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.
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