C'mon, you know the movie.
The one where Tom Hanks had to lose 50 pounds in the course of shooting just to make his character's, "Lost," experience look believable. You know...the coconut-eating, tooth-extracting, raft-building, "Wilson"-loving survival story of 3 years on a deserted island. Yeah....that one.
So it's on cable down here about every three minutes on every third channel. I don't know....something about southerners and deserted island themes. They love, "Lost," too. Maybe it's because they recognize how miserable it can be here sometimes and figure if they're gonna' suffer through this kind of living, they might as well make it adventurous. Who knows.
Anyway, you know how at the end of the movie he goes to see Kelly at her house and realizes that she's married with a kid? But at the same, he and she both realize that they still love each other; that they are each other's loves of their lives. Here's what I don't get....
...how do you go on living your life knowing that the love of your life is out there, loving you back, and you just can't be with them? Or more aptly, how do you go on to live a happy, fulfilling life...at least as far as realtionships are concerned?
It's a conundrum to me.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Home Again, Home Again, Jiggety-jig
Fat pig aside, unless you include the spread of my booty after 2 kids back to back, the house is coming along.
We finished the floors a while back. The walls were painted a rich buttery color that just about makes you want to lick them, care of the guilt-ridden builder who admits to its total crap of a standard in workmanship. And furniture arrived today. New, colorful, cozy furniture.
Almost feels like "home" again. Almost.
Except that now....I think we just outgrew it. Oops.
(I'll post before and after pic's soon.)
We finished the floors a while back. The walls were painted a rich buttery color that just about makes you want to lick them, care of the guilt-ridden builder who admits to its total crap of a standard in workmanship. And furniture arrived today. New, colorful, cozy furniture.
Almost feels like "home" again. Almost.
Except that now....I think we just outgrew it. Oops.
(I'll post before and after pic's soon.)
In Case You Were Wondering...
Emma did NOT cry at all when I dropped her off at school today!
And there are no words to express how happy that makes me.
Two months ago, the hysterics were so bad that she would make herself vomit, and I was told by a 20 year-veteran kindergarten teacher that she'd never seen anything like it.
Today. Nothing. Sure, she was still anxious, but maybe, just maybe that little head of hers is wrapping itself around the fact that she can be safe and secure around other people.
Here's to small.....no....very big accomplishments.
And there are no words to express how happy that makes me.
Two months ago, the hysterics were so bad that she would make herself vomit, and I was told by a 20 year-veteran kindergarten teacher that she'd never seen anything like it.
Today. Nothing. Sure, she was still anxious, but maybe, just maybe that little head of hers is wrapping itself around the fact that she can be safe and secure around other people.
Here's to small.....no....very big accomplishments.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Hi Rock, Meet Hard Place
I'm there. In the middle of the proverbial rock and hard place.
On the one side is my childrens' education....or rather, the opportunity to improve said education via pricey, uber-liberal, exceptionally stimulating, private montessori school.
On the other is my own education...or rather, the absolute necessity for me to return to school in order to pursue my desired career change.
"Uh ok," you say. "What's the big deal here? I don't see the rock and hard place? Just send the kids and go to school yourself, duh."
Yes, and if it were that simple, I wouldn't be sitting here writing this would I?
See, the school is ridiculously expensive. And the only way we can afford to send them there is for me to go to work as a teacher at the school and thereby procure the 50% discout. FIFTY percent people.....for my children to have quality, private school, montessori education in a state where public education is no more effective than a fart in the wind.
Of course, going to work there means putting my own ambitions on hold....once again....until the hubby is making a little more cash, and my own salary increases enough to justify paying for both their school and mine, as well as the babysitter to watch them on the off hours that I would squeak in an education.
That's the rock.
Here's the hard place.
The other alternative is to skip the pricey, uber-liberal, montessori school for now, and let the kids suffer through public school while I go finish up some education of my own. After about 3 or 4 years, I'd be in a new career making more than enough money to pay for said school outright w/o the help of a 50% discount.
But my kids have to suffer through SC public schools. And let me tell you, suffering it will be. The schools here are deplorable. I already know of deficiencies in the education of kids I've met relative to my friends' children in other states. It's frightening. And I DO NOT want my kids to suffer through the incompentencies of bad teachers in a bad system.
But I also don't want to put my life on hold any longer than I already have. When the hubby and I had kids, the deal was that I would stay home for their first couple of years, then head back to school or the workforce to continue fulfilling my own goals and ambitions. We both felt that by the time they were 3 they would be old enough to handle and benefit from a nurturing school/care-taking situation.
And I've found one. And it's perfect. But like I said, the only way to make it happen is to sacrifice more of myself.
Hello rock, this is the hard place, and I'm Danielle. Right in between.
