Since I've started this blog, I've been trying to create at least one entry per week. The truth is that I'm totally exhausted. Without getting into too much detail, I've had two sick children this week, double workload and deadlines at the office, Christmas preparations (I've baked banana nut bread, pumpkin cranberry bread, sugar cookies, and a cheesecake all in one week), and trying to clean/organize this small apartment.
Don't get me wrong, my husband is a very 50/50 kind of guy. I load the dishwasher, he unloads it. I start the laundry, he folds it but I never put it away! Rather than sending the kids to daycare on Monday and Tuesday, they stay at home with him on his days off. Plus he's managed to move some things around and into storage to make better use of our space or lack of it.
I have next 10 days or so off. This may sound silly but I fear not feeling rested at the end of my vacation. Remembering this time last year, I was in a deep depression. Being a math teacher at a particular Catholic middle school, I could not see myself going back in January without having some sort of mental breakdown. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't the fact that I spent my days dishing out discipline, grading algebra tests, and dealing with the hormone-driven masses. As a matter of fact, I really, REALLY miss my kids. Never a day went by that I didn't want to pull my hair out or give 'em a big hug or laugh with or on occassion chuckle at them. The problem was the "particular Catholic school".
I would be a hypocrite if I said that I was a devout Catholic. I have not been to Mass since our move in June and I feel even worse when my 5-yr-old reminds us that Sunday is the day we go to church. She's the one that reminds us to say grace at meals and helps the 3-yr-old with their prayers at night.
When I began my stint at St. Thomas Aquinas, I was not a practicing Catholic although I had been raised to be so by my maternal grandparents. (I lived with them on and off during my elementary school years; more on that in another post.) Fortuneately, I was surrounded by a few teachers who soon became friends and helped me grow spiritually. Before I knew it, I was attending Mass on the average of 3 to 4 times a week, going to reconciliation on a regular basis, and Adoration on occassion. I was also a member of the parish liturgical chorus and a cantor/musician at school masses. Without a doubt in my heart, music is what gave me the most pleasure and intimacy at Mass. I especially felt appreciated when a parent or fellow teacher would thank me for adding to the service with my playing or singing. As a matter of fact, a friend once told me that I seemed the most calm and serene when I was doing so. Many times my heart aches that I am not a part of that anymore.
When I applied to STA, I was excited just to get an interview. This was the first Catholic school to open in New Mexico in decades and there were lots of expectations that went with it. So many that they appealled to a convent in New Jersey to appoint some of the nuns to ensure the success of the new school. The first principal was there for three years before she was appointed to Superindentent of the Archdiocese. During her administration, things were run efficiently and she trusted the input of her experienced staff members. For the most part, I felt supported and appreciated.
As with some private institutions, parents can become an issue. There is always a fine line; how much say should they really have? After all, not only were they paying over $3,000 a year in tuition but some families had anywhere from 2 to 4 children enrolled at one time. On the other hand, a school is run, or should be run, by professional educators. Shouldn't credentialing and experience be enough for parents to have faith in the people they they rely on to educate their children?
Without turning this into a novel, the next principal (another NJ nun) had a weaker spine and a greater need of control, students and teachers included. (The teachers that were in her good graces were the ones that would have the sisters over for dinner on Saturday evening, give them their perms and trims, or take them shopping at the mall. Yes, the mall.) Many of these teachers were also the ones that were not "properly" credentialed. One kindergarten teacher was "given" her Level II licensing (for 3 or more years experience plus other prerequisites) her first year of teaching. There were at least 10 teachers "on waiver" that had no business teaching: little or no experience in methods, pedagogy, curriculum, etc. One of these new "teachers" was given 5 years credit for previous experience and of course her pay reflected this as well.
Being that I wasn't part of the "inner sanctum", my life at school along with a few of my friends was literally a living hell... but I was a DAMN good teacher. (This was verified by the fact that the new math teacher made the comment that he 'had never seen a group of kids so prepared for high school than these 8th graders'.) In the last year there, I received some of the most un-Christian letters that I have ever received in my life. I'll have to scan and post them sometime.
