The House that's Really a Dungeon

I wrote this when I was feeling quite blue.  I can smile today, despite throwing my back after lugging 3 bags, Amelia, and Andrew up the stairs - and all this after a harrowing, emotionally exhausting doctor's visit for Emily and Andrew's well child visits (which included lots of screaming and gnashing of teeth due to vaccinations and blood draws) - because our situation is temporary.  We moved into our current apartment because it was one of the few available and it seemed cheap enough so that our monthly income could cover two rents as we finished out the contract we had in Kirksville.  As is natural, we couldn't anticipate everything when we agreed to live on the third floor and convinced ourselves that not having a washer and dryer would be doable for a year.  It has not been easy.  I have cried copious amounts of tears and screamed copious amounts of swear words (into pillows) during the most frustrating times.  But today I have the benefit of perspective to keep my level headed.  I can also post this knowing that I'm not falling apart (yet, that will happen later this week).  

*****

We've lived in our apartment for 7 months.  While I like the area with the community feel, I dislike our apartment.  Actually, I hate it.  I know that sounds strong but it's true,  I really do hate our apartment. (It feels good saying that.)

The 52 steps that separate us from the outside has created a space in which I can't escape.  We don't have a safe place for our kids to play.  There are no parks within walking distance. (Which I couldn't walk to anyway because I can't leave the kids alone in the apartment for long enough to drag the stroller up and down the stairs, you know?  And I can't carry it while also carrying Amelia and the diaper bag and simultaneously herding the other kids down the stairs.)

Those 52 steps also create a barrier in getting laundry done.  Do you know how hard it is to carry laundry up and down those stairs while also holding Amelia and verbally reigning in/coaching Emily and Andrew?  Ridiculously hard.  Tear-inducing hard.  Back-breaking (literally) hard.

As for grocery shopping? Boy it's become an Olympic event.  I absolutely can't do it unless Ben is present because of the parking lot/street that we have to cross to reach the entrance to climb those damned stairs.

Our kitchen is completely separate from the other rooms.  When I go in there to cook, the kids inevitably get into things they shouldn't and make messes that have me sobbing by the time I get there.  The kitchen also has about 2 in. of counter space (look at the pictures below if you don't believe me), just enough to hold a dish rack.  We had to buy a cheap folding table to make enough "counter" space for our microwave and toaster which gives maybe 6 in. more of space to cut up veggies and make food.  The stove is gas (which is fantastic for cooking) and is always hot, which means I can't put stuff on it.  Oh and each meal fills up the sink and it takes over an hour to wash dishes.  I pretty much avoid cooking because of the dishes and the messes the kids make.

Each week, when the kids and I have been stuck inside for like 5 days straight, I have a melt-down.  Kids are not meant to be cooped up all the time.  I'm not meant to be cooped up all the time.

But we only have one car and a very strict budget for gas.

Which is why I need PBS.  I'm embarrassed to admit how much TV the kids watch.  There was a time that we used to spend hours outside.  Now we spend hours inside watching educational programming because we don't have a choice; it's miserable.

Eighteen more weeks. Four and a half more months.  I am counting down.