It's a Monday. I sit here trying to convince my 4 year old to trace upper and lowercase G's while he eats an oreo. It's 10:30 in the morning. "But mommy!" He pleads, "My head is just full of games, and Mario, and Paw Patrol! It's not full of workbooks." Another of his very creative ways of saying No mom, I really don't want to do school because I don't like it. I feel like we are in for another day of stubborn stand-offs. Where every few minutes we repeat the same exchange.
"Please do your letters. There's not that many, it'll be quick."
"But I don't want to. I just want to play Mario Kart!"
"You can, after you finish your letters."
"But that's just no fun for me!"
And so it goes, on and on. Some days are full of laughter and cooperation, others we dance this dance for 9 hours. He's a head strong little guy, gets it from his mama. I start thinking about Kindergarten registration for next year. Because if this is how this year goes, well we will be going nowhere. Between snacks and tracing letters, I pick up toys so I can vacuum later (hopefully), fold the laundry that's been chilling on the couch for what feels like the 10th time(praying that no one "helps" me and undoes everything yet again), loading the dishes that collected in the sink from yesterday's meals (how do kids go through so many dishes in one day?). As I go back and forth from room to room, upstairs and downstairs, I peer out the window. People have a tendency to show up unannounced here which sends anxiety swirly into my stomach, whether or not they are here to speak with me.
I never used to have anxiety. That's probably a lie, I think I have always had a touch of it. Growing up and overthinking things I had said or done that could have been different, wondering what people thought of me, trying really hard to do things perfectly so that I met expectations and didn't feel less than or like I had let someone down. Some of that I may have grown out of, some of it may have begun to be unknowingly masked in fake confidence.
When I became a mother there was a whole new wave of anxiety. So many worries about my brand new baby, is he eating enough? Is he eating the right things? Is he getting enough sleep, enough tummy time? Can I do this? I fell into the groove of things and postpartum depression and anxiety faded away as hormones leveled back out. Just in time for another pregnancy and a move 12 hours north. Our place was small, and I had just a few friends, but that was enough for me. Rather a few good friends you can be real with than lots of acquaintances that you would never let see your living room floor covered in toddler toys.
Two years later we move again, even further north, to a place where housing is hard to come by unless you have a connection which is nearly impossible when you have no roots to speak of. We felt lucky to end up in the only house used for military family housing in the area. Here, we are not surrounded on all four sides by other families living this life of constant shifting scenery. Instead we are surrounded by tourists with air in their heads, who disregard personal space and property. We find out early on that the crew who manages the housing is not the best, and between them and workers they send to fix our dishwasher, any confidence I had gained over the past couple of years, in my home, in my role as an adult and a tired mother is shattered. Instead I feel judged and inadequate. As if toys on the floor in the late morning, snacks on the table, a pile of laundry on the floor waiting to go down to the washing machine, and dishes waiting to go into the dishwasher that is supposed to be installed by these people (correctly) is abnormal and unacceptable. Like my house which is in constant flux between clean and messy, is uninhabitable. Like I failed. And now, every time I see a car pull into our driveway that is not our own I panic. I fly through our living room, folding blankets, tossing toys in the bin, scooping up crumbs and that empty amazon box that's waiting to be broken down for recycling. Organizing the dishes in the sink and wiping down the top of the stove while it feels like my hearts about to break through my rib cage.
I wait to see if I have to reprimand strangers for wandering onto the property, tell them that people live here and it's not a museum open to the public. Once a couple of people even snuck through our yard at night, probably thinking they could find a way to get to the lighthouse nearby(newsflash, you actually can't without tramping through like 3 people's yards and a million pricker bushes filled with ticks.) It was a night when I was alone. The cops were called, showing up after the punks hopped our fence and left. But the fear that they were there for something other than trying to get to a location closed off to the public, that fear was paralyzing.
I recently did a bible study with my best friend from back home on the topic of anxiety. Something we both struggle with. Somewhere Paul writes about learning to be content with what you have, where you are, so as not to be anxious about what your day holds and what tomorrow may offer. For the most part I have been one to be content with what I have. I don't want lots of possessions. I don't need a ton of stuff, or a million rooms to sprawl out in. I don't care too much about what state our home is currently in as long as our family is together. For the most part I am content. But sometimes I'm not. Over the past couple years - especially since our last move - I have been longing for something else. Things that most people we know have and take for granted. People who have grown complacent because they haven't had to make big changes in recent years and have forgotten how difficult it is.
A yard free of trespassers or people leaning over the fence to take photos. A space not shared by multiple families, where I can't hear other people making dinner, or getting frustrated as they ask their kids for umpteenth time to pick up their toys, or flushing the toilet, or screaming with giggles that echo in our upstairs hallway hours after my children have gone to bed. A porch or front yard where I can sit quietly and feel awkward if someone else is out there that I don't have the energy to make small talk with. Not having to deal with people who are supposed to take care of the house and concerns of its inhabitants, people who show up unannounced, and "fix" things in the most mediocre way that they never work correctly again after waiting months for anything to happen. To have healthcare providers that we see more than twice because we are not in a place long enough to foster any sort of relationship with the people who are supposed to help take care of you. A neighborhood that feels safe and familiar, because you've lived there for 10 years and know the people, know the sounds.
I'm trying to be content, but it's hard when you feel uneasy or unsafe, anxious. Maybe the next place will be better. Maybe we will settle in and get that feeling of complacency. But for now my heart is restless.
Comments
Post a Comment