One parent referred to me as the most inept teacher she had ever heard of. (She didn't like the fact that I was wasting their time and money by having the students create blueprints to spec and researching/building kites as part of our geometry unit; the highest grade you could get if the kite didn't fly was a B. Gee, I'm so 18th century.) By the way, her daugher is "gifted"; so gifted that she hadn't completed her project and threw together a kite made with drinking straws and Christmas wrapping paper. It was doomed from the start. One group of "troublemakers" made the best damned box kite I have ever seen; they decorated it with Chinese symbols that represented their names. That puppy took off in less than 10 seconds and flew the hightest.
I wish I could go back and tell that @sshole that I'm so inept that I'm now an instructional designer for one of the largest educational software companies in the US. That's why I'm so exhausted; major production deadlines, blah, blah, blah. But this year the exhaustion feels different. Eventually, I will get back on track spiritually and have more new friends; I get so lonely sometimes and I miss them immensely! I've doubled my pay and my 5-yr-old is in a school worthy of respect; they just earned an excellence in education award. (Her teacher is awe-inspiring, phenominal! I'd love to teach with people like that again. They are so amazing to watch and I always learn something new about myself and my own teaching.)
By the way, the pumpkin bread was for my boss and co-workers who truly deserve it, they are a great bunch of hardworking and creative people. Mrs. V, the kindergarten teacher, used the sugar cookies to do another great lesson with the kids plus they got to eat them afterwards. My neighbors and my husband enjoyed the cheesecake. I spent last Christmas vacation putting out resumes which led to the job I have today. I don't think I'll need to do that this year. What a difference a year makes.
May the holidays bring you an abundance of peace and blessings to last you throughout the new year!
Saturday, December 24, 2005
Friday, December 16, 2005
An open letter to Karen...
Hey Karen,
It's been a long week and I missed you! Hearing about the croissant incident reminded me of the idea of "intuitive" eating. (Check out the brief article at http://www.barbarabirsinger.com/documents/ARGUSArticleJan98-short.pdf)
It makes a lot of sense to me... My girls, 3 and 5, have always seemed to be "picky" eaters to me. I've finally figured out that much of the fighting at the dining room table was caused by my ignorance; I cannot make them eat if they are not hungry. They are allowed to eat if they ask for something in the middle of the day, usually fruit or a PBJ sandwich. The only time of the year that's really hard is the holiday season. They've been "exposed" to Halloween candy, pumpkin pie, and Christmas cookies. I figure it's okay since they eat pretty well the rest of the year.
I usually feel very conscious of the fact that they are both "rail thin". I credit it to the fact that the only beverages they drink are milk and water, no 'fruit' juices or sodas (maybe juice once a day) and we shy away from fast food. We're always stocked up on apples and bananas, yogurt, string cheese, healthy snacks. But they know what's "good" - they love any type of meat or veggie with a sauce, i.e. stir fry with oyster sauce, chicken parmesian, creamed peas, chicken marsala, etc. (Please watch "Super Size Me" if you haven't already.) I worry that people will think that we starve our kids. I don't know if other people do this but they always get some kind of treat before bed, usually a cookie and more milk or a scoop of ice cream. It's funny, my older daughter will only eat half of a cookie and the younger will only eat a couple of bites of ice cream and lets the rest of it melt in her bowl.
Maybe because we don't totally cut out sweets and allow in moderation??
Growing up, I lived with a woman who had the unhealthiest of lifestyles. My mom went through the pot phase in the 70's, alcohol in the 80's, and painkillers in the 90's. Being only 5'2", I know that the 200+ lbs. that she carries, compounded by emotional baggage, cigarette smoking, and living with diabetes hasn't been easy considering her former habits.
My sister is also heavy; she drinks occasionally and smokes as well. My brother, the youngest, is a carbon copy of the other two. (They actually all live together still; it's a bizarre co-dependent situation I'll write about someday.)
So how did I end up staying within my own normal weight range? I LOVE food. Marrying an Italian was a bonus for me; I can now make a mean marinara, forgeddabout that Preggo/Ragu crap! My masterpiece? A killer chocolate Kahlua cheesecake. (I only allow myself to make it once a year; I coerce my husband by telling him it's either cheesecake or sex. Sex once a year would really suck!)
