Monday, August 29, 2011
Start your week with a love song
Sitting at Your feet is where I wanna be
I'm home when I am here with You
Ruined by Your grace, enamored by Your gaze
I can't resist the tenderness in You
I'm deep in love with You, Abba Father
I'm deep in love with You, Lord
My heart it beats for You, precious Jesus
I'm deep in love with You, Lord
Humbled and amazed that You would call my name
I never have to search again
There's a deep desire that's burning like a fire
To know You as my closest friend
I'm deep in love with You, Abba Father
I'm deep in love with You, Lord
My heart it beats for You, precious Jesus
I'm deep in love with You, Lord
I'm deep in love with You, Abba Father
I'm deep in love with You, Lord
My heart it beats for You, precious Jesus
I'm deep in love with You, Lord
Lord my redeemer, Your blood runs through my veins
My love for You is deeper than it was yesterday
I enter through the curtain and parted by Your grace
Lord You're the lover of my soul
You're the lover of my soul
I'm deep in love with You, Lord
I'm deep in love with You, Abba Father
I'm deep in love with You, Lord
My heart it beats for You, precious Jesus
I'm deep in love with You, Lord
Lyric, Michael W. Smith - "Deep in Love with You"
Saturday, August 20, 2011
27 minutes
I have had a really tough week. It has to do with several factors -- I started a new job, my little boy started not one, but TWO new schools this week (kindergarten and an after-school program) and we're adapting to a totally new schedule. On top of all that, some pretty major stuff got thrown into my face as it relates to my upcoming divorce settlement. I mean major in a way that would make anyone who truly knows me and what I have been through in the last few years say, "NO, HE DID NOT...."
Yes, he did.
So I'm exhausted. There is a part of me that is very thankful that my son is with his Daddy this weekend, because I'm SO exhausted in every way that I am glad I have a minute to catch my breath. When I'm with Chatterbox, it's all about being strong and reassuring and letting him know that all is right with the world because Mommy will make it so.
I gave myself an hour this morning to be a lump on the couch and drink my coffee, but I had a ton of paperwork to gather in preparation for my response to the craziness that got unloaded on me this week. I set a goal to be done with everything by 4ish so I could go to the pool and soak up some Vitamin D. I once heard that the sun is the best anti-depressant. And after the week I've had, nothing sounded better.
But, as it turns out, I was just finishing up at 5:15. I was dressed in my bathing suit when I went to make some copies at the library, knowing that the pool doesn't close until 8. I could still get my sun-time.
I drove up to the pool at 5:30, ready to enjoy my reward for an excruciating week and a Saturday that in no way resembled a day off. As I walked up to the entrance, I noticed that the window was closed despite the fact that there were still some people at the pool. Then I saw it - new hours posted as of August 15 reflecting a closing time of 6PM.
Oh, snap.
I can't really properly describe the extent of my disappointment. I was looking forward to this all day. Just a little bit of time to close my eyes, lay back, and let the sun melt away the stress of the week. Is that too much to ask?
Apparently.
Well, I was just not having it. They had some kind of nerve closing the front window with 30 minutes left until closing. So, I decided, the HELL with this.
I'm going to the pool. Today. Even if it's just for 27 minutes.
The locker room door wasn't locked. I walked in like I owned the place. Barbie and Skipper, the lifeguards, were in there starting to Lysol the showers. They were chatting about some adolescent nonsense, and on any other day, I might have thought it was sweet. But they both made eye contact with me as I passed, and I could tell that they were about to caution me that closing time was right around the corner.
I very purposefully looked at one, then the other, and gave them the major stink-eye. Don't even try it Barbie. Skipper, I will take you down to Chinatown. I am going to the pool today...I dare you to tell me not to come in.
They picked up on the not-so-subtle non-verbal cues.
I walked right to a lounger, plopped my stuff down, and immediately jumped in the pool. One of my favorite things in the world is floating on my back in the cool water while the sun beats down on my face. I am really good at floating. And it's quiet when your ears are submerged in the water--my own little sensory deprivation chamber except for the sun illuminating the inside of my eyelids.
Then I got out of the pool and laid down on my towel draped across the lounger. Every five minutes, some teenager would announce how many minutes were left until closing. Every time I would hear it, I would smile....just laying there in the sun, palms open to it, soaking it in, letting it burn away the pain of so much forced change on me and my son. Sorry, Barbie and Skipper. I am not leaving this chair until 6:00.