And what was I saying in that last post about moms struggling with anxiety, depression, and the loss of self?!?
On the one side is my childrens' education....or rather, the opportunity to improve said education via pricey, uber-liberal, exceptionally stimulating, private montessori school.
On the other is my own education...or rather, the absolute necessity for me to return to school in order to pursue my desired career change.
"Uh ok," you say. "What's the big deal here? I don't see the rock and hard place? Just send the kids and go to school yourself, duh."
Yes, and if it were that simple, I wouldn't be sitting here writing this would I?
See, the school is ridiculously expensive. And the only way we can afford to send them there is for me to go to work as a teacher at the school and thereby procure the 50% discout. FIFTY percent people.....for my children to have quality, private school, montessori education in a state where public education is no more effective than a fart in the wind.
Of course, going to work there means putting my own ambitions on hold....once again....until the hubby is making a little more cash, and my own salary increases enough to justify paying for both their school and mine, as well as the babysitter to watch them on the off hours that I would squeak in an education.
That's the rock.
Here's the hard place.
The other alternative is to skip the pricey, uber-liberal, montessori school for now, and let the kids suffer through public school while I go finish up some education of my own. After about 3 or 4 years, I'd be in a new career making more than enough money to pay for said school outright w/o the help of a 50% discount.
But my kids have to suffer through SC public schools. And let me tell you, suffering it will be. The schools here are deplorable. I already know of deficiencies in the education of kids I've met relative to my friends' children in other states. It's frightening. And I DO NOT want my kids to suffer through the incompentencies of bad teachers in a bad system.
But I also don't want to put my life on hold any longer than I already have. When the hubby and I had kids, the deal was that I would stay home for their first couple of years, then head back to school or the workforce to continue fulfilling my own goals and ambitions. We both felt that by the time they were 3 they would be old enough to handle and benefit from a nurturing school/care-taking situation.
And I've found one. And it's perfect. But like I said, the only way to make it happen is to sacrifice more of myself.
Hello rock, this is the hard place, and I'm Danielle. Right in between.
And what was I saying in that last post about moms struggling with anxiety, depression, and the loss of self?!?
Worry-wart
I worry.
I worry about my kids, especially Emma's incurable anxiety and insecurity at being separated from me.
I worry about our finances, especially in light of some newly acquired medical bills.
I worry about every little creak and crack in our house that I'm sure is the next item to reveal it's faulty design.
I worry about my marriage.
I worry about the clicking noise our car makes.
I worry about the diffuse abdominal pain, bloating, severe acid reflux, and nausea I continue to have even after my recent appendectomy.
I worry that my professional life is not where it should, or where I'd like it to be at my age.
I worry.
And all this worry is like a wart on my psyche. A really annoying, obnoxious, embarrassing-there-for-everyone-to-see wart that showed up right around the time I had children.
I never really worried before I had kids.
True, I had my share of everyday stresses. But as a single, childless woman, I just didn't worry about things like cars, and finances, and jobs. I just kind of lived. And whatever came my way, I knew I could deal with it.
And lately, it's become obvious to me that I'm not alone in feeling this way. So many of you mommybloggers out there are writing about your own struggles with anxiety, or depression, or the difficulty of balancing your desire to do right by your children yet still have a fulfilling life of your own. The numbers are overwhelming. In fact, I'd be hard-pressed to find a mommy blog that doesn't mention these issues at some point in its archives.
So what is it about having kids that changes us so?
Why is it that the pure, unadulterated love you feel for these remarkable little beings also comes with it's own double-edged dose of anxiety, sadness, and struggle?
And how can something as pure, sweet, and wondrous as the relationship between mother and child cause so much angst?
The only thing I can come up with is that in having children, we are no longer ourselves. We become more than ourselves. And while we grieve the loss of our previous identity, we begin wearing our hearts on their sleeves, making ourselves that much more sensitive and vulnerable to the world around us.
I'm alarmed by my own struggle with depression and anxiety since having children, as well as the apparent glut of moms who share in it. And while I know that some of the worry and fear and sadness are really just indications of the unbreakable love I feel for them...that we all feel, I can't help but wonder....is it possible to be a sensitive mom without being a worry-wart?
I worry about my kids, especially Emma's incurable anxiety and insecurity at being separated from me.
I worry about our finances, especially in light of some newly acquired medical bills.
I worry about every little creak and crack in our house that I'm sure is the next item to reveal it's faulty design.
I worry about my marriage.
I worry about the clicking noise our car makes.
I worry about the diffuse abdominal pain, bloating, severe acid reflux, and nausea I continue to have even after my recent appendectomy.
I worry that my professional life is not where it should, or where I'd like it to be at my age.
I worry.
