Tag Archives: Moving

New Home

Middle son has had fewer fits and less anger this past week. I think he is becoming used to his new house.
He did have a few fits at the beginning of the week (Sunday, Monday) where I wrapped him up tight and hugged him and parked him in front of a cartoon. I picked which one, but I chose ones that he liked and had not yet seen that particular episode of. Thank you, Netflix. Thank you, Aunt and Uncle, for the Netflix and the Chromecast at Christmas.
It worked like a charm. Big son was very good about getting out of the way so I could get Middle Son set up on the couch and cast over his show. Today I was waiting for a fit, and none came. Saturdays are his worst days, we did not even go outside (too cold), so to have a fit-free day was a real Valentine’s treat. Tomorrow I will point it out to him, and his siblings, since none of them argued with each other at all today. Best Valentine’s Day, ever!

My toddler has chosen to sleep in a full size bed instead of her cozy little toddler bed, which she still fits in with room to spare. She looks swallowed up in the big bed, even though she has a dozen stuffed animal friends in there with her. In a few weeks I will go through her clothes and get rid of her current size, as she is on her way out of it. I have a little girl now, and not a baby any longer.

I gave the children each their first box of grown up chocolate. Small ones, but they just loved them. Far more than kid candy. I would agree. I made them a trifle and the boys ate it all, I only had to help a little, which I will probably kick myself for later, because I used real cream.

The house is more a home now, the boxes are all unpacked and today we found the missing Pokemon cards in a mislabeled box. The poor kid was relieved. I would say we are now officially moved in, despite work, appointments, school functions, and my current bout with the flu. Somehow we did it.

Now I have to get them to help with chores. Middle son thinks shoveling is fun, he makes mazelike paths from the front door, complete with alternate routes. The corn maze last fall might have made more of an impression than I thought. I want them to help with chores that are not fun, too. So far the offer of monetary reward has not motivated them on a regular basis.
How to get ODD types to help with chores? I am working on it. It will have to be weekends only. We haven’t enough time during weeknights, due to my work schedule. My goal is weekly chores without complaint by the end of the school year. A generous amount of time.

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Exhaustion

For three weeks I have been dealing with boxes. My PTSD got so bad I was just packing two or so a night and then trying to de-stress. I did pretty well, I only got exasperated a few times with the children on the day of move and the day after.
But my body is completely in revolt. I am accustomed to full body aching, I have had osteoarthritis since before I was legal, but this is nearly getting the best of me.
I am bone tired. My feet will not stop hurting. I have still so much to do, and right now I just cannot.
I picked out the wrong rooms for the kids, changed them around, and it was not as bad as I thought, but I did lose a day by it.
I got beds for both my sons, from a sweet girl whose family did not need them anymore. I am very lucky with furniture, I just do without for a length of time and eventually someone asks me (not knowing that I am without) if I can use x, y, or z. She wouldn’t take payment, so I am going to get her a giftcard to somewhere, and one for her father, too, who set it all up. Nothing over the top, just enough so they know I mean it. Now I have enough beds for everyone in the house, and if I wanted a bunk bed, I could have one. Tomorrow I have to get all accessories and the boys will be in their cool new room.
When I moved to this town I sent eleven boxes by mail and then took a plane with three checked bags and three checked car seats.
I don’t know what happened. Eleven boxes would have been much easier to pack, and easier on my back.
I want to be done, to have a lazy day where I clean up whatever needs cleaning and then I organize my calendar and to-do list.
Where I do not have to decide against doing something because I am working myself into exhaustion. I thought having movers would make it a breeze, but I forgot about unpacking. I have to buy some furniture, I am unpacked enough to know that I need a pantry. I need a lot of things, actually, so many that I keep forgetting what I need.
In the last few days I have caught myself writing the letter S backwards at least three times, as if I have forgotten how to do it, and indeed it did take me more than a minute to figure out how to get it right. I hope that means nothing. I just want fourteen more years before I lose my mind. I just have to raise these kids to competency and then insanity can take me where it will.
I am very tired and sore.

