So, we did the allergist visit. It was great - I really like my kids allergist tremendously. She's exceptionally well versed in asthma, allergies and eczema and knows exactly what needs to be done. We have a plan and a purpose and it feels good.
Unlike my body, which most definitely does NOT feel good right about now.
Allow me to explain.
Mondays are the days that I do my hardest workout. I take a CORE class, which is all kettle bells and weights and free work and it's the hardest stuff that I've ever done. I'm exhausted and sweaty and a wiped out mess after.
I'm not skinny, but I'm strong. And Monday, I was a little bit late, so I got the 15 pound kettle bell - and I did the entire workout with it.
And then I rearranged my entire house. Which is really the crux of this post.
My big girls used to share a bedroom, as did my little girls. (My two boys have their own rooms, as there is a sizeable age gap between them.) Both sets of girls are close in age - 2 ish years between the two - and so it's been a natural assumption for us that both sets of girls would each share a bedroom. We've had discussions and arguments over the past several years in regards to the older girls - I've said before that my kids argue as if it's their life mission, but it's so true. I've told them that for the rest of their lives, they will have to share a room - if they go to college, get married or have a relationship, have a child or two or ten - the odds are really good that they won't have a room to themselves and they will need to know how to compromise, to get along in a smaller space that isn't your own -
Besides, I've always said, if anyone gets their own bedroom, I'm first in line.
But this past weekend, things came to a big, bad, ugly head, and my husband, the man who never gets angry, got very, very angry and he laid down an edict. The front room was to become a bedroom for one older girl, the two little girls were to go into the bigger room, and the other older girl was to go into the little girls room. He'd planned for us to do it three days later -
but, knowing what I know about the very special makeup of our family
I knew that this needed to happen immediately.
Yes, it was that bad. And so when I finished work Monday, I rolled up my metaphorical sleeves, pinned up my black and blue hair, and got to work. I moved a sofa upstairs. I moved another halfway across the house. I brought a bed downstairs, and moved two others. Remember, I'm not skinny, but I'm German Prison Matron Strong like bull. I moved bureaus, bookshelves, sweated my ass off, and close to six hours later
it was mostly done. Not the organizational stuffs - we still don't have closets completed, stuff needs to go into the attic, and it's going to take time. It's also a bit sad for me on a couple of different levels.
Our house is not a typical house any more. We no longer have a front room OR a dining room - one is a bedroom and will get doors this week, and one is my roped off office. Our house has changed to meet the needs of our family, rather than have a family that fits into a house. We don't need a formal dining room or a sitting room. We need space for two headstrong, opinionated people who need space to grow and develop into good adults to have the freedom to do so. A space for the one in vocal school to play the piano - yes, she moved in to the room with the piano - and sing as long as she wants, and space for the one who needs more personal space and privacy to have it.
I can't help but feel like I've failed in some way. I had these visions of daughters who got along, who were each others best friends, who braided each others hair and told secrets and giggled together in the dark of the night. I didn't have that. I'll never have that, and I wanted it for my girls. But it may still happen, and if it doesn't, I'm going to have to take a page from my own mother and be at peace with it. Sacrificing my kid's self esteem, watching and allowing some of the things that have occurred over the past months has allowed me to clearly see that I was wrestling with a massive ego issue - if they got along, it was because I was an *awesome* mother. And allowing them to separate and move into different directions didn't fit my idea of what a *good* mom did - but it's going to have to.
Because I *am* a good mom. Even if I don't have a front room or a dining room, even if my kids need space from each other to be allowed to grow up feeling loved and supported, even if my house isn't a show room - I will have to let go of what I thought our family and our house SHOULD look like and embrace what our family looks like and what it needs.
Raising kids is stupid hard, y'all. And I have NO IDEA what I'm doing. EVER.