toddlerspit

Eric has reworked his schedule so that he can pick up the girls from daycare now, which makes me less of a harried wench when I get home, and means I don’t have to try to work at, say, midnight or 4:30 in the morning.  It does mean he has to give up his every-other-Friday off perq, though, which I feel guilty about.  Luckily, my guilt is outweighed by my relief to have enough time to work.  Which is only outweighed by my guilt at not being with my girls more.

Well, if you haven’t noticed, I’ve just been filled to the brim with self-doubt and anxiety lately.  Eric asks how my day was, and I respond, “Filled with fear and trepidation.”  I was up late last night wondering if I would always regret working so much while my children were young, our lives speeding by like a blur.  I’m afraid at any moment I’ll be exposed as a sham.  I wonder why I brought all this on myself.

Addie wet her bed three times last week, and both girls have nasty colds.  Eric’s brithday was a very low-key affair (read, I didn’t have the energy to do anymore than throw some Betty Crocker in the oven and sign a card).  I’m having trouble concentrating because I’m thinking about whether or not I can do this pretty much all the time.  In short, I’m feeling like a lame-o on all fronts.

But there’s a part of me that realizes this is part of the process, this learning-curve-growth-spurt-confidence-dump.  I wanted the challenge, asked for it, and knew it wouldn’t be easy.  And so here we go.

I didn’t expect to be so scared, though, and I can’t quite figure out why I am.  So I’m praying on it, and am going to work some meditation into things, and keep running, and keep trying.  I figure my writing will even out, and I’ll stop being so worried about what everyone thinks, and it will get done, and I’ll find the joy in it.  I just haven’t hit my stride yet.

On the drive home, I passed these bicyclists, guys on their road bikes with the spandex shorts and the team jerseys, their helmets and glasses sleek, their calves pumping up and down, up and down, and I had this extraordinary moment of envy for their moment.  They were riding those bikes with just the gear they needed, on a path they knew, and their bodies suggested a knowingness of movement, a surety of stride.  I wanted to have the confidence of tools that would not fail, a sure road to take, the knowledge of how to move.

But, here I am with my training wheels and streamers for now, tooting my horn here and there.  I suppose if I keep being scared I’m going to fall off, I won’t get where I need to go.  That concrete just seems so hard.

I’m back at work today, and am trying to adjust to the idea that I will, from now on, no longer have summers off.

God, I’m a whiny mcwhinikins.  There is, like, a whole nation of people who work through the summers.  What’s my problem?  And, to top it off, I really only will be working 3 days a week for the next few months.  So I’m not really back at work, the way a whole lot of other people are.

But why compare myself to everyone else?  I really have liked having summers off, have needed the time to refuel.  I’m going to miss it, goddammit.  Furthermore, I’m not paid to work during the summer:  I’m on a nine-month contract.  And also, this country is crazy insane when it comes to working so much all the time.  What are we trying to prove?  That we are the most productive nation on earth?  Or are we just lost as a people, unable to be with ourselves outside the framework of the career?

What am I trying to prove, is more like it.  The whole tenure-track thing may become a reality after all, and I wonder what I’m getting myself into.  I mean, I want it, feel like I’ve been working for it for all this time.  I’m ready to do the research, do the writing.  I’m ready to be judged by a panel of my quirkiest peers.  But there is a whole life I’ll be leaving behind and, quite honestly, I will miss it a little.  Because if this summer is any indication, being on the tenure-track is a year-round gig.  There ain’t no summers off, no more.

Being paid more won’t hurt.  Being recognized for the work I do won’t, either.  Being away from my kids will, but it already does, and it’s a trade-off I’m usually willing to negotiate. 

I guess I just want to remember to keep checking in with myself, to make sure this is, indeed, what I want, and that my family is stronger and saner with me working than not.  Right now, I know the answers to these questions.  But as time goes on, the answers and maybe even the questions will shift.  

Okay.  Back to the work.

It’s the last week of the semester, and I’m finally feeling like I have the whole working mom thing figured out.  Or, the mornings, at least.

