We recently moved from one house to a better house. Keep in mind, it had only been 5 years since we had moved into the first house so this was supposed to be easy...
Pre-move: Our home is beautiful, functional, and a lovely place to life.
Stage 1. Make the decision.
Do you want to move from here to there? Yeah? Okay! Stage 1 is complete.
Stage 2. Lying to yourself.
Oh, this won't be so bad. We just did this and child #2 was in infant! How could it possibly be harder than that? I mean, come on!! Let's make a plan and get everything fixed up and get rid of everything we don't need or want to move.
Stage 3. PANIC
AAAAHHHHH!!! THIS HOUSE IS A DUMP! WHEN DID WE BECOME HOARDERS!!! HOW COULD WE HAVE LIVED IN THIS CRAP HOLE SO LONG! NO ONE WILL EVER BUY THIS HOUSE AND WE WILL NEVER EVER MOVE!!!
Approximately 48 hours into moving.
Stage 4. Resignation:
Throw away/donate all of your non-essential items. Use the reasoning that you never liked x, y, z in the first place. It feels so freeing! Now you start donating absolutely everything that you don't want to move. The ultimate stage is when you donate car loads of items to charities and don't even want receipts.
What? Your Goodwill isn't in a meadow with this dress code?
Stage 5. GTFO
You are long past the stage of caring about what needs to happen in that old shit hole. You have a new house to fill up with your....oh... couch and three boxes of kids toys....hmmmm...well, just call it minimalist design and pretend your new philosophy is that you are free from all earthly possessions.
Now, let's all say it together. "WE ARE NEVER MOVING AGAIN-EVER, AND WE MEAN IT THIS TIME."
It was just like any other day. Big sister was at school, little monkey was home with me. Little Monkey is what we call a velcro child, and was particularly sticky that day. It was one of those days where you really just want a second to think, not play blocks, not play hide and seek, not read one of those charming children's books, not talk about which My Little pony is the silliest, just take a pee, read a book, listen to some music.
That was not happening at all. It was like a horror movie. A super adorable but infuriating horror movie. Everywhere I turned, there she was. Everywhere I looked, I was greeted with a chubby, dirty little fist waving at me.
I tried everything. I tried doing laundry ("Let me help you, Mommy!") I tried cooking "OOOH, LET ME HELP YOU MOMMY!") I tried letting the Aquabats entertain her for a few minutes. Then, I snuck off to the bathroom.
It's Like This...all the time.
Now, as every mom knows, the bathroom is one of the few times in life when you should be left alone but you never will be. "This time will be different" I told myself as I locked the door, and sat down.
I noticed the silence first-as in the TV had been turned off. Then the door flew open and my sweet, adorable, cloying, clinging daughter made jazz hands and said "Ta-Daa!!!! Don't worrry, Mommy! I'm here!" and laughed. You know what? I did, too. It is one of my favorite days to look back on, and we actually had a blast for the rest of the day. I gave in, I let her cling, and then, after lunch, she looked at me, smiled and said "I need to go take a nap. I'm worn out." She got her nap, I got some time to myself, and it was everything I had hoped it would be.
My youngest daughter started Kindergarten last month. This is the child who has asked to go to school every day since she could talk. This is the child who has watched her sister go to pre-school and school from the very minute she left the hospital. She is joyful, bright, funny, infuriating, short tempered, the best hugger and a great little pal to spend your days with.
So...now she's been getting ready to go to school. She has been spending days on end talking about what she wants to learn, who she wants her teacher to be, how many friends she's going to make, and so much more.
My experience with her has been a totally different experience than with my eldest daughter. My eldest was nervous about school, we had no idea what to expect, and while she was excited to go, we both were very emotional and felt very unprepared. Her school experience, from Kindergarten through 2nd grade, was in a different school district and was full of teary days and nights, lots of unfinished work, bus ride bribery, and calls home from the school Last year we homeschooled (that's another story) and this year, for 4th grade, after a move to a new district, school, etc., she loves her school.
My youngest, though, started school and is so HAPPY to be there. She can't wait to get to school. She is finally able to experience these magical things she's watched her sister do (buying school lunch, taking notes to the teacher, doing homework (not really-she's mad about that) and going to the school library. It is such a relief knowing that I can leave them in a supportive environment where they are actually learning and being taken care of.
You know what's even nicer? BEING ALONE. Let that sink in for a minute. Stay at home moms, you know what I'm talking about. That dream that you have had for at least 5 years ( It's been 9 years for me) has finally come true. I can now clean up after lunch and there are not instantly dishes in the sink. I can now sit down without being asked to get someone food. I can vacuum and not have to pick up little shitty toys all over the floor because someone decided they can't wait to get out their Monster High dolls and rip all of the clothing and limbs off and then go get out their legos then run away, with it all still on the floor, and play on the swings.
Here's another benefit: my hubby works second shift-so we actually have most of the day together, without children. We can go out to lunch or coffee or watch an episode of Breaking Bad in the middle of the day or he can actually take a nap before work, be rested up, and I can go have coffee with my friends. Yes! Here's the most amazing part of this-we still like each other! (That's also another story).