Finally, I forced myself into a sitting position to gather my things with the last of the stragglers. As I walked out the side exit, I saw Barbie in the office, glaring at the few annoying people who were delaying her evening plans.
I smiled and winked at her, just for fun.
As it turns out, 27 minutes is just enough.
Yes, he did.
So I'm exhausted. There is a part of me that is very thankful that my son is with his Daddy this weekend, because I'm SO exhausted in every way that I am glad I have a minute to catch my breath. When I'm with Chatterbox, it's all about being strong and reassuring and letting him know that all is right with the world because Mommy will make it so.
I gave myself an hour this morning to be a lump on the couch and drink my coffee, but I had a ton of paperwork to gather in preparation for my response to the craziness that got unloaded on me this week. I set a goal to be done with everything by 4ish so I could go to the pool and soak up some Vitamin D. I once heard that the sun is the best anti-depressant. And after the week I've had, nothing sounded better.
But, as it turns out, I was just finishing up at 5:15. I was dressed in my bathing suit when I went to make some copies at the library, knowing that the pool doesn't close until 8. I could still get my sun-time.
I drove up to the pool at 5:30, ready to enjoy my reward for an excruciating week and a Saturday that in no way resembled a day off. As I walked up to the entrance, I noticed that the window was closed despite the fact that there were still some people at the pool. Then I saw it - new hours posted as of August 15 reflecting a closing time of 6PM.
Oh, snap.
I can't really properly describe the extent of my disappointment. I was looking forward to this all day. Just a little bit of time to close my eyes, lay back, and let the sun melt away the stress of the week. Is that too much to ask?
Apparently.
Well, I was just not having it. They had some kind of nerve closing the front window with 30 minutes left until closing. So, I decided, the HELL with this.
I'm going to the pool. Today. Even if it's just for 27 minutes.
The locker room door wasn't locked. I walked in like I owned the place. Barbie and Skipper, the lifeguards, were in there starting to Lysol the showers. They were chatting about some adolescent nonsense, and on any other day, I might have thought it was sweet. But they both made eye contact with me as I passed, and I could tell that they were about to caution me that closing time was right around the corner.
I very purposefully looked at one, then the other, and gave them the major stink-eye. Don't even try it Barbie. Skipper, I will take you down to Chinatown. I am going to the pool today...I dare you to tell me not to come in.
They picked up on the not-so-subtle non-verbal cues.
I walked right to a lounger, plopped my stuff down, and immediately jumped in the pool. One of my favorite things in the world is floating on my back in the cool water while the sun beats down on my face. I am really good at floating. And it's quiet when your ears are submerged in the water--my own little sensory deprivation chamber except for the sun illuminating the inside of my eyelids.
Then I got out of the pool and laid down on my towel draped across the lounger. Every five minutes, some teenager would announce how many minutes were left until closing. Every time I would hear it, I would smile....just laying there in the sun, palms open to it, soaking it in, letting it burn away the pain of so much forced change on me and my son. Sorry, Barbie and Skipper. I am not leaving this chair until 6:00.
Finally, I forced myself into a sitting position to gather my things with the last of the stragglers. As I walked out the side exit, I saw Barbie in the office, glaring at the few annoying people who were delaying her evening plans.
I smiled and winked at her, just for fun.
As it turns out, 27 minutes is just enough.
Monday, August 15, 2011
It hurts
I watch my son as he walks ahead of me...excited...smiling...ready.
I know this should make me proud. I know that even if he hits a rough patch today, he will wipe his tears away and recover. I know that he is an amazingly happy, social kid that he will adjust to this change, just as he has with all the others.
I know what the healthy response to this day is. I know I should pat myself on the back that I have prepared him well for this day. I know that all parents survive this moment. I know that he can't be with me forever.
But none of that matters as I watch the blond hairs on the crown of his head bounce like happy dandelions as he walks with purpose just a step ahead of me.
All I know is there is not an ocean big enough that can hold the amount of heartache I feel right at this moment.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Dialogue as heard by a fly on the wall at 8:30 PM
Chatterbox: I'm not sleepy.
Me: I know. But I think if we lay here in your bed and rest for a while, you will get sleepy.
Chatterbox: Is kindergarten tomorrow?
Me: Yes.
(a long silence)
Chatterbox: What happens after kindergarten?
Me: Your teacher will help you go to the right place to wait for the bus we looked at the other day. You will get on the bus, and it will take you to play at Mommy's preschool where I work.
Chatterbox: What is that place called again?
Me: (I say the name)
(Chatterbox repeats it slowly)
Chatterbox: And you will be there?
