Savvy

I fixed up the blog's design today.  There must be an easier way to add a picture to your profile than a complete redesign and gadgets and whatnot, but, hey.  I manage.

Progress

Good Lord, my children are growing up. I must write down some recent thoughts and losses, lest I forget.

1. Lies, and other fairness

Anna has realized that we lie to Emmy just to be nice, or just to shut her up. (However, we would never do that to Anna. She's much too smart to fall for things that a baby like Emmy would fall for.) The other day, Emmy drew a picture and told me that it was a picture of a dragon. I fussed over the picture and told her what a great dragon it was. Anna gave me a look, slunk over to my side, and whispered in my ear, "Mommy, I know that it doesn't really look like a dragon and it's not a very good picture. But you're just trying not to hurt her feelings." I gave her a knowing smile and ever-so-slightly winked.

I am doing that more now. When Anna fights with Emmy over something silly, I am nudging her towards being the better person, or, well, let's just say it: towards outsmarting her. For example, at bedtime, if they both want the same book to be their own choice, I tell Emmy that it can be her book. Anna is outraged, but I make knowing eyes at her, and say pointedly, "Well, this is Emmy's choice, so we'll read it first, and Anna, you'll just have to choose something else." At first, she would still be outraged, and I had to hiss in her ear, "You will hear this story anyhow! If you choose another book, then you get two that you really want to hear!" And her eyes would pop open, her face would brighten, and she'd wink at me. "Oh, oooookaaaay Mommy, I will choose something else."

Is this rude of me? Am I teaching her something that is bad? I don't know. The fact is, this is how the world works. When you can't have your way, it is good to be able to look at it from another angle and see how it might benefit you. And it is a practical solution! Emmy is happy, as she gets her choice, and Anna is happy, as she can understand that it doesn't matter who chooses it, as long as she gets to hear it, and she has more power if she gives in to Emmy.

At any rate, slowly but surely, it is working. Anna is much more likely to give in now over little squabbles, as she realizes that she can find something even better. Not that she displays such maturity all the time. And not that I always favor Anna in the squabbles and make sure that she gets something even more desirable. In fact, I'd say the opposite. As karmic punishment for not being the bigger person, when Anna fights with Emmy for something dumb, like the BLUE SPOON! I MUST HAVE THE BLUE SPOOOOOON, NOOOOOO!, I typically say, "It's okay, Emmy, let her have the blue spoon. I will find you a great spoon. Oooh, look, here is one with a bunny on it! Wow! Aren't you lucky?!" Oh, this breaks Anna's heart. Then she desperately wants the new item, and is very generously willing to give up the blue spoon, but I refuse. "No, honey, you really really really had to have that blue spoon, so that's what you'll use." And she runs into the living room, crying, devastated, and she hides under the console table. Sometimes I go to comfort her or reason with her, and sometimes I ignore her. I want her to learn that you usually end up disappointed when you're selfish or stubborn.

And of course, these are all valuable lessons for Emmy, too, but I just think she's too little to get it. She still just wants what she wants, and I either want to let her have what she wants, or distract her from the fact that she didn't get it by offering something even better. I think for a 3-year old, that is appropriate. For an almost 5-year old, they have to understand that they can't always get what they want, and just be disappointed sometimes, right? And there's also, of course, the issue of their different personalities. Emmy gets passionately angry, but forgets about it really quickly. Anna festers a little more. She internalizes the disappointment.

At age 3, Emmy is really not cognizant of Anna's obsession with fairness. Anna is very concerned with whose piece is bigger, who spent more minutes in Mommy's lap, and who chose the last TV show. Emmy just wants a piece of "gummy gum," and she is totally oblivious of the fact that I often give Anna a slightly larger piece, which feels fair to me, since Anna is bigger, and it makes Anna feel really really really special, and though it sounds unfair to Emmy, it doesn't hurt her. She doesn't notice or care. No harm, no foul. But I feel guilty about this. In our culture, I think we are somewhat obsessed with fairness. Whether Emmy knows she got a smaller piece or not, we are taught that they must get the same. But I think that's silly. I hope I'm not wrong.

