I’m not sure that I would be able to fully appreciate our lives now if it weren’t for the struggle we faced to get here.  In the scheme of things, I know it wasn’t that major.  We could have faced the same dilemma our new neighbors faced; when they moved here, they had to pay a double mortgage for a year until their old house sold.  Nevertheless, Justin and I still survived our own personal nightmare.

This move, as any large move is, was all-consuming.  And, in all honesty, we weren’t sure it was the right choice.  When you are doing something because you think it’s the right thing to do (which, incidentally, is much different from moving because the military tells you to or you get a new job), there are so many doubts.  You will never actually know if you made the right decision until it is too late to go back in the event that it was the wrong one.

As you may remember, in early June, everything seemed to fall together.  The day I accepted my current job at Crawford, resigned my former job in Lawrence, and agreed that two of my cats could permanently stay in their temporary homes, we also accepted an offer on our condo.  It was meant to be.  Until our buyers backed out the day Justin flew to Lexington and found a house he was ready to put an offer in on.  At that point, our world collapsed around us.  It was too late to get my job back in Lawrence, and we didn’t have any other buyers lined up in Boston.

We did the only thing we could.  Panicked, really.  And then figured things out.  We started to pack up the house and continued to show it.  We found another buyer.  Which fell through again.  And then we found a third buyer.  We moved to Lexington and started our life in limbo, living in my parents’ basement, not sure we were ever going to leave.  Still making mortgage payments in Boston, despite my pay cut in Lexington.

Of course, on our first day in Lexington, we found our dream house.  We put in an offer, hoping that our condo would close, as planned on 30 August.  It didn’t.  The closing was delayed five more times.  We nearly lost our house, having to pay the seller’s a month’s mortgage with no access to the house.

The stress wore on us.  We had very few conversations that revolved around anything other than real estate.  Robbie fed off our stress.  In short, it was nearly unbearable.  Without family to lean on, I’m not sure what we would have done.  More times that I care to admit, I doubted my decision to push for the move.

And then, suddenly, it was over.  We closed on the condo 04 October and breathed a huge sigh of relief.  If, after all of this, we lost the house, there would be other houses.  We simply needed to be rid of the albatross, and, by the grace of God, we were.  Inevitably, there were more hiccups.  The pay-off was short $290, continuing to jeopardize our purchase in Lexington.

Even more suddenly, that was solved and, forty minutes beforehand, I found out that we were closing.  Justin was out of town, and I had no idea where a checkbook was.  Mom flew across town with a check, much to my eternal relief and temporary embarrassment (after all, I am a grown woman who should know where her checkbook is).  But it was nice to have her there, giving me a supportive hug before she jetted off to pick up Robbie.

There was a pizza dinner at the house the first night.  A late move the next night, involving three stops, gracious movers (Hometown Movers if you need them; ask for Otis to be one of your men – he’s moved us twice), and hundreds of boxes.  And then, finally, Justin flew home, and we had breakfast as a family, our first meal in the new house.

The place was a disaster for six days.  It was bizarre walking through the front door, knowing it was ours.  All of it.  Nothing had to be shared.  We could be as loud as we wanted as late as we wanted.  There was room to put everything away and still have empty closets (we currently have six along with six empty cupboards).  Sure, there’s still work to be done.  The dining room furniture is being refinished and Justin’s office in the basement needs insulation, drywall, paint, flooring, and a ceiling.  But the living room furniture came today, so Justin and I are enjoying a little time just, well, enjoying a little time.

It’s a bizarre feeling, relaxing in our own house.  Knowing all the drama is behind us.  For all the wonderful things that have happened, it has been a positively brutal eleven months.  But you know what?  It lead us here.  Home – on so many levels.  And together, more so than I may have ever thought possible.  We aren’t all fortunate enough to make it through the extreme challenges, but I’m grateful for where they have brought me.  Even more grateful for where they have landed us.