So, while I have really really enjoyed and been driven completely insane by my two girls, being with them day to day, watching them grow and learn and fight and start to discover who they are, has been chaotic, fun, and a true blessing. I wouldn't wish it away or trade it for anything. However, that doesn't mean I'm not going to enjoy the shit out of this time- and my newly re-discovered FREEDOM.
I've been trying to figure out how to write this down so that it comes out right-so I'm just going to do it. My father died a few weeks ago and I feel like I have no idea what is going on with my feelings.
Not because he was a good father or a good man, he wasn't either of those things. He was an angry alcoholic with (probably) some severe mental health issues. I hadn't seen him in 25 years, he wasn't invited to my wedding, never met his amazing grandchildren, never saw my house, met my husband, or even bothered to find out who his daughters had grown up to be. He was the biggest non-presence in our life, and his death had a far bigger impact than I had ever thought it would have.
My father disappeared from our life when his second family came to be. We had a younger sister and brother but never met them (and actually just made contact). We had aunts and uncles and a grandmother with whom we spent weeks in the summers and weekends in the school year growing up. We had a father who refused to speak to us, send my sister birthday presents, or even contact us after I was 8 years old or so. My only memories of him are horrible-drunken road rage, drunken rage in general, feeling scared of him as far back as I can remember. He was not a good dad, he was not a good man. He did not help make us happy, strong or capable human beings.
Our mother left him in a high stakes winner takes all escape between when he went to work and came home for lunch. She packed whatever she could fit into a suitcase and a diaper bag, and fled with her 3 year old and 1 year old from a very comfortable (but, I can imagine terrifying life) into a life of uncertainty. She moved us to safety, did her best to co parent, and raised us to be honest, compassionate and hard working women. She, like all other single parents, had to tread the line between being a protective mother and following the law, and she did, and never once disparaged our father's reputation. We always knew that she loved us (and we still do)
From the age of 8 until sometime in my late teens, I heard nothing from him. He didn't call, write, visit-nothing. He was again, the ever present specter in our house-we had standing orders at our elementary school that he was not to pick us up without our Mom's consent, we joked about the drunk under the bridge being our dad to our friends. We really had no idea where he was or what he was doing. At one point, he sent us a letter that told us never to drink or do drugs. We wrote back, poured our hearts out, and got no response-for the rest of his life.
At some point last summer he found out that he had cancer. He received treatment through the VA, but somewhere around Christmas, he died. (We found out all of this after) This is where it gets really crazy.
At first I was fine. Then I wasn't. How is it that one person who had no tangible presence in your life could have such a hold over your emotions? How is it that the death of the absence of a person could be causing such upeaval in my emotions? Why does that Southern Comfort ad that they show on Hulu make me cry every time I see it now? (Hint-my husband and I used to joke that that guy was my dad-and that cracked us up every time it came on TV)
That's the crazy thing about this whole situation. I knew/know who he was-but the 8 year old girl in the back of the brain doesn't. She is so sad that she'll never get a chance to hear her dad say "I'm sorry for not being around, and I'm proud of you." I keep hearing this little voice in my head ask the question "What was so wrong with me that you wouldn't even send me a letter?" Believe me, I know that I was better off but still, I am so sad for that part of me-and so amazed that it is still there, kicking around in the back of my head, waiting to just jump out, punch you in the gut then hide in the shadows for the next time you see the Southern Comfort ad or something. It is the most surreal thing in the world, for, I honestly never thought I would spend a minute feeling sad over his death, but here I am. Is it sadness for the death of a hope or an ideal that never would have been realized? Is it possible to mourn the death of someone who truly never seemed to bring anything but pain to those he was around? I don't ask these questions out of anger, I just truly don't understand.
That brings me to the past few weeks. I didn't realize how far it had gotten until I was deep in the hole. Last week, at one point, I was driving and realized that I hadn't felt anything-any emotion-in days. That was a scary thought. I was completely checked out of the world and didn't realize it until after it had happened. The scariest part of that, though, was that I didn't care at all. The thought hit me like I was thinking "Oh, I should pick up some milk on the way home" except it was "Oh, I haven't had a feeling in a while." But because I didn't have any emotion, I just kept driving and didn't think to mention it to anyone until a few days later, when I started to move through the feeling/not feeling thing. Now I'm working my way out, letting my feelings find their way to the surface, and doing what he never did-pulling the people close to me closer and letting them help me.
So, the big question is, what exactly am I mourning? Am I in mourning? As I said to my husband the other day "I have no idea what my feelings are doing right now!" I don't know-this is all new to me. I'll just keep him as a lesson in the back of my mind to love those who love you, live in hope, and keep a kind and open heart. I guess, if there is a bigger lesson to be learned from this whole situation, it's to pull your loved ones closer and let them know how much you love them, and to cherish the people, family or not, who encourage you to be a better person. As I work through that, though, I'll be heading back to the therapist's office to make heads or tails of this truly confusing and crazy situation so that some day I can just appreciate that great Southern Comfort ad for what it is-funny, weird, and strange.