Me: Yes, because that is where I work now.
Chatterbox: All the time?
Me: All the time. Every day that you have school, I will be there when you get off the bus. I will be waiting for you. As a matter of fact, you will probably see me waiting for you before you even get off the bus. I will wave to you, and you will smile when you see me! Then you will get off the bus and I will give you a big hug and ask you about all the fun things you did at school that day. Then I will take you back to your class there where you can play until it's time to go home. And if you want to peek in my room anytime after that, I think that would be OK.
Chatterbox: Do I have to take a nap there?
Me: No.
Chatterbox: Do I have to take a nap at kindergarten?
Me: They have a rest time just like at your old school. You don't have to sleep, but you do have to rest.
Chatterbox: Do they have cots?
Me: No, you will lay down on a fluffy towel that Mommy is sending to school with you. The one I showed you the other day with your name on it.
Chatterbox: Will the other kids have towels?
Me: Yes. Their mommies will send a special one to school with them too.
Chatterbox: Oh (then a long pause). What about a bell?
Me: A bell?
Chatterbox: Yeah, a bell that tells you when to start.
Me: Oh, yes...I imagine there will be a bell. It will ring to tell the teachers when school starts and again when it's time to go home.
Chatterbox: Will it be loud?
Me: Not too loud. It might be a little loud if you are standing right under it.
Chatterbox: I don't like loud. Where are the bells?
Me: I'll tell you what. When we get there tomorrow, we'll look for the bells to see where they are. Then you can always be prepared.
Chatterbox: OK.
(silence again)
Me: Do you remember what we learned at church today? "A friend loves at all times." I'll bet you will have a chance tomorrow to be a good friend to someone in your class.
(he seems to consider the idea silently)
Me: I'm going to pray tonight that God will give you lots of friends in your class.
(He suddenly puts his head on my stomach and hugs me tightly)
Chatterbox: Did I used to lay on you like this to go to sleep when I was little?
Me: Yes. Yes, you did.
Chatterbox: I love you.
Me: I love you too...so, so much.
Me: I know. But I think if we lay here in your bed and rest for a while, you will get sleepy.
Chatterbox: Is kindergarten tomorrow?
Me: Yes.
(a long silence)
Chatterbox: What happens after kindergarten?
Me: Your teacher will help you go to the right place to wait for the bus we looked at the other day. You will get on the bus, and it will take you to play at Mommy's preschool where I work.
Chatterbox: What is that place called again?
Me: (I say the name)
(Chatterbox repeats it slowly)
Chatterbox: And you will be there?
Me: Yes, because that is where I work now.
Chatterbox: All the time?
Me: All the time. Every day that you have school, I will be there when you get off the bus. I will be waiting for you. As a matter of fact, you will probably see me waiting for you before you even get off the bus. I will wave to you, and you will smile when you see me! Then you will get off the bus and I will give you a big hug and ask you about all the fun things you did at school that day. Then I will take you back to your class there where you can play until it's time to go home. And if you want to peek in my room anytime after that, I think that would be OK.
Chatterbox: Do I have to take a nap there?
Me: No.
Chatterbox: Do I have to take a nap at kindergarten?
Me: They have a rest time just like at your old school. You don't have to sleep, but you do have to rest.
Chatterbox: Do they have cots?
Me: No, you will lay down on a fluffy towel that Mommy is sending to school with you. The one I showed you the other day with your name on it.
Chatterbox: Will the other kids have towels?
Me: Yes. Their mommies will send a special one to school with them too.
Chatterbox: Oh (then a long pause). What about a bell?
Me: A bell?
Chatterbox: Yeah, a bell that tells you when to start.
Me: Oh, yes...I imagine there will be a bell. It will ring to tell the teachers when school starts and again when it's time to go home.
Chatterbox: Will it be loud?
Me: Not too loud. It might be a little loud if you are standing right under it.
Chatterbox: I don't like loud. Where are the bells?
Me: I'll tell you what. When we get there tomorrow, we'll look for the bells to see where they are. Then you can always be prepared.
Chatterbox: OK.
(silence again)
Me: Do you remember what we learned at church today? "A friend loves at all times." I'll bet you will have a chance tomorrow to be a good friend to someone in your class.
(he seems to consider the idea silently)
Me: I'm going to pray tonight that God will give you lots of friends in your class.
(He suddenly puts his head on my stomach and hugs me tightly)
Chatterbox: Did I used to lay on you like this to go to sleep when I was little?
Me: Yes. Yes, you did.
