The kids have officially returned from their uber-vacation in Vermont. They were well spoiled, terribly indulged, over stimulated, and generally exhausted. G wept the entire ride home, wailing that he missed grandma, and his cousins, and begged to move back to Vermont. I'd be lying if I said it didn't make GH and I a little sad.
Fortunately, the kids seem to have slid seamlessly back into school. G has had a few mini-meltdowns, but so far, so good. They've both been on the over tired side, and have been back at their bickering, which my mother claimed they didn't do once in Vermont.
While the week away from the kids offered fun time and relaxation time, it also offered me a lot of personal reflection time. The conclusion was not good.
Like so many other moms I know, I've found my life sidetracked from one directed towards dreams and desires, to one focused on necessity. There are so many things I've wanted to do with my life and my career, but instead, I find myself working at I job that's difficult, pays little, and is outside my field of study. Every day I wonder why I spent 4 years putting myself through college, studying what I loved, just to end up working a job I'm not passionate about just to pay the bills.
In the past few months, I've been making efforts to go back to college to get my teaching certification, as I've blogged about. That's one dream I'm working on achieving, though I don't know if it will happen in the end.
Then, in the past week, another dream has resurfaced- one of opening my own store, selling my jewelry and other handmade items. I think I could do it, make it work. I have a good friend who's interested and would make a great partner. I went out and bought books on how to own a retail shop, write a business plan, etc. I know it's achievable. But will I ever take the leap? Probably not.
Unfortunately, the reality of bills and time constraints limit my possibilities. While I never resent being a mother, I know it's going to make a lot of things impossible, or at least put them on hold for a long time. And yet it eats at me, the thoughts that I should be doing something big, something I love, something I can be proud of. I should be more than an overweight mom, working 40 + hours a week at a job that is thankless and drains me to the core.
And so I keep on dreaming. Sometimes, it's all you can do.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Lazy Days
The kids have been gone since Sunday afternoon. The house is quiet, and feels darker and colder. No screaming and shouting, no lights left on all over the house, and no complaints about the heat being too low.
I have happily sprawled out all of my jewelry making supplies in the living room, secure in the knowladge that my beads won't get snatched by little fingers or other items lost under the couch. I've watched grown-up TV shows and crafted in peace.
GH and I have gone to lunch and eaten hot wings until we burst. We went out to dinner, and were seated like lightning at a table for two. We've eaten dinner late, and drank wine in the living room. We made spinich and didn't hear one cry of outrage.
These precious days seem to be flying by. There are a lot of things I want to tackle this week, and I hope to get them all done. It's a lot of living to cram into one tiny week.
And each night, I call the kids. They both sound so happy on the phone, but profess to miss me in sincere tones. I can hear their voices echoing in the empty house. Though I enjoy the time apart, I can't wait to see them again at the end of the week.
I have happily sprawled out all of my jewelry making supplies in the living room, secure in the knowladge that my beads won't get snatched by little fingers or other items lost under the couch. I've watched grown-up TV shows and crafted in peace.
GH and I have gone to lunch and eaten hot wings until we burst. We went out to dinner, and were seated like lightning at a table for two. We've eaten dinner late, and drank wine in the living room. We made spinich and didn't hear one cry of outrage.
These precious days seem to be flying by. There are a lot of things I want to tackle this week, and I hope to get them all done. It's a lot of living to cram into one tiny week.
And each night, I call the kids. They both sound so happy on the phone, but profess to miss me in sincere tones. I can hear their voices echoing in the empty house. Though I enjoy the time apart, I can't wait to see them again at the end of the week.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Haiku Friday
Graduate school looms,
Will they accept me? Who knows!
Forever waiting
Next week, no kids home
Vacation with grandparents
Realaxation time
Next week will be bliss
February Vacation!
Kids gone to Vermont
I will miss them, yes
But kids will be loved much more
After a week gone
We will eat seafood
Stinky cheese and good wine. Yeah!