For me, it's this unnerving fear of being "just like my mom". I was always embarrased by her growing up and still am sometimes. (It bothers me when relatives point out that we look alike. My 5 yr. old is a dead ringer for me; she'll probably hate me too.)
This fear is what drives me to diet/fast when I start to get 10-15 lbs. above normal. But it's also the same fear that drove me to graduate from high school and go on to college. (My mom got pregnant her senior year in high school but eventually got her GED. My brother and sister didn't even get that far. Miguel would have been an outstanding physicist or mathematician, fucking loser! I'd kill to have brains like his. Fucking alcoholic.)
This is the same fear that made me weak and choose abortion more than once... totally against my beliefs but I could not bear bringing kids into the world that would loathe me as I do my own mother sometimes.
This was the fear that I felt when my step-father ritually abused me. I could never ever allow myself to be "controlled" by another person; I had to control others, especially myself.
I've gone through my self-destructive phases more than once in my life. The common denominator was the lack of moderation: too much sex, booze, dependency on others (relationship addictions), whatever.
I've decided that in those scary moments there was always some kind of FEAR driving me further into an abyss. It was only after I understood WHY I overindulged that I could control it. I have great monogamous sex with my husband, a glass of wine with dinner or an occasional nightcap, and I let my hubby wear the pants at least 50% of the time, tee hee.
You had a croissant and you enjoyed it. (God, I'd KILL to have an AJ's chocolate or marzipan croissant EVERY DAY!) You're supposed to enjoy it's deceptive lightness and buttery flakiness. I would be distrustful of others who don't take the time to enjoy God's bounty. (He created chocolate truffles on the 1st day to get him through the rest of the week, likewise with toasted almond mistos.)
Enjoy what you want in moderation. I have friends that tell me I'm crazy. I eat whatever I want BUT in very small portions. For example, we went to Cold Stone the other night to celebrate my daughter's first kindergarten performance. I bought a pint of cheesecake with graham crackers and chocolate, my husband got the Monkey Bites. I got home, put on my jammies, and make myself very comfortable. Pint in hand, I ate slowly; almost erotic, huh? I made sure to take note of the taste and creaminess. I loved the ocassional crunchiness of the graham cracker mix-in and chocolate ribbon. After about 5 bites, into the freezer it went. (I can make a pint last a few days. My husband thinks I'm insane.)
The point is, you and I deserve to enjoy food. All of us do. What a simple pleasure to find the perfect juicy pear or the right combination of sweet and salty when the craving hits us. When I tell people about my version of moderation (like the two bites of a Krispy Kreme instead of the whole thing), "Oh I just don't have the willpower. That's like torture. I'd want the whole thing."
I think about the reward instead. My senses of taste and smell are fulfilled and there is no guilt for allowing myself to indulge in a small way.
Which is worse, the pangs of deprevation or the guilt of overdoing? I say moderation cancels them both out!
Know that I'm here rooting for you! Take care!
Hugs,
Mon :-)
It's been a long week and I missed you! Hearing about the croissant incident reminded me of the idea of "intuitive" eating. (Check out the brief article at http://www.barbarabirsinger.com/documents/ARGUSArticleJan98-short.pdf)
It makes a lot of sense to me... My girls, 3 and 5, have always seemed to be "picky" eaters to me. I've finally figured out that much of the fighting at the dining room table was caused by my ignorance; I cannot make them eat if they are not hungry. They are allowed to eat if they ask for something in the middle of the day, usually fruit or a PBJ sandwich. The only time of the year that's really hard is the holiday season. They've been "exposed" to Halloween candy, pumpkin pie, and Christmas cookies. I figure it's okay since they eat pretty well the rest of the year.
I usually feel very conscious of the fact that they are both "rail thin". I credit it to the fact that the only beverages they drink are milk and water, no 'fruit' juices or sodas (maybe juice once a day) and we shy away from fast food. We're always stocked up on apples and bananas, yogurt, string cheese, healthy snacks. But they know what's "good" - they love any type of meat or veggie with a sauce, i.e. stir fry with oyster sauce, chicken parmesian, creamed peas, chicken marsala, etc. (Please watch "Super Size Me" if you haven't already.) I worry that people will think that we starve our kids. I don't know if other people do this but they always get some kind of treat before bed, usually a cookie and more milk or a scoop of ice cream. It's funny, my older daughter will only eat half of a cookie and the younger will only eat a couple of bites of ice cream and lets the rest of it melt in her bowl.