2. Cleaning ladies

The other day, I was putting on make-up while the girls were brushing their teeth. We were all squeezed into the bathroom, and they were doing their thing, and I was doing my thing, and as usual I was pretty much ignoring them. I heard Emmy say, "Uh oh," and I heard Anna say, "It's okay, Emmy. Here, watch this." Typical conversation. Whatever.

Except that when I finally looked down, they were on their hands and knees, giggling, and licking toothpaste off the bathmat. THAT was your fabulous solution to dropped toothpaste, Anna?! EW. Just, EW.

3. Verbage

Emmy almost never calls Anna her Anna any more. For a long time, that was the only way Emmy seemed to know to refer to her. "I give my Anna one," "I see my Anna in gym at school!" Emmy is also getting better at pronouncing Ls. Woe. I love love love when she says she yuvs something. "I yuv gummy gum!" "I yuv coffee!" "I yuv my Anna!" Oh, and her angry outbursts. "I no yike yew!" Her little lips purse, her eyebrows furrow, and my heart melts.

4. Friendships

This morning in the car, Emmy told Anna, "You no my best fend anymowr." Anna wasn't too bothered by this. Emmy said, "Mommy my best fend." Win.

5. Tiny dancers

The girls are in "ballet" class this spring. They were too young for actual ballet, but they are in the same creative movement class, to which they wear leotards and ballet slippers, so I feel it's good enough. Anna feels a bit let down, though, which makes me sad, but that was all they had for 3- and 4-year olds. She asks each week when they will actually start doing ballet, like twirling. But I know this is the best place for her to start--unfortunately for her, she inherited my coordination. But, also, she is by far the oldest in the class and that makes me sad, too. She is nearly a head taller than all the other little girls. But, she still flits about happily during class and gallops and tiptoes across the floor with the herd of pink-clad ballerinas.

And Emmy. Oh, how she flits. Parents don't actually go into the room, but you can peek in through the door, and it is so immensely fun to watch her. She dances with such passion. Her hips and shoulders sway to the beat no matter what they are doing. She prances from foot to foot. She does the Hokey Pokey with style.

That's all I've got for now. Oh, on a more personal note, things are looking up. Oh, AND, Mike and I went out on a date last night. A real date, with a babysitter left at home to put the kids to bed (fail, hahahahaha, but whatever), and dinner at a grown-up restaurant, and then we went shopping to return some Christmas stuff and get a few things we've really been wanting. It was really spirit-lifting for me. We are slowly but surely growing closer every day. Sometimes it's a bit of two-steps-forward-one-step-back, but it is progress. For me, it is a necessary part of healing, and I am willing to endure the hard parts to grow.

Timeline

I've been thinking about our "long-term timeline" lately. The timeline is, literally, a timeline I created in Excel. It shows when major things in our life occur, like when the kids start school, when I have clinical rotations, and so on. Observe:

(Click image to enlarge)

It makes me crazy to look at. I mean, it's not that bad. It's what everyone does. When you have kids, they start school at some point, and you move at some points, and you change jobs at some points.

But it's intimidating to me. Particularly this year, because I am forced to change jobs, which forces us to change daycares. And since Anna will only be in half-day K, I will need half-day care for her, and full-day care for Emmy. And I don't know if I can find a place that will work for both kids. And I don't know that I can find a place. Period. I have to start visiting places, getting on waiting lists, and figuring out just what in the hell I'm doing. I don't know if I need care for 3 days/week, or 5 days/week, or, maybe, if I don't need care at all! What if I work evenings only once I leave Pitt? However, Emmy will just be turning 4. That would be the worst time to remove her from group care! It's finally time for preschool. So I'd feel awful to start keeping her at home full-time. Plus, I'm not sure I'd like it at all. In fact, I am almost guaranteed not to like it. But, I'll keep an open mind. Maybe it would be different being at home with an independent pre-schooler.

