Two thoughts dominated my run this morning: cupcakes and anxiety. My mind alternated between the two quite often. Cupcakes, I suppose, because I was hungry and I made some delectable banana cupcakes with a swirly cream cheese frosting a few days ago. They were a hit, and I've been thinking about what kind of cupcake to make next (decision = chocolate) and how to fill them with the homemade creamy frosting I plan to make.
Anxiety was the other topic that kept running through my head. The kids rode the bus for the first time this morning. Both have ridden the school bus before, and both have loved it. However, they had major concerns last night and this morning. Ellie worried about it at bedtime, and Tate complained of a stomachache on the car ride to the bus, which was evident with the windows rolled up. We assured them that everything would be fine, they'd enjoy the ride, they'd see friends on the bus, and in the very worst case scenario, they'd miss the bus on the way home, which means they would go back into the office, and I would have to come pick them up at school. No big deal! I only had the worst case scenario conversation with Ellie though, and in retrospect, I should've had that conversation with Tate as well. He's been known to take matters into his own hands, and I could easily picture him walking the six miles to the bus stop where I pick him up. But, I am not going to worry about that.
What I do worry about is their anxiety. I know it's natural to worry about new experiences, but I don't want them to turn into the anxious child that I was. Second grade was an especially horrific year, and I cannot pinpoint why, although I suspect it had something to do with my teacher. She wasn't mean, but she was stern, and after an incredible first grade year with one of my all-time favorite teachers, Mrs. T was difficult for me to adjust to.
Second grade was the year that I came home with a stomachache a lot, but then would magically feel better once I got home. Once home, my mother would become suspicious when I would request lunch, such as a peanut butter and pickle sandwich, which just doesn't jive with a queasy stomach. This was the year that I broke a lot of lead with yellow No. 2 pencils from pressing too hard - Mrs. T suggested we tape a reminder on my desk that said, "Don't press too hard." Thanks for that brilliant idea - make an already anxious child worry about what other kids will think about the weird note taped to her desk. I still can't use mechanical pencils to this day because the flashbacks to second grade and my super human pencil pressure cause me to snap lead the second I touch it to paper. This was also the year that I took some special tests. At the time, I had no idea why I was being pulled from the regular class to look at funny inkblots and try to explain what big words like "saliva" meant. I actually enjoyed hanging out with the friendly, stranger-lady with the long, black hair from the area education agency, who was probably some sort of child psychologist. Much later on, I found out that lady was testing me for my anxiety issues and to see if I would be able to skip the second grade. Apparently, I was smart enough, but the anxiety of changing to a new grade midyear, would've been too much for my fragile self-esteem. This was also the year I created and broke a pinch pot in art class.
Our class had been waiting all year long to use clay. While I had envisioned myself sitting at the pottery wheel sculpting delicate vases (say "vaw-sez" not "vay-sez"), the reality was a lump of clay that I was supposed to shape into a ball, then stick my thumb into it, and finally pinch and form a small pot. I'm not really sure what order the following events occurred, but I do recall they were painted, glazed, and then baked.
When the art teacher finally returned them to us, she told us we could take them home to our mothers. I was ecstatic to unveil my artistic creation that afternoon when I arrived at home! Unfortunately, what the teacher handed back to me did have my name etched into the bottom of it, but it did not match the stunning vase I had imagined in my head. Before me sat an ugly, sparsely painted, brown and blue, lumpy piece of crap pinch pot. I toted my pinch pot back to class and put it in my cubby to be crammed into my backpack at the end of the day.
When Mrs. T dismissed my row at 3:25 to pack our bags, I had a brilliant idea - I would drop my hideous pinch pot on the floor, letting it shatter into a million pieces, so my mother would not have to be disappointed by her daughter's lack of artistic talent! I went to my cubby and picked up my pinch pot. I turned, and facing the class, dropped my pinch pot. The commotion caused everyone in the classroom to turn. Shockingly, my pinch pot went bouncing, not shattering, across the tile floor. How did it not break? Mrs. T said, "Dawn, be careful! You don't want it to break before you get it home and give it to your mother."