Maybe because we don't totally cut out sweets and allow in moderation??
Growing up, I lived with a woman who had the unhealthiest of lifestyles. My mom went through the pot phase in the 70's, alcohol in the 80's, and painkillers in the 90's. Being only 5'2", I know that the 200+ lbs. that she carries, compounded by emotional baggage, cigarette smoking, and living with diabetes hasn't been easy considering her former habits.
My sister is also heavy; she drinks occasionally and smokes as well. My brother, the youngest, is a carbon copy of the other two. (They actually all live together still; it's a bizarre co-dependent situation I'll write about someday.)
So how did I end up staying within my own normal weight range? I LOVE food. Marrying an Italian was a bonus for me; I can now make a mean marinara, forgeddabout that Preggo/Ragu crap! My masterpiece? A killer chocolate Kahlua cheesecake. (I only allow myself to make it once a year; I coerce my husband by telling him it's either cheesecake or sex. Sex once a year would really suck!)
For me, it's this unnerving fear of being "just like my mom". I was always embarrased by her growing up and still am sometimes. (It bothers me when relatives point out that we look alike. My 5 yr. old is a dead ringer for me; she'll probably hate me too.)
This fear is what drives me to diet/fast when I start to get 10-15 lbs. above normal. But it's also the same fear that drove me to graduate from high school and go on to college. (My mom got pregnant her senior year in high school but eventually got her GED. My brother and sister didn't even get that far. Miguel would have been an outstanding physicist or mathematician, fucking loser! I'd kill to have brains like his. Fucking alcoholic.)
This is the same fear that made me weak and choose abortion more than once... totally against my beliefs but I could not bear bringing kids into the world that would loathe me as I do my own mother sometimes.
This was the fear that I felt when my step-father ritually abused me. I could never ever allow myself to be "controlled" by another person; I had to control others, especially myself.
I've gone through my self-destructive phases more than once in my life. The common denominator was the lack of moderation: too much sex, booze, dependency on others (relationship addictions), whatever.
I've decided that in those scary moments there was always some kind of FEAR driving me further into an abyss. It was only after I understood WHY I overindulged that I could control it. I have great monogamous sex with my husband, a glass of wine with dinner or an occasional nightcap, and I let my hubby wear the pants at least 50% of the time, tee hee.
You had a croissant and you enjoyed it. (God, I'd KILL to have an AJ's chocolate or marzipan croissant EVERY DAY!) You're supposed to enjoy it's deceptive lightness and buttery flakiness. I would be distrustful of others who don't take the time to enjoy God's bounty. (He created chocolate truffles on the 1st day to get him through the rest of the week, likewise with toasted almond mistos.)
Enjoy what you want in moderation. I have friends that tell me I'm crazy. I eat whatever I want BUT in very small portions. For example, we went to Cold Stone the other night to celebrate my daughter's first kindergarten performance. I bought a pint of cheesecake with graham crackers and chocolate, my husband got the Monkey Bites. I got home, put on my jammies, and make myself very comfortable. Pint in hand, I ate slowly; almost erotic, huh? I made sure to take note of the taste and creaminess. I loved the ocassional crunchiness of the graham cracker mix-in and chocolate ribbon. After about 5 bites, into the freezer it went. (I can make a pint last a few days. My husband thinks I'm insane.)
The point is, you and I deserve to enjoy food. All of us do. What a simple pleasure to find the perfect juicy pear or the right combination of sweet and salty when the craving hits us. When I tell people about my version of moderation (like the two bites of a Krispy Kreme instead of the whole thing), "Oh I just don't have the willpower. That's like torture. I'd want the whole thing."
I think about the reward instead. My senses of taste and smell are fulfilled and there is no guilt for allowing myself to indulge in a small way.
Which is worse, the pangs of deprevation or the guilt of overdoing? I say moderation cancels them both out!
Know that I'm here rooting for you! Take care!
Hugs,
Mon :-)
Monday, December 05, 2005
To Tell the Truth...
