Singing Like a Bird

After years of dithering my husband and I made the decision to relocate; lots of reasons, none of them relevant to this blog. Once we set the ball rolling everything just fell into place, one after the other, after the other after the other after the other ... gathering such momentum that at times it was difficult keeping up. One of those things is that my husband was offered a great job starting 1 July.

We're organized, bordering on, okay! totally OCD; so before he left I started selling things on FaceBook groups, we chose our favourite books and started packing up; or rather piling up. The freight company pack to ensure you're not shipping across your morning stash of 'mommy's little helpers', the pellet gun for noisy neighbours or my still-sealed bottle of ground coriander.

In all this organized chaos though we have left the children's rooms relatively untouched in order not to disrupt their little worlds too far in advance. In fact my husband has taken across their second set of linen – Dora and Thomas – to make up their rooms there to ensure continuity.

We didn't make a big scene at the airport – kiss, hug, love you dad, see you soon. We have a glass in the kitchen with a photo of dad squashed at the bottom ala Cabbage Patch Kid and exactly the amount of smarties in it as the number of sleeps til they see their dad. Pats on the back, I'm an amazing mom, we're amazing parents and of course I can manage five weeks on my own with them, the house, packing and a job.

Over and over and over again I repeated the serenity prayer this morning in order not to actually do my daughter (almost three) bodily harm. From the moment her dad, her special, her favourite, her everything, closed the car door at the airport she thought: Game On Mom – in a quavering Chucky sort of tone.

She's on a deliberate go-slow, a lobotomized incapability of following the simplest instruction and 100% hearing impaired. But that's not the worst, she has developed the most torturous whine. It's soft, but loud enough to jack-hammer against my ear drum, pained in a desperately plaintive, I'm all alone in the world and no one cares sort of way and REPETITIVE.

itchy itchy itchy itchy itchy itchy itchy itchy itchy itchy itchy itchy itchy itchy itchy itchy itchy itchy itchy itchy itchy itchy itchy itchy itchy itchy itchy itchy itchy itchy itchy itchy ...

bobil toast bobil toast bobil toast bobil toast bobil toast bobil toast bobil toast bobil toast bobil toast bobil toast bobil toast bobil toast bobil toast bobil toast bobil toast ...

big bear big bear big bear big bear big bear big bear big bear big bear big bear big bear big bear big bear big bear big bear big bear big bear big bear big bear big bear big bear big bear big bear big bear big bear big bear big bear big bear ...

And boy does she have stamina. Endurance that would put Iron Men to shame, hour upon hour she can go on with this mantra.

Babies crying and the theme song to Barney played over and over are actual forms of torture used today in war to get captives to talk. In between other heinous methods. But when their tormentors leave they flip the "We're a happy family ..." switch.

Well little girl, a round of applause – no electrodes on sensitive body parts, no pliers (I lost all my toenails in a recent ultra anyway) – you broke me, I'll do it, what do you want to know? My phone number, banks account number, password to every online site I'm registered with ...
... anything, I'll sing ... like a bird.