This would be a good time to mention that along with being an anxious child, I was a perfectionist - which meant I was persistent, and while I am sure that didn't help out my anxiety issues, on this particular day, it served me well. I was successful in the destruction of my pinch pot on the second drop, and the remnants of my pinch pot were swept away, along with the anxiety I felt at less than perfection.
If I would have been old enough to play the worst case scenario game with myself that day in second grade, the absolute worst thing that would have happened would have been that my mother would have displayed my abominable creation for all eternity on her bedroom dresser, like my old soup-can-kindergarten-picture-project that still sits there today. While second grade was a rough year for me, I managed through the rest of my school years and adult life without such destructive tendencies.
I think my kids will be okay. In the end, they'll be stronger people because they survived these anxious moments. I know I am a stronger person for surviving them, and I have learned to laugh and not worry so much. No big deal.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Monday, August 27, 2012
First Day of School - August 16, 2012
Today was the first time I was able to take my kids to their first day of school. For ten of the last twelve years, I have had a first day of school as well, but today I was able to experience it from a parent's perspective.
My husband, who has taken them to every first day of school, dreads it. As he was explaining to me yesterday, "It makes me feel awful and sick to my stomach. It's the worst day of the year." Of course, I assumed he was exaggerating.
My daughter, who's a veteran at elementary school at 9 1/2, bounded off to her fourth grade meeting area, almost without giving us a hug.
My first grader wasn't quite so confident. He'd been putting a good show the last week or so talking about how he didn't want to go back to school and grumbling, "I don't like school," which I assumed he just picked up from me complaining about my job. But last night, he admitted he was nervous and scared and had come up with wild "what if" scenarios that involved recess and his new teacher. Today, as he had a death grip on my hand walking into the school, he mumbled, "My tummy hurts." This is my brave little man, the kid who isn't afraid of anything. (Except spiders and Winnie-the Pooh!)
After approaching the line where his classmates were sitting, he released his death grip on me, and then mauled his father in a bear hug. Eventually, we were able pry his head from his father's shoulder and coax him into his class's line where thankfully, one of his friends had been calling out his name.
We walked away as the lines of first graders began exiting the gymnasium. As a former teacher, I knew he would be okay if we just kept moving away. Parents always make a situation like this worse when they go back to their whimpering child. I didn't glance back until I got to our van, just to make sure he didn't flee the school and chase us across the street and into the parking lot.
As we drove off, I understood why my husband hates this day so much. In previous years, I had been too preoccupied with the anxiety of my own first days of school - worrying about my incoming 7th graders - to spend much time dwelling on theirs; after all, I knew they would be safe in their school once they got over their jitters. Prior to today, I hadn't been in the trenches of the elementary school, staring into those helpless, sad little eyes. I understand what my husband means when he says, "Walking away from them when they're crying and nervous makes me feel like the worst parent on the planet."
We are trying to build strong kids, who will in turn, grow into strong adults. But, like with everything else, there are growing pains - for the kids and the moms and dads. In the end, everything turned out okay - actually better than okay - as both kids came home thrilled about their first day of school....a first grader wearing a goofy, floppy-eared Clifford the Big Red Dog headband and fourth grader with a precisely organized, labeled, three-ring zippered binder with a planner inside.
And the chocolate chip cookies I made in case they needed an after school pick-me-up? They tasted just as good as celebratory cookies.
My husband, who has taken them to every first day of school, dreads it. As he was explaining to me yesterday, "It makes me feel awful and sick to my stomach. It's the worst day of the year." Of course, I assumed he was exaggerating.
My daughter, who's a veteran at elementary school at 9 1/2, bounded off to her fourth grade meeting area, almost without giving us a hug.
My first grader wasn't quite so confident. He'd been putting a good show the last week or so talking about how he didn't want to go back to school and grumbling, "I don't like school," which I assumed he just picked up from me complaining about my job. But last night, he admitted he was nervous and scared and had come up with wild "what if" scenarios that involved recess and his new teacher. Today, as he had a death grip on my hand walking into the school, he mumbled, "My tummy hurts." This is my brave little man, the kid who isn't afraid of anything. (Except spiders and Winnie-the Pooh!)
