I’m going to go ahead and say it: I think that Ella might just be the most adjusted five year old on the planet. Or in this state. Whatever.
What does that mean, anyway? Well adjusted.
I think that means an understanding that the world is not just about you. I think it means able to communicate. She is not all that competitive, preferring just to play the game. She is not all that concerned with appearance, only comfort. She and I have a good relationship and she relates well with other adults. What more could I ask?
We have been talking about this move since I found out that I got the house earlier this month. I probably should not have. The littles have no sense of time. August 8th means nothing to them. I talk about our house and show them pictures of the builder’s progress. We are up to drywall mud and taping. It won’t be long now, I say. The house is yellow with dark red brick, I tell them.
“Our house is not in this town. But we can visit can’t we mama?”
“Will Daddy know where we are? Can he find us?”
Daddy knows where we are every day.
“I miss Daddy. I am sad sometimes but I don’t always cry.”
I feel that way, too.
Love. Her. How did she put into words what I have been feeling. I miss Stephen dearly. I am sad sometimes but I don’t always cry. I almost never cry anymore. It just burns energy that I don’t have to spare.
Or maybe a good fit now and then would do me good.
Turns out, I can actually hear myself getting fatter. Maybe a steady diet of vodka cocktails, pop tarts, Cherry Pepsi and tacos really aren’t all that good for me. Huh. If my scale is right (and I pray it isn’t but I suspect it is) I am a good 20 over what I was this time last year. Of course, this time last year I was miserable on WW. And now I’m miserable because the only thing I can wear is track shorts. None of my cute shirts fit and I have the dreaded quadra-boob going on. It really is all about the clothes.
It’s not like anyone sees me naked. Except Amelia. Who is in the bathroom, even if I didn’t hear her come in, every time I get out of the shower. And she always comments about the size of something or hair somewhere or why my underwear is bigger than Ella’s or Grammy’s (that would be my mom who doesn’t look like she birthed three kids over thirty years ago…why couldn’t I get those genetics??).
All in all, I’m more than surprised that the littles are as well adjusted as they are. You know, given the circumstances. I don’t feel like I parent all that well. Except when I’m driving and they are buckled into their respective seats, unable to touch either me or each other. It is little wonder that we travel as much as we do.
We’re going to be okay. This move, it is a good thing. A very good thing. I haven’t felt okay about something this big in a while.
I love my littles? Have I said that today?