Today was... a really, REALLY, shitty day.
I slept restlessly after forcing myself to turn off all electronics, lights, and sound at 10:30 pm, and then was up with the alarm at 3:45 am...because, well, WORK. That is, for all intents and purposes (or: intensive purposes; or: in tents and porpoises; if you are of those natures) a total of 5 hours and 15 minutes of actual sleep. Had I actually SLEPT, if you will. So, I maybe averaged a couple of solid hours somewhere in the middle and towards the end of all that.
When the alarm went off at 3:45 I was almost grateful for the permission to get up and out of bed. I started the day, before my feet hit the ground, thanking the universe for my job, for my physical ability to do it, for my mental ability to do it, for the sleep I got (such that it was) and beseeching the powers that be (yo God! Howya doin'??) to be with me in my day and to also be with my family, and #someonespecial. I did see a glorious sunrise on my drive into work and my heart was full. Cue the dope-slap upside my preshus lil' noggin...bless my heart!
I have a new job. Not news...but I am working a day shift, and a very EARLY day shift that is slightly outside of traditional shift hours: like all the truly imperative back door workers! I mean, do you think the actual doctors just show up at the hospital and then plan out who to operate on, who comes first, who has coverage, or who is first and who is last and who didn't show up and who showed up 2 hours early without insurance? Yeah... not a thing. So. My new job. Early. Important...ish. New skills, new management, new co workers, new...vibe. New...did I mention new management? Sigh.
It was a really, really, really shitty day. Some days are like that. Even in, oh... Canada. I mean, maybe... eh? I cried by 8:30 am; for the first time anyway. Oh Canada... do you cry that early too?
Tonight to soothe myself, I got my nails prettied up (cuz when work starts that early, you get OUT of work early also!) then picked up the babysitter (a very tolerant 13 year old whom I pay a kings ransom to) to relieve my underappreciated almost adult daughter (aka Hannah-the-Hero) and while Gman and Wonder-girl played, I made a trip to the local overpriced grocery store and got the fixin's for a special meal just for myself, and a frozen pizza for the short people. Short-er people. Just sayin'.
I sated myself on mozzarella, fresh basil, and my own homegrown tomatoes slathered in balsamic vinegar and a rich and tasty olive oil; and a deep, rich, velvety red wine blend. I ate and ate and... ate more. I licked my plate: no, really, I literally and actually and definitively "licked" my plate; because I was at home, bra-less, and in bare feet and cut off shorts... I mean, it seemed appropriate. But don't tell anyone cuz it might ruin my pristine image! And while I was at the store buying that mozzarella and the wine, I happened upon a discount florist table. *backstory ensues*
All my years in the past, all 40+++ ahem of them... I have killed, maimed, destroyed, and devastated every known houseplant. I have killed the unkillable. I have caused fatal damage to the hearty, to the tolerant, to the...yea even to the false and silk variety. I am ashamed. However, since my grand move of late to this odd second floor/attic level 2 story apartment, I have managed to not just keep, but cause to THRIVE, a handful of destitute and sad flora and fauna. No, I'm serious, all Orchids aside, it must be the exact placement of my dining room window whereupon a handful of previously decrepit (and now thriving) plantlings sit - because I am actually keeping foliage alive and even watching them GROW.
So tonight, in my despair, while mozzarella and wine purchases were happening, I also purchased a new bit of greenery. It was a slightly disheveled little wilty bit, with a tag declaring it was a "Prayer Plant". How could I resist? It was less than a gallon of milk, less even than the bit of Mozzarella I was splurging on. It was a Prayer Plant... was there any other logical option but "purchase"???
I bought it.
I named it.
It is, thus forth, "Lucy".
Oh right, did I mention we'd recently watched the Chronicles of Narnia? No? oh, huh, well... we did. And so... Lucy, Lucy the Valiant. Lucy, who wants to be beautiful and powerful... and actually IS although she just doesn't know it. So today, to offset the shittiness and general crapola, I am focusing on Lucy the Valiant, my newest resident and bit of joy...and my personal goal.
I am focusing on valiant-cy. Is that a word? I say it should be...valiancy. I will be valiant. I will be quiet and determined (although sometimes weepy!) and I will hold growth and joy in my heart. Well, as often as I can at least! And as I bid this shitty day goodbye, I remain steadfastly secure in my gratitude for my job, and for the side hustle that has me transcribing late into the night, and still asking for protection and blessings on my family and on #someonespecial, and trusting the universe (yo! God! you there?) to provide.
