I write this entry as Mia bangs her head against my desk and slaps my leg with her little hand because I won’t let her eat the small metal pieces that attach to a picture frame. The older gals never banged their heads in frustration so this is a first for me (I hope this phase is short-lived, poor Lovie), but I can see where she’s coming from. I can see why this might be a choice when words won’t come and the emotion is overwhelming.

Today I feel like banging my head against my desk also. Instead, I have basically been walking around the apartment in circles wearing my pajamas, trying to figure out where to start with the newest sorting project—what to keep, what to store, and what to ship to India. I have been purging slowly, very slowly as to not startle myself, for weeks (and it’s surprisingly much easier to let go of things than I thought it would be. Some things are easy to give up—we really don’t need that huge bag of candles from IKEA for that garden party we are going to have in that future Brooklyn apartment with a yard. Time to give up that dream. And other things that I thought would be hard to give up aren’t really— having 2 copies of the book we made in 2011 to send out to prospective birth moms isn’t really necessary). But now I need to step up the pace (since we leave in 8 short weeks), and decide what gets stored in long-term storage and what gets shipped to India. Some of the time I want the girls to pick 20 toys each, pack them up, and be done with it. And other times (they like these times better) I want them to take most of their toys so that they will feel familiar surroundings in an unfamiliar place. As I have been told by my dear husband, I can’t make a decision to save my life. He’s right. And I know where this indecisiveness comes from, but I just don’t know how to overcome it right now. I want to make a good, logical decision that makes this move easier and my kids happy.

But since I can’t decide what the strategy for sorting should be, I follow Mia around the apartment as she drops her banana and chewed apple here and there, wiping up the sticky as she goes. And I read a chapter of a book, but can’t concentrate because the thoughts swirl and the guilt encompasses–too much to do to relax. I even watch a bit of Elmo with Mia. Then I decide to take a nap. At least this way the thoughts turn off. When I wake up I feel guilty for not doing anything. So I get up and sort one living room shelf of stuff into give away, storage and bring to India. One small task done and it took ALL DAY LONG.

So what’s the deal with this lack of motivation? Is it denial of the impending move? Resistance? Is it that I had too much to drink last night at the preschool auction and am just feeling sluggish? Probably all of the above, but mostly resistance to the big move.

We had a great time with good Brooklyn friends last night. It was just comfortable and easy and fun. And it’s here, not over there in Bengaluru. Who knows if or when we will make friends. Even if we do, I can’t imagine it’ll be as easy and familiar as it is with these friends. In stark contrast to last night, I had an enlightening experience this past weekend where I was an outsider at an event, and try as hard as I did to small talk, no one was interested in talking to me. It’s one of those situations that takes me right back to the first day of a new high school when the cliques were already formed, the hair had been recently permed (yes, Mom, you did try to dissuade me), the body was that of a 12 year old boy, and I had to eat lunch alone. At this event last weekend, I wasn’t dressed the way that everyone else was, I didn’t talk the way they did, and I didn’t know them. I was an outsider, and couldn’t break in. Of course this brought up fear of my future life in Bengaluru.

One huge thing I have going for me in this move is that unlike high school and the event last weekend, I don’t have to do it alone. I have a husband and 3 kids going with me. And the 3 kids do wonders for breaking ice with new people. The reason that I know so many wonderful people in Brooklyn is because my kids made it easy for me to connect with strangers. Is it terrible that I am relying on my children, especially Masan, to make friends for me? If I could only get them to sort stuff and pack for me.