on my own...

I’ve spent the better part of the past week trying to figure out how people handle single parenthood.  Seriously.  I’m a giant wimp.  Huge.  But I just don’t know how people manage this all the time.  I know plenty of women (and men, for that matter) who are single parents, and they just seem to make things work, but I’m that girl who will put it all out there for you and I have to say that I suck at this.  Steve is out of town on business this week and while it’s really quiet at night – something I always long for, to be honest – I’m just sick of being the bad guy all the time, simply because I’m the ONLY guy.  The juggling of schedules and packing of lunches and bathing of bodies and wiping of butts is one thing I’m pretty good at and I don’t mind.  I think I would lose my mind if I weren’t this busy.  It’s the lack of adult contact that is driving me insane.  It’s knowing that no one is going to walk in the door at 5:30pm and just run interference so I can cook dinner or pack lunches or just talk me off the ledge the kids have forced me upon, even if I bitch and complain about that person.  Which, I have been known to do – just ask him!

My point is that I have a new respect for all of those people in my life who are raising children on their own.  Big children, small children – really, anyone who is making rules and keeping them without losing their mind.  And honestly, I would like to write more about this, but I’m more tired than I’ve been since having a newborn, so I will leave it at that.   

a story worth revisiting

I rarely feel the need to write about the same thing twice. Well, unless it’s my children, myself or my mother. So, nevermind. I should say that I rarely feel the need to comment on a news story more than once. Today seems different and I have been glued to the television this evening. I sobbed and bawled watching the rescue of the 33 Chilean miners. It’s honestly been amazing to watch. The stories of these men and the time they spent in that mine are really nothing short of astounding. That they were able to ration food, ration the lights in their helmets, drill into a natural water source, and, in the midst of such uncertainty, maintain their wits – or at least it certainly seemed that way watching the rescue – the future is bound to tell that story. My favorite story to come out of this so far is of the two men who were driving one of the trucks in the mine. I watched one of them (miner #11) get pulled from the mineshaft this morning before I left for work. These two men stopped to look at a white butterfly that they saw flying by them – 2000+ feet down. In a MINE. That white butterfly surely saved the lives of those men – as they were stopped to see the insect, the mine collapsed. If they had kept driving, they would not have survived. I have said before that I believe in signs and if that wasn’t a sign of some sort of divine intervention, I don’t know what is.

I don’t know. I’m pretty emotional these days. Maybe I’m way too invested in this story. I’m just so happy to have been able to watch this unfold and to share some of it with Lucy. The ending of this story could have been so different. Mostly, for me, it’s been a reminder to me in a time that I really, really needed a reminder, that people really are good. That, deep down, the human spirit is truly something phenomenal.

this is not butcher holler.

I’m completely claustrophobic.  That, and I don’t like to know about other people’s bodily functions.  So, pretty much what I’m saying here is that I would be in the first group of people to leave the Chilean mine this week.  Well, maybe not the first group, but I’d definitely be in the “crazy” group.  Seriously, I’ve taken a sort of sick interest in this story. I mean, it’s terrible to begin with, but there are all of the unknowns that no one seems to be talking about. Like, where do those guys poop? (what? Like you didn’t wonder?) or, what could you possibly talk about or do for TWO months that could be entertaining? Or, has anyone gone completely batshit crazy? Because, really, that is the action that I would love to be in on.  I mean, it sounds really terrible, but really I just want to know what it’s like to be down there. 

I would like to state for the record that I don’t care how much it pays or how much Mountain Dew you can drink, mining is perhaps the most insane profession on the planet.  I’m not going to lie, I honestly think that something must be wrong with a person who decides to go into that kind of work.  What, exactly is it that keeps you going down there every day? I know. I really do – I watch PBS and I know that it’s a great salary for those people who aren’t willing or able to finish school or work in different jobs.  It has to be a huge temptation for those kids.  Wanna know why it pays that well?  Here. Let me tell you.  One day, you will go to work and the way you get to work will crumble down behind you, and you will rely on a device similar to a bank tube to get you out of that mess.  And that’s if you survive.  I’m just saying – mining is just a little crazy.  I feel like maybe, had I lived in the rural south or maybe even in Chile, I might have dated one of those miner dudes in my past life – I do like the crazy, you know.

I know that I’m not saying anything rational or even very nice about this terrible situation – I mean, really? Is there anything rational to say? I’m just saying it’s been amazing to watch.  Sort of like Baby Jessica in that well all those years ago – remember that?  I wish only the best for these poor men.  I hope that this ends up to be a story of hope and of salvation – because it’s been too painful to watch over the past two months for any other outcome.   

trying to get a grip.

I have about twelve different posts that I've started in the past weeks and had to stop writing. I don’t know what is wrong with me lately – a combination of exhaustion, lack of time and a funk that has come over me in the past few weeks, I suppose. Tonight, though, my goal is to get something…anything, really, on the blog. Writing has always been my escape, and I can tell a difference in my entire personality when I get writer’s block.  Recently,  I have been thinking about women, mothers in particular, who are really hard on themselves. I fit into that category, as do a multitude of my friends. Why are we like this? Why, at 9:30 on a Thursday night am I just now sitting down to do something for myself? We beat ourselves up because our houses aren’t perfect, our children aren’t perfect and there just isn’t enough time every day to accommodate everything that needs to be done. I just had a conversation with another mom about this very thing tonight. Who is holding us to this ridiculous standard but ourselves? I, for one, am sick of trying to be someone I’m not.

