It's been a little over a year since we moved here. Since I gave up the idea of returning to the job that I loved. Since we sold the house that we owned and cared for and worked on, in a neighborhood that wasn't necessarily full of lots of community togetherness but still had great amenities for our family such as the convenience store and drugstore, and comic book store, within walking distance.
Looking at us now, we don't have the jobs that we thought we might have. It's just been too hard to get in the door. We have some things. We're making a little money. We have some private students. But we're still living in my parents' house with no end to that arrangement in sight.
I get WIC food for the kids, because we qualify financially, and it definitely helps.
Certainly not how I thought I'd be doing things at age 30.
But you know what? I look at my boys. The Boy's life was likely saved by our moving here. He may have survived, but he probably would have been damaged by the additional chemo treatments, not to mention the blood pressure cocktail that really wasn't supposed to be long-term for him. Who knows how much worse his hearing might have gotten? Who knows what his kidney status might have been. And Meatball is SO happy and healthy, and so loved. He gets so much positive attention and has been consistently thriving since we got here.
Ask me to choose--our careers and sense of independence and earning potential, or a better quality of life for these children?
Don't forget that we chose what is best for the children. And if you'd like to criticize me for living with my parents (who have been so generous with their resources, space, and time), after having been a homeowner and a person with a thriving career (which may have been flushed anyway, given the climate in New Jersey education), please keep in mind the choices that we made, and would make EVERY day of the week, for our children, and then remember that you probably have no room to talk about us.
It's the children. Every. Single. Time.