Moving is stressful and exhausting, and this time it's not just the packing-loading ordeal that's wearing us out. First we had to fix all of the things in our current house to bring it up to snuff for the buyers and then fix more things to appease the appraiser. On Monday morning after most of those repairs were done, I got the keys to our new house, and that afternoon I painted the exterior of our Grandview house (not the whole thing, just the many bald chipped patches). I started the process on Saturday for a few hours, then had to retire due to rain, wind, and sheer exhaustion. Painting is hard! It uses random unexpected muscles. I fell asleep sitting up on Saturday afternoon. On Monday I slaved for nearly three additional hours getting the plethora of patches painted, then dropped my brush in the trash and drove the kids straight to piano lessons. Somehow I managed to cook dinner for real that evening too, but the details are muddled. That was Monday. It was exhausting.
On Tuesday I loaded and drove our first stack of boxes over to the new house, and I have buried myself in boxes, dust, and packing ever since. It's disheartening when there is so much to do that it seems impossible to do alone, yet I keep plunking those drops in the bucket because this
must be done before the end of the month. Even now, when I have made a sizeable dent in our possessions and hauled three jam-packed minivans full of stuff over to the new house, I look around and it seems as though everything is the same. Logical-Shaina says it's probably because I'm moving the non-essentials that we keep tucked away in closest and in cabinets, so my progress really is invisible. Desperate-Shaina says invisible progress is pointless and disheartening.
Another tricky part of this whole process is that there are still normal things like school and soccer practice and piano lessons and church responsibilities to take care of amidst the dusty stormy mess of packing and loading. And Jay turns the big EIGHT years old this Sunday. Since turning eight is a big deal, I agreed to let him have a birthday party--his second one ever--so that's happening too. Oh, and Jeff has work and track practice to coach AND a big district track meet to attend ALL DAY on Saturday, one week before our final furniture move day. I'm flying solo on this and all I can do is work hard and hope the strain doesn't break me. Or make me too mean-grouchy-emotional-hangry-impatient-tired to function as a nice wife and mother along the way.
People are so nice and offer to help, but I don't know what to ask them to do. Go through our stuff and figure out what to throw out and what to keep? Probably not. Pack for me? We don't have enough boxes so mostly I'm cramming stuff into our van and then dumping it at the house until we figure out where to store everything there. Rounding up enough boxes is too much work when you're only moving 20 minutes down the road. Other kind souls have offered to watch kids while I work. But Jay and Rose are in school, so they don't need it and Amber won't go to someone's house without them--she won't even go to nursery at church without a parent. Sigh.
I am so tired--I almost cried three separate times today for three completely different reasons, and only resisted succumbing to tears by sheer willpower mingled with the desire to avoid the post-cry puffy-eyed headache. I am doing my best to hold it together and not transform into the aforementioned mean-grouchy-emotional-hangry-impatient-tired lady, but she rears her ugly head more than I would like her to, in spite of my best efforts.
I gave Jay a haircut this weekend, handsome boy.
It is tempting to shut myself off and only think about myself right now: how tired I am from all of the work I am doing by myself on top of all of my normal efforts, while everyone else simply keeps on going to school and waiting for dinner to appear while I slave slave slave at this beast that is moving. I lifted 300 pounds of books three times yesterday! Doesn't that qualify me to demand massages and praise and thanks and food from my family? A conversation Jeff and I had recently got me thinking and has helped get me through our move this far without retreating into my selfish shell. It all started with Mother's Day.
Basically, Mother's Day 2017 was one of the worst days ever, and I am not exaggerating. There are some challenges that bring us together (e.g. my pregnancy deathbed), and others that yank us apart. Mother's Day was the latter, if you can believe it. I woke up in delicious anticipation of the traditional cute cards from my kids and extra kindness all around. It didn't happen. We've never done anything elaborate like gifts or outings for Mother's Day; I was simply looking forward to a day where my family might feed my need for words of affirmation a bit more liberally than usual. But Mother's Day was just another Sunday, free of cards and lavish praise (or praise of any magnitude). That would have been fine if that particular day wasn't already labeled as a special day for people to do unspecified acts of kindness for their mothers. I found myself resenting the lack of perceived appreciation more and more as the day progressed with selfish, petulant thoughts like "Why didn't anyone go out of their way to make me feel special and loved? A little appreciation is not too much to ask, right? Especially on Mother's Day for goodness sake! They owe me! I deserve it!" I actually thought those words. I think I even said them too, in a venting phone conversation with my sister (cringe). After chewing over this dilemma for the past few days, I have come to the conclusion that if I have to ask for appreciation, then it IS too much to ask. Appreciation is only appreciation if it is voluntarily and willingly given.
