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: Victory Lap
Or maybe I should say, home stretch?
Hoping it doesn't jinx us, I am disclosing that Cory has found us a small one-bedroom apartment near where we used to live that we have almost been approved for, and that it looks like we have less than three weeks left of refugee life.
We have given up on the three jobs that Cory hasn't heard from, and are hunkering down to try again next year. Until then, it is the Coalminer return to L.A.
I should say as an aside that we have been sick nonstop since Goodness Knows When, and that when we were nearly in the clear, well, let's just say I washed my Immodium down with an ice-cold glass of homemade lemonade and chased it with a strong Nescafe Frappe. Mimi, on the other hand, took her BRAT diet rather well this time, with the promise of another trip to the beach as soon as she has a hard poop. She was at school with my dad when my sister and I took Frank to the beach yesterday. She went to the beach, and even swimming with my dad, but she much prefers the E6 beach chairs, umbrella, dirty sand, and trash-free beach we frequent, even though it isa 2-hour-each-way trip on public transportation, and I can't say that I blame her.
Mimi has become somewhat of a gum whore, and she uses her time on the Tram being cute, disclosing embarrassing family secrets, and charming anyone who happens to be chewing something out of a piece of gum.
The strain here has lifted as everyone is pretending they will miss us. And I suppose they will miss the kids. I also suppose that after I leave, they will have some inkling of how much housework I actually do. In my fantasy, this occurs while they are jumping off a cliff on the way to go fuck themselves. But of course, who cares?
I have a lot to say about what I've learned here, and what my nearly bi-lingual daughter and my truly bi-lingual son have learned and done, but I fantasize about writing it all into a book, or at the very least, a TV series. In my spare time. I mean, what am I going to do when I don't have to hand-wash all of our clothes/towels/sheets? Use the internet?
They do actually have a washing machine, but I got tired of being accused of wrecking it, so now I do all of our laundry by hand. I do frequently forget to check kids' pockets, which do occasionally contain a handful or rocks or coins or . . .gum . . . but you would think a washing machine would handle that? What would I know? I'm a perpetual renter without a washer.
So, I am starting to pack. And it is good. Lest I ever forget, I shall note here that at the peak of the strain with my stepmother over the goddamn washing machine because she accused me of not shaking out the beach towels before putting them in the washer (I did, for the record, but sometimes things the kids do escape me, so while I shook them out, I cannot guarantee that Mimi didn't shovel sand into the towel bag), my dad offered to buy us plane tickets home. To which I replied, "which home?".
Cory and I had been looking online for places, and we almost found one, which had my hopes soaring, only to find out someone else actually had it. My dad suggested that we started looking for a place, which we had been doing for weeks. Anyway, Captain Obvious also suggested that it would be better for our marriage if Cory and I were together. At which point I lost all of my repressed shit very politely. I mean, we did make the duration of our stay quite clear before making the arrangements to come here.
And this return will come none too soon, as Frank keeps calling anyone who lokes remotely like Cory "Daddy?" and lamenting in Greek when that person doesn't answer his requests to "come here" in Greek. My kids need their dad. I need my husband. And I hope he needs us too. Hopefully that will be enough to make the transition back to a 2-parent family and life in A ONE BEDROOM APARTMENT a little smoother. And, if not, we will survive.
In closing, please try not to gag over a picture of me in a swimsuit, but here are me and Frank at the beach:
Or maybe I should say, home stretch?
Hoping it doesn't jinx us, I am disclosing that Cory has found us a small one-bedroom apartment near where we used to live that we have almost been approved for, and that it looks like we have less than three weeks left of refugee life.
We have given up on the three jobs that Cory hasn't heard from, and are hunkering down to try again next year. Until then, it is the Coalminer return to L.A.
I should say as an aside that we have been sick nonstop since Goodness Knows When, and that when we were nearly in the clear, well, let's just say I washed my Immodium down with an ice-cold glass of homemade lemonade and chased it with a strong Nescafe Frappe. Mimi, on the other hand, took her BRAT diet rather well this time, with the promise of another trip to the beach as soon as she has a hard poop. She was at school with my dad when my sister and I took Frank to the beach yesterday. She went to the beach, and even swimming with my dad, but she much prefers the E6 beach chairs, umbrella, dirty sand, and trash-free beach we frequent, even though it isa 2-hour-each-way trip on public transportation, and I can't say that I blame her.
Mimi has become somewhat of a gum whore, and she uses her time on the Tram being cute, disclosing embarrassing family secrets, and charming anyone who happens to be chewing something out of a piece of gum.
The strain here has lifted as everyone is pretending they will miss us. And I suppose they will miss the kids. I also suppose that after I leave, they will have some inkling of how much housework I actually do. In my fantasy, this occurs while they are jumping off a cliff on the way to go fuck themselves. But of course, who cares?
I have a lot to say about what I've learned here, and what my nearly bi-lingual daughter and my truly bi-lingual son have learned and done, but I fantasize about writing it all into a book, or at the very least, a TV series. In my spare time. I mean, what am I going to do when I don't have to hand-wash all of our clothes/towels/sheets? Use the internet?
They do actually have a washing machine, but I got tired of being accused of wrecking it, so now I do all of our laundry by hand. I do frequently forget to check kids' pockets, which do occasionally contain a handful or rocks or coins or . . .gum . . . but you would think a washing machine would handle that? What would I know? I'm a perpetual renter without a washer.
So, I am starting to pack. And it is good. Lest I ever forget, I shall note here that at the peak of the strain with my stepmother over the goddamn washing machine because she accused me of not shaking out the beach towels before putting them in the washer (I did, for the record, but sometimes things the kids do escape me, so while I shook them out, I cannot guarantee that Mimi didn't shovel sand into the towel bag), my dad offered to buy us plane tickets home. To which I replied, "which home?".
Cory and I had been looking online for places, and we almost found one, which had my hopes soaring, only to find out someone else actually had it. My dad suggested that we started looking for a place, which we had been doing for weeks. Anyway, Captain Obvious also suggested that it would be better for our marriage if Cory and I were together. At which point I lost all of my repressed shit very politely. I mean, we did make the duration of our stay quite clear before making the arrangements to come here.
And this return will come none too soon, as Frank keeps calling anyone who lokes remotely like Cory "Daddy?" and lamenting in Greek when that person doesn't answer his requests to "come here" in Greek. My kids need their dad. I need my husband. And I hope he needs us too. Hopefully that will be enough to make the transition back to a 2-parent family and life in A ONE BEDROOM APARTMENT a little smoother. And, if not, we will survive.
In closing, please try not to gag over a picture of me in a swimsuit, but here are me and Frank at the beach: