Memory Lane: Under (Re?)Construction

This past weekend I took my beloved on a tour of my past. We drove down roads I traveled so many times growing up. We went past the lot where my childhood home once stood: it has been removed and a new house stands in its place. We tried to cross the bridge I walked over every day of my thirteenth summer: it was closed to traffic. We looped past the house where I was babysat as a child, the house where I learned that some things cannot be returned once they are taken: it was condemned and the lot overgrown. We paused at the school I attended as an elementary student: the playground I ran around on has been reduced to a field and the playground shrunken to nearly nothing but shiny plastic.

The journey left me sad, hurting and scared. I'm not sure why the memories that washed to the surface on the drive were so dark. I feel safe with my lover. I trust her deeply and know that she would do anything to protect me. I can be vulnerable with her, and maybe that is a part of it, but I've never gone to these places. Now I can't hide from them. They showed up in my dreams last night and in my shower this afternoon.

Children deserve protection, faith and love. I didn't have all of those... well, I did, just not all at the same time. My mom tried to protect me. She did, from adults. She always taught me to trust my instincts around men. If my gut told me to go, I did. If a man gave me a look, or set my spide-y senses tingling, I walked away quickly. I learned to be tough. But, my mom never thought to warn me about boys who were just a little older, just a little sneakier, and they flew into my world below both of our radars.

That condemned house is what tipped me. Seeing the house, the same color it was when I went to daycare there, in shambles pushed every memory of that place in my face. I remember it all. Their names, where it happened, and happened, and happened. I remember that I wasn't the only girl under 10 who wanted their attention, craved it, scrambled and flirted for it. I wanted to be liked best, so I took it further. I was so little and perfect for their cruelty because I was so needy. I wanted love, no matter what it looked like. And it felt good, so I wanted the most. I told my mom, not because I was ashamed but because I was happy. She made me feel shame. Told me I was dirty, that it was disgusting. She pulled me out of that house.

I told Liz about the time the car door opened and my mom kept me from falling out as we were leaving, what I didn't tell her was that this was the last time I was there. It was the last after school babysitting before I went to a new after school babysitter with a vigilant mother of four on guard. It was also the last time my mother trusted me.

Lately I have realized that I internalized the feeling that I am unworthy. I have been trying to figure out where this voice started, because it seems to me that I can go back to that place and fix it if I can figure it out. This weekend, I realized when. It started when I told my mother about those boys and she blamed me. She lost faith in me and I in her. How am I going to go back and reframe something that happened 26 years ago? How can I tell Liz that not only have I been broken forever, I have been broken for longer than she has been alive?

I want to move forward from this. I want to be brave and find the love, faith and protection we all deserve. More than anything, I want to cradle that ten-year-old in my arms and tell her that she does deserve love. I want her to understand that it isn't okay for anyone to do anything to a child, even if that child thinks she wants it. I want to tell me that. We need to be okay.

The Changes We Face

Life has gotten interesting. Perhaps there were hints of it when I last posted. If there were, I wouldn't have noticed them because I was busy pretending I was fine. Deep breathing solves a lot but can't change some realities.
Today I learned that one of my former students committed suicide. This impacts me deeply and personally for many reasons. When I was her age, I attempted suicide for the first time. The next time I tried, I was 25. Clearly, I failed. Because of that failure, I have the complicated, beautiful, scary, and unique life that I have. Because she succeeded, she never will.
The fact that she will never graduate high school, never dance at her own wedding, never give birth to a child or hold a partner's hand while she does, never spin under the stars on her birthday again, breaks my heart into shards. She would have been 17 in a month. I'm not sure why that matters so much to me. Maybe it is because I view each birthday that passes in my life as a chance to start again.

This fall has brought so many changes to my world: my 9 year marriage ended, I've returned to work, I've fallen in love with an amazing woman. It is hard on this random Wednesday morning to realize that it could all end in a moment or a decision made in pain for any of us. My dear student was so sweet, so kind, and so unable to see what was possible. We all get in that place. It's dark, and hot enough that it is hard to breathe, but it isn't necessary to stay there. I've spent a few nights in that room recently, when my children were with their dad and I was alone enough to realize that the future I had imagined for us was never going to look like I'd thought. I felt the fear, the loss, the grief, and thought that my pain needed to end. But, I'm older now, and my perspective has changed.

I love Jasmine, my sweet student, and I feel an intense amount of loss for her choices. I want to hold her mother in my arms, to comfort her in this time and the ones to come. One understanding I am facing today is that a permanent solution like this is not an option in my world. I knew that in the hypothetical, and it got me out of that dark, hot room every time. But now, I know it in the literal. My daughters deserve their crazy, cranky, ditzy, imperfect Mama. I may not always do it right, but as long as it is in my control, I'm going to stick around to do it again.

From pain comes gifts, sometimes unexpected ones. May you hug the ones you love close to you today, who knows what tomorrow holds.

