Just the Right Size

The kids and I moved last week. We rented a house with another single mom and her two kids and we’re squeezing into this 5-bedroom house so that we can save money and enjoy the support of living in a two-adult household. It’s a little unconventional, but it’s going to work beautifully. Getting settled into the new digs is a bit of a challenge, however.


When we signed the lease for this house, there were lengthy discussions about who would have which bedroom. The girls agreed that they would share the biggest room in the house. Maggie and I each decided on a moderately-sized room and Dylan and Ben made their choices between the fourth, moderately-sized bedroom and the fifth, tiny closet-of-a-bedroom. The boy who took the moderately-sized room would have to be willing to give up said room when guests stayed overnight. Dylan selected this option and Ben opted for the tiny room with the benefit of never having to give it up for guests.

When it was nearing time to move, I went to Ben’s room to discuss what furniture we might sell to shoe-horn him into the 8 x 11 room he had selected (and that measurement includes the closet). He looked at me like I was crazy. He just wasn’t getting the concept that he and all his furniture wouldn’t fit in the new room so I got some blue, painter’s tape and taped out the size of his new room on the floor of his old, larger room so that he could see the difference. He nearly panicked, saying the room would absolutely not work - pointing out that he would never be able to have a dance contest in a room that size (for example).

I have no desire to live in a room that is roughly the size of a jail cell, but I looked at Ben and his near-panic and said, “You know what, Ben? You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking,” and agreed to take the tiny room so that he could have a room in which he could hold a dance contest, line up maps of all 50 states or stack an entire tub of action figures on top of a cup. Or whatever else his heart desires. Because Ben having space in which he’s comfortable and can do his thing should really be the first order of business in any Heagler house.

So, I’m cramming myself and my belongings into this tiny, little room. And trying really hard not to resent it. I’m not going to lie – it’s not been easy.

Our first several days here, Ben was incredibly stressed. He cried and yelled a lot. At one point he screamed at me until he was hoarse that no one ever thinks of him and that no one cares about him. It took everything I have not to tell him that I had thought very little of anything other than him throughout the entire move. From giving him the larger room, to staying up most of the night before move-day to make sure his room would be perfect when he arrived at the new house, I have considered Ben every step of the way. I know that he may never realize how very much I do think of him, how much I accommodate him, how much he enters into my decision-making in nearly everything I do. I’ve accepted that he’ll most likely never get it. And most days it doesn’t bother me.

But maybe I’ve been selling Ben short.

This afternoon he returned with Lucy from a weekend at their dad’s house. I worked like a woman possessed all weekend to make sure there was progress in the unpacking and that the house would seem somewhat less chaotic when he returned. I’m physically exhausted, my body aches and emotionally I’m quite simply spent. But tonight, Ben seemed considerably calmer and more relaxed. He smiled, laughed, told stories and hung out with us most of the night – only disappearing into his room for brief periods and not once screaming uncontrollably even when he did disappear into his room. Any amount of work I did, any physical exhaustion, any level of stress was absolutely worth it because tonight, Ben was happy.

When he went to his room at the end of the night, he asked if he could take with him a game we had been playing. The game has cards that detail historical events in several categories that players must put in chronological order in groups of five. We agreed to let him take it to his room and he barely let me tell him good night before he started lining those cards up on the floor (something that would not have been possible in the smaller bedroom). As I was walking out the door I said to him, “Ben, I’m really glad I gave you the bigger room,” and I honestly meant it. He stopped what he was doing, looked directly at me and even touched my arm when he said, “Thank you, mom.”

Maybe on some level Ben realizes and appreciates the things we do for him. Maybe the things we do are meaningful to him. Just maybe, Ben “gets it” more than I give him credit for.

Later, when I went to my room, I saw with complete clarity that a room sized 8 x 11 (including the closet) is precisely the right size for me. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before.