Missing

The guys all just took off for Durham to visit my folks- an impromptu trip as a surprise for the 4th. And another surprise is I'm not speeding along beside Jonathan on I-26 because I have to work. And there are so few of us at work that I cannot finagle my way into the weekend off because really, who else could work? (I know, that makes me sound a little self important, but it's kind of pretty much true)

What the real surprise is is how I find myself here in this so so quiet house. An how my breath sucked in a little when I passed Hampton's empty room and my arms literally ached for his little body to hold one more time before they left. How my eyes are full of hanging on tears right now thinking of all of my loves in one speeding along car without me. Gulp. What if something happened? Lord, I cannot even think about it.

It's funny how you don't miss things until they're gone. And please don't roll your eyes thinking um, hello? Captain Obvious? Because you know what I really mean. Just two hours ago I was longing for quiet time for a nap and maybe a few squares of chocolate without little hands reaching up so we can "share please mommy". (I can be selfish and secretive with chocolate. Sometimes you just have to be. Or someone else wants to eat half of the other half you were already wanting to eat.)

And I'll bet you've been missing my blog, too. And see, you didn't even know you were until I mentioned it and now...Happy Fourth y'all.

The Fullest Plate

You see what time it is. Late, oh, so so late. But after getting home from work I just cannot seem to shut down, to put it all away and just sleep. Possibly because so much of my days aren't just MINE anymore.

I used to go to the Y, hang out all day, bum around just being the pseudo stay-at-home mom I've been for years. Not anymore. Now, don't get me wrong- I adore my new job. The hours, however are throwing me for a loop. After years of getting home around nine or ten I struggle with rolling in around twelve or so. And working days- or doubles. I see Jack for breakfast, then not until the next morning. Only some days, but still.

To be honest, my whole being is just struggling. Struggling with not being able to spend time with anyone in my family- too bad they all don't stay up super late so we can eat snacks and cuddle around midnight.

I suppose life really is about the struggle, the push and pull of change and compromise. Handling it with grace and love and patience (which has never been my strong suit) and embracing the newness of it all. I am not doing any of those. I want to. I have these talks inside my head that tell me "It's OK" and "Just go to bed" but I am selfish, and needy, and stubborn. I am ego at it's finest and cannot right now let go of what was and what it really is.I cannot help loving what I'm doing and feeling regret all at once. I cannot get to a place where I am fine with missing the days and the sleep (oh, the sleep. It's like I'm with a newborn again.)

Things have suffered with my new schedule- my blog, my early morning yoga, my solidness, my happiness.

Not to mention the hernia surgery that I'll have to have in mid July- but only after the restaurant slows down enough for me to take the weeks (JESUS! WEEKS!) off that I have to to recover adequately. I'm not even supposed to be picking Hampton up. And he requires that about twenty-seven times a day.

And my yoga teacher training. Oh, yeah. That's over for this year. I've waited a long damn time for this- an opportunity to do something that was a light for me. A thing that told me what I wanted to do with my life, what I wanted to be. Instead I'll just keep being what I've been for years- a waitress.

Which, when I write that seems pretty appropriate- a waitress. A waiter, someone who waits. Do you ever feel like you've been waiting for that right inspiration, the right thing to come along? That answer that finally, FINALLY shows up after you've just washed your hands of the whole thing and then blam! Here it is! That's the way I felt about my teacher training. Like I'd stopped looking only to have the answer right in my hands so easily. Of course, of course- being a yoga teacher was perfect for me.

Except, maybe not now. Especially when I'm finally making really good money, and enjoying my job more than I have in YEARS. It's so hard to feel so strained and still have a dream and then put it away. It's really hard to shake up my identity and still feel like ME.

I suppose that's the hardest part. Every bit of my reality has changed drastically in the past six weeks. From cutting my hair to turning forty to changing jobs to putting a dream on hold. I wish I could say I'm handling it with grace, but I'm not. I really want to be, but sometimes I want to wish the present away just to sink back into the past. The easy, predictable, known past. I knew who I was then. Now, I sometimes just can't tell.

My plate is really full. And I'm blessed and lucky and busy and tired. And as much as I try to convince myself that I can do this, I am doing it, sometimes I feel so passed by I just should probably sit down.

Perhaps I'm feeling also mortal, and older, and incapable. Sheesh. Thanks for reading.

Schedule: 2. A plan for performing work or achieving an objective, specifying the order and allotted time for each part

I've been trying, I swear, to find time to write a thoughtful blog that pays some homage to my big month of April. Alas, I'm still settling into my new work schedule so this hasn't really happened. (At least not decent enough to be posted.) Or really, instead of that whole "homage" thing, just a blog to keep everyone interested and reading and to keep me from feeling like I abandoned my project altogether. My new for-my-birthday laptop should arrive any day, then I can do this anywhere. (YAY!)

