Moving Is Emotional

Today I was lucky to have my closest friend (okay, my only friend) come over and help me pack up my kitchen and odds and ends for a few hours. I ran out of boxes, but it was close. Then she had me pick up the pizza and go to her house for dinner, where the children quietly watched cartoons and blissfully followed her dogs around. Her son is wonderful with my children.
Yesterday my favorite daycare teacher told me she had a lot of excess furniture in her family that they wanted out of their house. She wants to drop it all off next week at the new house. It is all things I need. I am luckier, still.
As always, as in everything, the people are the best part.
Those are the positives.
I am also not going to be able to cook for a week. That is probably a positive, I hope I can use the additional time in my life (hours per day) to play with the kids. A week of takeout and peanut butter sandwiches will not kill them. Today is National Peanut Butter day, by the way.

My middle child has burst out crying six times today, and one of those times he told me he wanted to be hit by a car. Because his sister got to ride in the shopping cart with a car seat over her head, like a fort. I rigged up one of the sleds in the car to sit over his head in the car all the way home. I am truly sympathetic. He can only spend an hour in his bed before nightmares wake him and send him to my room. Last night he came out three times and kept trying to stay in his bed, but ended up in mine just after I did. He hasn’t wished to die like that since before I started his medication.
If I ever have to move again I will try to send him to his auntie’s house, to somewhere he is happy. He cannot handle the change, the memories of moving.

I found a box I forgot I had. With the shirt in it that I was wearing when they photographed me for evidence. I washed it, because I wash everything compulsively, but it is still torn from elbow to wrist. My clothing had worn out that year, and it was the only shirt I had before he tore it. It was not mine, but a cast off of his. I was down to that shirt, one pair of pants, and no shoes at all, having worn mine completely through the bottom.

I wish I did not have to explain all these things to them. But I do. Someday they will ask me to, again.


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