For those who haven’t been to our house in a while, things have changed. What used to be the den (which was mine four years ago) is now a bedroom—Willy and Brandon’s bedroom. I tried to talk the boys into bringing their beds into their bedroom, but they chose a couch and Cloud Nine (a rather large floor mattress stuffed with foam cubes we used as a crash pillow back when the boys were small enough for us to crash them on the pillow). At first, Brandon and Willy competed for who got to sleep on Cloud Nine—I know, it’s odd, but that’s my boys for you. Now that Brandon’s life arrangements have settled into alternating weeks, Brandon sleeps there the week he’s here and Willy sleeps there when Brandon’s gone.
A new normal is forming around Brandon’s presence and his absence. The other boys, who usually have trouble transitioning, have adjusted rather beautifully. It’s me who resists the transition. It seems almost unreal. I don’t feel like enough time has passed for a pattern to have developed. Yet there’s an “as usual” that has developed with me unawares.
Sometimes these major life adjustments can be easier than the minor ones. I wonder if it’s a matter of perspective and one’s sense of control. Perhaps the boys expect more control over the minor adjustments, but take the major ones in-stride, because they don’t expect control. Willy, with his sense of what should be, has had the hardest time accepting this solution. And then, there’s me.
Of course, just so I don’t feel too stable, the last two nights that Brandon was here he decided to go back to the living room and sleep on the couch. And I was just getting used to have the living room back.