Jeff had a bout of insomnia the night before Mother's Day, leaving him unnaturally drained, and he had a heap of extra burdens via church and extended family already on his shoulders that day, on top of Mother's Day (not to mention the buildup over the past few weeks of stresses from work, coaching, and moving). It cost him a monumental effort to shoulder all of his other responsibilities on Mother's Day and in his weakened state, he simply did not have the energy to go above and beyond to make my Mother's Day spectacular. He was kind and normal. He could've been cranky and tired, but he was placid and calm. Having dealt with prolonged sleep deprivation three times myself (newborns), I should have been impressed at Jeff's cool collected manner. Instead of understanding and applauding his efforts, however, I selfishly begged for more, more, more and complained when he had nothing more to give. He was making an effort, but because his efforts didn't match my expectations or those of past years, I did not notice them. We both could have communicated better in the situation, but neither one of us believed it was needed in the moment--a classic misunderstanding!
When I realized that if it hadn't been Mother's Day, I actually
would have been patient and impressed with Jeff's efforts, the reality of my own selfishness slapped me in the face. Splat. Like a stinky slimy rotten fish. Like that fish, I felt absolutely rotten and resolved to stop asking for appreciation and expecting it. Should family members honor and appreciate their mothers, even outside Mother's Day? Absolutely. Should the mothers forcibly drag that appreciation out of them? Never.
In spite of all of the so-called unselfish things that I do every day as a wife and mother, I realized that my tendency was to hold back, testing my family and privately evaluating their ability to appreciate my sacrifices for them. "Will they say thank you? Will they notice?" I thought loftily. I held that thirst for thanks close and eventually it started to poison me. I was holding back kindness, burdening myself and my family with my angst, whether indirectly (like when my mood plummeted at yet another failure 'o family to act like they cared that I just cleaned something), or directly (when I demanded thanks and they were startled into giving it insincerely in response).
To me, the phrase "equally yoked" in reference to marriage always meant that the husband helps the wife around the house, even when he has been at work all day. That yoke is equal though; it pulls both ways. Jeff helps me and I help him. Even if I can't go help him teach high school French during the day, I can help him when he's home by meeting his needs while he meets mine. My entire ten years of marriage and eight years of motherhood were not necessarily defined by my thirst for thanks, but I definitely wasted a lot of time being grouchy about it.
So in spite of the Mother's Day Debacle of 2017, I'm glad it happened (and that it's over!) because I needed the reminder (however reluctantly I received it initially) that we're all in this together, that even when it
feels like I'm the only one working, I am never the only one working for the good of our family. We all have different roles and we all help. Everyone has a part to play. We need each other--strengths, weaknesses, and all. Of course I still love to be acknowledged and appreciated. I'm just working on removing the
craving for it and replacing it with faith that my family will respond to my love with love of their own. No matter what, I will keep on working hard, loving unconditionally, and doing my part.
My part right now involves singlehandedly packing and transporting our non-furniture belongings to Sunnyside: daunting! And keeping Amber alive in spite of her wild exploratory experimentation: equally daunting!
Now on to the only Mother's Day tradition we managed to keep this year: a
mom-with-kids picture.
Squeeze! I love being able to wrap my arms around all of my kids and hug 'em hard. Long arms are good for something, and two armfuls of kids = the best.
Amber's Mother's Day gift to me was to fall asleep on me in church. It was sweet except my back was killing me on the unforgiving wooden-backed pews.
Jeff's brother Sam surprised his mom with a one day visit on Mother's Day (he flew in from San Diego).
I said "act like you love me" and they each did, in their own way.
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PS: dear heart-o-gold Jeff has promised me a surprise make-up Mother's Day with all of the love, pampering, and appreciation I can hold. I think I'd rather have a surprise Mother's Day every year! It seems more in keeping with the original intent of Mother's Day: less duty and more sincerity in showing appreciation for mothers.
PPS: I didn't start out intending to write this long of post. Originally this was a placeholder "we're moving so adios for two weeks" type of post. I especially did not think I wanted to include such a personal and raw subject as this past Mother's Day. As usual, however, clarity formed as I typed and after a certain point I needed to put these thoughts into words to give them a more concrete meaning. I find that I appreciate honesty and delicacy in my online associations. This is me returning the favor, even if it does make me feel nervous and vulnerable to share. I have a wonderful life, but I think it's important to share the struggles in all their variety right along with the joys. The struggles make the joys shine brighter.
