I am so tired of having every legal, financial aspect of my life examined; every piece of furniture, every wall hanging, every box of undergarments and private papers fondled by young men; every corner of my home(s) inspected, that I cannot believe I am actually online. I want to escape to an uncharted island for a while, then come back and rejoin my life, already in progress.
We are all cranky, and I will not elaborate on the other surprising and alarming ways my children are exhibiting their reaction to so much change, even very welcome change. I was not expecting it, and I am too frazzled myself to be as responsive and soothing as I would like.
I will protect their privacy — oh, privacy, please! — and relate instead that even our dog is unhinged, and has been refusing to poop until — finally! — this evening.
Is it optimism that leads me to forget the inevitable effect of one life’s top 3 ( or 5) stressors, or or simple cluelessness?
I’ve also discovered a new homeschool worry — have I not taken away a source of routine and reliability, which they could really use right now? Of course when I was trying to read online about how children experience the stresses of moving, it was all about school, so maybe it’s a wash.
One good thing about moving (as this post is reading mainly like a negative vent — which I think it is!) — I am reminded of how great it is to have friends, and how much is to be gained by leaving behind the illusion that there will be extra cookies in heaven for people who do everything by themselves.
Two lovely examples: the night before the movers came, I was exhausted — like, not quite able to drive exhausted — and on the verge of a bona fide panic attack. My husband sent me into the shower and then to bed with a book. No, we were not as prepared for the movers as I would have liked, but when I mentioned to him that I was rehearsing scenarios of movers telling me we were the worst organized movers ever, he said, effectively, “and how bad would that be, really?” Not that bad, in fact.
The morning of the move, however, I was regretting getting a good night’s rest rather than staying up knocking myself out, and I was back in panic mode. Suddenly, my good friend who had offered to take the dog for the day appeared at the door. We hadn’t been in contact for several days, but she just showed up, ready to help. Then she said, “should I take the girls, too?” though her own children were in school for the day, and off they went.
These were my tiny oases of good feelings in an event that seemed designed to bring all my shortcomings and self-doubts fully into play, and I was so glad to have them and accept them wholeheartedly.
Speaking of good feelings, I think I shall order some groceries for delivery and either tuck into bed with my new book (that guernsey literary society one everyone has been reading) or knit and watch a movie on the DVD player my husband just got set up in the den. Those boxes aren’t going anywhere, but with any luck my inner slave driver may be off for a little vacation.