When the tears stopped flowing, and the doors stopped slamming, I thought the storm had passed. I thought the kids had accepted the news of the move, swallowed the bitter pill, and chosen to focus on enjoying the rest of their time here. Truth be told, I was a little surprised at how easily they got beyond leaving behind the world as they know it.
It turns out that they traded in the tears for a more subtle form of expressing their anger and confusion.
I went to Columbus earlier this week to find a house. Ever since my return, each child has been acting out in their own way. And life around here has been absolute hell, exhausting my patience and making me question whether my skills as a mother will get us through these next few months.
Bella's default expression is anger nowadays and even the sight of peas instead of broccoli on the kitchen table is enough to send her stomping up the stairs, making the entire house shake. She's talking back and rolling her eyes like a jaded teenager and I can't imagine that any of the other 1st graders can cop that level of attitude.
Jack, uncharacteristically, has been the worst. He alternates between calling me the worst mother in the world and covering me with kisses and begging to be allowed to stay home from school next year. He's been biting and hitting his sister for no reason and randomly hurls toys across the room.
Juliette has been increasingly creative in her choice of locations to void her bowels. She squatted in the side yard like a dog the other weekend and squeezed out some little round pellets in the green spring grass. Today she threw a fit when I suggested she go to the bathroom when we were leaving to go pick up Jack from school. Minutes later, she was leaning up against the pollen-covered minivan with pee running down her legs. I had no change of clothes, not even a spare diaper, so I had no choice but to put her in her car seat naked on a blanket. Instead of looking contrite, she looked pleased as punch and commented, "Wow! This is cozy!"
This evening, we attended Jack's preschool annual Fun Fair, an event the kids had been looking forward to for weeks. There were pony rides, soft bunnies to pet, and a multitude of prizes to be won. I even saw a few fleeting smiles on Bella's face as she shoved hordes of bean bag stuffed animals and other loot in her pockets. Immediately after the fun fair, we headed to dinner to our favorite restaurant, a family Italian restaurant that promptly brought out heaping plates of butter bowtie noodles for the kids.
But the night went rapidly downhill as soon as we sat down. There was fighting, crying, and even falling off of chairs. By the time the check came, I was ready to start crying louder than the kids. I hurried to get them into bed so I could crawl onto the couch, utterly defeated.
At this point, I think I preferred the crying over this guerrilla warfare.
2 comments:
You mean that's not a normal day? I'll take your kids if that's how they act out. My 8yo son on a regular basis has developed an attitude to rival any preteen girl with PMS. And for no apparent reason.
It's been eighteen months since our family moved and only recently have I felt like we are emerging from the tunnel. And then there were the six months preceding the move! Two years all told. It's so tough as a mother because you know you need to cut your kids some extra slack because transitions are so hard, yet just how much slack do you cut? Just as much as they need compassion and understanding, they need consistency, normalcy, and firm expectations. Most of all, you need to cut yourself some slack. You're not just a mother, you're a Mother on the Move. You're not just homemaking, you're homeselling, homepacking, homemoving, and home remaking. Don't be surprised if you're still dealing with fallout a year, or dare I say, two years from now. I'll never forget the tantrum I threw the last night we spent in our old house--it was bigger than all of the kids' rolled into one. Woa, Mama!
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