered with framed artwork from all of Edie’s years so far…
And the framework of this apartment, the shape and size of it, was and still is, perfect. It was the right price and there was a room for her and a room for me, with room for both of us to share and play in and once I learned the shape of this place, my heart curved around it and made a life inside it. With our windows open we could hear a rooster crowing somewhere nearby, and smell the horses next door. A woman who hangs out at her kitchen window to smoke and talk on the phone always smiled and waved to me while I did dishes or peeled an orange in front of my kitchen window. Children play in the gravel drive between the buildings. It’s not a huge complex – I hate those. It was the closest thing to home that I’ve found in a long time.
I poured myself into fixing it up to make it livable. My dad came over four or five, maybe six times to work on cleaning and fixing things. The shelves were falling down in the cupboards so he hunted down some new shelf clips. The door had been kicked in so he fixed the deadbolt to lock again. Alison helped me spackle, Robby helped me paint, and Isaiah helped me watch Pee Wee’s playhouse. Edie helped cook dinner with her new wooden kitchen stuff. My aunt and uncle donated some leftover paint, and a friend from work gave me the sweetest shade of lavender for Edie’s room. Edie has been so excited about her purple room, and we hung some orange paper lanterns which matched her dresser and bookshelf. I painted my room a grayish sage green, which I loved. It is calm and peaceful…but there have been problems and problems and problems.
Ultimately it turns out that the neighbors downstairs are smokers and probably dealers of oxycodone, and they chased their dragon right into my dryer vent and into all my clothing. If I left the apartment windows shut then my hair would smell like it. On top of that, the whole place had a terrible smell that I just couldn’t get rid of. I bought air purifiers, I washed and painted the walls, I cleaned the carpets, had the landlord replace the carpets, but it just hasn’t helped enough. He agreed to let me out of the lease at the end of the month and I’m still waiting to hear how much of my money he is willing to refund since the apartment was basically unlivable except for the 6 days we slept there before discovering the drug thing. During the 6 days we slept there, my daughter and I both developed respiratory problems and got sick – she got her first ear infection that I can remember, and my lungs felt like fiberglass.
The reason I called it an abusive relationship is that I still love the apartment. It still feels like our home. When I stop by to pick something up that I need, or grab more clothes from the pile on the bed, I still get that feeling of home. Even though the stairwell smells like cat piss. Even though the neighbors don’t pick up their tiny dog’s tiny dog shit. Even though garbage strewn all over. Even though oxycontin in our dryer. Even though I had to install my own towel hooks in the bathroom. Even though everything. There is a lot to love about the apartment, and I do. Especially Edie’s room. Edie’s room is the most beautiful, colorful spot in the house and she already put up some of her vinyl wall stickers that Auntie Jill gave her. Butterflies and flowers grow on the walls and I bought her a little play kitchen to go next to our big real kitchen. The huge picture windows have trees in them, and the windows in our rooms have trees in them. It is quiet and private except for the drama going on downstairs. Which is enough. I know we can’t stay there but I’m heartbroken. Edie is confused. I’ve looked at some other apartments and none of them give me that feeling. None of them will have a lavender and orange room for Edie and a subdued green room with mirrored closet doors for me. I drove away sobbing from the apartments I looked at today. It’s time to cut our losses and go, but we poured so much hopeful energy into that place that I am reluctant to leave. Yes I know he beats me but deep down he’s a really good person.
At least my spinning wheel is here at my mom’s with me. At least Barbara taught us to spin locks of kid mohair and to make thick and thin yarn. At least Edie is safe and happy, even though she talked quite a bit about neighbors smoking cigarettes and dogs pooping in the yard today. Apparently that’s what she’s gleaned from overhearing me explain the apartment situation to other grownups, because I’m pretty sure I just told her that the neighbors were making our apartment stinky. Actually I have no idea how to explain it to her. It isn’t fair and it doesn’t make sense. It may sound like I’m feeling sorry for myself but I’m just disappointed that I haven’t been able to give Edie a real home yet. The girl is 3 already and we are still hanging in limbo, bouncing from grandparent to grandparent, looking for home.
I took Edie to see our new apartment yesterday, and to get the keys. She ran in circles in each of the bedrooms, asked Roy, the landlord, to turn on the ceiling fans, rang the doorbell, took the toilet for a test drive, and waved to the horse living on the back porch of the house beyond the trees out back. I showed her which bedroom was hers and she laid down on the floor to make a carpet angel.
On the way in to see the place, Edie told Isaiah that we were going to get an apartment because our old room is full of dirty clothes. I said, “Edie, those clothes are clean. They are just all over the floor because we haven’t put them away.” I am so excited for Edie to have her own clothes hamper. Our washer and dryer are in the hallway, so she can help with the laundry. If there is one thing I’ve learned from MTV about parenting, it’s that kids need chores or they will turn into spoiled, entitled, self-righteous bad kids who smoke and wear too much eyeliner (World’s Strictest Parents). MTV or no MTV, I’ve always wanted to raise Edie to help out around the house, because it’s her home too, and if she doesn’t learn how to wash dishes and do laundry and pick up her toys, she’ll turn into me, and then her daughter will tell people that they are moving because the old house is full of dirty clothes.
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