Dear Duck and Bunny (who used to go by Chick, but is now going by Bunny),

Moving sucks. Everyone knows this, and now you know this too. Everything I’ve done, or said, or cheerleaded has only made it worse. I know it’s the apartment-disease talking, but as I walked into our chaos tonight after spending 3 hours at Immediate Care for Kelly’s Earache-Du-Jour, and picked up a random-who-knows-what-bug off the floor…I hit yet a new wall of emotional exhaustion. I wanted to write this now, because someday, you’ll be 42, and moving with a family, and you’ll call. You’ll tell me it’s utter hell, and I’ll have forgotten. I’ll be full of Chablis on the beach, admiring my new sunhat, and I’ll say something totally stupid, like…you’ll be fine. Everything will be just fine. Oh yes…I’ll say it. Ignore me, and read this instead:

Uprooting children out of the only home they’ve ever known has FAR reaching consequences. It’s not “life-change-light”…I promise. This pain goes deep. Your kids are going to FREAK THE FLIPPETY FREAK OUT. You will be of no use. You will be freaking out as well. Why? Because moving is very expensive and stressful and even the best of marriages have to plow through some tough days to get the job done. It’s like one, huge, pan-family-freak-out. In response to the insane energy flowing through your families’ pipes, your kids will do wicked-crazy things like…cut their own hair, and misbehave in school, and throw dirt at their friends at recess. They’ll do things so out of character, you’ll spend many days picking your jaw up off the ground. You might think aliens have stolen their minds, but that’s where you’re missing the boat. Because in reality? They are so, so very sad. They are grieving “home”, and that’s an authentic pain akin to grieving a death.

You’ll do it wrong. You’ll tell them to look forward to new bedrooms and new parks and really dumb things like new memories. THEY DO NOT WANT NEW MEMORIES! They want their old rooms, and their old, horrible commutes, and everything that was wrong with the old house? Yep, they want that too. Kids wants “same”, even if “same” wasn’t working. You’ll waste months trying to focus them on a future they can’t imagine. It will only make it worse.

So PLEASE, do what I did and go to the School Psychologist’s office. ASK FOR HELP. It will come. Someone wiser than you can redirect you…backwards…as this case may be. Your kids need to make scrapbooks of their old home, and spend hours reminiscing about the life you shared with them there. The tears will fall, but in and around the laughter, as you talk about the time Max fell into the trash can while chasing a chicken bone. There will still be hard moments, and then, I want you to call each other. When one of you can’t remember the story of the night Santa brought the playroom, the other will. I won’t remember, because…well? Chablis. Perhaps you’ll get the sage advice I received from my own sister this afternoon (during Kelly’s 19th nervous breakdown): “For God’s sakes Lori, just hand her a Ding Dong.”

And you know what? It worked. I had to buy a Ding Dong first, but then it totally worked. The important thing is for them to learn to put their pain where their pain belongs. Not in a dirt clod they hurl at a girlfriend. (WHO DOES THIS? Seriously girls. Who taught you to do this? Was it a Disney show? I know you sneak those shows when I’m not looking.) It’s OK for some things to suck, even when we try our best to turn them into exciting adventures. We’ve had an adventure alright, just a different kind. The kind Stephen King may turn into a book someday, but we can talk about that later. Speaking of this summer’s nightmarish flavor, who has the Chablis? Did I just digress?

Tomorrow, this adventure ends. We pack up your scrapbooks, memories, and our cats, we finally get to go home. Sara, you have named the house, “The New Chapter”, and as much as I love this title, I promise you both to never forget we started someplace else. I know we won’t forget, because I wrote it all down, right here…in my own little scrapbook. I hope you don’t mind, but I shared it with a “few” friends. They’ve been my cheerleaders when I lost my way.

Let’s do the neighborly thing, and invite them to come with us tomorrow. Won’t you join us? A new chapter will begin, and it just wouldn’t be the same without you. Godspeed, my dear readers. Godspeed to you for hanging with me this past year. We couldn’t have made it without you. GIRLS! Your manners! Say thank you! Now here’s a box. Put something in it. No…not the cat.

In closing, moving sucks. Wisdom Comes Suddenly. Moving on…(literally)…

Love,

The Momma