In the last week or so, I've had the most bizarre dreams. Always juxaposed against the setting of my adolescent years, my husband (S), high school sweetheart (B), or ex-husband (J) appear; either one at a time or together is some form or fashion. (In one dream, I was pissed that S and B were getting ready to go to a concert and I was grounded. I think I was more pissed that S got along better with B more than I ever did. Look that one up.) For some reason my brain is feeling the need to regurgitate much of this. Any insights would be appreciated.
I mentioned my outing with a new friend from work. One of the things we talked about was the complexity of dysfunctional relationships. I don't want to get into my family's issues but I guarantee that will be a long entry.
One of the hardest things I've had to face is my insecurity of appearing less than perfect to the people I love. After years of therapy, I've gotten much better but still fall into that old way of thinking sometimes.
I was pretty young when I met my ex-husband J. At that point in my life, I was juggling work, college, and a very active social life, especially the drinking. We met through a mutual friend, actually the friend of the aforementioned B.
J was from a traditional/dysfunctional family. (Both parents at home but driving each other nuts.) His dad was from Mexico, hard working man, and his mother was a pretty, stay-at-home mom and grandmother. I loved my visits with them. Although they had their problems, it was more of a family than I ever had; I especially loved the nieces and nephews and looked forward to the day that we'd have our own children.
I've never gotten the real reasons pinned down, it's been so long or it could just be good, old-fashioned denial.
In brief, we dated on and off and lived together for a total of five years. Then the turning point came with our decision to get married. (I wanted to get married in the Catholic church but he refused. That should have been the first sign.)
Getting married was probably the last thing that should have been on my mind. I was finally getting help for PTSD and doing well careerwise. I was under the goofball impression that if we sealed the deal that it would enhance the relationship. In the five years that we dated/cohabitated, we went through a few breakups but they always ended the same way. J was passive-agressive. Whenever I was on my way out the door, it was always a bunch of crap:
"You'll ruin my family and the rest of my life. My (insert seasonal holiday here) will never be the same if you leave."
"You're going crazy and don't know what you're doing." (Taking advantage of my past.)
"You really love me and are trying to sabotage your own life."
After almost ten years of emotional blackmail, I figured out the one thing that would keep him from wanting me to stay.
Having an affair was not the proudest moment nor the bravest in my life. I had convinced myself that I loved this man and I actually left my job and moved to another state with him.
At least I didn't have to deal with J's pleading for me to come back.
It hurts my heart to know that I took the coward's way out. I'd like to call or write and ask for forgiveness but there was so much bitterness left in Texas.
I had made the right decision (to leave) but did it in a destructive way; I hurt a lot of people and ruined my reputation. Honesty can be so hard. Even when I had told J that I didn't love him, his refusal to deal with the truth influenced me to take drastic measures.
I'm older and wiser now; it seems like a whole other lifetime. I'm happily married with two beautiful daughters. It's funny because I've read a lot of stats that state that infidelity is habitual. I have no desire to "meet other people". I honestly love my husband with all of my heart and it feels so wonderfully real and genuine.
And there is room for honesty. I can be imperfect most of the time and its finally okay. S has a way of lightening even the toughest of situations and giving me a soft place to lay. In the six years that we've been together, we've only had a couple of arguments. Don't get me wrong, we have lots of disagreements but I've found that dealing with them for what they are, we've been able to work through them.
I think back and find that in my relationship with J, I wasn't who I was supposed to be. One time a friend from work came over and met him.
C: Can I tell you something? Promise you won't take it the wrong way?
Me: Sure.
C: I never would have guessed that you were married to someone like J. You guys don't match.
Me: Wow. Is it that obvious?
C: You don't act like yourself around him either. You're much funnier at work.
Now I had always felt that when it came to intellectual issues, we were great. But I didn't "crave" him. My heart never leapt. I just relied on the belief that you should be friends before lovers. But sometimes even that's not enough.
I am grateful that C was brave enough to be honest with me; I left J about two months after that. It really got me to thinking about how I was living my life and if I was really being honest with the most important person, myself.
I'm grateful that I took a chance and ended up in another state; that's how I met S and now have a pretty decent life.
I'm grateful for blogs; maybe someone will read this and try some self-honesty. Know what you want and do it. Be honest with others and let them know what you really feel; take responsibility for consequences and be courageous to do what is right for you in the right way.
