Where does the time go?

In September, I bought a house. I saw it in Zillow months before that, and tried to talk myself out of it. I was waiting for the 2018-2019 school year to end so that J could be in the same school district this year. They need some continuity. But after visiting the area several times, I made an appointment with my real estate agent when the price dropped in August. I wanted it to be so much worse than its pictures; the bedrooms and back yard too small, the road too big, and the kitchen overly dated. But it wasn’t. It was everything the Zillow profile promised and more. So I put an offer in the same day and closed 30 days later.

In October, I moved in with my children. C is staying in our old house until Spring so that J can continue in the same school district; a decision he both thinks is necessary and blames me for. It is now November, and we have lived here for almost exactly a month. It has been beyond challenging. Neither of my boys have yet to sleep through the night. In fact, they are both waking me up every few hours. A has taken a definitive stand on limiting the food he will eat to yogurt (with no fruit), oatmeal, and peanut butter and jelly. He tantrums for an hour every morning. J is pulling out his old defiant routine over every. single. thing. His sensory issues are on overload. He hasn’t worn socks in three weeks; won’t wear anything that has elastic around the ankles, and imagines tags in every shirt, even after we rip them out together. They have so many big emotions that they don’t know how to express. But they are safe, and that invisible weight of fear and walking on eggshells is gone.

I feel, alternately, intrepid, guilty, and overwhelmed, but never like this wasn’t the right decision.