After approaching the line where his classmates were sitting, he released his death grip on me, and then mauled his father in a bear hug. Eventually, we were able pry his head from his father's shoulder and coax him into his class's line where thankfully, one of his friends had been calling out his name.
We walked away as the lines of first graders began exiting the gymnasium. As a former teacher, I knew he would be okay if we just kept moving away. Parents always make a situation like this worse when they go back to their whimpering child. I didn't glance back until I got to our van, just to make sure he didn't flee the school and chase us across the street and into the parking lot.
As we drove off, I understood why my husband hates this day so much. In previous years, I had been too preoccupied with the anxiety of my own first days of school - worrying about my incoming 7th graders - to spend much time dwelling on theirs; after all, I knew they would be safe in their school once they got over their jitters. Prior to today, I hadn't been in the trenches of the elementary school, staring into those helpless, sad little eyes. I understand what my husband means when he says, "Walking away from them when they're crying and nervous makes me feel like the worst parent on the planet."
We are trying to build strong kids, who will in turn, grow into strong adults. But, like with everything else, there are growing pains - for the kids and the moms and dads. In the end, everything turned out okay - actually better than okay - as both kids came home thrilled about their first day of school....a first grader wearing a goofy, floppy-eared Clifford the Big Red Dog headband and fourth grader with a precisely organized, labeled, three-ring zippered binder with a planner inside.
And the chocolate chip cookies I made in case they needed an after school pick-me-up? They tasted just as good as celebratory cookies.
Friday, August 24, 2012
Awesome
Bedtime last night with my 6-year-old son Tate was brutal. The rigor of being back in school as a first grader for almost a full week had finally caught up with him - not to mention yesterday afternoon's four mile bike ride, playing outside, and reading for homework. By 7:30 PM and after a meltdown in the bathtub, it was time for bed. Even in bed there were lots of tears, but some snuggling, talking, and singing led to a night of hard sleep.
His mood was much improved when he woke up this morning, got dressed, and had breakfast. But after breakfast, when he was supposed to be in the bathroom brushing his teeth, he was nowhere to be found. As it turns out, he was hiding from us back in bed, upside down, refusing to go to school. My husband tried to discuss with him the consequences of such behavior, but Tate wasn't budging. Normally my husband is the voice of calm and reason in the family, but in my new found role as stay-at-home-mom, I thought I would give this new thing I've found to possess, patience, a try.
Me: Tate, what's wrong?
Tate: I don't want to go to school.
Me: Come on buddy, if you don't go to school and are acting this tired and cranky, you will have to go to bed early tonight, and you won't be able to stay up and have a fire with us. Plus, you can sleep in late the next two days because it's Friday!
Tate: You're not going to school. I don't want to go either.
Me: (Yep, he's got me there.)
Tate: You stay home and do nothing all day. I want to stay home, too.
Me: (Really! Are you kidding me? Kid, you're going down.)
Me: (Remembering to exhibit extreme patience and selecting my words carefully because he's only 6) Well, actually I do things all day long. Usually, I come home and go for a run. Then, I do laundry, make all the beds, vacuum the house, do the dishes, make you brownies, clean the litter box, take a shower.....
Tate: (Giggling and getting out bed to go brush his teeth)
Me:....... mow the grass, water the plants, whack the weeds, scrub the toilet, clean the basement, vacuum the van, pay the bills.....
Tate: Mom, you're awesome.
This moment could have escalated to tears and frustration, fighting, and a miserable start to the school day. We have been there before, and those days were the worst. Instead, it turned silly and funny, and he made my day.
Sometimes, it's the little things that mean the most. I know that, but a lot of the time, I forget. I was reminded this morning with a compliment, a giggle, and a hug and kiss on his way out the door.
