I'm sitting at a dining room table right now. Here are just a few of the items that litter its surface: a bottle of acetaminophen, Cinderella stickers, a garbage bin, a Valentin'es project Ben completed months ago, a set of Allen wrenches, a lampshade. The lampshade used to be attached to a lamp that Ben threw on the ground this morning to protest his time out. He seems to like our new house to a degree, but something has gone haywire in his brain, and he can't sleep and he breaks things and screams and acts like a maniac. He's sweet and loving and funny in between his mental breakdowns, which gets us through the day. But we don't look forward to nighttime. We know we won't sleep.
And Elliott? He doesn't care about the move. He's doing just fine. Today I was rubbing his belly and he was smiling at me and you seemed so mellow and peaceful and comfortable with the world and I thought, I hope you aren't as intense as I am. I hope you escaped that, kid. Because I know Ben didn't.
I am tired from all of the moving and cleaning, but the house is getting there. And though we are overwhelmed, we are happy to be here. We've lived in 8 different places in the last 7 years, and I am ready to stop moving. I want to be here for a long time.