Lucy and I, and Gman and Wonder-girl, and Hannah-the-hero all wish you at least a moment of Valiancy, of truth, of bravery, of beauty and trust and glorious sunrise and tangy balsamic vinegar and sweet home grown tomato...of balance. Go... in peace, with God, in light, and in knowledge you are covered by Lucy's infinite love.
Showing posts with label Brave. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Brave. Show all posts
July 9, 2018
October 3, 2016
10/2; Week 9, RIDICULOUS
Nine weeks.
Nine weeks of not working my 8-4, M-F, dress up and make up, income producing job; of running on a tight timeline and alarms and schedules and rushing and driving to work with worry in my heart. Nine weeks of yoga pants and fuzzy socks and no makeup and no alarms and no planned routines.
Nine weeks of processing what it means, what new schedules and routines should (or shouldn't) be, what my expectations are, (and which ones are ridiculous and need to be let go of), of budgeting and counting pennies and planning ahead and negotiating kinks and figuring out what all of this means...to me.
Nine weeks.
Nine weeks of not being rushed off to daycare and being dropped into the midst of bright, noisy, chaos, of bringing lunch and snack and extra clothes and stuffy bear for naptime.
Nine weeks of not missing momma all day, of not fighting over toys, rules, routines; of not being forced to share, no waiting and taking turns; of not being scolded, overlooked, unheard, excluded, and getting negative attention, for just doing what I do; of not having to cry, or hold back feelings, of not feeling safe.
Nine weeks of processing what it means now to be home, what new schedules and routines are in place (or not), what the expectations are (or aren't), of doing things one on one with momma or my sister, of making choices that I want to make and experiencing things fresh and new right in the middle of the day! Like, the library, the movies, story time at the big book store, going to visit friends of momma's, hiking the rail trail and collecting pinecones.
Nine weeks of learning how to ask for what I want, and to ask for what I need like momma is teaching me, and of how to get positive attention, and of hugging and kissing and sitting and staying in and going out and playgrounds and hiking and settling in to the natural ebb and flow of rhythms that work...for me.
Things are falling into place. The universe, or God, is leveling it all out, taking care of us, providing income and time and giving us opportunities to learn from. We've made friends, with each other, as well as with others, and learned how to be bored with each other and how to enjoy each other. A lot of the learning has been on my end, truthfully. I've had to learn a lot about what matters, and what doesn't, and it isn't an easy thing for me. I'm a little older and I've been down this parenting road before but instead of making it easier, it means I kind of have some pre concieved expectations of how this should go. I've been wrong about almost everything.
Things are falling into place. I'm eating good food and checking them off on my food chart so I have enough vegetables and protein. I'm having fun playing superhero's with momma; not as much fun as when my papa plays, but still fun! I'm bored and restless sometimes but momma makes me play with my toys or run around outside and I forget that I'm bored. I think this is how it is supposed to be. I mean, I don't know, isn't this just what everyone else does too?
The one thing I was right about? Quitting my job to stay home with my 4 year old son.
Lately I've heard from more and more parents, and particularly parents of little boys, with stories similar to ours. Daycare providers with rigid expectations hidden behind creative descriptions of "developmentally appropriate routines"; teachers with poor communication skills taking to texting about behavior issues, calling parents out on a 2 year old that hits, or a 3 year old that doesn't want to sit still during circle time. Little boys being called "violent" or "anti-social"; parents being asked to consider psychiatry evals and medication - we are talking about kids as young as 2! As far as my knowledge reaches (a pre-college career of babysitting since age 11, a college education and 4 children, a career in infant development/parenting, and family advocacy) age 2 is still a BABY. Maybe some of those 'babies' are precocious and talking and and seeming to be mini-adults, but they are, by and large, babies. A baby does not have a behavior disorder. Let me be clear. Neither does the average 3 or 4 year old. I am appalled at the stories I've heard. Validated, sure, but appalled.
Griffin has some undesirable behaviors that we are working on, and isn't that what we are supposed to be doing? As parents, but also as teachers in a daycare or preschool, it's about teaching, instructing, leading by example, reinforcing - it's all a process. And because behavior is about feeling and emotion, about situation and circumstance, and a dozen other variables, you can't expect to teach them once and never have to review it again... it is not the same as learning the alphabet or the value of the numbers 1-10. Its about developing the capacity for patience and control: things that aren't in place with toddlers and preschoolers and so "behavior issues" are not issues at all - they are just behaviors.
