For so long now – for SO! LONG! “All” I have wanted is my own house!

My own house that is filled with color and over-stuffed furniture and whimsical art and…

Laughter and emotional safety and joy.

I just want my own house!

It’s a lament that has been echoing through my brain, heart and soul for years now.

And now something has happened…

Something that means I can no longer hide in my procrastination.

Something that if this doesn’t push me, I fear that nothing ever will.

My kids had friends over last night.

They got loud, as kids will do.

My husband told them to quiet down and they did.

Temporarily.

As kids will do.

My husband told them again to be quiet.

And then as he was walking away, past my daughter, he hissed in her ear,

“You guys are fucking pissing me off.”

She told me she wasn’t going to tell me “at first” because she fears me confronting him because he then yells at her for “tattling.” She was crying as she told me.

“Mom,” she sobbed, “he thought he was whispering but everyone heard.”

She was mortified.

I don’t know who this man is anymore.

He is not the man I married by a long shot.

How am I suppose to wrap my head around this kind of treatment?!

I promised her last night.

Promised, promised, promised…PROMISED her this was our last holiday season in the same house with him.

Now to make that happen.

“Just do what must be done. This may not be happiness, but it is greatness.” (George Bernard Shaw)