The night of our move, as we were setting the kids rooms up, I got a call from my step-dad. I had already gotten the text that they had arrived home safely after having visited with us for a couple days, so I was waiting for the bad news. My uncle, whom I have only met twice and basically disowned my mother when she went to school to be a minister, had just passed away from Covid. All I could think of was my mom must be in a swirl and not even really know how to feel. I don’t know how to feel about it. Her plans to come back might be changing. I completely understand.
So I went about my day today. Got the kids up nice and early. Stopped on the long ride to school to get them breakfast and then went to our old apartment to clean and pack the remaining rabble. I had to head back home and then drove back out to the apartment. On the way I talked to my mom (hands free) and when I got there, my husband called. He no longer has a job. Fuck…shit…fuck.
Ok, so we’ll be fine. He’s checking on some possible short term work while he searches for a job that better fits his abilities. The job is not actually a great loss, but new house, new cars, long drives to get the kids to school, and new stuff for the house. I might pick up some more hours at work in the meantime. The job was not really worth the stress, we had just hoped he could hang on to it long enough to find another one first.
So, life is a mixed bag. I had thought we might enjoy a long streak of things being wonderful, but there always has to be some balance. I’m strangely calm about the whole thing. I have a gut feeling that we’ll be fine and that this will be better in the long run. We usually figure it out. I really hope my husband can find a job that makes him happy. A job like the one I found. There is almost nothing that can get me to leave.