And all this worry is like a wart on my psyche. A really annoying, obnoxious, embarrassing-there-for-everyone-to-see wart that showed up right around the time I had children.
I never really worried before I had kids.
True, I had my share of everyday stresses. But as a single, childless woman, I just didn't worry about things like cars, and finances, and jobs. I just kind of lived. And whatever came my way, I knew I could deal with it.
And lately, it's become obvious to me that I'm not alone in feeling this way. So many of you mommybloggers out there are writing about your own struggles with anxiety, or depression, or the difficulty of balancing your desire to do right by your children yet still have a fulfilling life of your own. The numbers are overwhelming. In fact, I'd be hard-pressed to find a mommy blog that doesn't mention these issues at some point in its archives.
So what is it about having kids that changes us so?
Why is it that the pure, unadulterated love you feel for these remarkable little beings also comes with it's own double-edged dose of anxiety, sadness, and struggle?
And how can something as pure, sweet, and wondrous as the relationship between mother and child cause so much angst?
The only thing I can come up with is that in having children, we are no longer ourselves. We become more than ourselves. And while we grieve the loss of our previous identity, we begin wearing our hearts on their sleeves, making ourselves that much more sensitive and vulnerable to the world around us.
I'm alarmed by my own struggle with depression and anxiety since having children, as well as the apparent glut of moms who share in it. And while I know that some of the worry and fear and sadness are really just indications of the unbreakable love I feel for them...that we all feel, I can't help but wonder....is it possible to be a sensitive mom without being a worry-wart?
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
WWJDFPBP? (What WOULD Jesus Do with a Fried Pickle and Boiled Peanut?)
It's no secret that I'm not fond of the south. I've been here just over 2 years now, and it's more clear now than ever that I'll never completely like it here or fit in for that matter. And I'm ok with that.
First of all, I'm WAY too opinionated for a woman in the south. The plumber who'd never seen a man, let alone, "his wifey," follow him into an attic to check on his work thought so. The toothless mechanic (I'm not exaggerating here, he had one tooth) who I followed into the repair bay to examine the improperly installed brake pads thought so. And every mother at my daughter's community preschool who overheard my complaints about their insistence that Hostess cakes or some deep-fried object qualifies as a healthy and nutritious snack thought so. I'm just too damned loud and opinionated for these people. And I'm ok with that.
Second, I have yet to, "find Jesus and accept him as my Lord and Savior." I do not pray and go directly to my Bible without passing go or collecting 200 dollars every time I have to make the smallest decision like what length of skirt to wear. I do not proudly display a, "WWJD?" wrist band and spend hours meditating on the course of action that a man, dead 2,000 + years who wouldn't have the slightest clue how to navigate the modern world anyway, might choose. I can figure out what the, "right thing to do," is for myself. And I'm ok with that.
And third, I cannot accept the excuse of regional dialect for poor grammar. "Ya'll" is NOT a word. And it is not cute. And any combination of, "you," and, "all," however abbreviated, when referring to a group of people, is not the optimum choice of words either. I will not be, "gittin' to," somewhere, nor will I be, "fixin'," to do anything. If I fix anything, it will likely be in my home and result in months of inconvenient displacement and thousands of dollars in repairs. And while I'm not ok with the never ending home repair, I am ok with good grammar.
And I do not agree that frying a pickle makes it more edible. Furthermore, boiling peanuts does not make them tastier. It just makes them water-logged and frighteningly translucent. Some things were not meant to be fried or boiled. And I'm ok with that.
See the thing is, I've spent the last 2 years of my life in revolt. I've been fighting an existence that, at least for the time being, is my reality; an existence that I, as one loud, odd, and opinionated person, am powerless to change. So, rather than resent my current cultural geography in life, I'm learning to celebrate it....in all it's awkward glory. I'm on the outside of their churches and their fish frys and their craft fairs and their scrapbooking clubs. And rather than waste my time and energy voicing my disgust, I'm going to be content to be the girl on the outside for a while. I'm going to find peace in my place. And frankly, I'm ok with that.
First of all, I'm WAY too opinionated for a woman in the south. The plumber who'd never seen a man, let alone, "his wifey," follow him into an attic to check on his work thought so. The toothless mechanic (I'm not exaggerating here, he had one tooth) who I followed into the repair bay to examine the improperly installed brake pads thought so. And every mother at my daughter's community preschool who overheard my complaints about their insistence that Hostess cakes or some deep-fried object qualifies as a healthy and nutritious snack thought so. I'm just too damned loud and opinionated for these people. And I'm ok with that.