I’m getting used to juggling working full time again. Honestly, I really love it, but I just don’t know how other people do it, really. Are the other women out there just lying about getting things accomplished? My kitchen is constantly dirty, the sink is full of dishes and there are crumbs on the counter. Dirty laundry has piled up so high I hardly know where to start. And you know what? I haven’t worked out in 15 months. Yep, I said it and no, you didn’t misread that. And you know what? That is the part I beat myself up over. The laundry? We have clothes (thank God for school uniforms and the fact that I can get away with wearing crap to work most days) and we have food both on the counter and in our bellies. I’m going to admit something else (wahoo! Look at me!) I would much rather sit my fat ass down with a glass of wine and a good book – or some Thursday night TV than even think about going for a walk or to yoga. Yep. I said that, too. There are just not enough hours in my day for me to be skinny again. Sounds terrible, but it’s true – I have to choose to sit and read or write when the girls are in bed because if I don’t, I will lose my mind. I promise you that I will. And, I would much rather be out of shape and happy any day. Now, if only I could figure out how to get my brain to stop running over the “have to, should have, need to” list while I’m trying to relax…I suppose if I could do that, I could also find time to work out. Meh. Nevermind.

again.

I wanted so badly to write about this upcoming anniversary.  I am stunned, in a way, that it has been nine years.  In other ways it seems like it has been nine times nine years.  I sat down here tonight to get my feelings out about all of the hate and ignorance that I have been reading about in the news in the past few weeks: Koran burnings, mosque protests…just general ridiculousness.  But the truth is, that stuff makes me tired and angry and really, what good does that do for me, or for anyone?  My opinions of current events aside, I would like to think that Americans are smarter somehow, or better than they have shown the world this week.  I don’t know why I expect that anymore, I just do.  I feel like we should set a better example, that somehow we should be able to come together for the sake of goodness. I am so wrong. It embarrasses me, really.

 I am finding that I can’t write about September 11, 2001.  I just can’t put into words what that day was like for me or for my family – I wouldn’t dare begin to explain that.  I would just hope that you would all spend a little time with your family this Saturday.  I wish that you would take a moment or two to tell your family that you love them and that you appreciate them.  Tell your children you love them.  Call your father.  Your mother.  Your grandmother.  Yes, even your in-laws.  This is what I wish people would do to mark these anniversaries:  instead of rehashing the past and watching streaming video of the terrible events of nine years ago – pick up the phone and call someone in your family.  Take a few moments to think about what you would say to those people if it was the last time you could say anything to them. 

Dear Lucy,

It’s okay to be nervous.  You wouldn’t have been sprung from this body without inheriting that gene.  Go ahead and worry, but please, not so much.  I always thought that the one thing I never wanted my children to get from me was the worrying…the constant worrying.  And look at what I produced: a five-year-old who carries the weight of this world on her tiny shoulders.  It’s enough to make a mother cry, but a mother who has taken you to kindergarten one day and then pulled you out that afternoon to start at another one?  Well, my dear…one day I know you will hardly remember this time, but it seems so very important right now.  I spend nights fretting about you.  You seem to understand so much.  You always have.  But mostly, I worry that you’ll one day do what I’m doing and have sleepless nights about things that, in the end, are really not that serious.  We’re pretty lucky, you and I.  We have a lot of nice things and we have great family on all sides who somehow love us unconditionally…but I know sometimes it’s hard to focus on that. 

I guess these are just the challenges that moms and dads face: not ever really knowing for certain what the right thing is for their children.  I have friends with kids headed to college who say this never really changes.  Maybe it’s because I’m hyper-sensitive about mom stuff.  Maybe it’s because I see so much of myself in you.  Maybe this is just how it is.  I’m not sure.  I do know this: you are smart and funny and sweet and loving and you have a sense about people that I didn’t have until I was well on my way to adulthood.  You will be fine in whatever situation is handed you…I just know it.  You are going to be amazing in school.  You have the curiosity of your daddy mixed with my need to KNOW everything.  You are artistic and you are crafty and you know how to get along in nearly every social situation.  You can do this – even if right now you don’t know French and it’s confusing and even I question if it’s the right thing (and yes, one day you’ll see this, but right now I can’t let on that I wonder these things!). 

Soon you will be (as a friend told me today) parlaying the Français with no problems.  Until then, I’m going to stay up with you at night when you call me in to tell me about your worries.  I know how it feels to need someone to do that.  I love you so much little Peaches.

coming up for air

I’m not dead.  I’ve just been trying to figure out how to juggle everything these days.  I just started back to teaching preschool, and it’s the first year since Lucy was born that I am working full time.  It’s a lot to figure out, this new schedule.  Then, we had a great surprise just hours after Lucy got home from her first day of kindergarten, when we were contacted by the French immersion charter school (read: free!) in our neighborhood and were told that they had an opening for Lucy.  We had been on the waiting list since April and had pretty much given up all hope that she would get in – and wouldn’t you know she did – right after getting home from an excellent first day elsewhere!  I was an emotional basket case last week, starting with her first day of kindergarten, and then immediately deciding to pull her to start her in a different school and having to explain all of this to her.  It wasn’t something that we decided overnight.  We mulled over it all summer long, ultimately thinking we would never really have to make the choice.  We picked a wonderful Catholic grade school in our neighborhood…one that I hated to leave, but in the end it came down to a financial decision.  So, in the midst of all of that, I started teaching full time and also decided to take a short trip to upstate New York to surprise my aunt for her 50^th birthday party.  When I planned that trip, I had no idea of the week I would have had just before!  It was a great get away – perhaps at just the right time!

My point is that it’s been a crazy few weeks in the W house.  But we keep going as we always do.  I just haven’t had the time or the energy lately to keep up with writing.  I can tell a difference in myself when that is the case, and I know I am a better person for taking a few minutes out of every day to write, no matter where my writing takes me.  I have a few stories I want to share, including something that happened to me on the flight back to Kansas City yesterday afternoon.  I will do that when things calm down a bit.  In the meantime, I just wanted to say hello.