Foods for only two
Oh yes, you heard right. My wonderful parents are taking the kids away to Vermont for an entire week for their February vacation. Come Sunday they'll be on their way to a week of skiing with their cousins and being spoiled rotten by Grandma and Pappa.
And GH and I? Oh, we'll be busy. Busy watching adult shows on the living room television. Busy eating delicious foods the kids won't touch. Busy working on crafts undisturbed. Busy cleaning the house only once- and enjoying it staying that way for an entire week. Busy listening to the sounds of a silent house, no bikering, no whining, no begging.
And yes, busy missing the kids. I'm sure a week apart will do us all good, and we'll all love each other all the more when the week is over. That's the theory anyways...
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
How G Is Different
*WARNING- This post contains vomit, barf and other bodily fluids. Continue at your own risk*
Yesterday, I spent my one, lovely day off curled up in bed with a nasty stomach bug. Cramps, nausea, and a case of the runs you read about in scientific journals, caused me to drift in and out of consciousnesss, and miss out on the house cleaning, craft making and general relaxing that I look forward to all week. Such is life.
This morning, I dragged myself out of bed after hitting snooze for the third time, and willed myself not to vomit as I lurched to the bathroom. And at the bathroom door...... a big pile of barf. I jerked my foot back from nearly landing in it, and fought with my gag reflex while shouting for GH to come out and help me. At first, I thought it was cat vomit. But after a moment, I realized it had to belong to one of the children.
As I grabbed paper towels and began mopping the floor, I realized the toilet was full of vomit too. How on earth could one of the kids puked so much and called for me or GH? I was worried. Should we go in and check on the kids?
Just as my paranoia began to kick into overdrive, G's door creaked open slowly, and his little head poked out.
Me: G, honey, did you get sick last night?
G: Yeah
Me: Why didn't you wake me up? I would have helped you.
G: I don't know. I just went back to bed.
Me: Are you o.k.? Do you still feel sick?
G: I'm fine. *pulls head back into his room*
And that's just it. Even at 7, G doesn't need me like other little kids need their mom. He doesn't sob and cling when he has a tummy ache. He doesn't call out for me in the middle of the night when he's been sick all over the floor. If it had been K, her pained shrieks would have alerted the entire house to her illness, and I would have spent the rest of the night stroking her head and singing her lullabyes. But not my boy. Not my G.
I have to admit, it hurts a bit, to feel so unneeded. To know that he was so sick and never once called out to me. To know that he didn't think to need me. And I hurt for him, to be be so sick and alone, without me, even if he didn't know he needed me. We only have so long to comfort and protect our little ones, that being shut out from even one vulnerable moment is hard to come to terms with. But that's just who G is. He doesn't seek the emotional comfort that other kids do, and I have to live with the fact that he just doesn't need me the same way K does. But how do I live with the fact that I still need him to need me?
Yesterday, I spent my one, lovely day off curled up in bed with a nasty stomach bug. Cramps, nausea, and a case of the runs you read about in scientific journals, caused me to drift in and out of consciousnesss, and miss out on the house cleaning, craft making and general relaxing that I look forward to all week. Such is life.
This morning, I dragged myself out of bed after hitting snooze for the third time, and willed myself not to vomit as I lurched to the bathroom. And at the bathroom door...... a big pile of barf. I jerked my foot back from nearly landing in it, and fought with my gag reflex while shouting for GH to come out and help me. At first, I thought it was cat vomit. But after a moment, I realized it had to belong to one of the children.
As I grabbed paper towels and began mopping the floor, I realized the toilet was full of vomit too. How on earth could one of the kids puked so much and called for me or GH? I was worried. Should we go in and check on the kids?
Just as my paranoia began to kick into overdrive, G's door creaked open slowly, and his little head poked out.
Me: G, honey, did you get sick last night?
G: Yeah
Me: Why didn't you wake me up? I would have helped you.