I remember that when I first went back to work full-time I was completely overwhelmed by the morning routine.  I couldn’t believe how early I was going to have to get up just to get everyone out of the house on time.  I did it fine when we just had Addie, but somehow having two kids made things, like, ten times as hard.  There were so many bags to pack and people to dress and tantrums to quell.  Bit by bit, things just fell apart.  I stopped bathing.  The television was on non-stop.  I didn’t hardly talk to the girls, so focused was I on just getting everyone ready.  I hated mornings.  They felt stressful, and set a stressful tone for the rest of the day.

This morning was the exact opposite.  I had a few minutes to chill with each kid; I took a bath; I drank my whole cup of coffee; I got to work on time.  So, here are a few short lessons, learned after a torturous four months of working mommy-hood:

1)  Make little adjustments.  Whenever I tried to figure out how to tackle the insanity of the mornings, it seemed like a huge, insurmountable problem.  But making some small changes really made a difference.  I’ll try to explain them below.

2)  Get up a little earlier.  Not a lot earlier, just a little.  For me, getting up fifteen minutes earlier than I usually do means I can have a bath, or sit with Nolie before Addie wakes up, or check my email.  I’m amazed how much calmer I am when I give myself a little time to wake up.

3)  Ask for a little help.  In our house, it doesn’t make sense for Eric to get the kids ready for daycare and to drive them there.  He does best when he can get to work early (really early) and come home early–he picks the girls up a couple of days a week.  But this doesn’t mean he’s totally off the hook!  He recently started making Addie’s lunches on school nights, and he brings me a cup of coffee in bed every morning.  These tiny things have made a huge difference in how I feel about mornings.  And about Eric.

4)  Prep the night before.  We have a little couch in our entryway, and every night I line up all of my bags for the next day:  Nolie’s diaper bag gets stocked; my purse, which will get filled with my lunch and Addie’s stuff the next morning; my briefcase; my computer bag; and whatever else (library books, papers, etc.).  Then, in the morning, I just make sure the little assembly line has everything it needs, and I haul all of it out to the car.  No forgotten bags, no running around like a possessed nuthouse.

5)  Spend a little time with the girls.  Whether it’s hanging out with Nolie for a few minutes before I try to get dressed or hugging Addie on the couch for a few minutes before we head out the door, these little bits of time really matter to me and to the kids.  Their attitudes improve, as does mine, and it’s a good way to remind them how much I love them.

6)  Bathe.  I still can’t do this everyday.  If I have to be at work early, or if there’s a lot going on, chances are I’m not going to get a shower or a bath.  It just stretches everyone too thin.  But for some reason, I feel so much better if I’ve had a chance to wash my hair and shave my pits at the beginning of the day.  It’s just that simple.  So, though I’m comfortable with having days where I don’t get to, I’m trying to work the bath back into the routine.  I’m sure everyone around me is also glad for this.

I don’t know why this was all so hard for so long–I look over this, and it all seems so simple.  And mornings will always sort of suck.  I forgot to eat breakfast today, for example, because Nolie pooped all over and Addie had six types of medicine to take (I exaggerate) and sometimes my needs (eating, peeing, breathing) take backseat.  But I’m getting better.  It gets better.

Conditions today were excellent.  The weather warmed some, my boss agreed to give me some teaching relief next year so that I don’t lose my mind (at least not completely), and an extremely full day ran really smoothly.  Plus, I had some awesome teaching moments that made me feel like Jerry Maguire–at the end of the movie, not at the beginning.

Also, and I am thanking baby Jesus for this, we close on May 7, and not on April 30.  We had mentioned to our realtor we might want to close early so that we could get into the house, but this would have meant some serious finagling for me that last week of classes.  As my good friend Garth Brooks says, “Sometimes I thank God for unanswered prayers.”  What happened to Garth?  Ah, the anthems of my youth.

Mostly, I just feel this gigantic relief tonight.  Classes are almost over, and the grading hump at the end of the semester is never as bad as in the middle.  We’re headed to beautiful San Diego tomorrow, and I’m not taking my computer, or a book, or even a pen with me.  I swear.  There will be nothing even resembling work in my life over the next four days.  I am just going to sit and drool in the corner while my kids crawl all over me.