But I don't know what kind of job I'll get. I'd planned to find a pharmacy intern position. I'd like to. But, now, I am realizing that those positions may be quite hard to come by. I may need to wait for the perfect opportunity to fall into my lap. Most pharmacy programs hold graduation in May. But the students then have to take the Boards, and presumably they keep their intern positions until they pass Boards and are licensed. So I don't know when intern jobs tend to open up. Maybe in September! Maybe that's the perfect time. But, there is a chance that I won't find anything right away. I'll have my first school-placed practicum in November-December of this year, and if I don't have anything by then, I'm just hoping I can charm the socks off 'em, and get offered an intern position. Until then.... ?? Waitressing? I do miss it. Or maybe I'd be wiser to take a retail position in a pharmacy or grocery store, with the intention of sliding into the first pharmacy position that opens up. Our landlord's husband, when we met to sign the lease, blathered on about his great buddy who owns a small pharmacy, and how if I ever need a position or favor, to give him a call and he'd hook me up. I think the pharmacy was in a remote location, which would be hard, but also, is that all talk? Don't people always say crap like this, with no intention behind it? But, if I was desperate, would it be worth the phone call? The groveling? Many people believe that you have to know people to get anywhere in this world. That you have to have an in. And I hate to be that skeptical or pessimistic. But maybe it's true. And maybe it's not so awful. Maybe that's why people work hard and network and try to make friends... so that you have connections. You have those ins when you need them. I feel like I'm going to need some miracle, some in, at least, to find a school/daycare for the kids. And I know I'm going to need work to be able to pay for such a school. Everything has a way of working out, I know. And it will be okay. But my head is spinning.

Oh, and you see those stars on the timeline? The red stars, and the yellow stars? They are our best opportunity to squeeze in just one more little thing before we get too old, and miss the boat. They are 9 months apart.

Biology fail

Anna is quite the budding scientist. Due in no small part to science shows on PBS, she makes hypotheses, observations and conclusions about things all the time. For a 4 1/2 year old, she is so thoughtful, insightful and clever. Which makes this morning's conversation all the more dumbfounding.

On this Monday after Thanksgiving, for the first time ever, Mike took the day off work and went hunting. He left very early in the morning, hours before sunrise. He had told the girls while putting them to bed last night that he would be hunting today, and he deliberately told me that they understood hunting as going out "looking for deer." He did not address what he would do if and when he "found" one. He wasn't sure how to talk about it, and I'm glad. I wouldn't know how to talk about it, either. So I knew to just play along, that Daddy was out looking for deer.

I think it is worth mentioning that Mike and I neglected to consider other evidence Anna has been gathering in that little brain of hers. She has seen plenty of mounted deer heads. And just yesterday, we stopped by Cabela's for hunting gloves, and of course she saw more heads and stuffed animals than one can imagine. I talked with her about the animals we were seeing, explaining that they are real animals, who used to be alive, but are now dead, but they are real and that's really how big they are, and so on. She (thankfully) did not ask how they died. Or maybe she did and I just shrugged it off. "I don't know!," I cheerfully chirp when I don't know how to answer something, or I just don't want her to know the answer. Also of note, in the parking lot of Cabela's, there was a huge table like you'd see at a Farmer's Market, except instead of having boxes of homegrown tomatoes and beets, they had boxes of antlers. Big antlers, little antlers, HUGE antlers. I commented to Mike as soon as I saw it, "That's lame! Who would buy antlers that someone else got?! Are they just trying to make themselves feel good?" And he explained that they're not for display or to make others think you got them--they are for attracting other male deer. You bang them together out in the woods, and when a buck hears other males fighting, he comes by to get in on the action. Ugh. The girls seemed interested in the boxes and boxes of antlers, but not disgusted by them, like I was. We just walked past, giving them little thought or attention.