Chatterbox: I love you.
Me: I love you too...so, so much.
Friday, August 12, 2011
Who says there's no more quality children's television?
I recently discovered a great Veggie Tales episode that moves me to tears every time we watch it. Not to go all Roger Ebert on you, but anyone who has a young daughter should make this a mandatory "Must See" as a family. Here is a trailer to the DVD:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QWSM8QeoAXw
This animated short tells the story of Snooderella, and lends a Seussian touch to the traditional Cinderella story with a spiritual context. Snooderella doesn't like her appearance and her Stepsnoodle and sisters just reinforce her insecurities. Her Stepsnoodle arranges for an Stacy-and- Clinton-style extreme makeover and they are all pleased with the result. But even after enjoying tons of attention at the ball, Snooderella still doesn't feel beautiful. She knows that when the clock strikes midnight, she will return to her old appearance. This is an exact transcript of the screenplay from that point:
Alone at the punch bowl, she grabbed a cool drinkAs she sipped from her cup, she started to think,"I guess looking different can cause quite a stir.But am I beautiful, REALLY?" she asked, not quite sure.
"I still don't FEEL pretty," then the clock chimed above,"I still don't feel cherished, or nurtured or loved."Again, there she stood with glasses and braces,Uncontrollable hair and cumbersome graces.
So, back to herself in that hall, all alone,She sat down her cup and turned to go home.Then onto the dance floor walked the King as he said:“Would you like to, my child, hear what I think instead?”
Then the hall filled with music as the King took her hand.She asked, “Your Majesty?...please, I don’t understand.”“I think you’re beautiful,” the King said as he smiled.“I treasure you deeply; you’re lovely my child!
I think you’re beautiful...your hair and your braces,Your glasses and clothes, your cumbersome graces.And many more traits which I could speak of.There’s nothing about you I don’t truly love.
You’re kind and you’re honest, funny and smart.You’re really quite charming...and you have a good heart.”“Your Majesty,” she asked as a tear came in view."I’d like to believe you...is that really true?”
“Of course it is true, every word that I say!Daughter, I am the King, and I made you that way.I delight in your beauty; you’re wonderfully made!I knew you before Earth's foundation was laid.
You’re precious to me, every hair on your head.Daughter, hear and believe,” the Snoodle King said.Then the music grew soft and came to an endWhen the cuckoo above struck twelve once again.
She smiled as she stood in that hall all alone"I'm....beautiful!" she said, and turned to go home.
Now, to end on a note with me once again readingFrom this lyrical tale with a happy beginningWhose middle was wistful and sad to recall,You must hear what happened ever after the ball.
If ever Stepsnoodle or her two sisters grouchedAbout the style of her hair or an ill-fitting blouse,Snoodlerella, she'd shrug...and remember one thing --That one special night when she danced with the King.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
If you can't say anything nice...
OK, so first things first. I have a job! I have accepted an offer as an assistant teacher at a very reputable preschool. It is full-time, the hours are firm, I don't have to take work home with me, and I will be eligible for health benefits in 3 months. The icing on the cake is that my son (I'll be calling him Chatterbox since this is a public, not a private blog) can be in their after-school program and will be in the same building with me every afternoon. How cool is that? I start on Monday - woo-hoo! I have experienced a long period of unemployment in the past (about 8 months to be exact), so I was hoping for the best, but prepared for the worst in this job search. I feel very, very blessed to have found something quickly that I think I will love doing and that will help me in reaching my eventual life goals - more on that subject later.
I immediately shared the news with two of my best friends, who reacted exactly as best friends should. Excited, congratulatory, happy. And, given that a great perk of this job will be brief access to my son each afternoon, I couldn't wait to tell him about this new development too.
I walked into his classroom that day, and he greeted me in his usual fashion...huge smile, screams, "MOMMY!" then takes a running leap into my arms for a bear hug. It is not an exaggeration to say that this is my favorite moment of every day.
So, I couldn't wait to tell him the news, and I thought that his teacher that he has had for the past year would appreciate the awesomeness of the news as well. I do want to preface the rest of the story with this: his teacher (let's call her Debbie Downer in this story) did not know that I have been unemployed for the last two weeks, but she did know that the demands of my job have been extreme over the last year.