The other night, during one of our conversations, Robbie rolled over, put his hand on my face, looked into my eyes, and asked me a very serious question.  “Mom, are you married?”

Caught off-guard and trying not to laugh at the question, I replied, “Yes, honey.  Mommy’s married.”

He continued, “OK.  Are you married to Daddy?”

I replied that I was, indeed, married to Daddy.  Robbie proceeded to give it some thought, mulling over this whole marriage business.  Not sure where this was going, I waited for a few moments.  And, sure enough, Robbie continued.

“Yeah, I’m married, too.  I got married at pre-school today.”

I just really wasn’t sure what to say to that.  He didn’t seem to know who he had married, only that he was married.  Which sounds like a bad decision he might make on a college Vegas trip, not a normal day at a Christian pre-school.  Even more concerning?  Robbie’s pre-school teacher knew nothing about it.  Although, I guess this could be seen as a good sign.  I’d be a little concerned if she were serving as a witness…

A funny thing happened when Robbie stopped going to Chinese daycare; he learned to speak English.  Sure, he knew how to speak English before, but it was more small phrases and sentence fragments.  He had general ideas of what he wanted to say, but there was no real conversation.  Within the past week, all of that has changed.

It started slowly, with Robbie saying, “Mom, are we talking?”  It was almost like he wanted to make sure that he had the right words.  Lately, it’s evolved from that to, “Mom, are we talking?  Is this a conversation?” and again to, “Mom, let’s have a conversation, please.”

And so we do.  We talk about Magic Kingdom (his favorite conversation), bad dreams (he’s been shot at by Captain Hook and bitten by the alligator on two different nights and showed me the bullet holes and bite marks on his mattress – intense stuff!), school (although I was a little alarmed when he told me he got married at pre-school yesterday…), and our house (he keeps asking if we are going to move into the old new house or get a new new house).

I love more than anything that Robbie wants me to have conversations with him.  There is nothing better in the world than being Robbie’s favorite person.  I’m trying to relish every conversation, no matter how many times we have it.  After all, chances are good he’s not going to share every detail of his life with me forever.

For months, Robbie has been asking me to run a race.  Every time I come home from a run, particularly if I’m wearing a race number, he begs to go for a run with me.  When we drive by a runner, Robbie says, “Look, Mom!  He’s a runner.  Going fast like a super hero – just like me!”  And Sunday he finally had his chance.

I wish I had been there for his racing debut at the PTSA 5K.  Robbie went with Nona, Pops, and Aunt Hilary for some racing fun while Justin and I finished getting some things for the house ready before our first family dinner in the new house.  Nona had the stroller in the back of the car – just in case.

When they got home, Robbie was fast asleep in the car, wearing his race bib – runner 789.  Apparently he ran the first two miles of the race, crouching down like a “real” runner and waiting for Nona or Aunt Hilary to tell him, “Ready!  Set!  Go!”  He showed me all his runner skills when he got home, running from place to place.  However, later, when Hilary asked him to run upstairs with her, Robbie replied, “Um, I can’t.  I ran a race today.  Really tired.”

So…  It finally happened!  The stars and planets aligned.  Two weeks ago, we finally closed on our condo in Boston.  It was a brutal situation that tried Justin and myself in ways we could never have imagined.  For ten weeks, we lived in a near constant state of flux, never knowing where we stood in the closing process.  Five closing dates came and went.  And then, finally, 04 October, it happened.  We closed.  Not owning that condo was one of the best feelings of our lives.

And then the drama continued with the closing here.  Too much to really go into, but enough to make us terrified that we were going to lose our house.  The one we put an offer in on the first day we lived in Kentucky.  The one I’ve been driving by and salivating over for two months.  The one we, miraculously, closed on a week ago.

Here we are.  A week later, all settled.  Well, settled-ish.  We are still waiting on living room and patio furniture.  And our dining room furniture is being redone.  It was odd the first few days, feeling like we were living in someone else’s house.  And I still get excited when I pull in the driveway.  It’s hard to believe this is actually ours.

