...note the unhappy

...not because we need pity; but because this is what it is like to have to start over.  Again.

So the weather here has been miserable.  I don't think that it is really helping our demeanors...

But for the past two days there has been a different kind of cloud looming.

Our honeymoon is over.

The bliss of living in a new home, being able to check out a new neighborhood, and explore new boundaries has worn off.

The excitement of starting a new school has been replaced with trepidation of unfamiliar routines.

For me, the excitement of seeing my choices of colors transform our 'military housing assignment' into 'my home' has dissipated.

The satisfaction of seeing substantial progress as I unpack each day has morphed into despair as the projects are now so numerous I don't even know where to begin.

My composure is wavering.  Their patience is thin.  The little girls are whiny.  Isabella is short tempered.   Will is non-compliant.

Before I go on, you should note that at night, when I finally get all four of the kids to bed,  I am done.  Finished.  I do not want to hear them talking.  I do not want to get them another drink of water.  I do not want them to get up to go potty.  And I definitely do not want to be called back in to cover them back up again.  I want to talk for a moment or two, read our stories and then go off to complete all of the other tasks on my evening to-do list.  And drop into bed myself.

Well, last night when I went on a second round of 'good-nights' to tuck my Isabella into bed I found her crying.  My firstborn has a soft heart like I do....and I try so hard to let her know it is OK to cry.  So most days I would have just given her some comfort and then let her have some time alone.

But last night...last night I think I needed her as much as she need me.  So I laid down next to her.  And I listened to her pour out her heart.  So much has happened in such a short time.  And her little heart was broken.

She cried about everything: missing Sacred Heart, missing Mrs. Hornberger, missing her best friend Anna, missing the familiar.  Then, on top of all of this heartache, she missed her dad, "because if he were here everything would be a little bit better.  Instead, it is even worse."

I didn't know what to say to my little girl.  There is nothing I can do to take any of this hurt away.  So I just laid with her, and wrapped my arms around her, and just started to cry with her.  Because frankly, I miss all of those things too.  I miss her old, comfortable school.  I miss her loving, grandmotherly teacher.  I really miss having Anna around all the time.  And I really, really miss her dad.  Because she is right; he would make everything better.

I know that when we leave here in two years, we'll be very sad.  Because life here will become that kind of familiar.  That kind of comfortable.  This fact, doesn't take away the hurt in my little girl's heart.  Or help her find a best friend...these things take time.  And time if you are eight...is an eternity.

So sometimes it is OK to recognize that sometimes our situation stinks.

And last night we just cried together.  I didn't fix anything.  Or give her any notable words of wisdom.  I just told her that I loved her.  And that I was sad too.

I hope last night teaches her that crying is OK.  That while I can't fix her troubles, I really do understand her sadness, how she is unsure, and how missing the familiar can be so unbearable.

And today...although the sun still wasn't shining and our moods were still dim, we all were a little less edgy.