Developmentally, skill and behavior are always undergoing change, maturation, development. Even adults learn new behaviors and social skills thru workplace training, interpersonal development, and experience. What? Oh, you mean "experience"? Yeah, thats a THING. Skills are developed, manners learned, appropriate interactions taught - through experience. Not thru inherent assimilation. So you can't say that a 3 year old, with only 3 years worth of life skills (and only about 1.5 years of that having any concrete value) is in need of psychiatric evaluation, or professional intervention, until you have put in the actual time and effort of working through those behaviors. Seriously. What has our entire educational system come to that early education workers are feeling like they need to advocate for psychiatric evaluations on BABIES??
Be patient. Be kind. Be accepting. Make no assumptions. Take things as they are - when dealing with tiny children - and be accommodating of the genuine honesty and integrity of small humans... and don't be physically abusive to them...no matter how frustrating and infuriating and discombobulating they might be... they are just learning things, all fresh and new, and practicing them moment by moment. Just love them...ridiculously!
Nine weeks of not working my 8-4, M-F, dress up and make up, income producing job; of running on a tight timeline and alarms and schedules and rushing and driving to work with worry in my heart. Nine weeks of yoga pants and fuzzy socks and no makeup and no alarms and no planned routines.
Nine weeks of processing what it means, what new schedules and routines should (or shouldn't) be, what my expectations are, (and which ones are ridiculous and need to be let go of), of budgeting and counting pennies and planning ahead and negotiating kinks and figuring out what all of this means...to me.
Nine weeks.
Nine weeks of not being rushed off to daycare and being dropped into the midst of bright, noisy, chaos, of bringing lunch and snack and extra clothes and stuffy bear for naptime.
Nine weeks of not missing momma all day, of not fighting over toys, rules, routines; of not being forced to share, no waiting and taking turns; of not being scolded, overlooked, unheard, excluded, and getting negative attention, for just doing what I do; of not having to cry, or hold back feelings, of not feeling safe.
Nine weeks of processing what it means now to be home, what new schedules and routines are in place (or not), what the expectations are (or aren't), of doing things one on one with momma or my sister, of making choices that I want to make and experiencing things fresh and new right in the middle of the day! Like, the library, the movies, story time at the big book store, going to visit friends of momma's, hiking the rail trail and collecting pinecones.
Nine weeks of learning how to ask for what I want, and to ask for what I need like momma is teaching me, and of how to get positive attention, and of hugging and kissing and sitting and staying in and going out and playgrounds and hiking and settling in to the natural ebb and flow of rhythms that work...for me.
Things are falling into place. The universe, or God, is leveling it all out, taking care of us, providing income and time and giving us opportunities to learn from. We've made friends, with each other, as well as with others, and learned how to be bored with each other and how to enjoy each other. A lot of the learning has been on my end, truthfully. I've had to learn a lot about what matters, and what doesn't, and it isn't an easy thing for me. I'm a little older and I've been down this parenting road before but instead of making it easier, it means I kind of have some pre concieved expectations of how this should go. I've been wrong about almost everything.
Things are falling into place. I'm eating good food and checking them off on my food chart so I have enough vegetables and protein. I'm having fun playing superhero's with momma; not as much fun as when my papa plays, but still fun! I'm bored and restless sometimes but momma makes me play with my toys or run around outside and I forget that I'm bored. I think this is how it is supposed to be. I mean, I don't know, isn't this just what everyone else does too?
The one thing I was right about? Quitting my job to stay home with my 4 year old son.
Lately I've heard from more and more parents, and particularly parents of little boys, with stories similar to ours. Daycare providers with rigid expectations hidden behind creative descriptions of "developmentally appropriate routines"; teachers with poor communication skills taking to texting about behavior issues, calling parents out on a 2 year old that hits, or a 3 year old that doesn't want to sit still during circle time. Little boys being called "violent" or "anti-social"; parents being asked to consider psychiatry evals and medication - we are talking about kids as young as 2! As far as my knowledge reaches (a pre-college career of babysitting since age 11, a college education and 4 children, a career in infant development/parenting, and family advocacy) age 2 is still a BABY. Maybe some of those 'babies' are precocious and talking and and seeming to be mini-adults, but they are, by and large, babies. A baby does not have a behavior disorder. Let me be clear. Neither does the average 3 or 4 year old. I am appalled at the stories I've heard. Validated, sure, but appalled.