Peace and blessings,
Mon :-)
I mentioned my outing with a new friend from work. One of the things we talked about was the complexity of dysfunctional relationships. I don't want to get into my family's issues but I guarantee that will be a long entry.
One of the hardest things I've had to face is my insecurity of appearing less than perfect to the people I love. After years of therapy, I've gotten much better but still fall into that old way of thinking sometimes.
I was pretty young when I met my ex-husband J. At that point in my life, I was juggling work, college, and a very active social life, especially the drinking. We met through a mutual friend, actually the friend of the aforementioned B.
J was from a traditional/dysfunctional family. (Both parents at home but driving each other nuts.) His dad was from Mexico, hard working man, and his mother was a pretty, stay-at-home mom and grandmother. I loved my visits with them. Although they had their problems, it was more of a family than I ever had; I especially loved the nieces and nephews and looked forward to the day that we'd have our own children.
I've never gotten the real reasons pinned down, it's been so long or it could just be good, old-fashioned denial.
In brief, we dated on and off and lived together for a total of five years. Then the turning point came with our decision to get married. (I wanted to get married in the Catholic church but he refused. That should have been the first sign.)
Getting married was probably the last thing that should have been on my mind. I was finally getting help for PTSD and doing well careerwise. I was under the goofball impression that if we sealed the deal that it would enhance the relationship. In the five years that we dated/cohabitated, we went through a few breakups but they always ended the same way. J was passive-agressive. Whenever I was on my way out the door, it was always a bunch of crap:
"You'll ruin my family and the rest of my life. My (insert seasonal holiday here) will never be the same if you leave."
"You're going crazy and don't know what you're doing." (Taking advantage of my past.)
"You really love me and are trying to sabotage your own life."
After almost ten years of emotional blackmail, I figured out the one thing that would keep him from wanting me to stay.
Having an affair was not the proudest moment nor the bravest in my life. I had convinced myself that I loved this man and I actually left my job and moved to another state with him.
At least I didn't have to deal with J's pleading for me to come back.
It hurts my heart to know that I took the coward's way out. I'd like to call or write and ask for forgiveness but there was so much bitterness left in Texas.
I had made the right decision (to leave) but did it in a destructive way; I hurt a lot of people and ruined my reputation. Honesty can be so hard. Even when I had told J that I didn't love him, his refusal to deal with the truth influenced me to take drastic measures.
I'm older and wiser now; it seems like a whole other lifetime. I'm happily married with two beautiful daughters. It's funny because I've read a lot of stats that state that infidelity is habitual. I have no desire to "meet other people". I honestly love my husband with all of my heart and it feels so wonderfully real and genuine.
And there is room for honesty. I can be imperfect most of the time and its finally okay. S has a way of lightening even the toughest of situations and giving me a soft place to lay. In the six years that we've been together, we've only had a couple of arguments. Don't get me wrong, we have lots of disagreements but I've found that dealing with them for what they are, we've been able to work through them.
I think back and find that in my relationship with J, I wasn't who I was supposed to be. One time a friend from work came over and met him.
C: Can I tell you something? Promise you won't take it the wrong way?
Me: Sure.
C: I never would have guessed that you were married to someone like J. You guys don't match.
Me: Wow. Is it that obvious?
C: You don't act like yourself around him either. You're much funnier at work.
Now I had always felt that when it came to intellectual issues, we were great. But I didn't "crave" him. My heart never leapt. I just relied on the belief that you should be friends before lovers. But sometimes even that's not enough.
I am grateful that C was brave enough to be honest with me; I left J about two months after that. It really got me to thinking about how I was living my life and if I was really being honest with the most important person, myself.
I'm grateful that I took a chance and ended up in another state; that's how I met S and now have a pretty decent life.
I'm grateful for blogs; maybe someone will read this and try some self-honesty. Know what you want and do it. Be honest with others and let them know what you really feel; take responsibility for consequences and be courageous to do what is right for you in the right way.
Peace and blessings,
Mon :-)
Saturday, December 03, 2005
Feeling Disconnected
I have not surfed the net from home in almost a week. Why? Because I'm lazy. If you think this sounds kind of stupid, that's because it is! I have a laptop and a little computer/sit at the sofa type set up so I can surf while I watch whatever crap is on t.v. Does that count as multi-tasking if I'm not accomplishing anything twice??