His mood was much improved when he woke up this morning, got dressed, and had breakfast. But after breakfast, when he was supposed to be in the bathroom brushing his teeth, he was nowhere to be found. As it turns out, he was hiding from us back in bed, upside down, refusing to go to school. My husband tried to discuss with him the consequences of such behavior, but Tate wasn't budging. Normally my husband is the voice of calm and reason in the family, but in my new found role as stay-at-home-mom, I thought I would give this new thing I've found to possess, patience, a try.
Me: Tate, what's wrong?
Tate: I don't want to go to school.
Me: Come on buddy, if you don't go to school and are acting this tired and cranky, you will have to go to bed early tonight, and you won't be able to stay up and have a fire with us. Plus, you can sleep in late the next two days because it's Friday!
Tate: You're not going to school. I don't want to go either.
Me: (Yep, he's got me there.)
Tate: You stay home and do nothing all day. I want to stay home, too.
Me: (Really! Are you kidding me? Kid, you're going down.)
Me: (Remembering to exhibit extreme patience and selecting my words carefully because he's only 6) Well, actually I do things all day long. Usually, I come home and go for a run. Then, I do laundry, make all the beds, vacuum the house, do the dishes, make you brownies, clean the litter box, take a shower.....
Tate: (Giggling and getting out bed to go brush his teeth)
Me:....... mow the grass, water the plants, whack the weeds, scrub the toilet, clean the basement, vacuum the van, pay the bills.....
Tate: Mom, you're awesome.
This moment could have escalated to tears and frustration, fighting, and a miserable start to the school day. We have been there before, and those days were the worst. Instead, it turned silly and funny, and he made my day.
Sometimes, it's the little things that mean the most. I know that, but a lot of the time, I forget. I was reminded this morning with a compliment, a giggle, and a hug and kiss on his way out the door.
Thursday, August 23, 2012
My love-hate relationship with nature OR How trail running can be a delightful, yet terrifying experience
I love to be outside. Sitting on my deck relaxing, hanging out with friends, swimming, hiking, the sounds of birds singing, the constant buzz of whatever is buzzing, are all very soothing to me. I grew up playing outside as a kid, and it's nice to be able to get outside and enjoy the outdoors, most of the time.
Recently, I've started running on trails. Trail running has been good for me because it gives me something to focus on besides how much further or longer I have to run. The shady trees and the sound of the forest are a nice way to get lost in myself. It gives me a chance to clear my head and think. The other day, I was deep in thought, focusing on things I'd like to do in life, topics I'd like to write about, and things I needed to do to make the family unit run smoothly. Then nature started messing with me.
Let me explain.
Bugs - I like to chew gum with when I run. It keeps my mouth from getting too dry. But I also breathe with my mouth open, so sometimes, I inhale in a bug. I end up chewing gum and bugs. The thought of continuously chewing a bug until it dissolves completely grosses me out. So I stopped chewing gum while running a few months ago. Until yesterday, I forgot. Yesterday, I had cinna-gnat gum.
Spiders - Seriously? How quickly do they build webs? How do they always manage to strategically wrap their webs around my head and face? What are their plans for me if they are able to capture me?
Bunnies, squirrels, and ground squirrels - My kids think they are cute. They give them names like Stripes and Fluffly and S'mores. Not me, I hate the little bastards, always sneaking out in front of me, rustling leaves, making me wonder if its a truly terrifying larger creature about to attack.
Deer - Terrifying larger creatures like deer. I once saw an episode of The Simpsons in which Lisa, an animal lover, encounters a deer. At first, she is awed by its peaceful beauty, until it crouches and begins snarling at her. That is what I always envision from the deer I encounter on the trails. Today one ran away, and the other just stared me down, snarling, waiting till I ran by it, so it could chase me down and trample me and gore me with its wickedly sharp deer horns. They can obviously smell the fear my body is profusely emitting.
Birds - Sometimes they are beautiful, like the vibrant red cardinal flying with its mate or Woody Wood Pecker's cousin tapping on the trees. But today, a murder of crows sat high in the trees, cawing their obnoxious caws. When one swooped at me as I ran through its domain, I had no other escape than sprinting out of their territory. I'm lucky I didn't pull a hamstring.