Griffin has some undesirable behaviors that we are working on, and isn't that what we are supposed to be doing? As parents, but also as teachers in a daycare or preschool, it's about teaching, instructing, leading by example, reinforcing - it's all a process. And because behavior is about feeling and emotion, about situation and circumstance, and a dozen other variables, you can't expect to teach them once and never have to review it again... it is not the same as learning the alphabet or the value of the numbers 1-10. Its about developing the capacity for patience and control: things that aren't in place with toddlers and preschoolers and so "behavior issues" are not issues at all - they are just behaviors.
Developmentally, skill and behavior are always undergoing change, maturation, development. Even adults learn new behaviors and social skills thru workplace training, interpersonal development, and experience. What? Oh, you mean "experience"? Yeah, thats a THING. Skills are developed, manners learned, appropriate interactions taught - through experience. Not thru inherent assimilation. So you can't say that a 3 year old, with only 3 years worth of life skills (and only about 1.5 years of that having any concrete value) is in need of psychiatric evaluation, or professional intervention, until you have put in the actual time and effort of working through those behaviors. Seriously. What has our entire educational system come to that early education workers are feeling like they need to advocate for psychiatric evaluations on BABIES??
Be patient. Be kind. Be accepting. Make no assumptions. Take things as they are - when dealing with tiny children - and be accommodating of the genuine honesty and integrity of small humans... and don't be physically abusive to them...no matter how frustrating and infuriating and discombobulating they might be... they are just learning things, all fresh and new, and practicing them moment by moment. Just love them...ridiculously!
September 19, 2016
Monday 9/19 Week 7; fresh start
If you know me, and I mean know me, you will know that I'm not filling these posts with the nitty gritty hard stuff that has been happening daily. If you know me, you probably have listened to me whine and vent about the nitty gritty; about how hard things are and about the exhausting battle every day of trying to figure out what is going on and what I'm supposed to do about it and how I'm supposed to go about doing it with the resources I have. I don't fill these posts with all of that because it doesn't always reflect well on G and he has had enough people noticing his less than wonderful qualities and doesn't need more of that. My intention was to write about his successes, about how this year healed his hurts, about our journey through it. I didn't realize how much of this journey was going to be about me as much as it is about him, or that it was going to be important to talk about the ugly stuff as well as the pretty stuff (ah, balance, there is that word again!)...because the truth is that any journey is not just the destination, but the path you take to get there.
I have been in a funk and sort of spiraling downwards lately. Parenting is hard, parenting alone is an extra challenge, parenting alone and as a stay at home mom, with a limited circle of support has been a foreign country to me and I am not a very good traveler! It's exhausting to be with G all the time. When I was at home with him in the beginning, it was easy. He was a teensy helpless infant at at first. And then he was an aware and curious and engaged baby. He became a smart, quick thinking, active and funny toddler with a great sense of fun and enthusiasm. Then I went to work. He was 15 months at first, and maintained his adorable inquisitive and happy nature...until he didn't. When he was about 22 months, I began working full time, and have continued at full time up until my last day on August 4th of this year: two years and two months of being away from my son (who is now 4 years and 3 months old) for almost 10 hours a day, every weekday. Just about half his life.
Therefore, I was deliberate in my attention/time with him at every opportunity because my time was limited, a few hours each evening was all we had together aside from the weekend. Every moment counted and I measured it out in increments and made each one matter.
Now that I'm with him 24/7 I keep feeling like I need a break, I need some "me time" and time for some "self care" but I don't know how to get it or when it is going to happen, so - without deliberate intention - I have been emotionally disengaging from him (and from everything) as a way to get a break of some kind. I'm burying myself into scrolling Facebook, checking emails, making lists on Amazon, planning elaborate projects that I will realistically never be able to complete, chatting with friends in a different time zone...and not truly engaging with my son the way I intended, the way I should be, the way he needs me to.
