Patience
I have moved more times in my life than most people I know. By a lot. I understand the struggles. I understand the stress, the anxiety, and frustration. I've even moved with children before and understand that the extra, pint-sized, person adds even more of a struggle to the mix. I have not, however, ever moved with a 5 year old and a 2 year old.
Patience. Patience is the name of the game. Why does it always have to be about that word? Why can't it be about laughter or gluttony. I mean, I'd rather go on a vegan diet with kale chips to replace sweets than have to deal with that dadgum P word. Popsicles, polar bears, heck, even PEAS. I love all those words more than I love patience right now.
My 2 year old has had a fever for the last week. Actually, she has had a fever for 8 days straight. Besides the fact that I am worried about her, because I'm pretty sure having a high fever for 8 days isn't normal, or good, I have to deal with the effects of that high fever, sans husband, AKA teammate. The whining. Oh Lord of heaven, earth, solar systems, and volcanos, why, WHY?! Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, Mommy... I mean, I could type that words hundreds more times and it wouldn't come close to how many times I've heard that words in the past 8 days. The poor child feels awful, I get it. It breaks my heart. Her illness makes me want to take it all away and just make my baby feel better. But why must I endure hearing my name that many times? Patience... Breath. Exhale. Breath again. Hold it again... longer. Think happy thoughts. Remind yourself that we are in the middle of a move. Que 5 year old.
Oh, that strong willed child. I mean, seriously STRONG. WILLED. Whew, how do I even parent this thing? How will I make it to the teenage years if I can't handle sweet little kindergarten aged child? No, I won't eat my broccoli, more whining. Please don't make me go to bed. more whining. Playing too rough, yelling loudly, more whining. It's enough to make me want to scream. Yes, I did lay in the floor the other day and earnestly contemplate joining in on the crying. 5 year old did not want to go to bed and 2 year old was upset because I had dared to leave her for the minute and a half it took me to go use the facilities and wash my hands. They both laid on the floor and cried and I laid right down on the floor and joined them. What else was I to do? Tell the 5 year old to suck it up when she had just been asking to go home. I mean we don't even have a home right now. Tell my 2 year old, with 104 temperature to suck it up? Nope. So I laid in the floor too and contemplated running away. Patience... breathing, exhaling, reminding myself that we are homeless and this is probably harder on them than me... Right?
The days are long and the years are short. Dang right! These days are SO long. So long. I look at my 5 year old sometimes and wonder how she even got to be this sassy, strong willed child. Yea, the years are short. Too damned short if you asked me. Patience... breathing in and breathing out. Enjoy these days. That's what they say to do. I enjoy them all right, but some days I just don't. Some days they are just too dang long. Those are the days I get saturated with oxygen. My lungs probably thank me for the days when I am tested with patience. I am doing so much heavy breathing, how could they not? Always look for the silver lining, right? I think that makes me a positive person.
No profound ending to this. I am enjoying the peace and quiet right now. They both sleep peacefully and I get to enjoy the sounds of my father using his patience to install a dishwasher. We all have those days. We all have those weeks. This week has been mine. I am sure I will have many more days coming up as we try and navigate this move. I should have lungs of steel when it's all said and done.
Patience. Patience is the name of the game. Why does it always have to be about that word? Why can't it be about laughter or gluttony. I mean, I'd rather go on a vegan diet with kale chips to replace sweets than have to deal with that dadgum P word. Popsicles, polar bears, heck, even PEAS. I love all those words more than I love patience right now.
My 2 year old has had a fever for the last week. Actually, she has had a fever for 8 days straight. Besides the fact that I am worried about her, because I'm pretty sure having a high fever for 8 days isn't normal, or good, I have to deal with the effects of that high fever, sans husband, AKA teammate. The whining. Oh Lord of heaven, earth, solar systems, and volcanos, why, WHY?! Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, Mommy... I mean, I could type that words hundreds more times and it wouldn't come close to how many times I've heard that words in the past 8 days. The poor child feels awful, I get it. It breaks my heart. Her illness makes me want to take it all away and just make my baby feel better. But why must I endure hearing my name that many times? Patience... Breath. Exhale. Breath again. Hold it again... longer. Think happy thoughts. Remind yourself that we are in the middle of a move. Que 5 year old.
Oh, that strong willed child. I mean, seriously STRONG. WILLED. Whew, how do I even parent this thing? How will I make it to the teenage years if I can't handle sweet little kindergarten aged child? No, I won't eat my broccoli, more whining. Please don't make me go to bed. more whining. Playing too rough, yelling loudly, more whining. It's enough to make me want to scream. Yes, I did lay in the floor the other day and earnestly contemplate joining in on the crying. 5 year old did not want to go to bed and 2 year old was upset because I had dared to leave her for the minute and a half it took me to go use the facilities and wash my hands. They both laid on the floor and cried and I laid right down on the floor and joined them. What else was I to do? Tell the 5 year old to suck it up when she had just been asking to go home. I mean we don't even have a home right now. Tell my 2 year old, with 104 temperature to suck it up? Nope. So I laid in the floor too and contemplated running away. Patience... breathing, exhaling, reminding myself that we are homeless and this is probably harder on them than me... Right?
The days are long and the years are short. Dang right! These days are SO long. So long. I look at my 5 year old sometimes and wonder how she even got to be this sassy, strong willed child. Yea, the years are short. Too damned short if you asked me. Patience... breathing in and breathing out. Enjoy these days. That's what they say to do. I enjoy them all right, but some days I just don't. Some days they are just too dang long. Those are the days I get saturated with oxygen. My lungs probably thank me for the days when I am tested with patience. I am doing so much heavy breathing, how could they not? Always look for the silver lining, right? I think that makes me a positive person.
No profound ending to this. I am enjoying the peace and quiet right now. They both sleep peacefully and I get to enjoy the sounds of my father using his patience to install a dishwasher. We all have those days. We all have those weeks. This week has been mine. I am sure I will have many more days coming up as we try and navigate this move. I should have lungs of steel when it's all said and done.
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