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Moved!

But not unpacked. I am superwoman, not Divine.
Everything went swimmingly when they saw the new place. Then middle son got into the bathtub and said it was dirty. I had just cleaned it out with a bleach abrasive cleanser. It has a sort of worn mark in the back that is darker, it is not porcelain, but one of those surrounds.
But here is what is funny about that. Our old bathtub was made of the same stuff, but somehow previous tenants had cracked, nicked, chipped, and I have no idea what they must have done to it for it to be patched. It was clean, but awful.
So he is upset about a better bathtub with worse fixtures. I heard him out, reasoned with him a bit, told him I was sorry, and agreed when he asked me to save my money for a better place. He understands that it would be a long while.
I am going to ask for new fixtures if Barkeeper’s Friend or something like that doesn’t do it.
Ha. The entire house just started shaking. I think it is from the train. It felt like a small earthquake.
The house also leaks something awful. I need weatherproofing, and bad. I pay my own heat here, which is not the norm for rentals in these parts. I will jury rig something this weekend over the windows, but the front door cannot be covered like that.
But to be honest, I have never lived in a place this size. I need a bigger kitchen, but all bakers do.
Thank you everyone for your well wishes. The support helped.

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Middle Son And Moving

My poor middle child has burst into tears six times today and told me he wanted to die. He has not done that since he began his medicine, over a year ago. I am very sorry for him.

I think it is from moving. From seeing his things packed up, his schedule disrupted, and his mommy very busy. Today we did most of the house. Not much is left to pack. Everything we own is hidden inside brown boxes.

He is probably being triggered by the move. He remembers what happened when we moved before. We moved one day, and left the next when the violence escalated. We never went back.

I am sure he is afraid.

His nightmares come early and persistently now, it seems all night long.

I am going to spend some time talking to him tomorrow about his feelings and our moving. I am grateful that I got his consent and his approval before we moved. I am sure it would be a million times worse if he did not feel as though he wanted to move, as if I did not care how he felt.

I feel so sad for him.

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Triggering Events

My son and I are having nightmares. I had to go to work with our abusers face burning in my mind, as the alarm went off while I, in a dream, tried to keep him calm. Like I was back there, trapped. Those are worse than the being found nightmares. Those are panicky, sure, but at least in those dreams I got away for a while. When I dream that I never left, that I am trapped in that cycle of trying to appease a monster and protect my children, those are worse. Those nightmares ruin my day. I don’t get them often.
It is the move. My son awoke screaming in the night, something he thankfully does not do very often anymore. He has been having more of those dreams, the more we box up our belongings.
I hope they go away in the new house. But the new house is not as securely set up as this house is. It is far easier to access and far more exposed. I haven’t got a dog to alert me to anything. I ought to look into security. I ought to move on. How does one know when to stop being afraid? With what does one measure personal risk? I don’t think a conversation even with Gavin De Becker will help. I feel like I have to take every precaution, at all times, and that is a ridiculous way to live forever.
PTSD really sucks.