Good spirits.  But there are a few things dinging at me, things that my mind is tumbling over and trying to figure out the significance of, and whether future action is required, and how much guilt I need to be assigning to things.  It’s this:

I fancy myself a good mom.

Oh my God, it’s out.  I admit it.  I think I’m a pretty good mom, most of the time.  But also, accompanying that impression, is my sense that I’m also the worst mom in the world.  I am one to live at the extremes, you see?  I’m either the best mom ever and can stand in judgment over all the other sorry moms out there, or I’m the shittiest mom ever and child services should just come right now and get them because anything would be better than my crazy ass.

Because I’ve been so ridiculously overwhelmed at work lately, I think my “worst mom” sensors are particularly sensitive at the moment.  I miss my kids.  I miss me.  Things feel a little out of control.

Everyday there is a note in Addie’s lunchbox telling us how her mood was, whether she went potty, how much lunch she ate, and what she enjoyed doing.  Usually, the words “cheerful,” “talkative,” and “friendly” are circled on the page, and usually it shows that she ate “some” for lunch.  But not today.  Instead, today, Addie’s teacher had marked that “Addie needs more food in her lunch, please.”

What?

Are you saying I don’t feed my child enough?

Are you saying I let my child go hungry?

Are you saying that I might be….a bad mom?

Oh Lord.  Ima gettin goin.  Then, when I get home, Eric tells me that Addie’s teacher says she was “weepy” all day at school, maybe because of the move?  Honestly, Addie’s weepy now and then, so this shouldn’t be a big surprise.  Still, I’m freaked out.  Why circle “happy,” “talkative,” and “friendly” on the Daily Otter News if in fact my child was “weepy”?  Is this some cruel game?  Should I be having interventions with Addie to deal with this?  Why is my child weepy?

Also, there’s the trouble with finding Nolie good care for when we move.  I interviewed someone today who seemed like she might be a good fit, but it’s 15 minutes in the opposite direction from work.  So I’m back in the old situation of driving half my life away to get good care.  We could have a nanny, but then we might not be able to pay the mortgage.  Plus, I work from home a lot in the summer, and am not sure I want anybody around the house.  The mouse is turning the wheel on this one, too.

No, I’m not a bad mom.  But I have been so busy lately that I’m forgetting a lot of things, and missing others, and that’s not really like me.  And yes, I believe we’ll find great, reasonable childcare for Nolie.  And things, very soon, will calm down so that I can be more present in all parts of my life.

But in the meanwhile, the little pinpricks of everything that has gone undone, or underdone, pinch at me.  This has been a good lesson in the enormous price of stretching myself too thin.  It’s also been a good lesson in letting some things go (like the need to have a floor to which one’s feet don’t stick, or a toilet without a good coating of hair all over it).  I think better to cut back some and do some things well, live well, and be well.

You were starting to hate me, weren’t you?  “That Jen,” you were thinking.  “She thinks she’s so great.  She’s moving to a big house and has a cute little family and a job she really likes and she thinks her life is so great.  Screw HER,” you were thinking.  I could smell the schadenfreude from here.

So it should make you feel better to hear that, out of nowhere, I had a perfectly shitty day today.  And for no good reason, really.  Or for lots of good reasons.  I’m too tired to know which.  All I know is that Addie has the croup again, and Nolie’s pulling in three new teeth all at once, and I’m pretty sure there was no sleep in all the kingdom last night, not even for a princess like me.

I’m also pretty sure that I’m so behind at work I literally panic just thinking about it.  I don’t think I’ve ever had a panic attack, but I came pretty close to one today.  I don’t know what the solution is, but I know something’s gotta give.  What been giving are my waistline and my sanity, so I don’t mean those.  I mean I may need to renegotiate my responsibilities so that I don’t blow my freaking top. 

