Displacement

Every night, when I get the twins to sleep, I tell them a story. It always starts with "Once upon a time, there was a little boy named Evan and a little girl named Jordan. They live in a big house with their... (the twins know to contribute names of people who live in the house)..." The story usually goes on to what they did that day. We never finish the story because they'll interrupt me and we'll go on to something else.

Well, they no longer live in a big house with their grandparents. We've moved.

We've moved to what essentially amounts to a large Jumbo flat (which was 2 flats knocked into one) but to the twins, they've moved into a shoe box and have no idea what to do with the fact that everywhere they go, there're walls to keep them in.

The first night Evan was here, I heard him at 5 in the morning clunking round the house in his slippers muttering "outside, outside, playground, outside". And today, they've been messing about in the house and keep asking for the television to be on and even then, they kept pacing up and down.

I feel irrationally guilty. Plucking them from their comfort zone where they had a back yard, oregano plants that they are able to identify, pluck at and sniff, a front porch to ride their little cars and being able to go in and out of the house as they pleased. I know everyone else does it, keep the todds entertained in our shoebox flats and I'm sure I'll figure out how to as well. But for now, the displacement and exhaustion from the last few months culminating in the move has just made me feel that I am incapable of doing anything stimulating with the kids apart from talk to them.

Am I happier here? I don't know yet. I probably am but right now, I'm still floored by the set up costs and the fact that all these costs are coming out from a pocket that doesn't run very deep. But something inside me today told me that everything will be fine and will work out great. So, I'm listening to that little voice because I'm too tired to argue with anyone or anything.

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