 I'm going to wrangle myself into a new schedule, I swear. For my sanity this should happen soon. Hope everyone is doing just right. Wait until you see the garden! The garden gnomes are selling it growing crack, everything is huge. I hope you all like tomatoes, I fear we may have eighty billion of them....

Know When to Fold 'Em.

"If you must play, decide upon three things at the start: the rules of the game, the stakes, and the quitting time."  ~Chinese Proverb

Working at the same place for a long time, you're bound to get bugged by some stuff. Likewise, you probably bug other people with some of your stuff. And so, (dun dun dahhhh) there was trouble at work. I know, know- that I am a good employee. I show up, I show up on time, I work hard, I stay until the end. I'm a waitress, this should not be hard. And for me, it isn't. It sounds almost laughable to say I quit my job over some bread and a tray. 


I did.


 As much as I would love to spin a tale of woe and of being misunderstood, to point fingers and rant and rail at the unfairness of it all...well. Shit. Life ain't fair. It just really isn't. Or, maybe when it's not being fair to me, it's being more fair to someone else. Life is suffering. Sometimes. That's what makes it balance. After all, if everything were rainbows and kitties all the time- well, you get the picture.


 By now I've had some time to get used to the fact that I quit a job I'd had for over four years. The signals have been there from the beginning, but I just wasn't listening. Over the years, over and over, I would question my reasons for staying. Finally after the last incident, after three days of agonizing, hand wringing, crying, and not sleeping- I had this flash of brilliance. (sometimes signs have to be way more obvious because you just aren't getting it.) Wait! Who has the power here? Whose life is this anyway? Why am I torturing myself when I know, know- that I did nothing wrong?


 I got myself together. I decided I was quitting. I deserved better. The reason I could quit without guilt was right there in front of me this whole time. I deserve better. I am better. I trust myself to do what it takes to provide my share for my family. And that share isn't just about money. That share is about integrity, and confidence, and self-worth. About showing my husband and my children that I know that I am important and I should be treated that way.


Sometimes I think we forget that we have such a huge say in the way other people treat us. 


Sometimes I think we forget that we have such a huge say in the way we treat ourselves.


I was really nice to myself. I had some wine, I ate some ice cream. (2 oreo cones in one day.) I got up and did yoga. I gave myself time to think without making it all anxious. I talked to myself like I was my own mama. I asked for help in the wee hours of the morning and tried hard not to force the answer. I sat in the sauna after spin class and talked to the older ladies when they came in to warm up after water aerobics. (this was one of the helpful-est things.) I told myself it was okay. I made my inner bully go away- far away. 

I got my resume together. I went to an interview. I called my old boss. He said, "Come back." 


I  listened. 


In addition to leaving a job I didn't like (the people, on the other hand- some were very hard to leave.) I got the added bonus of finding something I do really like. My courage. I learned that if I take the time to listen to myself I really only have my own best interests at heart. And that sometimes a little wine, some ice cream, sweat, and patience can make even the worst situations seem better. That things that are sooooo big today get smaller tomorrow. That few days of perspective is all I really needed. I learned that when I say, "Help me" in my own shy tremble-y voice there are people near and far who are glad to hold my hand and give comfort. 


Now I'll listen more closely when it seems like time to fold 'em. I knew long ago it was time to walk away. I'm just glad I was ready when it was time to run.

Big Trouble

Jack got in trouble at school Monday. With an official three copies colored sheet to bring home for us to sign. He's been rough to deal with at best for the past week. Whining, saying, "_____ is boring" and "ah, man" after everything you say to him. I didn't sign up for Swiper from Dora (cringe) as my kid.

It's so hard to know how to punish him. How hard to punish him. How to say what I mean to say and then stop talking like I can talk him out of misbehaving forever if I just ramble on for 5 more minutes about growing up being hard and listen to me and I had to grow up and I love you and please stop acting like an asshole. All this talking makes him crazy I'm sure. He says things like, "Moooommm" and "I know, I know" in a quiet exasperated voice. Isn't he supposed to be thirteen before he rolls his eyes at me and is bored with my advice already?

We grounded him for the first time over the weekend. Took away the Wii because he was being such a pain. Is that being too hard on a six year old? I have these visions of him bone thin in dirty jeans coming to borrow money for drugs because I didn't discipline him enough, or too much. I'm the softie. I want him to be happy, it's hard for me to disappoint him, to make him do what he should. In my mind I know that letting him off easy just makes it harder for him, but my parents were hard on me and I'm not sure how much it helped. So I often let things slide, try not to make too much out of small things. But at this age, they are all small things. And so who am I helping by easing up when I should be harder, tougher, more mom-like, less pleasing.