Second, I have yet to, "find Jesus and accept him as my Lord and Savior." I do not pray and go directly to my Bible without passing go or collecting 200 dollars every time I have to make the smallest decision like what length of skirt to wear. I do not proudly display a, "WWJD?" wrist band and spend hours meditating on the course of action that a man, dead 2,000 + years who wouldn't have the slightest clue how to navigate the modern world anyway, might choose. I can figure out what the, "right thing to do," is for myself. And I'm ok with that.
And third, I cannot accept the excuse of regional dialect for poor grammar. "Ya'll" is NOT a word. And it is not cute. And any combination of, "you," and, "all," however abbreviated, when referring to a group of people, is not the optimum choice of words either. I will not be, "gittin' to," somewhere, nor will I be, "fixin'," to do anything. If I fix anything, it will likely be in my home and result in months of inconvenient displacement and thousands of dollars in repairs. And while I'm not ok with the never ending home repair, I am ok with good grammar.
And I do not agree that frying a pickle makes it more edible. Furthermore, boiling peanuts does not make them tastier. It just makes them water-logged and frighteningly translucent. Some things were not meant to be fried or boiled. And I'm ok with that.
See the thing is, I've spent the last 2 years of my life in revolt. I've been fighting an existence that, at least for the time being, is my reality; an existence that I, as one loud, odd, and opinionated person, am powerless to change. So, rather than resent my current cultural geography in life, I'm learning to celebrate it....in all it's awkward glory. I'm on the outside of their churches and their fish frys and their craft fairs and their scrapbooking clubs. And rather than waste my time and energy voicing my disgust, I'm going to be content to be the girl on the outside for a while. I'm going to find peace in my place. And frankly, I'm ok with that.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Shaky Ground
Do you ever feel like you should be asking for help, but you're not sure for what?
I'm there. And it's uncomfortable. Those who know me know that it's not like me to be so unsure....so overwhelmed....so lost. And I know that I need help getting out of this funk, I'm just not sure what kind, or how to ask.
And so, days progress into weeks and so on....and I continue to wipe and clean and read and teach and whatever else it is I know that I'm supposed to do for all of them. But inside me, this anxiety grows....an anxiety that my life is passing me by. I'm losing my days to groceries and renovations and junk mail and potty training and schedules.
And every time I think life is handing me a lifeline, it always turns out to be just another fruitless path riddled with obligation and regret.
It's been 5 months since I've been here. In that time, I've watched my foundation literally crumble. The house has been torn apart from the ground up with the discovery of one building disaster after another. And the list continues to grow with today's discovery. Despite our desperate attempts to repair and renovate, it no longer feels like a "home."
I've watched my daughter fall apart at the seams time and time again, helpless to do anything for her little crumbling spirit. And while she harnesses the exuberant energy of youth to recover from her anxiety attacks, my own resilience crumbles a little each time with the knowledge that this roller coaster ride we're on is far from over and the damage it has done is yet to be seen.
I've watched shadows of past hurts flash across this screen, reminders of the one missed step between me and his faltering vows.
My body is rejecting this life. New ailments cropping up. Infectious parts having demanded the attention of surgery and time that I did not have to spare.
But the floors are laid. The walls are freshly spackled and painted. The cracks are sealed. The joints are reinforced. And the check is in the mail.
Why then do I feel like I'm on such shaky ground?
I'm there. And it's uncomfortable. Those who know me know that it's not like me to be so unsure....so overwhelmed....so lost. And I know that I need help getting out of this funk, I'm just not sure what kind, or how to ask.
And so, days progress into weeks and so on....and I continue to wipe and clean and read and teach and whatever else it is I know that I'm supposed to do for all of them. But inside me, this anxiety grows....an anxiety that my life is passing me by. I'm losing my days to groceries and renovations and junk mail and potty training and schedules.
And every time I think life is handing me a lifeline, it always turns out to be just another fruitless path riddled with obligation and regret.
It's been 5 months since I've been here. In that time, I've watched my foundation literally crumble. The house has been torn apart from the ground up with the discovery of one building disaster after another. And the list continues to grow with today's discovery. Despite our desperate attempts to repair and renovate, it no longer feels like a "home."
I've watched my daughter fall apart at the seams time and time again, helpless to do anything for her little crumbling spirit. And while she harnesses the exuberant energy of youth to recover from her anxiety attacks, my own resilience crumbles a little each time with the knowledge that this roller coaster ride we're on is far from over and the damage it has done is yet to be seen.
I've watched shadows of past hurts flash across this screen, reminders of the one missed step between me and his faltering vows.
My body is rejecting this life. New ailments cropping up. Infectious parts having demanded the attention of surgery and time that I did not have to spare.
But the floors are laid. The walls are freshly spackled and painted. The cracks are sealed. The joints are reinforced. And the check is in the mail.
Why then do I feel like I'm on such shaky ground?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)