This week has been psycho.
But very nice in some ways, too. My mom is visiting us. I have her slaving away for me 24 hours a day. If I dare to wash any dishes she gives me the evil eye and says, "Who did the dishes? That's my job."
Ahh ... it's wonderful.
My mom is here for several reasons:
1) She wanted to come up one last time before we leave China.
2) She is helping me by taking three-year-old Anna out to play in the sandbox during Sophie's morning nap so that I can pack/organize in preparation for our imminent move.
3) Aaron is gone for a week in Guilin with thirty tenth graders. My mom is here so I don't start wailing and pulling out my hair and barking like a dog from too long a confinement with my (delightful) preschoolers.
Aren't mothers wonderful?
I've been thankful for my mother this whole psycho week. But this morning I was especially thankful.
I was helping the kids get ready for school. They seemed fine; that is, until Olivia went into her room to get dressed and absolutely lost it.
"I hate changing my underwear!"
I pursed my lips, but didn't say anything.
"I don't like this dress! It's uncomfortable!"
"Well, put on a different dress," I said.
Olivia pulled out a different dress, struggled with the zipper for about 0.27 nanoseconds and tossed it on the floor. I picked up the dress and unzipped it. By that time, she was lying across the bed, kicking, crying, and doing what looked like a break-dancing move that may be called "the caterpillar."
It was getting later and later. I knew if things continued like this the child would miss her bus.
To make a long, tough story short, I'm thankful for my mom. She stayed upstairs with Anna and Sophie so that I could take my kicking and screaming seven year old (when do they grow out of this?) to the bus stop and deposit her on the bus. I don't think I could've pulled that off with a baby on one hip and a three year old with a propensity for darting out in front of bicycles yanking on my other hand.
As a footnote, I have to slather some grace on Olivia right now. It's tough having your dad gone. It's tougher knowing that in three weeks you're moving 6,000 miles away from the only home you've ever known, away from all your (wonderful) friends. I know I need an extra measure of patience with my kids right now; all our kids are exhibiting a double-dose of drama. They need extra patience with me too, for that matter.
But amid all the psychotic chaos and the turmoil of transition -- I'm so glad my mom is here!