Adjustment Disorders

I wrote this post three weeks after we moved from Turkey to the Azores. I wrote it about trying to adjust to moving with children. Kids feel change. And it's okay they do.
... have set in.

It's like all at once, all of us, especially the kids, but also their Daddy and Mommy, are having trouble adjusting. Sleeping. Crying. Whining. Bed wetting (the kids -- not us). Fighting.

We'd been warned that big moves can do this. Military families are incredibly encouraging about "change" and helping your kids prepare before, during, and after that change occurs. Maybe it isn't the move. Maybe it's something else. But whatever it is, yesterday felt like the longest day of my life.

I stayed calm. I simply put fit-throwing child into time-out. Over and over and over again. There's a perfect tiny room for it in our new house. But the fighting! The crying! The whining!

In the midst of this there was much drama. JB, who was supposed to go out for the evening to watch a futbol match, ended up coming home. Good news! But then the kids grew even more cantankerous! JB tipped over a glass of water. We realized we had no sauce pans (somehow they didn't end up with the rest of the kitchen stuff?) Not good when you need to boil water. Dirty diapers. Broken toys. It was just thing after thing after thing and we were about to lose our minds!

Finally, at 7pm, we decided to just put all the kids to bed. JB had just finished making dinner -- salads with a meat stir fry to put on top. He told me he was going to put the salads in the fridge. We'd go upstairs and put the kiddos to bed. Then we could come down, top the salads with the stir fry and eat in peace.

Sounded glorious to me!

Thirty minutes later. Baths skipped. Bedtime completed we dragged ourselves back downstairs. JB pulled the salads out of the fridge. He turned around and ...

... the meat was gone!

I really could not make this stuff up.

"Wendi?" JB called, and I came sauntering in from the other room. "Did you put the meat away?"
I gave him a strange look and shook my head. And at the same moment, we both turned our heads in search of Scrubby.

Scrubs was laying on the kids rug, looking as innocent as he could muster. We wanted to strangle him. We wanted to cry. Both of us, at various moments, contemplated beating him, knowing we'd never really do it. It was long gone for him. No point yelling at a dog after the deed has been done so long ago. So we just stood there, staring at each other, our eyes reflecting on our long day, for what seemed like an eternity.

"I even fed him leftover meat mixed in with his dog food for dinner," I said. I paused and under my breath told our big dog that he was going to eat dry food for the next week as punishment. "Is that what I get for spoiling you?" I said, more to myself than the dog.

I thought about a bowl of cereal, but JB took a deep breath and went back to the drawing board, concocting a new topping for our plain lettuce salad in a matter of minutes.

Put a fork in me ...