"Mommy wants to tell you some great news," I said to Chatterbox as we sat down at one of their little munchkin tables in the classroom. "And I want Debbie Downer to hear it too." (OK, it sounds weird when I use the alias in context, but go with it). "Mommy has a new job that starts soon. I am going to be a teacher at a school like this one, and every day after school, a really cool bus will pick you up from school and then bring you to the school where Mommy works, and you can play there until it's time to go home (as I'm talking, Chatterbox is smiling, trying to put it all together, but clearly happy). And Mommy will be able to see you when you get off the bus and we'll be able to go home together a little earlier!
Then I looked up at Debbie Downer, expecting the same expression on her face, ready to share my excitement with an adult and mother that has not only made the same career choice, but truly cares about my son.
But her face was not happy. It was all squinched up, a tad confused and - dare I say - disappointed.
Without even hesitating, she responded, "I don't know if that is going to be good for either of you. You are really going to have to make some big adjustments financially with that kind of work. If you are going to be a teacher, it would be so much better if you would do something where he could just come straight home from school instead of going to childcare."
I stared at her for a moment, all the joy sucked out of the moment, and seriously considered a strongly worded response. Or a right hook.
Instead, I took a deep breath and responded, "Well yes. That would be better. But that is not the option I was offered. Unfortunately, I don't have the luxury of not working full-time right now."
One would think this would end the conversation. Alas, no.
"I just think this is going to be hard on him. So much change all at once," said Debbie Downer.
"Well, considering I was let go from my job unexpectedly, I really was in a position to be aggressive about finding something else. I am actually happy about this change, because if he has to be in an after-school program, at least I can be right there to check on him whenever I want," I said evenly.
"Oh, I didn't realize you had been let go. Well, I guess that's different." Even more disapproval on the face of Debbie Downer now as she considered what a loser I must be to get myself fired.
No compassion. No, "I'm so sorry that happened." This was just getting more insulting by the minute.
"It's too bad that you didn't apply here. Then at least he could remain in the after-school program someplace that he knows," responded Debbie Downer.
"Um, actually, this was the first preschool that received my resume. I was told that there were no openings," I responded. "But yes, I agree. That would have been ideal."
Then I stood up to leave, because I was having a hard time not bashing her disapproving face right into the bulletin board behind her. She backpedaled a little bit as I moved toward the door, mumbling, "Well that really does put things into a little different light. When one door closes, another one opens..."
But I didn't say anything else as we walked out the door.
As we made the drive home, I tried to let the anger seep out of my pores. Then, inevitably, as it should do with any (semi-) emotionally adjusted person, it turned to something else. The feelings that hide behind anger.
Hurt -- that she somehow doesn't appreciate my intense commitment to weigh every decision in the context of how it will affect my son. Because how could she say things like that to someone that she believes would do what is in the best interest of her child...anything to make him feel loved, safe, and secure? Maybe the fact that she could question my decision (after it's already been made, mind you!) shows what she really thinks of my parenting abilities. And that hurts.
Guilt -- that, despite my good intentions and willingness to make personal sacrifices in order to protect my son or try to reduce the emotional implication of these changes, it's still not enough. Not "good for him." Not "ideal." That cuts especially deep, because it is an echo that started bouncing around the first time I considered leaving my husband and still reverberates powerfully in the dark, quiet corners of my heart. And sometimes, on an unlucky day, I reap the benefits of someone's careless words ramping up the volume on that particular sentiment.
The people that dole out these words aren't bad people, mind you...they are people that genuinely care for me or my son. But they do serious damage purely by not thinking before they speak.
I've been watching a new TV series called Falling Skies. I really enjoy it, not just because I am a sci-fi geek, but because one of its main characters is a single dad with three sons who is trying his best to be a good father while helping to lead the human resistance against the aliens. In the latest episode, he sees his 16-year-old ride off into a battle, tries to comfort his slightly younger son as he grapples with the possibility that he is some sort of alien/human hybrid, AND is trying to decide if it's worse to expose his commanding officer's drug problem or shatter the army's confidence on the eve of battle. The character is played by Noah Wyle, a great actor. He beautifully conveys the panic just beneath the surface for his character as a friend asks him what he is going to do, to which he responds something like, "I'm just trying to survive the next 8 hours."
I can totally relate.
There are no choices that I am faced with these days that end in "and they all lived happily ever after." More often, it involves choosing the lesser of two evils...for instance, the job that puts me in a position to have more quality time with my son versus the job that offers decent pay. Do I use this extra $20 to replace his shoes that are falling apart or to refill a prescription? Do I duke it out with my ex-husband in court to ensure some degree of financial stability over the next 13 years or give in to his stubbornness so we can move on more quickly?