It's a brave choice, what I did, to quit my job and stay home with my hurting son. And wise - a smart choice - to heal my small boy now, instead of trying to heal him later over scars and thick protective walls. But it wasn't necessarily thought out very well. I focused on finances mostly - trying to decide if I actually COULD stay home and still pay my rent and utilities and feed my kids. Perhaps I should have spent an equal amount of time planning out everything else: how much attention he needs, how much 'me-time' I need, and how to balance those; along with his need for mental stimulation and challenge, and for social interaction, and how I was going to meet all those needs all by myself...or IF I could meet all those needs all by myself. Today I am wallowing, smack dab, in a pit of self doubt, of worry, of fear...while my beloved boy asks me "why?" and "how come?" and "how?" and "what does that mean?"on a regular basis. I need time to think about an answer. But there is no time available. I need a re-do, a do-over, a fresh start. There isn't one though. And that is the whole point of this. I can't re-do it, not any of it. I can't just have a "fresh start" or a re-do, I have to just keep going in spite of it all.
So while there is no fresh start, there is this: the ugly messy nitty-gritty dirt of helping a small boy regain trust in adults, relearn boundaries and safety and security, and re-establish hierarchy and rules and the black and white truths that sometimes rules US instead of us ruling them... and so maybe it is a fresh start after all...
Therefore, I was deliberate in my attention/time with him at every opportunity because my time was limited, a few hours each evening was all we had together aside from the weekend. Every moment counted and I measured it out in increments and made each one matter.
Now that I'm with him 24/7 I keep feeling like I need a break, I need some "me time" and time for some "self care" but I don't know how to get it or when it is going to happen, so - without deliberate intention - I have been emotionally disengaging from him (and from everything) as a way to get a break of some kind. I'm burying myself into scrolling Facebook, checking emails, making lists on Amazon, planning elaborate projects that I will realistically never be able to complete, chatting with friends in a different time zone...and not truly engaging with my son the way I intended, the way I should be, the way he needs me to.
It's a brave choice, what I did, to quit my job and stay home with my hurting son. And wise - a smart choice - to heal my small boy now, instead of trying to heal him later over scars and thick protective walls. But it wasn't necessarily thought out very well. I focused on finances mostly - trying to decide if I actually COULD stay home and still pay my rent and utilities and feed my kids. Perhaps I should have spent an equal amount of time planning out everything else: how much attention he needs, how much 'me-time' I need, and how to balance those; along with his need for mental stimulation and challenge, and for social interaction, and how I was going to meet all those needs all by myself...or IF I could meet all those needs all by myself. Today I am wallowing, smack dab, in a pit of self doubt, of worry, of fear...while my beloved boy asks me "why?" and "how come?" and "how?" and "what does that mean?"on a regular basis. I need time to think about an answer. But there is no time available. I need a re-do, a do-over, a fresh start. There isn't one though. And that is the whole point of this. I can't re-do it, not any of it. I can't just have a "fresh start" or a re-do, I have to just keep going in spite of it all.
So while there is no fresh start, there is this: the ugly messy nitty-gritty dirt of helping a small boy regain trust in adults, relearn boundaries and safety and security, and re-establish hierarchy and rules and the black and white truths that sometimes rules US instead of us ruling them... and so maybe it is a fresh start after all...
August 24, 2016
Wednesday 8/24; Day 13
I don't really want to talk about Tuesday. It was not a good day. G really broke down under the pressure of having the other kids around and there was a travel issue that resulted in us keeping the kids for another full day instead of just a few hours. G full on was wetting his pants and even pee-ing all over the floor and wall in the bathroom...twice. The last time he did that was over a year ago when he had just started the daycare where he was mistreated, and after I had gone away for a week to see my brother and G had to stay with his dad for the first time ever. He just could NOT cope. Not then, and not now. It was a very long day. The 5 yr old pee'd in G's car-seat late Monday night after our Chinese food dinner. I don't mean he wet his pants a little cuz he couldn't hold it, that seat was soaked through and half way up the back. The kid flooded it! I took it in stride in the moment, needing to buy another car seat soon anyway, but from late Monday night thru Tuesday, there was just so much pee.. I might have cried a little.
Today, on the other hand, was such a good day. The universe graced us with something to treasure after that hard stretch. I am so grateful.
I had an interview at my old job for a per-diem nights position which would be perfect. G would sleep while I was gone, either at his dads or at home with big sister H, and about 6 shifts a month would keep me afloat financially. It was in a department that is closely tied to the one I just left so I already know about 1/2 of the staff and as I was touring the unit with the manager, I got to exchange 'hello's' and 'good to see you's' with several doctors/nurses/admins. It was fun. Then I spent another hour visiting my friends from when I worked there. I miss those friends so much. Their support for my decision to leave and take care of G was really heart warming and helped me feel really good about my choice.
