Fire-The Aftermath

Work is going forward on our House, hopefully we’ll be out of Hotel of the Burning Prairie by Halloween. It’s not bad, really, just a little cramped for two active kids; and the fold-out bed I’m sleeping on is killing my back.

Pumpkin is about the only one of us who seems unaffected by our situation, probably because of her age. And her generally role-with-the-punches temperament, which she developed as a result of being Monkey’s little sister. My patience is cut short and frayed at the ends. Work feels like a rest at this point. Hubby’s, shall we say, “artistic” temperament is more pronounced. (And people say women are moody!). At one point, he looked at me and told me he felt stressed and didn’t know why. I looked at him, mouth open in disbelief, and said, “Hello! You were in a House fire, with the babies!” And he said, “Oh, yeah.” Like it snuck up on him, unawares.

I wasn’t there during the fire itself, so I can deal with this at a remove. But I told Hubby he needs to start processing this or he’s going to suffer from PTSD. He was in a House fire, with the babies! I told him that he’s my hero for keeping my babies safe, but he still has a lot of stuff with which to deal.

Monkey is still processing all of this and he probably will be until well after we move back into our House. He thrives on routine and doesn’t care for change, so he’s acting out more than usual. He cried twice this week when I dropped him off at school, something he usually doesn’t do. But our situation is anything but usual.

There was a substitute on his first day of school after the fire, but his regular teacher was back the next day. She said that he told her all about the fire, “in great detail.” When Monkey and Pumpkin play, I hear a lot of pretend involving fires. I know that this is part of his way of dealing with what happened, and all the changes that have resulted, so I just listen but don’t intervene. Part of his way of dealing involves art. Monkey is just as creative and talented as his father, and just as temperamental.

He tells us he wants to be an architect when he grows up; he wants to design and build cities. The walls of our room are now sporting what Monkey calls his “art museum.” He has been prolific, drawing and constructing submarines, safety signs, volcanoes with cave men, and many, many houses. I told Hubby that I think Monkey’s drawing so many houses because he’s not in his own right now. He misses our silly, old, ghost-lousy House of the Burning Prairie.

And so do I.