As I said before, we went to Michigan the day after the fire. This made perfect sense at the time considering that all of our family still lives in that area. There was where I planned to drop the kids with the grandparents and drink for three weeks strait while crying. I deserved as much.
That twenty or so hour drive to Michigan I drove in a sort of trance, trying to plan the next few months in my mind. Contacting our insurance company, finding a new house, transferring to Michigan schools because there was no loving way I was going back to Colorado anytime soon- things of that nature. Most of all I kept wondering how the hell I was going to explain to the kids that they weren't going back to the home they knew. Yes, must drink!
I was pulled over in Iowa. Iowa, *sigh*, I hate that place. A police officer noticed that one of my front lights was broken. He decided that I was a total and utter menace to society and needed to be punished for such a blatant disregard for the law. I told him "Yes, "Officer The Krispy Cremes Weren't Warm This Morning So I'm Feeling a Bit Pissy", (I swear that was on his badge) my light was busted out last evening when a fire fighter told me to move my vehicle out of the way of the big trucks filled with the water they used to put out MY BURNING HOUSE."
-Yeah, that happened. I was told I had plenty of room to maneuver yet still smashed the front end of my SUV into a boulder. Guess the one who's not so good at judging distances shouldn't be in charge of those sorts of projects. I'm just saying. The bright flames are very pretty and a bit hypnotic, I understand, but could you please pay some effin' attention to what you are doing, sir? Always, I ask too much. The cherry on the top of my evening, that was.
The most amusing thing was how this guy who had me drive into a rock kept apologizing to me for his mistake. Not so much my main concern at the moment. I think he was waiting for me to pull a reporter type smack down on him and loose all control. I sincerely had lost interest in the stream of destruction being thrown my way that evening, so much so that I couldn't even muster the energy for a speck of rage over a silly broken head light at that point.
Not only was the police officer upset about his doughnuts and my lamp being out, he was just a tad irked that I hadn't pulled over for him right away and he had to follow me for a few miles until I pulled off the highway to get gas. Would you like to know why I drove for miles and miles Officer? Because YOUR lights were broken as well. If that wasn't the pot calling the kettle black.
In the end I was issued a warning ticket and sent on my merry way. Yep, he was THAT kid of cop.
We arrived "home" to Michigan to a family that greeted us with sympathetic hugs, alcohol and some basic personal goods that my mother (with nothing but panicked good intentions, keep in mind) had purchased for us to have available as soon as we got in.
Here's where I insert proper recognition to my mom, huge thanks for doing that for us!
Now, I'm not one to look a gift horse in the face, really I'm not. That being said, I feel the need to share what my mother bought for me. Cautionary tale? Perhaps. Embarrassing? A little. Good for a laugh? For damn sure. So here it is, and...you're welcome.
After showering and trying to wash away yet another crap day I find myself faced with the worlds worst undergarments to dress in. This is not an understatement. Somewhere in the Philippines a little old woman was laughing her ass off while making these abominations. I guarantee you this.
Clue #1 things weren't going to go well- my new underwear was sold in bulk packets of 6 and wrapped in plastic. Okay, beggars can't be choosers, right?
WHOA, Nelly! What in the...? This certainly can't be right! Maybe I put them on wrong. Are there instructions for these things on the package? I think inspector #17 has much lower standards then I do. The mesh underwear the hospital was kind enough to send me home with after birthing my children had a sexier cut then these things did. Nothing I did made any sort of positive impact on what was sheathing the lower half of my body. If you can't beat them then let's just move on, shall we?
I had hoped the garment provided for the upper half turned out better then the underwear Omar the tent maker designed. Clue #2 that things weren't going uphill any time soon was the fact that this alleged "bra" contained no distinctive markings that would make you recognize what it was without a careful and thorough examination. A bra wasn't absolutely necessary at this point seeing as how there was room enough in the ENORMOUS panties to pull them up to my armpits and just tuck everything inside and call it a day. I didn't think it could get worse, I honestly didn't, so I sucked it up and put the damn thing on.
It got worse.
I understand that my mother wouldn't know my exact measurements in this department and that things may turn out a bit ill fitting. Ill fitting I could have dealt with. A uni-boob creating sports bra? Not so much.
So there I am, standing in front of a full sized mirror, covered in crimes against cotton, and I lost it.
I laughed so hard I nearly peed and was grateful for a moment that the underwear did indeed come in a 6 pack so that I had some back-ups handy.
After the initial shock wore off and my laughter died down I ventured out of the bathroom and yelled for my mom to come see what a bang-up job she had done picking out unmentionables. I begin by telling her "Just because I am homeless doesn't mean I have to look the part." She looked at me with honest confusion until I lifted up the pink and teal polka dotted pajamas (those really happened, I can not make this stuff up), she was kind enough to get for me as well, and share my party. "Seriously mom!"
She felt awful and tried to explain through her own laughter/pouting just how distraught and upset she was while shopping that she just grabbed the first things she saw. She figured these items would do until I could get to the store and pick out stuff for myself. My mother had no idea how much her trait of effortlessly being perfect in nearly everything she does added to the humor of it all.
I never ended up crying and drinking that evening. Or the evening after that. Nor the next. What good was it going to do me? Not much. I had shit to do and it wasn't going to get done while hungover. I had to think about what it would do to my children if they saw me breakdown.
Explaining it to the kids, who were ages 5, 3, 2.5 years and 8 months of age at the time, wasn't as tricky as you would imagine. I wasn't bothered much so in turn they weren't bothered much. We have always taught our children that "home" is your family and not your surroundings. Thank goodness for that.
They still bring up the fire once in a while. They know it's alright to talk about it and I am not going to flip out. The kids are very matter of fact about it. I love the resilient minds of my little ones.
I can't change the past and I wouldn't want to. Yes, it was alarming to loose my home, my memories and keepsakes. An event like that is shocking... but it's not soul destroying. Not unless you allow it to be.
Fuck that path! No thanks, I'm a little better then slipping into a self pity coma while drowning in tears. I'm not saying I sucked it up and went on with life. There was no sucking it up. I'm not saying I laughed it off, either. It wasn't funny. It was what it was. I just had to figure out which direction to take it.
I could do something great with this new situation...like start a new shoe collection. I was thinking positively already! I recruited my sister-in-law, Jen, to help and we started plugging away at the nightmare that is a loss claim while visions of new spring boots with a 4 inch heel danced in my head.
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