It seems like a certain amount of rebellion swells inside of me every time we move. Last year that rebellion led me down a very dark and lonely road as I tried to ignore and stifle it so as not to disappoint anyone, but one can only stuff so many things in a box before the box gets too full and spits everything back out and makes a mess of everything. The box inside of me blew up mid-August, and it took me months to pick up the pieces.
You can ask Tim...it wasn't pretty.
I decided early on that I would embrace whatever rebellion appeared after the move, and I have been doing so for the past few weeks. I know this probably seems strange, and I know the word rebellion generally has a negative connotation, but I have felt more free and aware of myself over the past three weeks than I have in any of my past moves. I give in to the tears when they come. I find a quiet spot to swear when I need to. I avoid phone calls whenever I please. And I feel the need to do something drastic, but I know drastic things are often regrettable so I am looking at less dramatic ways to mark my rebellion.
My kids are also fighting the "moving" demons. Genevieve has been a handful from the moment we jumped in the car and left San Diego. She has recently taken to urinating on towels and blankets instead of excusing herself to the bathroom. It took Tim and me several days to figure out why the towels kept smelling like pee until one day I walked into the bathroom and found her squatting in a corner opposite the toilet and peeing on a towel. I was like, "Uh...what?!!" Then it turned to "Are you out of your mind?! You are 3.5 years old and you've been potty trained since you were 2! You're going to be in time out for the rest of your life!" There may or may not have been some expletives inserted in there. I thought we had curbed the problem, but it happened again last night so I've now threatened her in every way I know how, and we will see if she does it again. If she does, we might be selling her for a reasonable price in the near future. Consider it.
Mya has actually been very helpful since we moved, but she has decided that she cannot just speak to me when she is upset, she must yell and huff and puff while circling the room stomping her feet. It drives me nuts. If I ignore the behavior, she escalates. If I address it, she escalates. So I generally choose to ignore her and let her look like a nutcase for as long as she deems necessary. I figure we all have to let the crazy out from time to time, and who am I to stop her?
And Elle...my dear insane little nightmare. She is embracing her terrible twos with open arms. Heaven help me. Everyday she throws at least 3 tantrums that last for a solid 45 minutes. And then there are a smattering of other shorter, louder ones that somehow by the grace of God we are able to stop with the help of Mickey Mouse, library books or chocolate chips. And don't you dare turn Mickey Mouse off or the tantrum will start again and will not stop until Mickey is reintroduced. Tim and I have decided Mickey is not the best help when it comes to fits of rage so he is now avoided like the plague. She insists on doing everything herself and yells, "Hey! No!" if you try to help her. She must carry 4 to 5 books with her at all the time. And she demands goldfish any time she is bored or hungry. She is a peach, a real peach. Luckily, she's cute because it really is her only saving grace most of the time.
The only one of us who seems to be adapting well to the move is Tim, as has been the case with every previous move. I swear Tim doesn't have a rebellious bone in his body. He indulges me and doesn't criticize my crazy whims, and he always helps me laugh before bed.
I've decided laughter soothes my soul. Perhaps as much as rebellion does.