When I got home, G was still chillin' in his pj's and watching tv with H. I had left strict instructions that he could just do what he wanted, no need for getting dressed or limiting tv and H took me at my word. She hadn't gotten dressed either! G and I had some lunch together and then we took a nap together. I was a little worried about him, his face looked kind of drawn and pale and his eyes looked heavy. He was either getting sick, or was still stressed out from the past few days. He giggled and talked and snuggled and kissed his way thru the first 10 minutes of laying down with me and then he passed out and snored for almost 2 hours. I slept too - as I said back on day 9 - social interactions can drain me and a nap is usually in order afterwards.
When we woke up, I could see that G looked so much better. He just needed the nap and the snuggles. I figured some fun time was in order so we decided to have an adventure. We got dressed in play clothes and decided on a "hike". Some of you might see small kids hiking actual mountain trails but for me and G, a walk on the nice flat paved rail trail is more our speed, especially when we planned for an ice cream afterward! We drove to the local rail trail head and G carried his 'stuffy bear' and the water, and a couple of important toys in his bat man string bag because...well, you never know when you might need your stuffy bear or your blue marble or your transformer guy.
Walking hand in hand with my sweet sweet boy was such a healing activity for us. He chatted and chatted and chatted and I let his voice wash over me in waves. His little hand in mine was like a weight that grounded me to reality, and purpose, and intention. The solid crunch - crunch - crunch of our feet on the gravel road was a backdrop to some other music being made by our conversation. It was awesome. We collected some acorns and decided they looked like little heads wearing caps. Later on we drew faces on them and made a family. We found a large strip of white beech bark that was cool and we added that to our collection. We saw little hidey-holes at the bases of some trees where chipmunks (or snakes or alligators or dinosaurs maybe!) lived, and listened to the different sounds of crickets and cicadas and birds all around us.
Underlying all of this beautiful time though, was the increasing fear prickling at my senses. A few weeks ago a woman was murdered in broad daylight, on a sunny afternoon, a few miles from me, and all in about a 3 hour timespan of when she went missing to when she was found. It was a horrible horrible crime and I've been sort of irrationally fearful ever since. As soon as G and I started walking I started thinking about it. Started thinking about this woman, abducted in broad daylight on a populated road where she'd been jogging, and how alone I was, there with G. Also, I had inadvertantly chosen a side trail, a dirt bike trail, and not the paved and populated walking trail so it was deserted, which I didn't know until much later. While I felt a little creeped out, I was ok until a bicyclist came by. I made eye contact with the guy, and had my 'serious' face on, and kept my eyes on him the entire time but G was all smiles. "Hi guy! Hiiii!" and waving. Biker guy smiles and replies. All I can think is: he's not sweating, shouldn't he be sweating?why isn't he sweating?what if he's not really a biker? But he kept going up the hill and all I could do is start praying. I prayed for protection, but also for peace of mind. I do not want my happy friendly boy to start being fearful of strangers. I want him to be cautious, but I want to keep that spirit of open friendliness in him. Its not my nature really, I am naturally fearful and cautious, so I adore and value his enjoyment of others. I like that in his character. But as a single woman alone on a deserted trail, I was scared. As G and I walked, my inner alarms were going off like crazy but I still felt really responsible for creating a sense of peace for G. It was exhausting to do that much battle internally. I wonder if that is a feeling he used to have everyday at daycare (or even during our time with the nanny kids): the struggle of knowing how to behave, and the fear of what could happen if he didn't behave, combined with not always knowing how OTHER kids were going to behave and therefore change the circumstances, and how little control he had over it. It take a tremendous amount of energy to carry that. As we reached the start of the trail, I saw the actual paved trail off to the left and had a moment of "duh!". G wanted to explore that one too, so off we went. I might be scared, but I'm also brave. I think the concept I adhere to is that being brave is being scared but doing something anyway. I also like to think that everytime I'm brave, I'm setting an example for G.
When we finally made it back to the car. I asked G what was the best part of our walk and he said two things: walking along the 'clifft' (yep, cliffT!) and seeing the bike riders. He particularly liked the "three wheeled bike" we saw, a recumbent bike being ridden by an older man who did NOT look like he enjoyed it.
An ice cream was our next stop and sitting outside in the sunshine while G became progressively covered in chocolate ice cream was probably my favorite part of the day. Being safe, being happy, being together, sharing something so simple and just watching my son greet every person that walked by us on their way to get their own ice cream was such a treasure to my heart. Thank you universe, and God, and angels, for keeping us safe.
