Tomorrow is the last day of the summer holidays. Not that it’s been much of a summer, although I admit the last couple of weeks we’ve had great weather.
So the kids are almost ready to go back to school. I say almost because I still have the last few books sitting on the kitchen table in need of covering. I’ve been avoiding them all day. I hate covering books with duraseal.
Wiseguy is off to Junior High School this year, leaving me to feel like I have nothing left that is familiar anymore. Moving here has been one giant constant change. New home, new schools, new friends, new kindy, and now a new year and another new school and it seems like a new child, he’s so different these days. They all are. Princess was 3 when we moved here, now she’s 5 and independent and rolls her eyes at me and has a social life. Boy was 6 and liked cuddles and bedtime stories, now he’s 8 and cares about Playstation, recycling, animals and apparently wearing the same clothes day after day. He hates it when I read to him in bed because it interrupts the book he was reading to himself. And Wiseguy, oh boy, he is just a big bundle of quick-witted insults, hurled with hilarity at whoever dared to speak or look in his direction. He was 9 when we moved here, now he’s going on 12 and expects the whole world to accommodate his rollercoaster of moods which can vary and change like traffic lights. He is all of a sudden ‘cool’ and I am ‘uncool’ and doesn’t want to consider the fact that I might have been ‘cool’ once before but I gave it all up years ago. That there’s only so many times you can rush away from a party or an event early because “I’ve been pooped on/thrown up on and it’s smelly and starting to stain” and still maintain your ‘coolness’ factor.
We’ve gone from this:
It’s been a long two years in Invercargill and I’m homesick. I’m homesick for the closeness that we had as a family before, and homesick for my sisters and my mum, and homesick for the church family we left behind. And I’m sad because even if we packed up and moved back home, it’s not the same anymore, and neither are we. And I’m aware that this change was what we needed, was why we moved here. I agree with Don Miller when he says in his book ‘Through Painted Deserts’: Everybody has to change or they expire. Everybody has to leave, everybody has to leave their home and come back so they can love it again for all new reasons. I want to keep my soul fertile for the changes, so things keep getting born in me, so things keep dying when it is time for things to die.
But death so often leaves someone mourning. And for someone like me, who at times is hounded by depression, so much change can open doors to a dark place that if you’re not careful can easily swallow you whole. I can’t do it again, the familiar downwards spiral. I am the Mum here, and they need me to keep pressing on. So I do, but in the deep, honest part of me, eating away, is the thought that I fight now with so little hope left, that I fight to survive knowing that even if I do I’ll never be truly happy here.