Coming from a 3-bedroom, 1-bath, 1467 square foot condo, this feels like a palace.  Our closet is half the size of Robbie’s old bedroom.  Our old kitchen had one drawer, half a counter, and five cabinets.  Our new one?  Seven drawers, triple the counter space, and eight cabinets plus a pantry.  We have empty closets galore – and all I want is to keep them empty.  Silly, isn’t it?  But I love knowing that I can.

So was it worth all the drama?  All the heartache?  All the stress?  Absolutely.

Every day, we trudge closer to normal.  Closer to a condo that is no longer ours and a house of our own.  Closer to regular routines.  But, along the way…  Well, there have been some abnormalities.  Like yet another delay in the closing of our condo.  We are assured that it will be this week; and we feel as if we have no choice but to believe it.  For the most part, I do.  But I think the email we receive saying the clear to close has been issued will feel surreal; I’m sure I will have to read it at least a dozen times (saying extra prayers that it is first thing tomorrow morning).

And then there is the really abnormal.  The stuff you need to write about to try to process it but just can’t seem to find the words.  And the stress of it all compounds until you think normal will never come.  There will never be a time when your husband doesn’t ask, “So, do you think we’re ever going to close on this house?”  In fact, he’s asked me twice while I’ve been typing.  A time when, despite all the wonderful parts of being home, you wonder if it will stop feeling like a perpetual nightmare with regard to real estate and pre-school transitions?  Because, yes, there was another issue there.

It’s been resolved and isn’t something I care to write about beyond for myself personally.  But I still can’t help feel unsettled by it.  And responsible for it.  And just generally conflicted.

When you look at everything piece by piece, it seems manageable.  Maybe even petty.  But compounded?  Almost insurmountable.

1.  House in Boston was supposed to close over a month ago.  It hasn’t.  We feel like it never will.

2.  We can’t close on our house here until the condo in Boston closes.  See above.

3.  Still living in parents’ basement.  Which is wonderful because there is always someone to help with Robbie and share chores with.  But, it’s hard to move home again.

4.  I have no actual idea where anything I own is.  Everything that we “needed” for two months is shoved in our basement bedroom and small storage closet.  And then we find more things that we “need.”  What I need is a house where I can put them, particularly the one we are waiting to buy with it’s ample closet space.  See number 1 and 2 above.

5. Pre-school drama abounds.  Surely we are past it all now.  Teacher conference.  Administration conference.  No incident reports for two weeks.  Close to potty trained.  At least this one appears to be alleviating, despite a traumatic week for Justin and myself last week.

6.  A former Crawford student died.  Now, I did not know this child.  But everyone around me did.  And I felt hopeless to help.  And greatly reminded of how precious life is.

It would definitely make for a riveting mini-series…

Robbie had his first OT appointment today.  It was, well, I don’t know.  I spent the first half of the appointment trying to explain problems with Robbie, sometimes unsure of exactly how to answer the question.  It was an odd position to be in because I’m usually the one telling people about their children.  And, to make matters worse, I was stumbling over words and giving what felt like rambling answers.  I oscillated between feeling like I needed to be honest about my child’s behavior and fighting a desperate need to explain that, despite some of the behavior patterns we see, he is a sweet, kind little boy.  Besides, I’m extremely self-conscious when someone writes down what I say – you’ve all seen the Far Side cartoon where the shrink writes, “Just plain nuts”, right?

And then it was time for Robbie to perform some tasks.  It was difficult watching him.  Do I encourage him?  Do I sit quietly?  Robbie stacked blocks, unsuccessfully made a pyramid, placed small beads in a jar.  He traced a line, failed to recreate a drawing of two lines, and cut a paper in half on the line.  He folded paper and tried to cut out a circle (which was really just a line when he was done with it).  Robbie was supposed to lie on his stomach but spent five minutes pretending to be a spider.  And there I sat, unsure of when to intervene, unsure of what it all really meant.