Eric and I woke up with some weird stomach flu on Sunday morning (which I also had Thursday night–what the hell?) and traded off watching the kids and trying not to vomit.  This, for me, is the worst nightmare of parenting:  all you want to do is crawl into bed and moan yourself to sleep, and instead you have to play Fairyland Dollhouse with your toddler, or feed mashed Organic Summer Vegetables to your baby, trying not to hurl when her formula-flavored burp explodes in your face.  I was supposed to work Sunday, too, and that didn’t happen, so now I’m even more behind.  I carry my stress in my shoulders and stomach, so guess who feels nauseous again today?

A good hour of yoga would go a long way, but I seem to have given up all pretensions to spending time on my body. 

And today, I couldn’t get out from under that feeling, the feeling that no matter what, I would never dig out from inside this hole, would never enjoy life again, would forever feel pissed off at the world.  I almost cried in front of my boss, which I never do.  I had road rage, which I almost never have.  I was Linus, with the dark cloud permanently perched above my head.

But then Eric came home, and I had a good cry in his arms and my gazillionth cup of coffee for the day, and he was 100% supportive about me crawling up into bed to finish some work for tomorrow, and he’s making dinner and putting the kids down.  Back from the brink I am, though the stack of student papers I have to get through tonight before I pass out from exhaustion may send me back.  The internal calculus won’t be quieted:  how many weeks can I keep a stack of student essays before my end-of-semester evaluations take a hit?  How many hours will it take me to get through 300 pages of student writing?  Can I simultaneously eat lunch, prep class, and answer emails in the one hour I have between meetings and class tomorrow?  Can I?  Only if I don’t need to pee at some point during the day.  Or ever again.

The weirdest thing about all this is that I feel guilty for feeling stressed, which is just adding more stress.  I feel bad for putting stress on my husband, feel bad for taking myself and my job so seriously, feel bad for not working harder last week and warding off this crisis, feel bad for not being more chill.  I feel bad for writing this blog while my husband is downstairs making shrimp fra diavolo and talking with Addie about Eloise and her dog Wienie.

But you know what?  Sometimes I have to just give it up, you know?  Like at Addie’s party–I need to ride the chaos sometimes rather than get swallowed up by it.  And maybe also realize that there is only so much I can do and still maintain some shred of my humanity.  If posting this little rant on my blog helps me to maintain, then so be it.  It was a few minutes well spent.  It’s not worth cracking a tooth over.

I’m putting my mouthguard in just in case, though.  And I’m counting the days until summer.

Here’s the “after” pic of the Vine house, since some of you wanted to see it:

Look’s better than the “before,” huh?

Anyway.  Enough real estate for now.  Back to parenting. 

Sometimes it’s the little adjustments that make all the difference.

It has been a wicked couple of weeks, what with selling the house, and buying a new one, and trying for a promotion at work (still no news–I have no clue what will happen) and still the rest of our lives moving forward at breakneck speed as if nothing unusual was happening at all.  Eric says we are always like this, with some new and strange adventure beginning every few weeks.  But I would argue that we sometimes have lulls now and then, and that we haven’t had one for a while now, and we’re all pretty tired.  Routines are off, tempers short, kids confused.

Addie’s tantrums are like a barometer for the stress level around the house, and her pressure has been a-risin’.  Nolie has been responding, too, by wanting to be held constantly, and having what Eric calls “mommy-vision.”  When he’s holding her, she must always keep me in her line of sight, even if it means swiveling her head around on her neck like a barn owl.

So I really had to consciously slow down some this week, so as to avoid total family catastrophe.  And here are the little changes that made all the difference:

Waking up fifteen minutes earlier than usual, so as to not feel grumpy when a kid wakes me up.  Somehow choosing to wake myself up circumvents the grumpiness a little.

Asking Eric to bring me coffee in bed while Nolie is having her bottle.  It feels luxurious.  Breakfast in bed always skeeves me out a little, what with the crumbs and butter and all.  But coffee?  It’s perfect.  It’s hot and cozy and wakes me up at an appropriate pace, and I can relax and coo at Nolie while she smiles and gurgles her bottle down.  It’s a nice time for us to bond before Addie wakes up and hogs most of the attention (that is the toddler way, after all).