It is also worth noting that Anna apparently understands that male deer, or Daddies, have antlers and female deer, or Mommies, don't.

So this morning, as both girls climbed into my bed and snuggled up against me, Emmy asked, "Where Daddy?!" So I simply answered, "Remember, Daddy went hunting. He left very early this morning." And the conversation quickly got uncomfortable.

Anna: Yeah, Emmy, hunting means that Daddy is out looking for deer.

Me: That's right.

Anna: I've been wondering how he's going to get the antlers off when he finds one.

Me: ...

Anna: Yeah, I've been wondering how he's going to get the antlers off the Daddies and make more Mommy deer.

Notice that she is not asking me directly, but hoping that I am going to offer an explanation. She wouldn't make eye contact, and I think she sensed that she didn't want to know the answer, but hoped I would volunteer something comforting.

Me: ...

Notice that I do not take the opportunity to explain that Daddy deer cannot just become Mommy deer by losing their antlers. Because I have no better explanation of why her father is out trying to score some antlers. This fundamentally flawed biological concept is good enough for me!

Anna: I've really been wondering about that...

Me: (chipper) I don't know! You'll have to ask Daddy when he comes home!

Redeemed

We did get Anna a birthday present when she turned 4! A leotard and ballet slippers. Whew!

Thank god for Amazon's seemingly endless tracking of my purchasing history.

Unmerry Christmas

Some blogs I've been reading lately have got me thinking about Christmas. And gifts. And gift lists. I have such conflicting feelings about gift lists. And that's probably because I have conflicting feelings about gifts.

Mike and I are not big gifters. We don't exchange gifts for Mother's/Father's Day, our anniversary, Valentine's Day, or any other made-up holiday. We didn't exchange gifts when we got married. It had never even really occurred to me--as if we weren't spending enough money on the event as it was! But we (gasp!) don't even buy our kids birthday presents. I mean, we have done something special for them since they were old enough to know... they each got a goldfish when they turned 3. Gosh, I cannot recall for the life of me what we got Anna (if?!) when she turned 4. For Emmy's birthday this year, her GGMa sent $30 to be spent specifically on a toy or gift for her, so we had the pleasure of buying ONE toy and giving it to her, though we made it clear that it was from her GGMa. But our kids just don't need any toys. They really don't. I really don't want to buy toys. And they get enough gifts from their grandparents and relatives that their birthdays are special. Receiving 4 or 5 presents is PLENTY for a 3- or 4-year old, if you ask me.

This is going to make me sound unappreciative, but I have a generally icky feeling about gifts. Getting them. Giving them. I feel that they are given out of obligation, not desire, and they are received out of obligation, not desire. I feel our culture's consumerism has made giving gifts an impersonal formality. I give you something, you give me something, there, we are even. Shew! Neither of us really needed what we received, and neither of us really needed to spend the money on what we gave. But, it is CHRISTMAS! We must purchase things! And receive things! And LOVE everything!

But, I realize that Christmas is really exciting for the kids. I want it to be exciting. I want it to be magical. I am struggling with finding a way to make it more magical than lucrative for them.

I don't know how to do the Santa Claus thing, exactly. I think Santa should only bring a few items for each child. Last year, we had Santa leave a few things, and then they each got a special gift from each of us. It was so.... lame. It wasn't even remotely magical. It was just the four of us, and the girls got their stuff, and the stuff was promptly tossed aside, and then, I don't know, they probably asked to watch Barney.

But I like that they aren't easily impressed by stuff! So the real gift to them would be the gift of time. Of doing something together. But Santa can't bring "time with Mommy" and leave it under the tree. But, I am leaning towards getting something for each of them that they can do with Mommy, like knitting! Or, in Anna's case, a potholder loop and loom set? Some kind of craft--aren't there hook rug kits? Or something! And I haven't figured it out for Emmy yet. But I will.

