THE ADVENTURES OF THE JAC ATTACK!

A Blog about a clever boy and a mom determined to out-smart him.

Sunday, November 13, 2011

Normal

I am flopped on my belly, hiding in the bedroom listening to my favorite radio show on the computer.  It starts and stops, broken up by poor internet service.  I listened to show every Saturday morning in my sunny little kitchen.  Now I listen staring out into the darkness, annoyed by the never ending dog barking.

Two months ago we moved to Kathmandu, Nepal.  For two months it has been some extended  vacation.  We have visited every historic site.  We have eaten weird food and met new friends and somewhere in the middle we are treading water attempting to find our new normal.

For three weeks my son has been horrible.  He hits and punches.  He screams at me and no punishment motivates him to comply.  His defiance is finally stronger than my will power and today my throat was in a constant knot.  I swallowed a glass of cheap red wine attempting to overcome the drowning feeling in my throat.  Today I do not want to be a mother.  Many days pass without gratification.  I wake only to meet the endless demands of a small annoying child.

Last week my son asked me every day to "go home."  I explained over and over that we no live here in Kathmandu - together.  Finally he broke down crying, "I want my small house."  My whole body hurt in sympathy.

On Wed. I made the best beef soup.  It was heavy with vegetables, thick with broth and aromatic from half a cup of red wine.  JAC ate with out protest.  He and I ate soup leftovers on the couch together for two nights while his dad worked late.  For the first time in many nights I felt normal and I have grasped for that feeling every day since.

 Somewhere, perhaps in a few weeks JAC will stop asking for home and I won't spend Sunday nights hiding in my bedroom.  We will no longer be tourists but residents in our new home town.  I am not sure how we will get there.  Now it feels like we are wading through some cloudy swamp of reality and emotion.  Our normal is a nomad's state of movement and we take solace in the small familiar pieces of our past as we grow accustomed to our current surroundings.

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