Taking time to hang out with Addie a little before rushing into the out-the-door routine.  This may be playing a quick game of dress-up, or cuddling her for a minute on the couch, or just having a real conversation with her for a minute.  I’m amazed at how many meltdowns were averted by these little preemptive actions.

Today was my day to just be home with the girls and chill.  The little strategies above can’t take the place of long stretches of time like today’s, but I think they manage to stem the flow of childpanic in the house, and to make us all feel more connected between quantity times. 

I suppose the bigger thing here is conscious parenting–just making sure to be present when I’m with the kids, even though my inclination is to be worrying about getting out the door, or about what’s going on at work.  This is not easy to do.  But seeing the real results really helps.

One of the most surprising things for me about parenting has been the difficulty I’ve had distinguishing between what is right for our family and what society’s expectations for our family are:  where do the two sync up?  When should I diverge from others’ expectations to follow my own instincts?  Have there been times I’ve regretted not listening to the advice of others?  I don’t know if I naively imagined myself immune to such pressures, or if I just misgauged their strength.  But whenever I’m faced with parenting dilemmas or the tug-of-war called being a working mom, there are a whole bunch of voices arguing with one another in my head, and they aren’t all mine.

We seem to be handling the whole two-kid thing better now than we were last fall.  Nolie’s schedule is set, and the daycare-work routine is more manageable.  Don’t get me wrong–there are still moments of chaos.  With the house being on the market, we’re having to be vigilant about messes, and we are needing to leave the house at a moment’s notice for showings.  And there are the persistent crises:  one of the kids being sick, a daycare provider on vacation or closed at the last minute, a cat horking on the floor while both kids are crying to be fed.  But for the most part, we’ve reached a pleasant sort of stasis where things don’t feel quite so hard.

Perhaps that’s why I’m thinking more about my career again.  I’m an admitted change-junkie; I like things to be different and new every so often or I get a little bored and wanderlusty.  My job has been so fulfilling because it’s defined by constant change.  Every semester brings a new group of students; every academic year brings new projects and new challenges.  I’m a good fit at the institution where I work, and the people I work with have been incredibly supportive; I count most of them as friends, not just colleagues or acquaintances.  I realize how unusual and special that is. 

I’m also really grateful that as crazy as things get sometimes (especially at the beginning of the week), I’m in a job that is really simpatico with being a mom of two young ones.  I can frequently set my own schedule from semester to semester, and the hours are flexible, so if Addie or Nolie is sick, it’s not a deal-breaker to be home with them.  There are some drawbacks, of course.  Because I work 1-2 days from home and the work is project-driven, it is often difficult for me to isolate my work life from my home life.  I “time bind,” as my old therapist was fond of saying.  Also, because I work from home, it is easier for me to put work things off when the pressures of my family become great.  This is just part of having two small kids.  And it’s really difficult for me to miss class, so Eric has had to miss his fair share of work so that I can go teach when the kids are sick or at home.

And still.  I have ambitions.  I’m thinking more and more seriously about what it might mean to seek out a tenure-track job, either at Mines or elsewhere.  My thinking is this:  I’m getting more and more involved in research projects and grant work, thanks to my generous and inclusive tenure-track colleagues.  I have an idea for a book-length project that I think could get published.  I’m doing committee work like there was no tomorrow, and I’m also involved in administrative work.  All that in addition to teaching a 3-2 load.  So what is there to lose by trying for a tenure-track job?

Well, a lot.  Say I make the play for a tenure-track position at Mines.  In order to be a viable candidate, I’ll also need to apply elsewhere.  Given the job market, this could mean applying for jobs in Tennessee.  Arizona.  Washington.  Who knows?  And if I’m not hired at Mines, I can’t go back to my old job.  I’m done, I think.  So it could mean we’d have to move.  This would be tough; Eric makes good money and likes his work, and I don’t know if I would like my new career.  How do you weight these options?

Then, there’s the pressures of the tenure-track.  Five years after you start, a committee of people who may know my work only tenuously will decide on my future.  Again, an opportunity to get ass-canned and have to start all over.  I’m also afraid of returning to the stresses of “publish or perish,” which reminds me of trying to get my dissertation done, and in how disappointed I was in the final product.