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Moving With Children

The house is being packed up, day by day I clean out another closet and tape up more boxes. They are stacked wherever we do not need to walk. One son had some issues at school last week, and a call to the teacher reassured me it will be handled to his benefit rather than his detriment next time.
Another son told me ¨Mommy, we used to live in such a nice house and now it is so dirty.¨ I told him to try to look at the room without the boxes in it and it is still nice. But he did not seem to believe me..
My daughter has been reading books and drawing pictures nonstop, talking about her utopia-The Red House, where she eats cough drops all day long and her ¨Pink Mommy¨ gives her great advice about handling emotions. She won’t admit that I was the one who told her what to do when angry, sad, or tired. She does not seem upset, though, about the move.
There is a neighbor boy whom they will miss. He is a few years older and very wise for his age, they idolize him.
I have not seen the place yet. I will next week, when I sign for it. I haven’t got a lot of choices, so I am not worried about it. I have to take it. Nothing else will be affordable for me at this size. I have lived in horrid places, and this house has oversight, so I know it will be workable for me. I have no idea when I have ever lived in a house with new carpet or flooring, as this one has. I won’t have to deal with that filth that cakes into floors at the edges over decades of improper cleaning.
I have been trying to use up our food stores. I am very good at this, I am more accustomed to cooking with what I have been given rather than planning out meals. I found myself with too much white flour. I ran out of wheat. I need bread, so I have been making bread. But for some inexplicable reason, I have become overly interested, and indeed, had I the time, I would indulge and allow it to become obsession. I have made a lot of different kinds of bread this past week. I am going to go out and buy sandwich bread today so that I stop. It will be hard. Right now I have a fantastically easy recipe for sandwich bread that I have not tried. I have to get some control.
I used to make flatbread when we lived in the desert. I kept the dough in the fridge for five days, took out what I needed and rolled it out and baked it. It was hard work, and it was too hot. It would have been harder had I kneaded it, though. Sometimes that was all we had.
I want to make a carrot cake for the children that I have not made in years. It was their father’s favorite, and so I had been avoiding it. I will make it when we move in, and as many times as necessary after that, until the memories of it have a history beyond then. Beyond a time of abuse.
I hope the kitchen is great. I spend more time in there than anywhere else in the house. Last night I forced myself to watch an entire movie with the children. I usually do not sit down long enough to get through a whole movie. I picked two, and the first was not so funny, but the second was hilarious. We are going to do it again tonight. They need the distraction and the time with me.
Today I need to pack the pictures, clear the walls.

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Moving

See, I am moving. To a nicer place with more space, which is good. But moving at all is hard for me. The last time I moved a houseful of things was under extreme duress. I had to go back with a police escort and get a van full of stuff. Just that, the things I could mail to wherever I would end up. I had no idea where that would be. A van, a small family van, with three kids and me, and whatever would fit.
It wasn’t even my van.
I mailed it all, five months later, and took a plane. Two planes, as the children like to remind me. I amassed a bit more than that vanful, but not much.
Then when I moved in here, eight months after that, three generous people donated furniture and household goods to me. Enough to make it work.
Since then I have a full household of stuff, again. It took me only three and a half years to gather together all this.
So I have hired movers. I shouldn’t pay for it, it costs too much. But I am doing it. I am trying to make it easy.
I know my PTSD is getting worse the closer the day comes to me. I just hope the children prove immune. I hope their PTSD is not triggered.
I hope they don’t remember again.

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Moving

We were on a waitlist for a few months for a larger apartment. We have twice as many people as rooms, and a larger place really seemed like the answer to numerous things. The town is where the children attend school and daycare, and close to everything. My name change went through, and plans to expand the family fell through. So getting one more bedroom is enough, at the right time, with just myself and three kids under the new name.

But the children. They lived in three places in a year, and we have not been here but eighteen months. I was terribly worried about how they would deal with the move. They are attached to one family in this town, that we will see as frequently as possible, anyway, as they are our dearest friends. I thought they would not want to go. Because they tell me quite frequently how much they love their ¨house¨. Maybe they just say it because they have lived in worse places, or maybe they feel affectionate towards it, I wasn’t sure.

I got the call on Monday that we were approved and I was in shock. I had given up on that place, they never verified with me that I had been added to the list and they did not return my calls. I had, a few hours before getting the news, called and added myself to another wait list and arranged to pick up an applicaton for yet a third. I thought it would take over a year.

Monday night I started complaining about the town we lived in, how far it was from school and store and daycare. The kids all agreed it would be more convenient to live in the town I was approved for, essentially I asked their permission, and got it, after the fact. I laid it thick on a few more days, to give it a week, and just announced that we were moving at the end of January. The reaction is positive and they know we have to pack, which is reassuring for the upcoming transition. If they get the mechanics and can participate, it should be easier, even for my Aspie.

I hate moving, truly. But I am grateful for how quickly I have been getting income qualifying housing in this area. I haven’t seen the place yet. I hope it is the sort of place I can stay in forever. That is what I want for them, that sort of stability.

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