I am convinced that moving is one of the most miserable experiences in life. Anyone who tells you differently is lying. It's been several years since we last uprooted, and I had forgotten how horribly stressful it is. Apparently, I had a bad case of moving amnesia because I agreed to this heinous act last Spring. What's worse is that we scheduled it to occur during the last week of school. You know, life really isn't complicated enough that week with all of the class parties, weddings, and graduations to attend. I thought we could use a little more chaos to spice things up a bit.

The week leading up to the big event was a blur. The phone would ring and I couldn't find it. We ate takeout on the tops of boxes more nights than I can count and I actually sent my son Brandon to the last day of school with his teacher's gift wrapped in UHaul paper. The kids thought it was all pretty cool. After all, it's not every day that you get to build a gigantic fortress with refrigerator boxes in your dining room and then brush your teeth with your finger since Mom can't find your toothbrush.

We moved into our new house the same day school let out. My children, who were so used to a life filled with structure, suddenly found themselves with nothing but free time on their hands and parents who were totally engrossed in the task of changing houses. They helped unpack at first, but soon the novelty of the move wore off. They started to get restless and whiny. All they wanted to do was vegetate in front of the new TV, so I gave in. I turned them loose on their DVDs and video games and, for a while, they were happy little clams. I had so much to do and it was just easier to get more accomplished if they were occupied and out of my hair. So, rather than expect them to pitch in and help me out, I gave them what they wanted. This way, they'd be happy and I could get back to work; however, as the week progressed things were not really getting any better. Instead of thanking me for my gracious and understanding attitude, they became increasingly grumpy, rude and insolent.

They were bickering with each other constantly, and seemingly always underfoot whining about this or that. And of course, I found myself thinking, "These kids have it made! What in the world do they have to complain about? All they do is sit around, doing exactly what they want, while I work my rear end off making this house nice for them!" And then it hit me like a ton of packing tape. That's exactly what is making them miserable.

Even though more TV and fewer expectations was what they said they wanted, it wasn't at all what they needed. I had been allowing my kids to have way too much freedom because I felt so anxious about our move. What's worse is that I was starting to resent them for their lack of gratitude for all of my sacrifice. What was I thinking?!?! Where did all of my ScreamFree knowledge go? I think it was packed away in some box because I certainly wasn't using it. During this time of chaos, the last thing they needed was a weakling of a mom who caved in to everything because she was too tired or overwhelmed to do what needed to be done. Of course, what they needed most of all during this time of chaos was MORE structure. For some reason, I equated structure with rigidity when in reality, structure simply provides a comfortable framework where kids feel safe.

I know that giving in to my children's every whim will ultimately fail, but it is sometimes easier than standing up and being a strong presence with them. In the long term, appeasing such whims doesn't make life easier; it makes it much harder. It may provide a momentary feeling of relief that there's "peace" in the house, but ultimately, it just sets me up for harder battles once I finally do decide to set some limits. My kids were reeling from their power trip and it was time to do something about it. But, how do I stop being an appeasing parent and become an active one?