All of this risk, and I’ll probably have to work more, too.  A lot fewer Fridays at home with the kids.  I’ll have to be stricter about my time, and will feel the need to justify the hours I’m reading and writing as work (I think for folks who aren’t academics, reading and writing qualifies as leisure.  I constantly feel the need to explain that it is, indeed, work.  Is part of what I do for a living).

But these are probably unlikely scenarios.  I think Mines probably wants to keep me, and I want to stay there.  And I know a lot more than I did as a grad student, so writing and publishing academic work doesn’t seem quite so daunting now.  Being tenure-track pays better, too, and means less teaching so that one has time to research and write.

What the real concern is, and what all these little not-me voices in my head are discussing, is whether it’s right for me to make such a choice when it will mean less time with my kids. 

“When you’re on your deathbed and you look back at your life, will you wish you worked more, or spent more time with your kids?” says one.

“In just five years, Nolie will be in kindergarten.  Can’t you wait?” says another.

“I can’t believe you’re letting other people raise your kids.”

“We put too much pressure on moms in the U.S.  All over the world, kids are raised by multiple people, and turn out fine.”

“Do you want quantity or quality?  You can’t have both.”

“It’s good for your kids to see you work, to see you passionate about what you do.”

“What about you?  Won’t you always regret not taking the next career step?”

“You can hardly handle what’s on your plate now; what makes you think you could take on more?”

“You can’t cut it on the tenure-track.  Better to stay where you are.”

“You’re just ambitious.  Don’t be ambitious for ambition’s sake.”

“You can do this.  You can do this.  Why aren’t you doing it?”

You get the picture.  It’s like All in the Family up there, everyone talking over everyone else.  I don’t know what I want to do.  I need to take some time, do some research, see if I fit into other programs out there, test out the waters at Mines more.  Figure out if I can give up the time I have with my kids, figure out if I can’t.  Either way, I want to act with intention, and not just proceed because it’s the status quo.

You know you’re a mom of two little kids when you go away to a conference for work, and come back feeling like you’ve been on vacation.

Wednesday morning was a blur:  I had ten papers to finish grading, needed to dye my hair and pack, and had to take care of Nolie because her daycare provider was in the hospital with pneumonia.  Not to mention that I realized at about 10am that I hadn’t made copies of the transparencies for my presentation, and that I had the wrong flight time in my head (I was actually leaving an hour earlier than I thought I was).

By some strange miracle, I finished the papers, picked up the copies, and made it to the airport by 1pm, in time to catch my flight.  I had no idea where the conference actually was in New York, but I had the address of the friends I’d be staying with, and guessed I’d figure out the rest when I got there.  Of course, I almost missed my own presentation because I thought it was on Saturday (it was on Friday), but other than that, everything went remarkably smoothly.  I walked my ass off all over Manhattan, came back with some great new ideas to try in the classroom, and feel relaxed and happy, having slept three full nights in a row (well, not last night.  I got in at 1am and the kids woke up all night.  But pretty good still).

What’s weird is that this scenario is so unlike me.  I usually plan things down to the last detail, and seek out carefully controlled bursts of sponaneity from there.  Rarely am I so half-assed about everything–about a million things could have gone wrong, and it was by some sheer luck that they didn’t.  The entire time I was scooting around on the subway, or trolling midtown trying to find the conference, or deciding at the last minute which presentations I would attend, I was practically giddy from the unplanned ridiculousness of it all.  I kept thinking, “Other people do this all the time!  This is what “rolling with the punches” actually means!” 

I know.  I’m so Laverne and Shirley.  But these are the things I was thinking.

Anyway, I’m home now, and am reflecting on the roller coaster of emotions of the last few days.  The thrill of being alone in New York, without kids and Eric.  The freedom to do whatever I pleased.  The rush of interacting with passionate intellectuals.  Feeling overwhelmed, on sensory overload by the sheer massiveness, speed, height, sounds of New York.  Missing Eric and the girls.  Feeling sad and relieved to return.  Dreading the coming work week.  Embracing it.