But. This brings me back to lists. My parents, my sisters, my in-laws, and my grandmother have all started asking what the kids want. And their grandparents get each of them 4 or 5 things alone! And then aunts and uncles and great-grandmothers, and what they end up with is a huge mountain of booty. More toys that will barely be played with. More videos that WILL be watched, much to my dismay. More stuff. That I have to lug home and put away. (See? I sound monstrously unappreciative!) But I have a really hard time coming up with ideas for things to get the girls. And I would like to get them gifts from myself and Mike, and from Santa. If I tell all of these people all of my ideas, what am I supposed to get for my kids?!

AND, I don't particularly WANT my kids getting all this stuff. It teaches them really bad habits, sends lousy messages of consumerism. I want them to appreciate non-stuff. But I don't know how to do that. I feel they are old enough to purchase toys for charity, and I really really really hope to do that this year (and yet for the past two years I have failed to get anything to any charity before the deadlines, which seem so early!) But they are not old enough to go work in a soup kitchen. I assume. I have never done it, and would really like to. But I don't think a 3- and 4-year old would be hugely appreciated there. And I'm not entirely ready to discuss the topics of poverty and homelessness, other than to tell them that there are children who will not get many Christmas gifts because their families don't have a lot of money to buy gifts. That is simple. To take them to see these families who do not have enough... it is too much for me them right now.

So, what to do?

Question 1: Do I give everyone a list of ideas for the kids?

Questions 1a-1f: Do I give everyone the same list? Do I make a special list just for the in-laws because they buy everything I suggest? Do I make it specific items (e.g. baby doll that pees in diaper, loops and loom)? Or do I make it general items (e.g. dolls, crafts)? Or do I simply tell people what they tend to like (e.g. dressing up, dancing, art)? Do I politely decline to suggest anything at all (e.g. "I'm sure they will love whatever you pick out. There is nothing in particular they need!")

Question 2: Do I dare suggest, or even request, that the grandparents give only one gift per child?

Questions 2a-2h: Would this be rude and/or unappreciative? Would they balk at it? Would it just create unhappiness? In the case of the grandparents with other grandchildren, will they freak out over feeling they are giving too much to the other kids? Would they feel they had to then get all grandchildren only one gift? If not, would my kids notice that their cousins got "more"? Would I be able to explain that I didn't want our family to get too many gifts because we don't need things? Would that make others in my family uncomfortable?

Question 3: Could I apply any of the above policies to myself and Mike?

Question 3a: See above. Repeat angst.

Question 4: Should I just shut up and keep the peace? Let the gift orgy go on, despite my discomfort with the whole thing?

Disjointed much?

1. Another minor epiphany today. Well, last night. And maybe it's not so minor. I think I have been going about this all wrong. Wrong from day one. I hope I can right the wrong.

2. Do you think coffee is as bad as people make it out to be? Like, so bad that only a monster would let their 2-year old drink it?

3. Should I have professional photos of the girls done for Christmas this year? I have never done it. At all. Not after birth, not for any holiday, not for any family event. And every year, I say that I am just snapping a photo, having it printed, slapping it into a Christmas card, and mailing them. No fuss, no muss. And every year, I make a mountain out of a molehill, and end up crying at 2am, hovering over glue sticks and glitter and scissors and cardstock of various colors and...

...but don't you think that mail-order Christmas cards are so generic?! I am not particularly touched when i get a photo card in the mail that Costco printed, that says, "Merry Christmas from the Jones'!" They don't even sign them, for God's sake! There is no greeting, nothing even remotely personal about them. Isn't the point to make contact with people you don't normally, and to say a warm hello, and perhaps to update them on what's going on in your life? I am not into novelettes, itemizing what songs Little Timmy can sing and how many BMs the baby has per day. But I generally include a few sentences on a 3" x 4" insert, giving the basics. This year's insert, for example, might read something like:

Hi to all of our friends and family,

We moved this year to (new neighborhood) . Anna, age 4, and Emmy, age 3, love the new neighborhood and enjoy practicing the walk to their new (soon to be!) school. This summer, Sabrina started a PharmD program at (new University), and with luck, will graduate in three years. Our therapists feel we made a lot of progress in 2010, and we look forward to an even more exciting 2011!