My boy went to sleep tonight after dinner and a long warm tubby, and said, "this was my bestest day in forever!". Mine too pal, mine too.
Today, on the other hand, was such a good day. The universe graced us with something to treasure after that hard stretch. I am so grateful.
I had an interview at my old job for a per-diem nights position which would be perfect. G would sleep while I was gone, either at his dads or at home with big sister H, and about 6 shifts a month would keep me afloat financially. It was in a department that is closely tied to the one I just left so I already know about 1/2 of the staff and as I was touring the unit with the manager, I got to exchange 'hello's' and 'good to see you's' with several doctors/nurses/admins. It was fun. Then I spent another hour visiting my friends from when I worked there. I miss those friends so much. Their support for my decision to leave and take care of G was really heart warming and helped me feel really good about my choice.
When I got home, G was still chillin' in his pj's and watching tv with H. I had left strict instructions that he could just do what he wanted, no need for getting dressed or limiting tv and H took me at my word. She hadn't gotten dressed either! G and I had some lunch together and then we took a nap together. I was a little worried about him, his face looked kind of drawn and pale and his eyes looked heavy. He was either getting sick, or was still stressed out from the past few days. He giggled and talked and snuggled and kissed his way thru the first 10 minutes of laying down with me and then he passed out and snored for almost 2 hours. I slept too - as I said back on day 9 - social interactions can drain me and a nap is usually in order afterwards.
When we woke up, I could see that G looked so much better. He just needed the nap and the snuggles. I figured some fun time was in order so we decided to have an adventure. We got dressed in play clothes and decided on a "hike". Some of you might see small kids hiking actual mountain trails but for me and G, a walk on the nice flat paved rail trail is more our speed, especially when we planned for an ice cream afterward! We drove to the local rail trail head and G carried his 'stuffy bear' and the water, and a couple of important toys in his bat man string bag because...well, you never know when you might need your stuffy bear or your blue marble or your transformer guy.
Walking hand in hand with my sweet sweet boy was such a healing activity for us. He chatted and chatted and chatted and I let his voice wash over me in waves. His little hand in mine was like a weight that grounded me to reality, and purpose, and intention. The solid crunch - crunch - crunch of our feet on the gravel road was a backdrop to some other music being made by our conversation. It was awesome. We collected some acorns and decided they looked like little heads wearing caps. Later on we drew faces on them and made a family. We found a large strip of white beech bark that was cool and we added that to our collection. We saw little hidey-holes at the bases of some trees where chipmunks (or snakes or alligators or dinosaurs maybe!) lived, and listened to the different sounds of crickets and cicadas and birds all around us.
Underlying all of this beautiful time though, was the increasing fear prickling at my senses. A few weeks ago a woman was murdered in broad daylight, on a sunny afternoon, a few miles from me, and all in about a 3 hour timespan of when she went missing to when she was found. It was a horrible horrible crime and I've been sort of irrationally fearful ever since. As soon as G and I started walking I started thinking about it. Started thinking about this woman, abducted in broad daylight on a populated road where she'd been jogging, and how alone I was, there with G. Also, I had inadvertantly chosen a side trail, a dirt bike trail, and not the paved and populated walking trail so it was deserted, which I didn't know until much later. While I felt a little creeped out, I was ok until a bicyclist came by. I made eye contact with the guy, and had my 'serious' face on, and kept my eyes on him the entire time but G was all smiles. "Hi guy! Hiiii!" and waving. Biker guy smiles and replies. All I can think is: he's not sweating, shouldn't he be sweating?why isn't he sweating?what if he's not really a biker? But he kept going up the hill and all I could do is start praying. I prayed for protection, but also for peace of mind. I do not want my happy friendly boy to start being fearful of strangers. I want him to be cautious, but I want to keep that spirit of open friendliness in him. Its not my nature really, I am naturally fearful and cautious, so I adore and value his enjoyment of others. I like that in his character. But as a single woman alone on a deserted trail, I was scared. As G and I walked, my inner alarms were going off like crazy but I still felt really responsible for creating a sense of peace for G. It was exhausting to do that much battle internally. I wonder if that is a feeling he used to have everyday at daycare (or even during our time with the nanny kids): the struggle of knowing how to behave, and the fear of what could happen if he didn't behave, combined with not always knowing how OTHER kids were going to behave and therefore change the circumstances, and how little control he had over it. It take a tremendous amount of energy to carry that. As we reached the start of the trail, I saw the actual paved trail off to the left and had a moment of "duh!". G wanted to explore that one too, so off we went. I might be scared, but I'm also brave. I think the concept I adhere to is that being brave is being scared but doing something anyway. I also like to think that everytime I'm brave, I'm setting an example for G.
