Our daughter, however, seems to be a little on the fence. She’s not explicit about it; if you were to ask her if she liked her new house, she’d probably say yes. There’s a tree swing in the yard that she loves. Her bedroom is pink, and she’s now sleeping in a “big girl bed.” Her books are all unpacked and her daddy’s set up the Netflix so she can watch Curious George when she earns screen time. She likes our neighbor next door and last night we found a collection of quartz geodes the previous owners seemed to have dumped out in the flowerbeds.
But it’s the fourth room she’s had in a little over a year. It’s all new. And, just like last year when we moved into the apartment in a brand new city, she’s acting out. I’d like to think it’s not as bad. After all, her teachers and friends and school and church are all the same. But she goes to sleep in a new bed at night and the car pulls into a different space and the faces of the neighbors are different. Some of her toys are still in boxes. And as she shouted at us in a moment of frustration the other night, “I don’t understand my room!”
I’m not entirely clear what that means, but it seems appropriate. There’s a lot in this world for a four-year-old to not understand. What she did understand, at least until last week, was what her room looked like and where her toys were and how bath time proceeded and even what roads we drove on. Once again, all of that is up in the air, and she is starting over to establish routines and familiarity.
We don’t plan on moving again for a very long time. Maybe ever. My child will hopefully move out eventually, but we plan on her spending a good fourteen years in this house. So I know she’ll get used to it, and when she’s an adult, she will no doubt think of this house in those moments when her memories turn wistfully to her childhood. I wish I could speed up her getting used to the house or, better yet, infect her with the same sense of relief and excitement that her parents feel to be living in such a wonderful place. Transition is hard for anyone, and for a little person, transition is experienced as five or ten times bigger than it is for adults. We’re employing every tactic we know of to reassure her that we are with her, that she is safe, that she can depend on us, that new routines are forming. But a four-year-old lives in a world of emotions and reactions, and she is going to feel out loud whatever she feels.
There’s something to be said about just living out your uncertainty. I wish it was taking more obedient, manageable forms. But I’m trying to admire her emotional honesty. Sometimes I don’t understand the world I live in, either, and that’s scary, particularly when it includes the one place you need to feel safe and familiar. As her parent, I think my job here is twofold. First, I’m trying to make room for her that she can understand. Not rationally, but in her heart. Secondly, I think I just have to keep loving her no matter how maddening her acting out becomes. Come to think of it, those are every parent’s jobs.
As the boxes continue to become unpacked, we will find our home, and so will our daughter. May you also continue to find room in your life that you understand, and find the space to feel your frustration when you don’t understand it.