Fumbling Fool...and okay with it

The basic idea of the Tarot Card called The Fool, which in most cases shows a man setting off on a journey--often off the side of a cliff--with a pack over his shoulder and an uncertain future, is that approaching life with an open mind is necessary. This open mind, blank slate, or beginner's mind, allows life to flow around you and through you. The slate gets marked by this flow, changed, and the mind grows and develops. I've been working (ha!) at loosening up and considering life as it is vs. how I've always filtered it to be. So, in the beginning of an argument with my husband, I've been trying to stop and recognize that I don't ACTUALLY know his intentions, I just assume I do. Pausing these assumptions doesn't guarantee that they don't come into play during the discussion, but it allows me a second to wipe the slate clean and attempt a fresh starting point for us. The point of this: beginner's mind has been some of my intention lately. Part of my work at releasing self doubt has to do with accepting that it is okay to not be as good as everyone else immediately. This has been a personal challenge for roughly 30 years, so I imagine it won't be a short lesson. I have time. Last night I did something brave: I attended a yoga class alone. My first solo physical class ever. I took yoga a decade ago, but it never became a practice for me. I also took a belly dancing class with a dear friend (the same who led me to the original yoga class), but it never stuck. I am abundantly more cerebral than I am physical...and, I don't like NOT being good at things. I get agitated and irritable if I can't nail something the first or second time I try it. This low tolerance for my own struggle has led to a history of a) giving up or b) hesitation to start in the first place. I will go to classes, learn new things and explore things...if I have a sidekick. Alone, not so much. So, this yoga class was a BIG deal. And, I struggled. I pushed myself, but sometimes I just had to revert back to downward dog and stay there. My shoulders are complaining about it today, but my spirit isn't. I needed to do that. And I needed it to happen the way that it did: I drove past the studio (as I do daily), decided to check their website when I got home, discovered there was a class at 5:30 and went. No fanfare; no weeks of anticipation and planning. And, virtually no TEAM to back me. I had to be alone and sit with the anxiety about it. Today, both my husband and the friend I mentioned earlier told me that they want to go to the class with me. That it sounds great. That it would be really fun to do it together. And, I think I want to continue to do it alone. I want to be in my beginner's body, a Fool in yoga pants, alone.

Spring-ish!

Yesterday we had what I anticipate to be our last snow of the winter. It was a reminder to me that sometimes what we prepare ourselves for (8-14") is not what we receive (0.5-2"), and what we actually get is a gift. I had anxiety about the snow, because this winter has been a long one for my brain...I'm feeling frozen, my momentum sapped, and the promise of another layer of white stuff to block out the mud and color of spring was more than my mind could take. So, imagine my surprise, delight, anticipation when it amounted to nothing. Spring is coming. Every vibrant moment of it. I have to embrace it this year, not let it slide by without observation. I get so caught up in regret, mired in refusal to believe in what I have to offer, held in place by fear of failure...and of success. A good friend said to me last night: you have to fire yourself, then rehire yourself with a new start. I think she's right. I am my own enemy. I've been standing in this one place, fretting and steaming, I need to move forward. Or backward. Or, maybe I just need to stand right here and dance...but I need to move either way. When those daffodils who have braved the last few storms, and some late season frigid nights, begin to burst open with their beautiful, creamy yellows, I need to do it to. My first instinct is to say: well, how and what if I can't and who really cares what I have to say/offer and what if no one wants it and, and, and... SO, to avoid that, I'm deciding that everyone cares: and first of all, I care. What I have to offer is good, what I have to say is important and if I can't, then I'll just do something else. And, if I can, and it is scary, I'll let myself be scared until I'm not anymore. So, Spring, bring it on. I may not be exactly ready, but the thaw is here and it's time to move.

Greetings from Procrastination Station...

I always dream of all I will accomplish in the New Year, starting next week, tomorrow morning, twenty minutes from now...and then I don't do it. Sometimes I make lists about what I will do. Occasionally I cross things off those lists. This isn't new since I have had children, though it has clearly intensified with the introduction of other people with needs. Basically, my natural tendency to postpone things has spiralled out of control. It took realizing that while it was time for Bumblebee to have snack I had yet to eat BREAKFAST to shake some clarity into me.
One of my goals is to be a good mom. This is a moving target, I know. Some days being a good mom means entertaining and coming up with interesting experiments and craft projects...others it only means not throwing a temper tantrum just because Bee is throwing one. Today, it means telling Bee that she has to wait to have a snack because Mommy hasn't eaten, pumped breastmilk for Lala, or stopped moving since we got out of bed 4 hours ago. Today, being a good mom means showing the girls that my needs are important too. I took my vitamins...for the second time since Sunday. That's a start.
I've read on many a bumper sticker: Don't Postpone Joy. Great advice, but I need baby steps. I'm going to start with: Don't Postpone Breakfast. Off to finish my peanut butter toast. I had to stop to write this blog, because it's been on my list of things to do. Sigh, will I ever learn?

