Acceptance

Yesterday, we got an Act 91 notice in the mail. This is a notice from our mortgage company, that basically states that if we do not pay what we owe in back mortgage payments within 30 days, they will begin foreclosure procedings. Today, I have my "phone interview" with my case worker (still cannot believe that I have a "case worker") to see if they will continue our food stamp benefits. That is happening at 1:00 today. My week just keeps getting better and better.
When I lived in New York, things were fast, and fun, and stylish. Each experience was more amazing than the last. My days were spent working, with fabric, and sewers, and pattern makers, and in the garment district. I had to deal with upper East Side ladies, and listen to all of their "problems". I went out to the Hamptons every weekend in the summer, and partied all night, and laid on the beach all day. My biggest decisions were what was going to be for lunch, and would I order a cocktail with it. I was beautiful. Really beautiful. I was tiny, and put together. I avoided streets in the city that were under construction, when the men were out eating lunch. I knew that I would get shouted at, and cat called. If I walked down those streets today, I would go unnoticed.
I thought that my life in NYC would eventually come to an end, because I wanted to get married, and have a family. I just always assumed that the next phase of my life would overshadow my younger years. In that, I mean that I thought the years of getting married, and having children would just be easy, and carefree, and make the exciting days of my twenties seem boring. I thought that the next part of my life would be a natural progression of better. Things would just keep getting better.
That does not seem to be the case. Since getting married, and moving here to PA 7 years ago, it has been a struggle. We have had to "borrow" more money than we could ever repay, go without so much, experience a major period of unemployment, and the subsequent fallout from that. We live in a constant state of stress, and fright. My heart palpitates erratically all day. I have aged 15 years in these 7, and have become unrecognizable from the girl who I was just 10 years ago. A girl beaming with hope, and promise, and youth, and excitement. I have silver hair now, and a terrible wrinkle between my eyebrows. I no longer look put together. Just held together. I have no one to talk to, or cry to, as the shame of our life makes me feel like a loser, and an irresponsible parent. I cannot provide things that my children want so much. They ask for dance lessons, and to play on Soccer teams, and I simply say, "we'll see", hoping that they will forget.
When I was in junior high school, all the girls used to wear those T-shirts that Wham made popular. "Choose Life". I wanted one. I never asked for one, because I knew we didn't have the money. So instead of feeling bad about not having one, I simply told friends that I thought they were stupid. I also said this about Members Only jackets, and the hats girls used to wear like Simon LeBon had. High top Sacco sneakers I also turned my nose up to. Madonna bracelets, and all things flourescent, I deemed silly. A fad. Yet inside, I wanted these things. I wanted to be like everyone else.
My Olivia is reaching an age where her friends are important to her, and what clothes she wears is defining. She keeps asking me to buy her clothes at a store named Justice. I took her there one day. A shirt was $30.00. I felt her disappointment. I was disappointed for her. I remember that feeling. I remember being understanding of my parents financial circumstance. I listen to Olivia now, speak of every other Friday with hope. "Maybe on payday, we could....." It breaks my heart.
I don't want her to stop asking though. I don't want her to just accept this. I can't accept this.