My cat Jack was laying around tonight on my husband, who was reclined on the couch with the remote control in his lap. Jack tried to lay his head down on the remote control, and I tried to move it and he stopped me, with his paw, as if HE has control of the remote in this family.
Ya know, sometimes I think we have enough control freaks -- we don't need the 10 lb. cat to be one too.
Brian's job will be ending soon. It's getting more difficult to do business as his boss has stopped paying the bills. It's getting uglier every day. I'm actually going to be relieved for him (and so is he) when it's finally over.
Meanwhile, we just refinanced the house (this is actually a good thing given Brian's job status is where it is, since we'll have all debt paid off and a lower house payment).
We also called Lutheran Family Services about starting the process to do foster-adopt.
The constant prospect of change of jobs, family status, financial dealings...it doesn't seem like much really, since a lot of good will also come out of it, but it's hard for me to endure big changes, particularly when they come all at once.
The beauty of getting older though, at least for me, is that I have a lot more patience with these things. I realize that I can't control it all, and that I don't even want to anymore. I remember looking at my grandmothers and how easy going they were late in life, and now I see the path on which I'm headed.
I still fight my own self on some things when it comes to patience. Patience is not a natural phenomenon in me, but a learned, practiced and gone-through-trial-by-fire acquisition of the most difficult kind.
I've always in my young adult life, gone through life at "Mach 3 with my hair on fire" -- in a good way -- driven by the most part, and very impatient with so-so results.
But now I find myself thinking that those results come whether you pace up and down the floor or not.
Here's to learning how not burning a hole in the carpet.