Changes and challenges: 2010

This year has been one of growth and insanity for my family. From a seizure in January, to the loss of my husband's father in May, to the gift of our second child's birth in July, we have been through so much this year.
Bumblebee has a sister now. She is as mild as Bee is wild. We call her LaLa around the house because she seems content to view the world as entertaining and enjoyable. She "lalas" through her days. I think we would have had a second child much sooner if Bee had been this mellow.
LaLa is five months old now and we are still learning to be a family of four. It has meant significant changes as a couple for my husband and me. We don't have ANY time for one another any more. I am home with the girls because my teacher's salary doesn't significantly offset the costs of daycare fiscally...and the time away from them can never be replaced. I think all moms should be respected and supported: those who wish to return to work, and those who do not. I returned to work after spending Bee's first year with her. I loved the classroom I was in, but I was only getting ten awake hours a week with Bee from M-F...and that wasn't enough for me.
Women should never have to defend their choices about these very personal things. Bee goes to preschool two days a week, she has friends and a life outside the home-two things I find very important-but she's with me the rest of the time. Am I exhausted? Hell, yeah. Do I get frustrated with her...and then with myself for getting frustrated with her? Everyday. Would I change it and go back to seeing her only 10 hours a week? No. Do I miss the adult contact and conversation? Yup, sure do.
Every parenting decision we make--whether to feed them yogurt or Cocoa Krispies for breakfast, whether to go to them when they cry at night, whether to cloth or disposable diaper them--is personal. While I say we shouldn't have to specifically defend the decisions, I do believe WE should KNOW why we are doing it.
We will see where this next year with two will lead. Bee is learning to read, LaLa is learning to crawl, I am learning to breathe. I'll keep you posted.

It takes a village...to shut the hell up!

So, I am all for listening to advice about raising my child. Tell me about how I can help her learn to use the potty or maybe how to encourage her to eat a variety of foods. Give me suggestions about teaching her to stay at my side in the parking lot; I'm listening. However, there is one place where I draw the line: do not criticize me for doing everything in my power to stick to her sleep/wake schedule. Especially when the outcome of my leaving doesn't change your evening.

Grrr...

Last night Bumblebee and I attended a party. It was billed as a birthday party for one of my old friends. My husband was out of town, so I was open to events that would provide us both with socialization. The friend throwing the party has three kiddos, so I thought Bee would get some time with them while I had a beer and grown-up conversation. Win/win, right?

Oh, so wrong.

Instead, we arrived to an empty house. We lounged in the sun, trading sunglasses and singing songs. This was probably the highlight of our weekend, or mine at least. Shortly, our hostess arrived sans children. They were invited to a friend's for the afternoon and would return at the start of the party...which was apparently 2 hours later than it had been advertised to me as being. I smiled it off and decided that perhaps we'd scoot out before they arrived, to avoid the sadness that can accompany seeing one's friends for just a minute or two.

After about an hour, the birthday girl showed up. I gave her our modest, and seasonal, gift of local cheese and peaches. We chatted for a few minutes. I asked who else that we knew would be attending. Our hostess handed me a list and a FLYER for the party. Apparently, the entire community had been invited...oh, and it wasn't actually G's b-day party, more of an end of summer bash. Um, had I known that...we might have bowed out gracefully.

So, with the preponderance of new information, I decided that perhaps the Bee and I should sneak out gently. We were berated by the hostess's husband, who feels it his place to break anyone down at any chance. I should have steeled my resolve and left, but I was feeling conflicted, so I caved.

Basically, I spent the next hour and a half playing alone with Bee and other people's toys. I didn't get adult conversation and dinner consisted of a cruddy burger from a multi-pack (no veggies or condiments to be seen) and a nitrate-sugar filled hotdog for Bee (condiment free again). It sucked. All around.

Finally, at Bee's normal bedtime, I realized that I was letting myself be bullied into staying and that EVERYONE would be more happy with me gone (even if they didn't realize it). I didn't make it out without several people feeling they had to comment about how it was such a shame I was leaving early as so many other little kids had begun arriving. It was true, there was a growing pack of kids...and Bee may have liked to join them, but it was late enough that I know what the long term effect would have been. So we came home.

I want my child to play with other kids; I want her to have fun. I just realize that if I sacrifice what works for us just because it doesn't work for other people, the next day is hell for all involved. My sweetie has been gone since Friday...we need another 24 hours of patience and I can't manage it if we don't sleep well.

It comes down to this...I didn't feel the need to lecture the parents arriving with other 2-year-olds about the sleep needs of small children and how important it is for parents of high intensity kids (read: Bumblebee) to maintain structure...SO what gives them the right to criticize me.

My gal is tired and a little grumbly this morning, but she'll be fine after nap today. When their sugared out kids are little TV zombies for 48 hours, I guess they will chalk it up to normal childhood experiences. Oh, I'm sorry, was that too critical?