A Moving Experience – the three part play

Act I: How not to run a telecom company. Cut us off the day *before* our move, promise me you’ll get it reconnected within 2 hours. Four hours later promise me again. Four hours after that tell me you’ll get it up tomorrow but then will have to delay the move by two days. Tell me two days later that your records show the move to be the next day and promise it will be up and running when I awake. Morning after that tell me it could actually be any time until midnight. Morning after *that* tell me a technician needs to come to my house and that won’t happen until tomorrow. I make my 12th call in six days to customer service and find the only apparently useful person in the whole darned company…within one hour there’s a technician at my house who fixes the problem.

Act II: Fun with Feces. The kids have handled the moving part very well. They love all the space – the rec room, the large deck, the huge yard. On our first night here DD told me she didn’t want to live in our other place any more. But there has been stress and it has been of the “mommy is here but totally unavailable” variety. I was nonstop packing for five days while DH was in Italy on business. Then we move and he goes right back to work and I’m left trying to unpack, argue with the phone company, pick up the last few small items remaining at the old place, oh and did I mention I started teaching a lecture series today? DD was crying that I never played with her anymore, begging me to stop doing things, everything a mother needs to really wallow in maternal guilt. But that wasn’t enough so she turned to some interesting tactics. During the packing week she used the toilet and decided that poop was sort of like playdoh….I walked into the bathroom in utter shock to discover her standing there, hands full of poop, and it smeared everywhere. Apparently the “attention” she got over this was better than nothing, so a few days later it happened again. She did another performance yesterday for DH’s benefit. SO not fun…and yet what can I do? It’s a classic example of attention-seeking. What’s worse is that it isn’t as though she can’t put her feelings into words. She had, on several occasions over the past week, very eloquently described how much she missed me and wanted to play with me, etc….but nothing changed. So what’s a five year old to do but play with poop and watch mama blow a gasket?

Act III: Loving the House. Tonight we ate dinner on the picnic table in the backyard. The kids have been out playing ball with DH most evenings before bed. They are getting more exercise in one day than they used to in 2 or 3 back at the apartment. And did I mention I have actual sunbeams that move across my floor the whole day long? I honestly don’t think I could ever go back to living in an apartment again. I have been seduced by the demon of the Single Family Dwelling and hell is feeling mighty fine right now…

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