G: I don't know. I just went back to bed.
Me: Are you o.k.? Do you still feel sick?
G: I'm fine. *pulls head back into his room*
And that's just it. Even at 7, G doesn't need me like other little kids need their mom. He doesn't sob and cling when he has a tummy ache. He doesn't call out for me in the middle of the night when he's been sick all over the floor. If it had been K, her pained shrieks would have alerted the entire house to her illness, and I would have spent the rest of the night stroking her head and singing her lullabyes. But not my boy. Not my G.
I have to admit, it hurts a bit, to feel so unneeded. To know that he was so sick and never once called out to me. To know that he didn't think to need me. And I hurt for him, to be be so sick and alone, without me, even if he didn't know he needed me. We only have so long to comfort and protect our little ones, that being shut out from even one vulnerable moment is hard to come to terms with. But that's just who G is. He doesn't seek the emotional comfort that other kids do, and I have to live with the fact that he just doesn't need me the same way K does. But how do I live with the fact that I still need him to need me?
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
In The Air
Yesterday was the big interview. I was so nerved up that I spent my morning researching teaching philosophies, and trying to prep answers for questions I didn't know.
When I went to iron my good button down "grown-up lady" short, my iron left behind a rusty stain. I sprayed with Shout, scrubbed with water, and swore like a sailor, but it was beyond a quick fix. Frantically, I tore through my closet, looking for anything semi-professional that still fit me. I put on a black shirt dress, which looked nice, but depressing- the last time I wore it was to my grandmother's funeral. I tore through the rest of my limited wardrobe, bemoaning the fact that I worked in a casual office where jeans and long-sleeved shirts were the norm.
Finally I settled on black slacks (a bit snug, but workable) and my fancy red sweater with the drapey cowl neck. Donning my newly made sea glass necklace and favorite pair of earrings, I applied a heavy layer of makeup to hide the stress blemishes, and prayed I wouldn't vomit on anybody.
I arrived early, due to my anxiety over getting lost, and waited on a bench next to another woman. After a brief chat, I discovered she was trying to go back to school after 10 years, and she was I-want-to-vomit nervous as well. She helped ease my fears about being the only mom trying to go back to school after years of being out of the formal education system. Unfortunately, she was dressed a lot nicer than me, and her skin was picture perfect. It made me kinda wanna push her down a flight of stairs, but instead I smiled and wished her luck.
Once I was in the interview room, seated across the table from the two uber-professional female professors, I think my IQ dropped by about 70 points. I think I answered the questions appropriately, but I could hear myself ramble and laugh nervously. It took a mighty effort to make eye contact as my eyes rolled heavenward, hoping some entity had placed brilliant, witty answers on the ceiling. I prayed I was making sense as the words rolled out of my mouth.
As the interview came to a close, I asked when I could expect to be notified if I'd been accepted or not. They weren't sure exactly when, and explained it was a fairly long process, and there was a whole second round of applications to consider. However, at the end, they made a remark that I should expect to be very busy at the beginning of August. The program begins in August. Was this a veiled hint that I could expect to be accepted? My brain was so addled that I tried not to make much of it.
On my way out, I asked the secretary if she could give me a clearer idea of when acceptance letters would go out. She said around the end of March. Plenty of time to worry, to try to recall my jumbled responses and kick myself in the shins repeatedly.
When I went to iron my good button down "grown-up lady" short, my iron left behind a rusty stain. I sprayed with Shout, scrubbed with water, and swore like a sailor, but it was beyond a quick fix. Frantically, I tore through my closet, looking for anything semi-professional that still fit me. I put on a black shirt dress, which looked nice, but depressing- the last time I wore it was to my grandmother's funeral. I tore through the rest of my limited wardrobe, bemoaning the fact that I worked in a casual office where jeans and long-sleeved shirts were the norm.
