jubyred

Start Today Tomorrow

I have been scoping out a new counselor since Gail, my mental health professional's schedule no longer works with mine.  I had considered going back and checking in with her a few months ago, but my work schedule was all over the place at the time.  Now I have Friday afternoons off, so I thought I'd give it a go. But, no.  Gail ain't around on Fridays.  After spending a little time on the ole interweb, I emailed a couple counselors near me and asked some basic questions like, "Can I see you on Fridays and do you take my insurance?"

I gotta tell you, looking for someone to spill your guts to is a very odd experience.  I'd like a woman.  Preferably someone older than me who sort of "gets it."  Instead, I have come across a lot of very pretty girls who have been out of college for about 2 years.  Uh, no fucking way.

Or, I see a lot of creepy looking older men who look very "sensitive."  Yuck.

Basically, I want Gail.  And I'm pissed that she won't work for me now.

I did get a call back from Helen who said she might be a good fit for me because she is in the office on Fridays AND she takes United Health Care.  Unfortunately, Helen had a couple links under her email signature which I clicked on.  It seems Helen and her husband are really into life coaching and hypnosis and blue skies and something called "laughing yoga."  Helen wears a lot of turquoise jewelry and her husband is very into "personal growth."  This kind of counseling may work well for some people, but I'm not sure this is where I need to be. 

My general counseling stance is as follows: I show up and kind of lie about most things and I'd like someone who is smart enough to know it's a crock.  Really, I'd say that's what most people do.  I need some pertinent questions and some actual answers.  I don't need crystals or hypnosis or some bullshit like how I'm supposed to see the positive side of things.  If I could see the positive side of things, wouldn't I have already done that?

Anyway, my point is that I am working on it.  Working really hard on getting it all together.  Gonna get right on that.  Soon. 

Sunday Morning Coming Down

Ever have one of these days?

For my dear pregnant friend who now gets to sleep in on Sundays and snuggle and have lots of fun sex and go to breakfast and then come home and nap...As you're watching this keep in mind the four (five?) glasses of wine I drank the night before:

Doggie Paddlin'

To this day, my mother tells the story of dropping me off at college and crying all the way home.  She said that was the day it sunk in that I was really gone.  In August, BoyChild starts kindergarten and I am already a mess. 

BoyChild started at Montessori school when he was three in a half-day program.  He attended from 8:30 until noon and I spent my day juggling his sister's schedule around dropping him off and picking him up.  But he never looked back.  He never cried when I dropped him off.  Not even the first day.  And he was never ready for me to pick him up.  He always had more to do at school. 

When he was four, he started attending the full day until 3:00 and we rolled like that for three months until I went back to work.  Given my work schedule and the proximity of his school, we decided with mixed emotions to put him in a private pre-k class that was en route to my office.  In addition, GirlChild could attend in the Preschool class.

We have loved the school, expensive though it is, and were thrilled to hear that they would be kicking off their first private Kindergarten class starting August 2007.  In our new neighborhood, they are building a brand new elementary school, but its completion date is Fall 2008, so this worked out perfectly.  he could just stay put for one more year then start first grade with his neighborhood friends.

The last week of classes in our school district, BoyChild's current school told us that they did not have enough children register for their Kindergarten class so they would not be offering it.  All the other Pre-K kids would be attending elsewhere (their designated public schools), so we would need to find another option.

Shit shit shit.

Basically, what this means is that he will be attending the current designated elementary school for our neighborhood for Kindergarten and then transferring to the new elementary school starting in first grade.  It means that he will be riding the bus with fifth graders down major highways, will be in a big school with open, unlocked doors and hundreds of strangers will suddenly have access to him.  Then will take another bus to his sister's school where we will pick him up after work.  Jesus.

So, I called up this elementary school and told them I wanted to visit (remember, it's the last day of classes before summer) and they transferred me to the counselor who informed me that they don't do tours of the school while students are there.  So, I called the Principal and very nicely explained that it was imperative for me to be there when the students were there.  She reluctantly gave in and invited us to meet with her.  Of course, I showed up with three pages of questions ranging from curriculum to school safety and food allergies.  I hate to be one of those mothers, but I am one of those mothers.  And then we got the tour.

All in all, it looks like a very nice place.  I haven't been in an elementary school in a very very long time, so that part was strange.  Somehow, it smelled the same.  The classes all lined up in straight lines walking through the hallways.  Bulletin boards with stiff borders and cutesy phrases like, "Spring into Summer!"  It was actually very sweet.