So I just started getting a stupid message "no or little connectivity" but I'm still getting a signal from our wireless network. I went into "Options" and started screwing around with a bunch of stuff. I know just enough to be dangerous. In short, I can't use my laptop for surfing and I don't feel like whining to my hubby to fix it. (I'm sitting at the computer desk to do this and missing SpongeBob. What a horrible tragedy.)
Reading one of my fave blogs, http://cuttingthroughthefat.blogspot.com/, I realized that I'm addicted as well. As long as I surf/veg in front of the t.v., I can just exist in a shallow haze. Only getting up when necessary... to give the kids a bath, get them tucked in, load the dishwasher, and to re-fold the occassional load of laundry. (But I don't put it away, see a previous post.)
When I was at my former school back in NM, I was it! The kids loved my math class. I was the friend that always had something witty to say. I could be counted on to brainstorm some new idea and get it rolling. When we needed a cantor or musician for Mass, I could step in effortlessly. I was the trendsetter... a new haircut or suit would cause a "stir" and others followed. In other words, I was "popular"... Yuck, it sounds SO high school.
Now, I'm "not as popular"... Maybe that's why I'm feeling so old and fat. Most of the people I work with are 10 years younger, a bunch of brilliant hipsters with their cute, short multi-colored haircuts and multiple piercings. Most are unmarried with no children. They go out for happy hours, movies on a whim, mornings at the gym, and weekend trips to Vegas and San Diego. Most of the time, I feel very insecure when I'm at work.
It would be silly of me to think that they don't have their own insecurities or hang ups. There might even be a few that envy my stable, mostly happy homelife and family.
There's a gal that I work with, J, and she is a single mom. I've had the opportunity to get to know her and she's a very sweet person.
Now here's the bad part, I'm presumptuous and arrogant. J invited me and the kids to go to a "Christmas on Main Street" outing on Friday evening. I said sure but in the back of my mind I thought what in the world would we ever have in common. I'm very outgoing and like meeting new people but for some reason, I was feeling "old" and insecure again. I also thought that because she was a single mom that I shouldn't talk about my marriage or family at the risk of sounding like I was bragging. In a nutshell, I was very screwed up in the head!
As I am apt to do, when I'm feeling insecure about a situation, I tend to bow out. Trying to decide what excuse to give J before cancelling, my cell rang. OMG, J was calling to cancel. Now I know what it felt like when I had given others a rain check. I told her that it was okay and that we'd go out another time. In a way, I felt relieved but would now have to explain to the kids that our plans fell through.
A few minutes later, J called back to say that her situation had righted itself and that we could still meet if I wanted. Feeling a bit humbled, I decided that going out and doing something would be much better than vegging out at home another Friday night.
Late in the evening, we ended up at a fast food/playground after the nice stroll among the Christmas music and lights in the brisk night air. As the kids played, we talked about our past and present situations and came to realize that we had a lot in common.
Thinking back on last night, I now know that many times I'm my own worst enemy. I'm so afraid to come out of myself that I miss out on getting to know others and see new things. J is a confident, intelligent young woman and mother with goals and dreams. This only proved that being a mom whose husband works nights and no sitter is not my problem. I spend so much time blaming my situation that I've lost sight of what's really wrong. I'm fixated on myself and how I measure up to others. I'm afraid to go out and live a life, mistakes and heartbreaks included. I need to get off of my arse to make things happen.
In closing, I think back to my own mom. (I'll do other blogs about my strange childhood some other time.) Poor woman suffered from major depression, something that I never understood until I was much older and being treated for my own. When she wasn't working, she was always asleep. I would get so pissed off about not going anywhere or doing anything, just being stuck at home. (That's how I became a decent violinist, nothing else better to do!) I guess I'm just repeating the cycle. How many times in the mind of my 5 year old daughter has she thought "Mom! Get off of that stupid computer and love me! Do something with me; laugh and sing with me, now!!"
I'm grateful that J called me back and that I have a new friend. I'm grateful that I put my girls in the bath and that we are going to get out of the house later. I'm also grateful that God has given us a new day for me to try again and maybe get it right this time.