With warm holiday wishes,

The clan

....or, you know, whatever.

4. Emmy's birthday is in a few days! I wonder how I can make it special for her? We got her a goldfish already, since Anna got one for her 3rd birthday. Anna's goldfish is "Pickles," and has been ticking for a year and a half now! Crazy. Emmy wanted to name her fish "Pickles," which it took a long time to explain why that wouldn't work well. She finally came up with "Alligator." We loved it.

5. Halloween is a few days away. The girls are still waffling on what to dress up as. They both are inclined to be princesses/ballerinas, but I am refusing because it will be too cold. We have everything we need for a witch costume, and we have everything for a Ben Roethlisberger costume, which would be pretty freaking cute. (And practical--I can put 3 sweatshirts on under the jersey for bulking up, and then the kid won't have to wear a coat.) We also have everything to be a doctor. I'm sure we have other things. We have a lot of dress-up stuff. I just need to steer them away from the lacy, glittery, floofy, shiny stuff.

Remember When

Isn't that a great song? I love that song. We played it at our wedding. It paints such a romantic picture of life. Making vows, it being hard, breaking each other's hearts, coming back together, and so on. But one of the lines always nagged at me.

Remember when old ones died and new were born.

See, we have had a lot of babies born. A lot. And we have not had a death in the family in a really, really long time. Not in my family, or in Mike's! Mike lost both of his grandfathers when he was in high school. Long before I knew him. And his near family has not had a death since. My grandmother died when I was in grade school, and my great grandmother when I was in high school. Nothing since. My grandparents have had eleven great-grandchildren born in the past eight years. Mike's Baba has had, gosh, fifteen? more? great-grandchildren born. They kept getting older, and kids just kept on coming. I knew the day would come when it would all fall apart. I dreaded it, but I also felt the circle of life had to continue. I felt we were, I don't know, obscuring nature somehow.

Not that long ago, my grandfather was diagnosed as having early signs of dementia. I don't know if anyone actually used the words Alzheimer's Disease. But his confusion progressed. He wasn't exactly confused though. He was just different. His personality changed. He was anxious. He was cantankerous. Became impossible. It took a year or more to develop. A month or two ago, my grandmother became overwhelmed, and truly could not care for him at home. It devastated her to "give up." But if anything, she did it too long. She eroded her own health trying to care for him. And he was thankless. Nasty. And she was nasty right back. It was really unpleasant to watch. When it was decided that enough was enough, they took my grandfather to the emergency room, where his doctor had him admitted. There was no medical reason. But he had to be an inpatient for some amount of time in order to be eligible for placement in a rehab. The doctor's goal was to strengthen him in rehab so that he could be placed in a long-term skilled nursing facility. But he was unmanageable at rehab. He yelled, banged on tables, hollered that everyone was trying to kill him. "I'm dying! I'm dying! Save me!" He would tell family that they shouldn't have come to see him. He would tell them that they were killing him. Then he'd beg them not to leave, because he was dying! Save him! They started restraining him. Not the legal way, with a prescription and wristbands. They screwed a bedside table over his wheelchair so that he couldn't stand up. They parked him in the hallway this way because he couldn't be left alone. He urinated on the rugs. His anxiety was not being pharmaceutically managed, because they try to avoid drugging up the patients. But he was not sleeping. He could not stay there. It was an awful situation. It was decided that he was not medically in need of rehabilitation, as he was stable, could ambulate, and so on. But his behavior was not manageable. So he was taken to a remote hospital, and placed on the psychiatric ward. He was medically assessed there, and was diagnosed with pneumonia. Within a few days, the pneumonia was in both lungs, and they called one morning saying that he was unable to be woken. The family should come right away. He did rouse when my grandmother got there, and a day or two was spent determining his fate. It was decided that he was eligible for inpatient hospice. He was moved again, and 11 days later, passed away. It was October 8, 2010. He was 91 years and 1 month old.