On the plane ride out, I sat next to this guy Steve, who claimed he frequently talked to spirits, “higher selves,” who were channeling poetry, music, and messages through him and his daughter.  The guy talked my ear off for three hours about this stuff, and though I had some concerns about his sense of personal boundaries and compassion for us mere mortals, I was also sort of intrigued with his sense of the expansiveness of time and meaning.  “I’m a white guy in this life, you know?” he said.  “But I’ve been everything else in all the other ones.  I’m learning not to take the small stuff too seriously.”

Well, yeah.  I guess that’s right.  Maybe I learned a good lesson this weekend, about planning and spontaneity and safety and squeaking by on just good enough.  I suppose things could have easily enough gone another way.  But they didn’t.  And I find that reassuring, a license to loosen up a little.  To let it roll.

Honestly, I feel like I’ve just been through some weird, dark storm and have come out the other side, where it is sunny and warm, a world full of goodness and light. 

The unfortunate thing is that I think I caused the storm myself.

Let me see if I can explain.  As you probably noticed if you’ve been reading this blog, I was really getting into a rut of feeling like, “Oh, look at me, I’m so busy, aren’t I great to be pulling all this off, but I’m so stressed, wah.”  Not only was it a rut, but I was getting addicted to it.  I wasn’t stopping to say hello to people I liked, or to hug my kids in the morning, or to read books–one of my favorite things to do.  I was acting primarily out of a sense of “duty” or “responsibility” (yikes!).  And I was really starting to get convinced that my self-worth lay in all that busy-ness, that I was great because I was pulling off so much, or keeping it together so well, or whatever little stories I was telling myself.

You know how in The Devil Wears Prada that main character–the what’s her name main girl–is always saying, “I didn’t have a choice!”  Oh, no, I missed your birthday because I had to work, I didn’t have a choice, oh, no, I’m taking a crap on all my friends because I had to do such-and-such, I didn’t have a choice.  Well, it’s sort of lame to learn your life lessons from the movies, but what the heck.  It’s a good lesson.  I’ve been making choices left and right and pretending as if I was a little delicate leaf, being tossed by the wind.

Well, NO MORE, FRIENDS!  I am no longer the delicate leaf!  Take my delicate leaf and shove it up your whatsit! 

Really, what I’m trying to say, is that I am going to make some different choices.  I am going to slow down and say hello to you in the hall at work.  I’m going to stay up a little later to read that book.  I’m not going to finish grading all of my papers every once in a while in favor of hanging out with my husband and my kids.  I’m not going to focus on feeling sick, tired, or pissed.  I am welcoming in abundance and prosperity and happiness.  And my life is full of goodness.  Real, true, honest-to-goodness goodness.  And I am going to choose to notice, experience, appreciate, and grow that goodness.

Like, isn’t ghirardelli chocolate just one of the best things ever?  And how about the song “Fireflies” by Bishop Allen?  It makes me cry it’s so beautiful.  And the way Nolie screeches and cackles every morning when she wakes up to her dad and me, grabbing big fistfuls of our cheeks and hair?  Or Addie, whispering, “Mama, you’ll always be in my heart,” when I dropped her off at school today?  Or having faith in the utter persistence and fundamental goodness of my fellow humans?  Of the amazing friends and family the universe has blessed me with?

Well, I could go on and on.  My gratitude over-floweth. 

A student of mine has been emailing me, expressing his despair about global climate change, and his fellow students who refuse to believe it is happening, and his fears for the future of human life.  He is truly, truly afraid.  And I know that fear–I know how scared and out of control and angry he feels. 

But I won’t share his fear and rage this week.  Instead, I will extend my energy and belief toward growing solutions, toward faith in him and his generation.  I’m going to tend my own garden some, and spread that love as best I can.  Harmony, harmony, harmony.  That’s the mantra.

Oh, weird.  I just went to rip the stormy picture above from Google, and of course, my “affirmation of the day” reads “I have provided a harmonious place for myself and those I love.”  Must be on the right path.