Peace and blessings,
Mon :-)
So I just started getting a stupid message "no or little connectivity" but I'm still getting a signal from our wireless network. I went into "Options" and started screwing around with a bunch of stuff. I know just enough to be dangerous. In short, I can't use my laptop for surfing and I don't feel like whining to my hubby to fix it. (I'm sitting at the computer desk to do this and missing SpongeBob. What a horrible tragedy.)
Reading one of my fave blogs, http://cuttingthroughthefat.blogspot.com/, I realized that I'm addicted as well. As long as I surf/veg in front of the t.v., I can just exist in a shallow haze. Only getting up when necessary... to give the kids a bath, get them tucked in, load the dishwasher, and to re-fold the occassional load of laundry. (But I don't put it away, see a previous post.)
When I was at my former school back in NM, I was it! The kids loved my math class. I was the friend that always had something witty to say. I could be counted on to brainstorm some new idea and get it rolling. When we needed a cantor or musician for Mass, I could step in effortlessly. I was the trendsetter... a new haircut or suit would cause a "stir" and others followed. In other words, I was "popular"... Yuck, it sounds SO high school.
Now, I'm "not as popular"... Maybe that's why I'm feeling so old and fat. Most of the people I work with are 10 years younger, a bunch of brilliant hipsters with their cute, short multi-colored haircuts and multiple piercings. Most are unmarried with no children. They go out for happy hours, movies on a whim, mornings at the gym, and weekend trips to Vegas and San Diego. Most of the time, I feel very insecure when I'm at work.
It would be silly of me to think that they don't have their own insecurities or hang ups. There might even be a few that envy my stable, mostly happy homelife and family.
There's a gal that I work with, J, and she is a single mom. I've had the opportunity to get to know her and she's a very sweet person.
Now here's the bad part, I'm presumptuous and arrogant. J invited me and the kids to go to a "Christmas on Main Street" outing on Friday evening. I said sure but in the back of my mind I thought what in the world would we ever have in common. I'm very outgoing and like meeting new people but for some reason, I was feeling "old" and insecure again. I also thought that because she was a single mom that I shouldn't talk about my marriage or family at the risk of sounding like I was bragging. In a nutshell, I was very screwed up in the head!
As I am apt to do, when I'm feeling insecure about a situation, I tend to bow out. Trying to decide what excuse to give J before cancelling, my cell rang. OMG, J was calling to cancel. Now I know what it felt like when I had given others a rain check. I told her that it was okay and that we'd go out another time. In a way, I felt relieved but would now have to explain to the kids that our plans fell through.
A few minutes later, J called back to say that her situation had righted itself and that we could still meet if I wanted. Feeling a bit humbled, I decided that going out and doing something would be much better than vegging out at home another Friday night.
Late in the evening, we ended up at a fast food/playground after the nice stroll among the Christmas music and lights in the brisk night air. As the kids played, we talked about our past and present situations and came to realize that we had a lot in common.
Thinking back on last night, I now know that many times I'm my own worst enemy. I'm so afraid to come out of myself that I miss out on getting to know others and see new things. J is a confident, intelligent young woman and mother with goals and dreams. This only proved that being a mom whose husband works nights and no sitter is not my problem. I spend so much time blaming my situation that I've lost sight of what's really wrong. I'm fixated on myself and how I measure up to others. I'm afraid to go out and live a life, mistakes and heartbreaks included. I need to get off of my arse to make things happen.
In closing, I think back to my own mom. (I'll do other blogs about my strange childhood some other time.) Poor woman suffered from major depression, something that I never understood until I was much older and being treated for my own. When she wasn't working, she was always asleep. I would get so pissed off about not going anywhere or doing anything, just being stuck at home. (That's how I became a decent violinist, nothing else better to do!) I guess I'm just repeating the cycle. How many times in the mind of my 5 year old daughter has she thought "Mom! Get off of that stupid computer and love me! Do something with me; laugh and sing with me, now!!"
I'm grateful that J called me back and that I have a new friend. I'm grateful that I put my girls in the bath and that we are going to get out of the house later. I'm also grateful that God has given us a new day for me to try again and maybe get it right this time.
Peace and blessings,
Mon :-)
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