It's okay with me that he passed away. We lost him a while ago, and he was no longer my happy, exuberant grandfather. He was a prisoner in his body.

Now I just have to worry about my grandmother. Her health is worsening. She was told by one of her physicians that she cannot live alone. She can't stay in her house. It isn't safe. All children concurred. She was told to look for an assisted living facility herself, or that one would be chosen for her. "I ain't goin' anywhere!!" she said. Fuck you all, was her real message. So, I have to wonder. How does it all end?

Sabotage

The last two days have been interesting. On Monday night, Mike cracked his head on the garage door track while exiting our new basement. The track is hung by sharp, steel brackets RIGHT in the doorway, RIGHT at Mike's head level. He identified this on the first day we arrived as a major safety concern. It was annoying to have to duck in and out of the garage, but it would be even more annoying to gash his head or face on the bracket. Which is exactly what he did, one week later. So, ER visit, concussion, no brain bleed, super. Moving on.

I feel really bad about him being hurt. I feel guilty that I didn't make covering the bracket a number one priority after moving. As soon as he showed it to me, on that first day, I was appalled by how dangerous it looked. I thought, "Oh my God, we need to cover that! Now!" But I didn't. And he didn't. We were more concerned with having a pink bedroom, I guess, which is ridiculous. But we had to start somewhere and the basement was low on the list. Unfortunately. I hate that he is in pain and I hate that the kids climb on him and shriek in his ear and I hated that there was JACK-HAMMERING, literally, outside his window in the ER while his head throbbed so badly he couldn't open his eyes.

But. I have this awful feeling of resentment. Every time he is injured or sick, which seems to happen more than should be typical, I have to work harder. More responsibility is dumped on me. I become a single parent. It feels like having a third child. And less help.

This is so unfair of me. I hate feeling this way. I know it's not his fault. I know that he's not happy being injured.

But I can't shake it. I guess I feel like he invites injury. He invites illness. Is this insane? Can someone actually do that? I feel like he takes no responsibility for leading a healthy lifestyle. He doesn't eat well unless I nag him. He is careless. Reckless. It's how he works. How he drives. He injures himself while working all.the.time. And he breaks shit. The other night, in an effort to get started on painting in the girls' room, he emptied the room of all furniture. By yanking, pulling, shoving, and basically behaving like a crazy person. He broke a bookshelf and part of the bunk bed. I don't understand why he can't wait for someone to help him, me, and do things calmly and rationally. To think and plan before acting.

But I have greater insight into the problem. There are two possible explanations, I think, for his consistently rash, careless behavior*.

1. He is sabotaging himself. He is subconsciously validating or confirming his schema. He (super duper) subconsciously feels he deserves to be hurt. He doesn't respect himself, so he doesn't respect his body.
2. He is sabotaging our relationship. I feel that our efforts at being closer, at having something resembling a date or time to connect, are invariably supplanted by his injuries and illnesses.

We are supposed to go out to dinner at some point this weekend, to celebrate selling the house, since his parents will be in town. To make up for the last plan we had to go out, just the two of us, that was cancelled. I have a date planned with a man with a concussion. Ha. I don't think we'll keep our date. Even if we did, if he insisted we still go out, he would feel like shit, and I would feel like shit, and it would have been wasted. Just once, once!, I'd like for us to go out and feel good about it. Have a good time. I cannot recall the last time Mike and I had a good time together.

Good lord this is depressing.

*Gotta love an amateur psychologist, right?

There would be a 10 minute period where I'd be completely inconsolable

We moved. I don't particularly want to bore myself with the details, but since I will never remember what it was like, and therefore will have learned NO lessons for the next time, I will summarize the event.