Trees are even evil. For a moment the other day, I was thankful that a tree happened to catch me before I fell to the ground. Until I realized that I was falling because I tripped over it's strategically placed root. I trip and fall down over roots a lot while running trails; a couple of months ago I had to visit an urgent care clinic to make sure my ankle wasn't broken. Thankfully, just a bad sprain.
And finally - the unknown mysteries deep in the forest. I'm not referencing mythical beings like those found in the Twilight Series - vampires and werewolves are not real. I worry about encountering the one mountain lion spotted in town last fall. What do I even do when I see that? I can't outrun it. I can't fight it off with a stick. Even if I manage to climb a tree, it can follow me up with its razor sharp claws. Not a pleasant way to die. And don't even get me started on the mass murderers hiding in the forest. I know they're out there.
So, what started out as a pleasant, mind-clearing, crisp morning jog, turned in to a trail of terror, a nightmare of ways I could be brutally maimed and killed. The one bright spot was that at least I burned some calories. Actually, a lot of calories with all that adrenaline making me push the pace. Next time, I'll use the buddy system. At best, conversation will distract me. At worst, the rabid deer will attack my buddy first.
Recently, I've started running on trails. Trail running has been good for me because it gives me something to focus on besides how much further or longer I have to run. The shady trees and the sound of the forest are a nice way to get lost in myself. It gives me a chance to clear my head and think. The other day, I was deep in thought, focusing on things I'd like to do in life, topics I'd like to write about, and things I needed to do to make the family unit run smoothly. Then nature started messing with me.
Let me explain.
Bugs - I like to chew gum with when I run. It keeps my mouth from getting too dry. But I also breathe with my mouth open, so sometimes, I inhale in a bug. I end up chewing gum and bugs. The thought of continuously chewing a bug until it dissolves completely grosses me out. So I stopped chewing gum while running a few months ago. Until yesterday, I forgot. Yesterday, I had cinna-gnat gum.
Spiders - Seriously? How quickly do they build webs? How do they always manage to strategically wrap their webs around my head and face? What are their plans for me if they are able to capture me?
Bunnies, squirrels, and ground squirrels - My kids think they are cute. They give them names like Stripes and Fluffly and S'mores. Not me, I hate the little bastards, always sneaking out in front of me, rustling leaves, making me wonder if its a truly terrifying larger creature about to attack.
Deer - Terrifying larger creatures like deer. I once saw an episode of The Simpsons in which Lisa, an animal lover, encounters a deer. At first, she is awed by its peaceful beauty, until it crouches and begins snarling at her. That is what I always envision from the deer I encounter on the trails. Today one ran away, and the other just stared me down, snarling, waiting till I ran by it, so it could chase me down and trample me and gore me with its wickedly sharp deer horns. They can obviously smell the fear my body is profusely emitting.
Birds - Sometimes they are beautiful, like the vibrant red cardinal flying with its mate or Woody Wood Pecker's cousin tapping on the trees. But today, a murder of crows sat high in the trees, cawing their obnoxious caws. When one swooped at me as I ran through its domain, I had no other escape than sprinting out of their territory. I'm lucky I didn't pull a hamstring.
Trees are even evil. For a moment the other day, I was thankful that a tree happened to catch me before I fell to the ground. Until I realized that I was falling because I tripped over it's strategically placed root. I trip and fall down over roots a lot while running trails; a couple of months ago I had to visit an urgent care clinic to make sure my ankle wasn't broken. Thankfully, just a bad sprain.
And finally - the unknown mysteries deep in the forest. I'm not referencing mythical beings like those found in the Twilight Series - vampires and werewolves are not real. I worry about encountering the one mountain lion spotted in town last fall. What do I even do when I see that? I can't outrun it. I can't fight it off with a stick. Even if I manage to climb a tree, it can follow me up with its razor sharp claws. Not a pleasant way to die. And don't even get me started on the mass murderers hiding in the forest. I know they're out there.
