Change: It Does Not Always Sit Well, Especially With Lucy

I am sitting in bed listening to the hysterical laughter of my daughter, Lucy, and the witty banter of my husband. Twenty minutes ago, I was laying in bed with her as she sobbed, “I want to go home!”

Lucy is not one that does change well. When she was 20 months old we relocated from Maryland to Vermont. I did not think that, at twenty months, the move would affect her much. Surprising to both my husband and I, she asked once a week for six months when we would be returning “home,” meaning Maryland. It took a lot of explaining and a room makeover before I convinced her that Vermont was her new home.

Today, she has no recollection of ever living in Maryland. Home is now Vermont. Home is our big falling down farmhouse.  Home is our half an acre of land that houses various types of rope swings. Home is the park, a two-block walk from our front door. Home is her friends, her school, and her Mi MA and Pop Pop.

Despite our efforts to highlight the positive aspect of living in a new place, with new adventures to be had, Lucy misses her home. And because she misses her home she is having a hard time accepting and loving this new home. She grieves, and each time she melts down, sobbing for the familiar, my heart ties itself in a knot.

Thank God for the wit of my husband, who can bring a smile and produce a laugh during some of the worst times. He handles her grief much better than I do.  He knows that potty and physical humor will make Lucy laugh even in the saddest of times. He is currently twisting the title of The 500 Hats of Bartholomew Cubbins by Dr. Seuss into a variety of toilet-oriented titles. Including The 500 Farts of Prune Juice McGee.  This one in particular turned her gut wrenching sobs into breathless belly laughter.

Things are quieting down now. I have placed a pad complete with pillow blanket and stuffed animal next to my bed in the hopes that when Lucy migrates from her bed to ours in the middle of the night (as she has done every night since occupying our new house) she can rest peacefully and comfortably far from the fears and worries that moving has created.

Grasping for a Sense of Home

I once again find myself in an unknown city surrounded by people, none of whom I know. I am not a stranger to moving, and yet, this move seems to be hitting me unusually hard.  My lack of family, friends, or acquaintances of any kind combined with a totally new environment is feeding on long held fears of being alone and lost. My dreams each night have been riddled with anxiety. And I am passing my days trying to grasp the very real fact that this is now home.

I have been trying, among the chaos of two children to build a nest by unpacking our familiar and comforting belongings. However, progress is slow and often times labored. Boxes sit opened, yet unattended, in every room of the house, their contents longing to find their place, asking for help in turning the chaos into calm. However, the overwhelming presence of so many unattended boxes filled with what seem to be, at this point, nonessential items stops me in my tracks and drains my motivation. Our house is, at the moment, fairly clutter free. However, I know that unloading these boxes will invite my children to adopt their old routine of messing just to mess, overwhelming me further. Therefore, the boxes sit.

And at night, I sit. Too exhausted by the days activities, by my children’s worries and fears, and by the emotional turmoil I feel about leaving a place I loved and people I cared for to accomplish anything more than morphing into a couch potato. I pray that sleep is kind to me, that my anxiety and fears subside, and that tomorrow brings more productivity and peace.