Don't get me wrong. I'm not complaining, truly. On any given day, I am acutely aware that I am rich when compared to most of the world's population. I have a wonderful son, a great family and some true friends. I live in a little house with heat and air-conditioning, and I eat three times a day. And now I have a job! So I know how blessed I am. And I am very thankful.
But I also know what it means to be so battle-worn that you walk around the world like an open wound. How difficult it is to be strong when all you want to do is put your covers over your head and pray for something else. It doesn't even matter if it's good...as long as it's different. To live with the knowledge that your child is hurting and there is not a single decision in the wide world you can make that is going to fix it.
Thank goodness I've done some healing since those feelings began so many months ago. I can weigh the words of Debbie Downer and move on. But it still smarts to have someone say out loud that you're doing a shitty job when you're just doing your best with what you have.
So, I'd like to offer some food for thought. I'm addressing myself as well, because heaven knows I've put my foot in my mouth more than once or failed to see someone with compassionate eyes. What if, when we're talking to a person who seems to be floundering...someone who doesn't have it all together or maybe, by our own estimation, maybe even deserves the turmoil they're in...what if we all decided to spare them our words of wisdom?
What if we reserved our responses to this...
I immediately shared the news with two of my best friends, who reacted exactly as best friends should. Excited, congratulatory, happy. And, given that a great perk of this job will be brief access to my son each afternoon, I couldn't wait to tell him about this new development too.
I walked into his classroom that day, and he greeted me in his usual fashion...huge smile, screams, "MOMMY!" then takes a running leap into my arms for a bear hug. It is not an exaggeration to say that this is my favorite moment of every day.
So, I couldn't wait to tell him the news, and I thought that his teacher that he has had for the past year would appreciate the awesomeness of the news as well. I do want to preface the rest of the story with this: his teacher (let's call her Debbie Downer in this story) did not know that I have been unemployed for the last two weeks, but she did know that the demands of my job have been extreme over the last year.
"Mommy wants to tell you some great news," I said to Chatterbox as we sat down at one of their little munchkin tables in the classroom. "And I want Debbie Downer to hear it too." (OK, it sounds weird when I use the alias in context, but go with it). "Mommy has a new job that starts soon. I am going to be a teacher at a school like this one, and every day after school, a really cool bus will pick you up from school and then bring you to the school where Mommy works, and you can play there until it's time to go home (as I'm talking, Chatterbox is smiling, trying to put it all together, but clearly happy). And Mommy will be able to see you when you get off the bus and we'll be able to go home together a little earlier!
Then I looked up at Debbie Downer, expecting the same expression on her face, ready to share my excitement with an adult and mother that has not only made the same career choice, but truly cares about my son.
But her face was not happy. It was all squinched up, a tad confused and - dare I say - disappointed.
Without even hesitating, she responded, "I don't know if that is going to be good for either of you. You are really going to have to make some big adjustments financially with that kind of work. If you are going to be a teacher, it would be so much better if you would do something where he could just come straight home from school instead of going to childcare."
I stared at her for a moment, all the joy sucked out of the moment, and seriously considered a strongly worded response. Or a right hook.
Instead, I took a deep breath and responded, "Well yes. That would be better. But that is not the option I was offered. Unfortunately, I don't have the luxury of not working full-time right now."
One would think this would end the conversation. Alas, no.
"I just think this is going to be hard on him. So much change all at once," said Debbie Downer.
"Well, considering I was let go from my job unexpectedly, I really was in a position to be aggressive about finding something else. I am actually happy about this change, because if he has to be in an after-school program, at least I can be right there to check on him whenever I want," I said evenly.
"Oh, I didn't realize you had been let go. Well, I guess that's different." Even more disapproval on the face of Debbie Downer now as she considered what a loser I must be to get myself fired.
No compassion. No, "I'm so sorry that happened." This was just getting more insulting by the minute.
"It's too bad that you didn't apply here. Then at least he could remain in the after-school program someplace that he knows," responded Debbie Downer.
"Um, actually, this was the first preschool that received my resume. I was told that there were no openings," I responded. "But yes, I agree. That would have been ideal."
Then I stood up to leave, because I was having a hard time not bashing her disapproving face right into the bulletin board behind her. She backpedaled a little bit as I moved toward the door, mumbling, "Well that really does put things into a little different light. When one door closes, another one opens..."
But I didn't say anything else as we walked out the door.
As we made the drive home, I tried to let the anger seep out of my pores. Then, inevitably, as it should do with any (semi-) emotionally adjusted person, it turned to something else. The feelings that hide behind anger.