So, what started out as a pleasant, mind-clearing, crisp morning jog, turned in to a trail of terror, a nightmare of ways I could be brutally maimed and killed. The one bright spot was that at least I burned some calories. Actually, a lot of calories with all that adrenaline making me push the pace. Next time, I'll use the buddy system. At best, conversation will distract me. At worst, the rabid deer will attack my buddy first.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
No Monday Worries
This is the first Sunday that I haven't worried about a Monday in the last 12 and a half years.
I quit my job as a teacher two weeks ago - just a week before I was supposed to go back to work. The thought of having to go back to my teaching job left me with such a feeling of hopelessness that my husband told me not to go back. This wasn't the first time he had said this to me, but it was the time that I finally listened.
There were many things that led me to this point, but at the end of the day, the thing that really sent me over the edge was that my job exhausted me, mentally and physically. It exhausted me to the point that I felt like every other part of my life was suffering.
When it came down to it, I finally realized that the relationships I have with my husband and two children suffered the most. I was often grumpy, impatient, and resentful. I took out my frustration on them. I felt as if they were the obstacles in my life that made my job stressful, instead of realizing that my job was the obstacle that made my life stressful. No matter what I was doing in the classroom, no matter what I did over my breaks, whether it was Thanksgiving break, Winter Break, Spring Break, or even the "104 days of summer vacation" - the weight of school always bogged me down.
So I quit.
I am so happy with my decision.
I am not far into this world of unemployment, and I know that I'm not going to be able to stay unemployed forever, but quitting my job has left me time to clear my head and think about what makes me happy. At the top of my list - I'm so excited to see my kids at the end of their school day. We come home, we talk about their day, we have a snack, we play, and we do homework, and all of this happens with no regrets - I'm not worried that I should be grading papers or planning for school. I don't think about how if my husband was already home, he could be doing these things with the kids, so I could get some work done. I don't stress over making dinner - I love to cook - because now I have the time. I don't mind doing the laundry or even putting it away, because I have the time. And during the day, when it's quiet around the house, I work on projects started long ago and think about what I am going to do so I can continue feeling this good about my family, my life, and myself. I have the time to think about creating a plan for the future, and all of it involves a happy and healthy family and self.
I will sleep well tonight - no Monday worries here.
I quit my job as a teacher two weeks ago - just a week before I was supposed to go back to work. The thought of having to go back to my teaching job left me with such a feeling of hopelessness that my husband told me not to go back. This wasn't the first time he had said this to me, but it was the time that I finally listened.
There were many things that led me to this point, but at the end of the day, the thing that really sent me over the edge was that my job exhausted me, mentally and physically. It exhausted me to the point that I felt like every other part of my life was suffering.
When it came down to it, I finally realized that the relationships I have with my husband and two children suffered the most. I was often grumpy, impatient, and resentful. I took out my frustration on them. I felt as if they were the obstacles in my life that made my job stressful, instead of realizing that my job was the obstacle that made my life stressful. No matter what I was doing in the classroom, no matter what I did over my breaks, whether it was Thanksgiving break, Winter Break, Spring Break, or even the "104 days of summer vacation" - the weight of school always bogged me down.
So I quit.
I am so happy with my decision.
I am not far into this world of unemployment, and I know that I'm not going to be able to stay unemployed forever, but quitting my job has left me time to clear my head and think about what makes me happy. At the top of my list - I'm so excited to see my kids at the end of their school day. We come home, we talk about their day, we have a snack, we play, and we do homework, and all of this happens with no regrets - I'm not worried that I should be grading papers or planning for school. I don't think about how if my husband was already home, he could be doing these things with the kids, so I could get some work done. I don't stress over making dinner - I love to cook - because now I have the time. I don't mind doing the laundry or even putting it away, because I have the time. And during the day, when it's quiet around the house, I work on projects started long ago and think about what I am going to do so I can continue feeling this good about my family, my life, and myself. I have the time to think about creating a plan for the future, and all of it involves a happy and healthy family and self.
I will sleep well tonight - no Monday worries here.
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