Tuesday, November 29, 2011

That didn’t go well at all

Things are kind of rough around Casa de HOK these days. We are all tired of being on top of each other in our cute little rental house, especially knowing that our big, new house is waiting for us. But because of a mix-up with the mortgage company, we had to start the process from scratch with a new company, which set us back at least a week. I had been so focused on moving out of here this coming weekend, that when I realized it wasn’t going to happen, I slid into my dark hole.

If you could harness the combined stress in the house, you could probably power a small city. I keep telling myself and the kids it will get better when we move, but when they ask when that will be and I can’t answer, it just makes things worse. Then there’s the whole list of things I worry about at night. What if it doesn’t get better? What if we hate the house? What if the girls hate their new school? What if . . .? What if . . .? What if . . .?

Thank dog for pharmaceuticals. Otherwise I wouldn’t be able to get out of bed in the morning, even with four hungry kids peering at me over the edge of the covers.

Yesterday things got worse.

We close on the sale of our house on Wednesday, and from the beginning of this process, we’d promised the big girls a chance to say a formal good-bye to the house. Yesterday, I had to finish pulling our remaining possessions out of the house – mostly computers and routers and servers and whatnot – so I asked the girls if they wanted to come with me.

Lily burst into tears and said no because it would make her too sad. Which made me cry, too.

Ella went with me and spent her time in the top of her tree and taking pictures of every inch of the yard and house with my phone – 256 at last count. She was mostly fine while we were there, but when we got back to the cute little rental house, things took a decided turn for the worse

Seven years ago, about a month after our cat Badoop died, this little gray kitty showed up on our doorstep. She looked like a miniature version of Badoop, and the girls promptly fell in love with her and named her Gray Kitty. So we have been feeding and watering this cat ever since.

When we first started talking about moving, one of the big questions was what to do about Gray Kitty. She is NOT an indoor cat and barely tolerates people. B and I are very worried that if we move her out to the county, she’s either going to get lost or eaten by something, which would be awful. And there’s no way to turn her into an indoor cat at this stage of the game. She knows her little four-house radius and the people who live there, and everyone knows her. We think she’s attached to the area, not to us. Two neighbors have agreed to take on the feeding and watering of Gray Kitty, and I’ll pay cat support.

After we got back from the house, Lily asked when we were going to get Gray Kitty a collar and a box to move her to the new house. And that’s when I had to give her the bad news. Lily cried as though her heart was broken, which of course made me cry. When Ella heard the news, she started crying, too. She then fled to the tree fort in the back yard to sob about how everything in her life is terrible.

So, yeah, I felt like a spectacular mom.

This morning Lily had recovered from the trauma, mostly, although I’m sure we’ll have some more breakdowns. Ella, on the other hand, was a little cloud of doom, blaming everything on me – the right jeans weren’t clean, she had to take a practice test at school and I wouldn’t let her stay home, we didn’t have the snack she wanted, she couldn’t find her book to read after the practice test. Ella gave everyone the silent treatment on the way to school, and when she got out of the car and I told her I loved her, she fired back with, “No you don’t. Otherwise you wouldn’t make us move.”

Today’s off to great start, especially given that Elizabeth woke me up by projectile vomiting all over her bedroom.

I’m going to spend the day with a mug of hot tea, chanting “It will get better. It will get better. It will get better.”

Maybe if I say it enough, I’ll believe it.

8 comments:

joanna said...

It will get better. It will get better. It will get better. Moving stinks but things will be great in the new house. Plus, this is on top of holiday craziness which is a double whammy of crud.

donna said...

I'm thinking of you my friend. Apparently moving is up there with death and divorce as the most stressful things to go through. So after this is over you know that you can deal with anything. One thing I know from my move from Australia to the U.S is that kids adapt to new things very quickly. Moms however may take a little longer.

Susan said...

Oh I am so rry this is getting even harder. Keep up the mantra and the drugs and, as we all know, kids will break your heart and love you to pieces through it all.

The Empress said...

Aww...I hate being in valleys of my life so very much.

"This too shall pass."

I know you know this..

please...repeat..repeat with a glass of wine if necessary.

A sip of cold beer will help, too.

Baino said...

Yep I'm sure it will. Change is uncomfortable for everyone and the fear of he unknown unsettling, they'll forgive you. Keep up he Mantra!

Ann in NJ said...

Moving is definitely up there with the major stressors in life. But you are right, it will get better. Keep chanting. You're in the hardest phase right now - once you're in the house and the kids are seeing the benefits of all that space, things will be better. There will still be bad days, but the trend will be upward. Just keep swimming!

katesaid said...

It's easy to be a spectacular mom when it's sunshiney and bright and vacationy and fun. But to continue to be honest with your kids, and to juggle the nightmare that is real estate and moving with children, and and and and... and yet not to end up as a Breaking News story? That's when you know you're a spectacular mom, *because* it's all so much harder.

Hang in there...just picture the butler's pantry...

shrink on the couch said...

Oh holy hell. There will be no more days such as this.