Hurt -- that she somehow doesn't appreciate my intense commitment to weigh every decision in the context of how it will affect my son. Because how could she say things like that to someone that she believes would do what is in the best interest of her child...anything to make him feel loved, safe, and secure? Maybe the fact that she could question my decision (after it's already been made, mind you!) shows what she really thinks of my parenting abilities. And that hurts.
Guilt -- that, despite my good intentions and willingness to make personal sacrifices in order to protect my son or try to reduce the emotional implication of these changes, it's still not enough. Not "good for him." Not "ideal." That cuts especially deep, because it is an echo that started bouncing around the first time I considered leaving my husband and still reverberates powerfully in the dark, quiet corners of my heart. And sometimes, on an unlucky day, I reap the benefits of someone's careless words ramping up the volume on that particular sentiment.
The people that dole out these words aren't bad people, mind you...they are people that genuinely care for me or my son. But they do serious damage purely by not thinking before they speak.
I've been watching a new TV series called Falling Skies. I really enjoy it, not just because I am a sci-fi geek, but because one of its main characters is a single dad with three sons who is trying his best to be a good father while helping to lead the human resistance against the aliens. In the latest episode, he sees his 16-year-old ride off into a battle, tries to comfort his slightly younger son as he grapples with the possibility that he is some sort of alien/human hybrid, AND is trying to decide if it's worse to expose his commanding officer's drug problem or shatter the army's confidence on the eve of battle. The character is played by Noah Wyle, a great actor. He beautifully conveys the panic just beneath the surface for his character as a friend asks him what he is going to do, to which he responds something like, "I'm just trying to survive the next 8 hours."
I can totally relate.
There are no choices that I am faced with these days that end in "and they all lived happily ever after." More often, it involves choosing the lesser of two evils...for instance, the job that puts me in a position to have more quality time with my son versus the job that offers decent pay. Do I use this extra $20 to replace his shoes that are falling apart or to refill a prescription? Do I duke it out with my ex-husband in court to ensure some degree of financial stability over the next 13 years or give in to his stubbornness so we can move on more quickly?
Don't get me wrong. I'm not complaining, truly. On any given day, I am acutely aware that I am rich when compared to most of the world's population. I have a wonderful son, a great family and some true friends. I live in a little house with heat and air-conditioning, and I eat three times a day. And now I have a job! So I know how blessed I am. And I am very thankful.
But I also know what it means to be so battle-worn that you walk around the world like an open wound. How difficult it is to be strong when all you want to do is put your covers over your head and pray for something else. It doesn't even matter if it's good...as long as it's different. To live with the knowledge that your child is hurting and there is not a single decision in the wide world you can make that is going to fix it.
Thank goodness I've done some healing since those feelings began so many months ago. I can weigh the words of Debbie Downer and move on. But it still smarts to have someone say out loud that you're doing a shitty job when you're just doing your best with what you have.
So, I'd like to offer some food for thought. I'm addressing myself as well, because heaven knows I've put my foot in my mouth more than once or failed to see someone with compassionate eyes. What if, when we're talking to a person who seems to be floundering...someone who doesn't have it all together or maybe, by our own estimation, maybe even deserves the turmoil they're in...what if we all decided to spare them our words of wisdom?
What if we reserved our responses to this...
Is there anything I can do to help?
Friday, August 5, 2011
Friday Quips and Quotes
So, obviously I'm not an everyday posting kind of blogger. I'm guessing you're OK with that since you're still tuning in.
I've decided to institute "Friday Quips and Quotes," wherein I will offer up wonderfully deep or trivial quotes from TV, film, literature or, occasionally, from my kid. Please accept my invitation to share your thoughts on the quote of the day in the comments section each Friday. Then we will all read each other's comments and nod slowly while staring meaningfully off into space as we contemplate really deep stuff, preferably while wearing a smoking jacket and sipping sherry.
TV Series "Angel," circa 1999:
I've decided to institute "Friday Quips and Quotes," wherein I will offer up wonderfully deep or trivial quotes from TV, film, literature or, occasionally, from my kid. Please accept my invitation to share your thoughts on the quote of the day in the comments section each Friday. Then we will all read each other's comments and nod slowly while staring meaningfully off into space as we contemplate really deep stuff, preferably while wearing a smoking jacket and sipping sherry.
TV Series "Angel," circa 1999:
Spike: I've seen an apocalypse or two in my time...I'd know if one was right under my nose.