You probably don't know this but Jack got kicked out of the first school he went to. A small local "montessori" school. Our experience there was not good. They used to send him home (at two and a half) because he couldn't get "control". He was miserable, so were we. It was not the kumbaya experience we were led to believe it was going to be. For us this school is a scar that still gets rubbed from time to time. Jack speaks quite clearly about that time, how he felt, what was happening. I should have stood up for him, taken him out of that school, realized it wasn't working out- for any of us.

Instead we signed up for another year. (what was I thinking?) Luckily, the directress of the school called me one day and told me Jack was not invited back. Not just for the next year, but for the rest of that year too. Over the phone she told me about how some children need therapy- physical therapy, speech therapy, and that Jack probably needed mental help. Over the phone. I didn't know what to say, so I dutifully took down the numbers she offered and numbly agreed. I should have known a professional would never have severed our relationship this way. When I told her I'd come get Jack's things she told me that she'd just leave them on the porch- I could come pick them up after four. (when everyone was going to be gone.) Oh.

I've wanted to punch that woman in her big fat face more times than I can count.

But, I didn't. For a month I felt like the biggest mom-failure in the world. Then I saw how Jack cheered up, started behaving, stopped being so edgy all the time. He still was over the top dramatic at times- but typical. Typical for a three year old. Typical. The weight started to lift. I started feeling okay again. I stopped imagining him shuffled from one mental institution to another while barely able to hold a job, make friends... get along in the world.

Then things like this happen and I'm right back there again: on the phone while two men manhandle our new dishwasher into place. Mouth slack, heart heavy, wanting to explain about how magical Jack is; how funny, and kind. How he comes up out of the blue and takes your hand, or pats your back and says in his raspy little boy voice "I love you, Mom." How you have to be gentle with him, and wait to confront him about things because he's not listening when he knows he's messed up but if you give him ten minutes he'll come apologize and then his eyes well and overflow and he reaches out for a hug. How it's my fault he's so dramatic- me too. I gave him my freckles and my temperamental patience. Me, two.

The worry I carry as a mother, as caretaker of these small souls- in charge of getting them ready for the world can be such a puzzling burden. Just behave. How hard is that? How hard is that? "Life will be so much easier if you just behave!" I want to scream at him, make him write it a thousand times until he gets it. Please stop fucking up on purpose- you know better. You know better.

Then I remember how I never stop messing up- and how sometimes I do it on purpose. How even though I know better, I don't always do better. And I try to be patient with myself, to not make the mistake of saying to myself "bad, bad mom" and "you should've done better" over and over in my head. Because he will always mess up. And I will too. Sometimes I will have the grace to learn my lessons while he's learning his. Because I'm not a bad mom. I know better.

In the Garden Part Two

We got some luscious dirt and compost from the charming (really, it is) nursery right next door, Stack's. They are so helpful there, and patient with all my questions. My dear friend Jess brought over her husband's tough truck  to help us get all four and a half tons of it to our garden. And my dear husband Jonathan shoveled most of it into our frames.

We got most of our plants yesterday. Now I just need to get out there in between bouts of rain and get them in the ground. Jack and I were going to plant yesterday afternoon, but as we were walking out it started raining, then thundered a bit. We took it as a sign and came back inside to play Monopoly Jr. Did you know there's a game called "Farm-opoly"? (apparently there are lots of "opoly's"- even "Rodeo-opoly" and my new favorite- "Bean-opoloy".)

Garden should be in by the weekend. Funny how it hasn't rained in ages, and now it's rainy like crazy. I keep worrying about our plants out there in the rain and the cold. (I know. Um, hell-oooo. They're supposed to be out there.) For some reason I feel like if the plants are in the ground then they're OK, they're safe. But in the meantime, they're huddled together, waiting.

In the Garden

A big part of this year is growing our very own garden. This is something we've tried and failed; some years more miserably than others. But this year we've done it right. In a lots of sun spot, awesome soil & compost from the folks at Stack's Nursery right next door, research, planning. Planning! No willy nilly dash to Home Depot for a load of plants to toss in the ground and ignore after a week. This year it's for real. I mean it this time. I'm much better at keeping promises to myself than I used to be. 

We're going to grow tomatoes, cucumbers, okra, basil, several different kinds of peppers, parsley, strawberries, and maybe a wild watermelon in a container. Rumor has it that watermelons are like little Hitlers- they just wanna take over everything. Jack really wants that one thing, so of course we'll have one. Mostly because he will not be talked out of it.

Two more to go!

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