I ran away from home the other day. I did it in flip flops, with no money and on a 4 wheeler. I know that’s not really something that 29 year old moms are supposed to do but before you recommend me for commitment, let me explaine.
I’ve had a rough couple of weeks. Things have been crazy hectic. My neighbor killed my dog. Then, my dad got hurt really bad. And, on top of everything Little Miss has been extremely difficult and Hubby has been working nights so it’s been me against the masses. So, all of that led up to Monday and a very frazzled mommy. Little Miss woke up in a bad mood and she doesn’t believe in being miserable alone. She screamed constantly. She broke things. She hurt her brothers. She hurt herself. She was rough.
That evening I tried to get the kids together to take Captain to karate class but Little Miss dislikes karate since it’s the one time each week that the world revolves around someone other than her. That’s a big deal to me. I am in a constant state of guilt and worry that Captain is suffering because of our choice to foster. I really think he has benefited from it overall but he doesn’t get near the amount of attention as he did as an only child. It’s important to me that he feels like a little star at something. Little Miss has all of this figured out so any time we go to karate she has meltdown either on the way or as soon as we get inside. This means that I have to be one of THOSE moms that sit in the car waiting for their kid to come out of class instead of the cheerleader that I desperately want to be. I feel like I’m letting him down when I miss out on watching him fall down three times while they are running laps and his uncoordinated attempts at round houses.
Back to Monday. I was insisting that we really were going to karate and getting Captain dressed and finding shoes for the baby when Little Miss got mad and let our new dog out the front door. So, I’m running around outside frantically trying to catch the dog before the neighbor shoots her too but apparently in corgi-world it is hysterical to run right up to your owner and then bolt just before she can reach you. She kept running in the road so I was going that direction when I looked back and saw the baby walking barefoot through the yard. I ran back for him and the dog chose this moment to disappear. So, then I loaded up the kids and we drove up and down the road looking for the dog, who you wouldn’t think would be that hard to spot in a hot pink dress. After several minutes I went to Hubby’s mom’s house up the road and woke him up to make him help (he sleeps there when he’s on nights cause our house is so loud during the day that a deaf man couldn’t get any rest). We drove and drove till we finally caught Princess Minnie Mouse Firedog and brought her to safety. At this point, karate was over and we had missed it.
Hubby knew that my nerves were frayed to when we went back to his mom’s to get the 4 wheeler he had driven over there, we agreed that I would drive it back while he followed in the car with the kids. That was the plan. I intended to follow that plan, I really did. But then I got to our house and I just couldn’t make myself turn into the driveway. Instead I just pushed the throttle in and kept right on going. I had this moment of exhilarating freedom. It was awesome. And then it back fired, the 4 wheeler I mean. And then it backfired again. Within just half of a mile, I was stuck on the side of the road with an ATV completely out of gas. Let me tell you that it was awkward calling my husband to explain that I had attempted to run away from home but ran out of gas and now needed to be rescued. Luckily, he’s a good guy so he came right on down. Unluckily, we had no gas at the house. But we stood in a driveway with the dead 4 wheeler while the kids sat in the car and talked for a few uninterrupted minutes which was actually pretty nice. We were just about to start pushing it to a safer spot when one of my neighbors drove by. She’s another oilfield wife so she understands having the occasional break down. She didn’t judge at all. She just got me some gas from her house and invited me to bring the kids over for pizza next time hubby is on nights for a hitch. When we finally made it home, Hubby thought it would be a good idea to let me ride while he took the kids for burgers. I raced around our pasture till my thumb hurt and the world made more sense. Then I sent an email to our foster adopt specialist and reminded her that we had to get respite this weekend.
Fostering isn’t easy. It is rewarding and I usually think it’s worth it but it is not easy. Foster parents need help and we need breaks. When we don’t get that, we sometimes throw 2 year old style temper tantrums. I’ve seen a lot of debate recently on whether it’s ok to send foster kids on respite. Some people think it just isn’t fair to these kids. I’ll write more on that some other time but let me just say that I think my kids will benefit more from me spending the weekend with hubby and some really good friends than they would from me tolerating them without any rest. If nothing else, it has to be better to plan a short getaway than to randomly have a mini nervous breakdown and run away from home in flip flops, with no money and on a 4 wheeler with no gas.