We got keys to the house last Friday night. We took the girls with us. It was a little surreal. It was very sobering. The place looked like hell. It was cleaned, sort of. Like, swept, I guess. But there were food drippings and splatters on the walls. Slime in the tile grout. A leaky bathroom faucet with wet-rotting wall behind sink. Black (with mold) caulking in tub. Cracking paint in places. Some walls had a lot of spackling. Like, mounds of spackling. Not smoothed. None of the spackled walls were touched up with paint. Random lightbulbs were missing from random light fixtures. The banister was wobbly. The washer was so tiny!

On Saturday morning, I had to go to school. Mike took the girls to my parents', where they would spend the weekend. He spent the day moving stuff in my dad's pickup. Once I was done with school, I joined him. We took one more trip of stuff, ended up fighting (which had little to do with moving and a lot to do with alcohol), and returned to the old house for sleep. On Sunday morning, I went to school again, but thankfully only had a half day. Mike hauled a lot more stuff. He worked so hard. I know he did. On Sunday afternoon we tried to move the last of the loose stuff from the old house, in preparation for the movers the next day. We fought more. We had a lovely dinner with the kids, my parents, and Jessie and Carl that night. We returned to the old house for our last night to sleep there.

On Monday morning, I had to meet the cable person at the new house, and Mike took the girls to school. Mike oversaw the movers at the old house and the packing of all furniture. I waited at the new house and oversaw the unloading of all furniture. While trying to clean. And organize. And it was pretty dreadful. I didn't even know where to start. We picked the girls up from school at the end of the day and took them back to the old house, to say goodbye. We moved the goldfish, the frog potty, and the last couple of plants, and went to our new house. We haphazardly placed mattresses on the floors in the bedrooms and put on sheets. We put the girls to bed. Luckily, they were exhausted, so they fell asleep despite the shoddy arrangements. We found out on Monday, also, that our closing scheduled for Tuesday morning wouldn't happen. Since we couldn't close, Mike felt he needed to go to work. He has been extremely busy at work, and his time away was going to be unpaid, and they really needed him. I understood, but I was also devastated. We were going to do our final cleaning together in the morning before closing. We were going to have our celebratory lunch after the closing. We were going to spend the afternoon together, trying to put the house together. We had a counseling session scheduled together, which I really felt we needed. Instead, all was canceled.

So he went to work very early on Tuesday morning and took the girls to school. I went back to the old house and cleaned. And cleaned. And cleaned some more. It was depressing. I managed to lock myself out of the old house, so took a carload of junk back to the new house, got keys, went back to the old house, and cleaned some more. I was both being thorough, and dawdling. I didn't want to be done. I didn't want to leave our house. Our home. Forever. And I didn't want to be alone in that moment. I cried when I left. I just felt so alone.

I went back to the new house and tried to unpack. And clean. And I didn't know where to put anything. And I felt alone.

The next day I went to work, and the following two days I was home with the girls. So little things were done, and it slowly got better. A little bit each day.

This weekend, things got much better. We were productive. We painted the girls' room pink and put the room together. It is adorable. I think we did a great job. We got the cable/internet/phone situation working. We got the televisions set up. It is getting there. I feel a little less alone.

Everything changes. I know this. The only permanent thing is change. (And my own addition to this: The only permanent things are change and resistance to change.) I am trying to adapt.

The girls are just amazing. They are either the most resilient little creatures ever, or we did an exactly perfect job preparing them for the move. Emmy has been having some accidents, but I definitely anticipated that, being only a month or so potty trained before this major life change. They have been dragged around and kept up way too late. They have their moods, and they cling. I guess this has become a consistent theme for me: I am struggling to meet their needs and minimize their trauma, and in doing so, I am neglecting my own needs and exacerbating my trauma. I suppose I do this a lot. I don't want them to suffer for my being in school, so I never do school work while they're awake. I never take a night off for myself because I should be giving them attention whenever I can. But I have to acknowledge that this is not maintainable.

But it really is getting better. I can see a good, happy future in this house.