When we finally made it back to the car. I asked G what was the best part of our walk and he said two things: walking along the 'clifft' (yep, cliffT!) and seeing the bike riders. He particularly liked the "three wheeled bike" we saw, a recumbent bike being ridden by an older man who did NOT look like he enjoyed it.
An ice cream was our next stop and sitting outside in the sunshine while G became progressively covered in chocolate ice cream was probably my favorite part of the day. Being safe, being happy, being together, sharing something so simple and just watching my son greet every person that walked by us on their way to get their own ice cream was such a treasure to my heart. Thank you universe, and God, and angels, for keeping us safe.
My boy went to sleep tonight after dinner and a long warm tubby, and said, "this was my bestest day in forever!". Mine too pal, mine too.
August 17, 2016
Wednesday August 17: Day 8
I have a "one time" nanny position for another single mom who is traveling on business and isn't comfortable leaving her kids with the regular college student nanny she employs. It's two separate time periods this month and we've done our "playdate/interviews" and chatted a lot but last night she let me know her regular nanny was very sick and asked if I could cover some time this week before our already scheduled trip-time. I am not about to turn down money, obviously, so I said yes. Today G and I picked up our new short friends and we went to see a summer-only $1 movie special at 10am. What fun! We saw a great movie, had an enjoyable experience and then got to hang out and have free-play time together. It was very successful and bodes well for tomorrow, Friday, and for our first big "trip-time" which starts on Sunday.
If you get the chance to see Cloudy With A Chance of Meatballs 2? Do it! What a cute movie! Please - I'm not a movie critic, I'm not into filmography or plot lines or "between the lines" meanings... I'm all about visual entertainment and soundtrack, and subtle adult humor, and plain old fun; and this movie gave it all.
This morning was busy with income producing activity, and then this afternoon was the opposite. I pleaded with my oldest son to babysit so that I could go with H to a college orientation. Scurrying through the afternoon to pack up a lunch and toys and squeeze in a brief nap before dropping off G to his big brothers hands meant almost no down time for me. The orientation went well - very well - at least from a parenting standpoint - and leaving G with his big brother went about as well I had expected which was not very well at all. And all of it was costly.
Overall, G staying with his big brother is fine. N started babysitting regularly for G when he was just 16 and when G himself wasn't even a year old. At that time, it was a really tender and safe experience for the both of them. It's different now though. N keeps him safe, follows most of my instructions, and at the end of it all I have two live, happy, smiling boys. The interim is up for debate though. N said that G punched him in the face. Now, picture if you will a 6'2" gangly goofball, musician, poet, tender soul, rambunctious man-child being punched by a 36" scrawny 32lb 4 year old... and somewhere in your momma heart, you wonder, "why?" Why does he feel like hitting? What happened that led up to it? Why did he feel that punching was an appropriate or necessary action? I asked him. I asked him in a variety of different ways with no good response and finally I said to him, "I'm sorry if you felt scared and needed to punch N to feel safer, I'm sorry I wasn't there for you to make you feel safe" and he totally folded. "Momma, I missed you and I needed you! Why did I not come with you? How come I couldn't stay with you? I did the last time! I wanted to be ONLY with you!" My heart shattered into a million pieces as I looked into his big brown eyes - a mirror of my own in fact - and tried to explain.
"I can't always be with you, buddy, sometimes I have to leave you with your brother or sister or someone else, but I will always try to leave you with someone that loves you and keeps you safe!" He wasn't buying it though. "But why? Why can't you be with me? I neeeeeeed you!"he wailed...and tears leaked down his cheeks. Those pink baby cheeks... How I was able to keep my own tears from falling, and my own voice from breaking, I will never know. Because he is right. He does need me. And because I was wrong - I haven't always left him with someone who keeps him safe... and he knows it. I am a liar in his eyes. There is so much trust to rebuild. And in the meantime, he has a powerful Right Hook so, watch out! If his momma won't (or can't) keep him safe, he's gonna go down trying to keep himself safe.
He's so fucking brave and he's my hero.
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