Working On Gathering Jack’s Dowry. Does Anyone Have a Goat?

It’s official.  We’ve found a new place to live and all the fun of moving starts this weekend.  Pray, y’all.  Pray ’til your hands and  knees are calloused.  For real.  The kids are flipping out, we have no living room furniture, and I’m trying to convince everyone that eating picnic style is so much more stylish than having a dining room table.  Isn’t Bohemian chic in?

I was pretty impressed with myself and the progress I’ve made this week.  I packed a few boxes in Grace and Cory’s room — oh, did I never mention that these two have shared a room for the past four years?  Yeah, that situation is ending now, thankfully .  I walked into Grace’s room a couple days ago and all the boxes I packed were empty again with their contents strewn all over the floor.  I was about to bestow my complete “What the fuck are you doing?” meltdown on my kid when she smiled so sweetly at me and said “Mommy, I emptied some boxes so I could help you pack.”  Who can be mad at that?  Actually, I can.  But I didn’t get mad.  I just smiled.  That’s progress, folks.  I expect that Dr. Phil will be knocking on my door very soon to tell me what a bang-up job I’ve been doing on the parenting front.  Speaking of Dr. Phil …

Jack.  Jack’s world is falling apart.  He moved to a big bed.  Farewell tattered and ripped Pack & Play.  He moved to a new chair at the dinner table.  Farewell old Target brand, horrible, deadly highchair that at least three adults have broken a toe tripping over.  His trucks and trains and Yoda collections are being packed in boxes right before his eyes.  Farewell everything.  And with all these farewells and his increasing feeling of losing control over his very controlled environment, comes some hellacious behavior.  The kid is out of control lately.  I won’t even bore you, or embarrass myself, by detailing his exploits.  Let’s just say that it’s really, really, bad and if he keeps it up, I might not give him our forwarding address.  Did you ever read Walter the Lazy Mouse?  It’s a story about a dawdling rodent who is so slow that his family moves without him while he’s at school.  And if you just change “Walter” to “Jack” and “Lazy” to “Satanic” you’d have a pretty accurate representation of what our life looks like right now.

Yesterday, Dr. Phil did a show about controlling chaotic children.  I don’t go to Dr. Phil for parenting advice, just like I don’t go to Oprah to learn new (new to her, very ancient overall) life philosophies.  Many people do; I do not.  I’ve got my own sources for educating myself on the things I feel I need to know and none of them come from King World employees.  Alas, yesterday I was desperate so I turned on ol’ Chrome Dome and watched with Jack.  The show featured a family with a little terror-inducing muppet named Trinity who wreaked havoc over the household.  Chrome Dome had some ideas on how to restore peace to their family.  I don’t know if any of the tools will help here — I will certainly try — but Jack was really wrapped up in the show.  Now, a day later, he keeps asking me why little Trinity kept getting time outs.  I have no idea, but I’m thinking of contacting that brat’s parents to see if they want to set up some sort of arranged marriage deal for these two.  Because they would be so compatible.

Grace is handling the move a little better, but she’s really upset that she’ll have to leave her school.  She loves it and is so loved there, but we a) can’t drive the distance twice a day, three days a week and b) we can’t afford it with the increased housing expenses.  I am sure she will never forgive me; I found nursing home pamphlets and residency applications stashed under her pillow.

There are trade-offs everywhere in our life.  It sucks, but the price of having her own bedroom and attending a great school system in September means leaving her preschool.  I wish I could do everything for my kids, but I just can’t.  Not yet.  Not until my site starts making some money.  (Roaring laughter ensues.)  Speaking of making money …

Did I mention that there is a room in this new house that can be used as an office?  It has a door with a lock, a separate entrance and it’s own attached bathroom.  I frequently fantasize about locking everyone out and creating some sort of masterpiece in that office.  I hope my kids and husband claw and whimper at the door.  I hope they slip notes under the door at me that I thoroughly intend to ignore and kick back in their general direction.  Though, if they slip pie under the door, I may relent.

It’s necessary to my livelihood and general sanity to have a place where I can be alone with my thoughts.  Beyond my general laziness, one reason that I often cannot write is because I am never left alone with the ticker tape stream of thoughts that plague me every moment of every day.  It’s a process, dudes, and I look forward to getting some control over it.

Cory.  Cory didn’t care if we had to move to Zimbabwe as long as it meant that he got his own room.  He will have it soon.  He has earned every square inch of privacy.  I often marvel at the fact that he hasn’t smothered Grace with her own pillow over the past four years.

Change.  It’s hard.  It’s painful.  It’s necessary.  It’s happening.