Wanna guess who the country mouse is in this story? Not hard to figure, huh? The past few weeks have been an ultimate test of everything in my simple, country born and raised, dreams of the big city, life. When I was younger, the ‘city’ life was my dream. This was before kids obviously. Living in Lexington was suitable for me, just having graduated from Powell County high school, and gotten my first apartment and attending college. Then came the marriage, the house, the baby, all like it was supposed to be. No happily ever after to that story for those who may have missed it. LOL! Life just doesnt always follow that fairy tale plan. But that was enough ‘city’ life to make me happy, although I always envied those people who could live in New York apartments and town homes and not have cars, walk everywhere because anything you’d ever need was within distance, you’d never even have to leave the city. Fast forward to ‘the edge of 40’ Marissa. My city mouse is ready to come home. I’m always gonna be a country mouse, and my dreams of the big city life are fading fast and becoming much less desirable.
Don’t get me wrong, although the situation that has brought us here to Philadelphia is unfortunate, I have learned to make the best of it. Not everyone gets it, and I understand. Just don’t judge…I’ve learned that lesson the hard way. If you’ve not been in the almost exact position someone has been in, you just can’t see it the way we do. That is why us ‘heart moms’ have such a special bond. We get it, we’ve all been there, stayed the same number of sleepless nights beside our kids hospital beds, handed them over to surgeons not knowing the outcome too many times to count, and you get the rest. It’s tough, so just don’t judge. Ever. Anybody. You don’t know what struggles people are hiding under their outward appearance. Ok, got sidetracked there. Back to country mouse.
Country mouse wants to come home. We’ve been here now since July 21. I’ve missed my birthday, Flynn’s football games, my brother coming home from work, Labor Day weekend I’ll be working all weekend at the pub. Not to mention I’m now here alone. It’s so hard. Not that we could do that much while John was here, but just simply eating from the hospital cafeteria alone is so hard. I play and pretend and get out, I like to act like I’m living the good city life, waitressing at a local pub, making cakes at a world famous bakery, but I wouldn’t trade my life at home for none of this. We are so blessed and fortunate to have the things we have here, so I’m not complaining at all, I’m just honestly surprised at how much my outlook has changed and how much I miss ‘home’. I’m torn between killing myself, mentally, physically, and emotionally by staying at the hospital 24/7, and coming ‘home’ to our host family here to have a real meal, actual adult conversation, and God Bless ’em, a nice glass of wine just handed to me because you can see the angst, stress, and weariness on my face so clearly. So there it is…the hard to admit, succumbing to age, embracing the ‘old lady who lived in a shoe’ mentality. That’s me now. It’s who I’ve become, its from the choices, (and mistakes) that I have made, and I’m owning it. I’m country mouse all the way. And this country mouse wants to come home. She wants her life back. I want my house full of boys running around, playing out on the farm, roughhousing, playing football, stinky butts and all! I want to make enough food every night to feed an army, and real food too, not this ‘city’ stuff. I’ll eat my fair share of hummus and love my occasional trips to Whole Foods and Trader Joe’s, but I want my Save-A-Lot cubed pork steak with gravy and biscuits, and having to cook 3 pounds of bacon and a dozen eggs just to feed my bunch on Saturday mornings. I want my Pentecostal, tambourine shakin’, losing his breath preacher on Sunday mornings. These are the things that have become the food for my soul. Life happens. Shit happens. It can change in a moment, or can take years, as it has me. Either way, fate has decided it for me. I’m a Powell county, barefoot to the mailbox, front porch swingin’, see my momma and daddy every day, country girl. I can’t hide it or deny it anymore. City life is just not for me. Visits are fabulous, but Stanton will always be home, and I’ve said that many times before.
As said by the wise old country mouse best…”I’d rather gnaw on a bean than be gnawed by continual fear.’
fearfully made; half-heartedly 