Lindsay: Not AN apocalypse...THE apocalypse. What did you think? A gong was gonna sound, tell you to jump on your horses and fight the big fight? The starting pistol went off a long time ago, boys. You're playing for the bad guys. Every day you sit behind your desk and you learn a little bit more how to accept the world the way it is. Here's the rub...heroes don't do that. Heroes don't accept the world the way it is. They fight it.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
A time for everything
"There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven....
a time to tear down and a time to build..." Ecc 3:1,3
I got fired last week.
You would think that a 39-year-old woman would have experienced this before. But I haven't. In all of my adult life, I've never had a boss who wasn't plain ecstatic to have me. Not bragging or anything, just sayin'.
Then I decided to take a sales position. Granted, I took it after months of an unsuccessful job search and out of sheer desperation to escape my marital home. I think I would have shovelled manure if someone had offered me that fine opportunity.
I'm not saying that my experience in sales has been totally unredeeming. I took a position as a community relations director for a senior services company, so it wasn't your stereotypical sales position. I got to spend most of my time relationship-building, which I think is one of my true strengths. And the really awesome part was I got to help the elderly and their families. I have been able to make a real and tangible difference in some people's lives over the last year.
Also, I came to some conclusions. I saw that I loved the helping-people part (which I already knew about myself) but hated the sales quota deal. Not knocking it, because I know businesses have to stay afloat and be profitable. But there was something that felt infinitely wrong about devaluing the time spent with a family to educate them on resources and vital next steps that needed to be made when it didn't result in them becoming a paying customer.
But that's why I guess sales is just not my bag, baby.
So the long and short of it is that I wasn't making my sales quotas, and I got canned. And I have to say that, while the timing stinks, I'm not that upset about it. Because truthfully, I don't want to sell home care for the rest of my life.
And maybe God is trying to get my attention and turn it toward something else.
What that will be, I still am not sure. I am waking up every day making a decision not to panic at the quickly dwindling, already tiny balance in my checking account, and keeping my eyes and ears open for what is next. I do realize that I may have to do some more not-fun jobs to get to where I need to be. And I've decided that that's OK too.
After the last three years of my life and all I have lost, it would be very, very easy for me to become monumentally discouraged at this setback. There are only so many blows to a girl's ego, financial and emotional health and security that she can take, after all.
But there's a funny thing about loss. Life mysteriously unclutters itself. There are things, STUFF, you always thought you needed that suddenly lose their shine, and it gets really simple. What you need is redefined. I'm not saying it is an easy process, to have everything stripped away. Torn down. That it doesn't sometimes feel cruel and unnecessary. But if you know where to lean, it doesn't destroy you. It just changes you.
Have you ever read Ecclesiastes in the Bible? Not to get too preachy on you, but seriously, you should. It is really dark when you compare it to, say, Psalms. But full of truth. Life is not all rainbows and bluebirds. This trips up a lot of people...especially people of faith. Including me. I went through a big-time shake down in my mid-20's when my life got really, really hard. When I look back, that was nothing like what I am experiencing now. But when you're 25, things are a bit more dramatic, and you feel entitled. And I got really, REALLY ticked off about it, because I did everything right. I was a very, very good girl. And my life was still downright falling apart. It was just so unfair.
What a drama queen.
So I decided that HEY, you know what I really should do is tell God what He can do with His I-know-what's-best-for-you-and-my-will-is-perfect-and-maybe-I'm-trying-to-teach-you-something and do it my way.
And that worked out SUPER. That's sarcasm, in case you missed it.
So. I've come to believe some things - you may not subscribe to these beliefs, and that's OK. But this is where my journey has led me:
1) Life is very, very hard. It is not fair. Bad things do happen to good people. I may get to the end of my life and still not understand why these things happened. That sucks.
2) God is smart. Smarter than me, and smarter than my stupid boss. This would make it really dumb on my part not to trust Him. Some days I do a really good job of trusting. Some days I don't. But He loves me either way. When I make really stupid choices in my moments of not trusting Him, He allows me to reap the consequences of my stupidity while still giving me little gifts of redemption to let me know He still loves me and can turn anything around if I will let Him.
3) God never allows suffering for nothing. There is always a reason - always a purpose. I'm not saying I totally understand that, or am even at peace with that. But I do believe that.
Am I happy to be unemployed? Not at all. I spend most of my days either out hand-delivering resumes or filling out applications on line. I am praying my butt off for a new direction to become clear. And listening.
The Bible tells me there is a time for tearing down.
In time, I have to believe that the rebuilding will come too.
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