I’m still figuring out what it means.  But, we’ll figure it out.  Robbie starts OT next Monday and will be going once a week.  I’m lucky because his therapist is a friend who can help me process everything, even if it’s outside of our appointments.

I am slowly realizing that everyone has their setbacks.  Be it speech or reading or math or mobility or sensory.  And we’ll get through this.  And Robbie will be OK.  And I can still be a good mom.  Because perhaps that’s the part that bothers me most: I wonder how much of this reflects on me as a mother.  I know that, in all reality, it doesn’t.  Robbie is my first child; it would make sense that I would think some behaviors were a stage.  But, I can’t help but wonder why I didn’t see it as more than a stage.  What could I have done to avoid it?

I know the answers to all of these questions.  And I know I’m a good mother.  But, that’s what a mother does, right?  Constantly question and critique herself, and only more so when it turns out that her perfect baby isn’t so perfect.  And then learn to accept it and work to make things right again.  I think I can do that – one step at a time.

Justin and I were thrilled when Robbie finally started naming colors in English.  Especially when he started getting them right.  Until he started labeling everything he saw.  Including people.

It’s happened a few times – Robbie pointing and shouting, “Look!  Black!”  In public.  Loudly.

Justin was with him the first time it happened at a restaurant.  Then it happened at Kids Place.  And then tonight – at the mall.

I have no idea how to actually deal with this.  I’ve spoken to Robbie.  I’m not so sure that he gets the idea of race, and I wonder if it’s because he was mostly around Asians and white people in Massachusetts.  So, much to my chagrin, I have started trying to point out other colors when he starts shouting, “Black!”

I’m not sure how long that will work…  Or how to deal with it a little better.  Any suggestions?

It’s difficult when your beliefs as a parent begin to collide with those of your profession.  In school, I tell students who complain about teachers that they have to learn to get along with people they don’t like; it’s a part of life.  As a parent, well, I’m not so sure.

Now, I loved Robbie’s teacher.  I thought she was fantastic and really enjoyed speaking with her.  Maybe that’s why I hesitated to request a move.  Robbie needed to learn how to deal with a variety of people.  And, given his minimal experience in school, the behavior had to be coming from him.  He would behave that way in any class.  Right?

Not so much.  After signing well over ten incident reports in three weeks, I wasn’t so sure.  In fact, I was growing concerned that Robbie wasn’t being caught before he did something.  If he didn’t know what he was about to do wrong, how could he know when to correct it?  It seemed like we were in a vicious cycle, and, other than the kids on the receiving end, Robbie was going to be the real victim.

As a teacher, I would encourage him to figure it out (I know; he’s only three).  As a parent, I was terrified my child would be labeled a troublemaker and would then do the only thing he could: live up to the label.  I couldn’t let that happen.

It was a chance conversation.  And luck had it that there was an opening in the other three-year-old room.  So, last week, Robbie started spending a few hours every day with Mr. Alex.  Amazingly, there were no incident reports.  And this week?  He started full time.  Still no incident reports and no accidents.  That’s right!  Mr. Alex put Robbie in underwear instead of a diaper, and Robbie didn’t have any accidents.  Who knew?  Now if only we can keep it up!

Most afternoons, when I pick up Robbie, there is a blue paper for me to sign.  An incident report.  For a child he has pushed, hit with a truck, or, well, you get the picture.  And every day, my face falls a little and Robbie asks me if I’m sad.  All I can do is sigh and say, “Yes, Mommy’s sad.”

Today, I approached the playground expecting a blue sheet.  Instead, his teacher came over with a big smile on her face and Robbie sprinted across the playground toward me, throwing himself at my knees in a huge hug.  Nervous, I asked how the day had gone.

“He was perfect today.  Robbie said he wanted to make you smile today.”

With tears in my eyes, I reached down to pick up my sweet little boy.  He gave me a hug and a kiss and asked, “You happy today, Mommy?”

Yes, Robbie.  So incredibly happy and so full of love for the wonderful, sensitive little boy you are.