Today was Addie’s first day back at school.  Wednesdays are also my long days–I try to get up at 6 so that I can be at work for a 9am weekly meeting, and then I’m at work until 9pm.  So, Wednesday mornings are a little stressful.  Also, like clockwork, one of the kids always chooses Tuesday nights to wake up every two hours (thank you, Nolie, for last night’s rousings), which means I wake up tired to begin with.  Note to readers:  don’t go anywhere near highway 58 on Wednesday nights.  I’m a menace to society, driving home.

So, I get up this morning and get Nolie fed and dressed and ready to go.  I also get myself fed and dressed, and prepare the thousand and one bags.  Addie wakes up at around 7, and heads downstairs in her jammies while I’m putting on my make-up.

This is where things went wrong.

See, I always try to get Addie out of her jammies and dressed as soon as she wakes up.  Because if she gets to wandering around and playing in her jammies, she doesn’t want to get out of them.  Getting her dressed after she has left her bedroom is about as easy as getting Israel to give up the West Bank.

So, she’s on the couch, bundled up under her quilt, and she asks if she can watch a movie.  “Nope!” I cry out cheerily.  “Today’s a school day!  Let’s get dressed and have breakfast!  Yogurt and blueberries!  Your favorite!”

Next thing I know, Addie has trundled herself back up to her bedroom, crawled under the covers, and is “reading” herself books.

“Addie!  Did you hear me?  We have to get ready for school.  Time to eat breakfast and get dressed,” I say, a little less cheerily.

“Just a second.”

Tapping of foot.

“Addie?”

“Just a second.”

“Addie  I’m going to count to three.  One.  Two.  Three.”

Time out on the naughty step.  Wailing, gnashing of teeth, crying for daddy (the nice one).  Huge, hiccupy wails, massive streams of drool clinging to the carpeting, her hair, the banister.  I literally pin her down and get her into her clothes, call Eric and have her talk to her about how much fun school will be as I’m cramming yogurt down her throat and putting her ponytail in.  I then get her to the car, still sobbing and thrashing, and buckled into her carseat.

As I’m walking around to the driver’s seat, I literally feel myself melting down.  I almost allow myself the luxury of screaming.  Of punching the car door.  Of banging on the car horn and giving Addie the evil eye for making me feel so stressed out.  But then I remind myself that I don’t get to do that anymore.  That I’m the parent.  That the only thing making me miserable right now is that things are not happening exactly as I wish and, well, that’s life, sistah.

Now that I have some space from the whole maddening intensity of it, I see that I had a few options.  I could have

a) just taken Addie to school in her jammies–they could have changed her into her clothes when she was ready.  My friend Rose pointed out that this is an option, and though it goes against my control-freak nature, it definitely would have put the ball in Addie’s court and not made the whole thing about me being inconvenienced. 

b) sat down with Addie in my lap, and talked to her about what a great day she was going to have, and how much fun school would be when she got there, and how proud I was of her for getting up all by herself.  Taking these few minutes out from rushing around like a freakshow would probably have alleviated a lot of stress later, and I bet there would have been more compliance.

c) prepared better by making up a “getting ready for school” chart in which things like eating breakfast, brushing teeth and hair, and getting dressed are represented pictorially, reminding her of her role in getting ready for the day.

Okay, so I’m kidding about the last one.  I’m not that Supernanny, for Christ’s sake.  But options a and b don’t sound bad.  Definitely preferable to what actually happened, to almost losing it over no big deal.

What’s hard about all of this is that I just feel so freaking squeezed all the time that it doesn’t occur to me to just slow down for a few minutes and give my kids the attention they need in those moments.  I mean, this whole thing doesn’t sound like that big of a deal, right?  But these moments are the ones that make me think I’m not that interested in being a working mom.  That I’m struggling and fighting too much to meet all expectations, and that I’m missing the boat with the kids.  I know I wouldn’t be happy just staying home all the time, and I know these have just been tough weeks.  But lots of weeks are tough.  Something’s got to give, and maybe my sanity shouldn’t be it. 

I’m going to think about this.  There must be some happier middle ground.  Some hard choices may have to be made.

 (Don’t worry Nolie.  We’re keeping you.  I just may need to cut back at work).