Finally I settled on black slacks (a bit snug, but workable) and my fancy red sweater with the drapey cowl neck. Donning my newly made sea glass necklace and favorite pair of earrings, I applied a heavy layer of makeup to hide the stress blemishes, and prayed I wouldn't vomit on anybody.
I arrived early, due to my anxiety over getting lost, and waited on a bench next to another woman. After a brief chat, I discovered she was trying to go back to school after 10 years, and she was I-want-to-vomit nervous as well. She helped ease my fears about being the only mom trying to go back to school after years of being out of the formal education system. Unfortunately, she was dressed a lot nicer than me, and her skin was picture perfect. It made me kinda wanna push her down a flight of stairs, but instead I smiled and wished her luck.
Once I was in the interview room, seated across the table from the two uber-professional female professors, I think my IQ dropped by about 70 points. I think I answered the questions appropriately, but I could hear myself ramble and laugh nervously. It took a mighty effort to make eye contact as my eyes rolled heavenward, hoping some entity had placed brilliant, witty answers on the ceiling. I prayed I was making sense as the words rolled out of my mouth.
As the interview came to a close, I asked when I could expect to be notified if I'd been accepted or not. They weren't sure exactly when, and explained it was a fairly long process, and there was a whole second round of applications to consider. However, at the end, they made a remark that I should expect to be very busy at the beginning of August. The program begins in August. Was this a veiled hint that I could expect to be accepted? My brain was so addled that I tried not to make much of it.
On my way out, I asked the secretary if she could give me a clearer idea of when acceptance letters would go out. She said around the end of March. Plenty of time to worry, to try to recall my jumbled responses and kick myself in the shins repeatedly.
Friday, February 01, 2008
Maybe?
I recieved the news the past week that I was selected to interview for the graduate program I'm applying for. The interview is on Monday, and since recieving the news, I've been a nervous wreck. Not only that, but I've been moody and irritable. This news, that I've passed through the first round and was deemed good enough to interview, has me all tangled up.
On the one hand, I'm ecstatic. I'm one step closer to getting into the program. To being a teacher. To actually achieving my dream. To finally proving to myself, that I'm good enough. I find myself saying things that begin with "When I go back to school..." I've applied for a scholarship. In my brain, I'm already prepping my life for my grand return to college.
Then there's the other hand. The hand that is trembling in terror and uncertainty. I'm am plauged by doubt, and try to set myself up to be prepared for not being accepted into the program after all. I have vivd visions of making an ass out of myself during the interview. I have anxiety attacks while thinking that if I'm accepted, I won't be able to get the financial aid to go back. No one will ever give me a scholarship. My temples throb as I imagine how difficult the coursework will be, that I won't be as smart or as capeable as the other students. It goes on and on. This is the stronger hand, the one that grips me and chokes me, and refuses to let go.
So I will do what I've always done- take a deep breath and try to get from moment to moment, and before I know it, the interview will be over. And then I will wait again. And then I'll get an answer and figure it out from there.
On the one hand, I'm ecstatic. I'm one step closer to getting into the program. To being a teacher. To actually achieving my dream. To finally proving to myself, that I'm good enough. I find myself saying things that begin with "When I go back to school..." I've applied for a scholarship. In my brain, I'm already prepping my life for my grand return to college.
Then there's the other hand. The hand that is trembling in terror and uncertainty. I'm am plauged by doubt, and try to set myself up to be prepared for not being accepted into the program after all. I have vivd visions of making an ass out of myself during the interview. I have anxiety attacks while thinking that if I'm accepted, I won't be able to get the financial aid to go back. No one will ever give me a scholarship. My temples throb as I imagine how difficult the coursework will be, that I won't be as smart or as capeable as the other students. It goes on and on. This is the stronger hand, the one that grips me and chokes me, and refuses to let go.
So I will do what I've always done- take a deep breath and try to get from moment to moment, and before I know it, the interview will be over. And then I will wait again. And then I'll get an answer and figure it out from there.
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