On a sleepy Sunday morning, my son Eli wandered into our room around 7 a.m. “Mom,” he called, “I was looking out my window, and I saw a… wait, what are those birds that are bright red?”
I struggled to wake up from my slumber, my mind still foggy. “A cardinal,” I replied.
“Cardinal,” my partner, Jake, echoed, still half-asleep.
Eli continued, “Well, I saw a baby one of those fall out of a tree.”
“What?” I said, suddenly alert.
“I was looking out my window, and I saw a baby—no, it wasn’t a baby, it was probably a kid—cardinal trying to flap its wings and go out of the nest, but it fell.”
“Did it die?” I pictured the morning taking a dark turn as I imagined consoling my sensitive 6-year-old over a tiny, lifeless bird.
“No, its mom was watching from another tree to make sure it was OK.”
“That’s good. We can talk about it later. You can head downstairs if you want.”
As Eli left, I let fatigue wash over me once more, sinking back into the comforting embrace of sleep.
Boxes and Changes
Boxes. So many boxes. Some are full, some are empty, and others stubbornly cling to items that seem to have no home. For weeks, they’ve dominated our lives. We’ve packed and unpacked at Jake’s place and mine, and now our home is filled with both collapsed and overflowing boxes. It’s like an odd manifestation of life’s cycles, complete with a U-Haul sponsorship.
With each box we tackle, new decisions arise: What should go where? Can I put this here? Should we buy new storage? Every completed box makes our house feel a bit more like a home. We finally hung curtains, a luxury I craved after spending my first week figuring out how to dress without flashing the neighbors (I resorted to changing in the hallway one night).
And as we blend our families, we’re no longer just a party of three; sometimes we’re six, and other times just Jake and me, which we both secretly admit is a nice perk of divorce.
I think about how the kids are adjusting to all of this. Are they happy? Are they stressed? Do they feel sad behind their smiles? I worry that my children have been glued to screens since the move. I tried not to stress about screen time during this transition, but as I rush past them, I wonder how they’re really coping.
There’s been so much to do—so many tasks to complete. I wish I could just jot down “ensure kids are emotionally well” and call it a day.
Is This Real?
Each morning, I wake up and see Jake there, and I find myself in the house I envisioned for so long. No more hour-long commutes; he’s right here every night.
Sometimes it feels surreal. I put things away, work in my office (which is an actual room now, not just a corner of the kitchen), and the kids are doing their things. They don’t seem traumatized by all this change, but I can’t shake the feeling that it might be a daydream.
After dropping the kids off at their dad’s, I realized I hadn’t asked Eli about the baby cardinal. I started to wonder if the whole conversation had been a figment of my imagination.
“Did Eli come in the other morning talking about a bird?” I asked Jake the next day.
“Yeah. He mentioned seeing a baby cardinal fall from a nest. Or maybe he thought he saw it but just dreamed it.”
Interesting thought. I love diving into dream interpretations. The bird was no longer a baby, but a kid like Eli. Cardinals are red, which symbolizes stability. Was Eli the bird, feeling like his security was shaky?
I checked an online dream dictionary, and it said: “To see a cardinal in your dream represents vitality and happiness.” Could it mean Eli feels a dip in his happiness? Or maybe he senses my preoccupations and doesn’t feel like a priority?
But then I remembered the bird fell, but it was okay because its mom was watching.
Moving is tough. I can’t tell you how much sleep I’ve lost worrying about sending my kids to a new school. I’ve made countless silent prayers: “Please let other kids be kind,” “Please let my children forge friendships,” “Please give them someone to sit with at lunch.” These situations are beyond my control. We’ve left our cozy nest and now must navigate this larger blended-family home. I can’t catch them if they stumble, but I can prepare them, support them, and assure them that even if they fall, they can get back up again.
I want them to know that I’m always there, watching from the sidelines (that sounds creepy, but you know what I mean).
In Summary
As I navigate the complexities of a blended family, I find myself balancing my children’s emotional well-being with the realities of moving and adjusting to new dynamics. Through the chaos of boxes and unpacking, I remind myself to be present for my kids, letting them know I’m always here, supporting them as they adapt to changes in their lives.
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