But still, it's a bit overwhelming.  It feels like I'm just throwing him in the lake and hoping he catches on to doggie paddling in enough time. 

When he got home from school that day, I sat him down and explained to him that he'd be going to a new school for Kindergarten this Fall.  his reaction?

"Yeah!  I can't wait!"

A La Mode

IT has been exactly 9 weeks since I've seen Gail, my Mental Health Professional.  I wonder if she misses me.  If she thinks I might have jumped off the bridge and that's why I haven't called to make my next appointment.

Actually, the last time I saw her, she voiced some concern that Drew wasn't coming in with me.  She thought it spoke volumes that we tag teamed counseling.  I mean, it's not like we're in "marriage counseling," as in we have marital issues to discuss.  But I guess my issues are his issues and vice versa, so, I get her point.  Every time I attempt to explain that going anywhere together without our children requires a fucking act of Congress, she makes it seem like I'm just not trying hard enough.

I get that a lot. 

Let's see...my in-laws live an hour away and have busy social lives.  If they take the kids, it's one at a time and usually for a couple hours in the morning on a weekday and involves a lot of driving and arranging.  I have placed ads in the paper, have interviewed some scary locals, have attempted to organize some sort of child care co-op in my neighborhood, started a local mom's group, and enrolled BoyChild in school as a devious plan to secure some much-needed play dates.  And no dice.

In any case, we tend to take turns seeing Gail, My Mental Health Professional and the last time I saw her, I told her Drew would be calling to arrange the next visit.  That was over 2 months ago.  I think he's feeling pretty mentally healthy these days, so it hasn't really been on his radar.

As for me, who the hell knows?  Counseling is a weird thing.  I did a brief stint in college after my boyfriend dumped me and I was a pathetic mess of a twenty something girl.  And I remember at the time thinking how odd it was that, basically, I was just sitting there telling this guy what a fucking loser I was and it was his job to convince me I wasn't.  Or something like that.  Meanwhile, he is just this person--with all his own shit going on.  Like, he very well may have slept on the couch last night.  He may have some weird foot fetish or he may be compulsively straightening the fringe on the rugs in his house.  But we don't talk about that.  Not knowing a thing about him, really, I was supposed to sit there once a week in the counseling center at my college and listen to what a worthy and valuable person I was in spite of the  fact that my stoner  ex-boyfriend found me needy and high-maintenance.   

So, part of me thinks I should go back and see Gail, my Mental Health Professional in an attempt to make some headway into whatever my "issues" are.  But then part of me is feeling like, no matter what, it's just her opinion, and really, what is she going to SAY that's going to make any difference at all?  I tell her I feel guilty everytime I leave my kids.  She says that I shouldn't.  I tell her I feel isolated and disconnected from the world sometimes as a SAHM.  She says to get involved.  I tell her that I never get time with my husband.  She tells me to find some childcare because that's really important.

See where I'm going with this?

I don't know what I expect exactly.  For now, I'm just kind of blindly riding this weird wave of self-denial.  Getting through one day at a time and trying not to think too much.  It's been working in an odd way for the past few months.  It reminds me of the week after Christmas when everyone is fat and winding down and thinking ahead to the New Years goals when we're all going to finally get back to the gym and stop eating so much pie.  I can see that at some point, I'm going to have to do it.  Just not super motivated right now.  It feels like I'm stuck on December 28th.

Once the job sitch is finalized, hopefully in the next 2 weeks, then I'll have to get into gear about moving and family goals and where in the hell we're going on this big journey.  Maybe then I'll go see Gail, my Mental Health professional and try to get back on some course. For now, I'll just have another slice of pie.

Today's Mental Health Lesson

Today was my 8 month anniversary with Gail, my mental health professional.  Eight whole months.  Sheesh...you'd think I'd have it together by now.  Or at least be on some mind-numbing medication.  But no...still a nut job and still handling it on my own.

And oh, what a week it's been.  Usually, Gail, my mental health professional,  and I chat for exactly one hour about twice a month.  Lately, there have been some long stretches in there because of (what else?) child care issues.  In fact,  really the ONLY reason I can see Gail, my mental health professional, at all is because she has Saturday appointments every 2 weeks.  She also agreed to see me for $60 a pop before Drew was hired permanently and before we had "mental health" insurance coverage. 

Way back in July, I was suffering from a bad case of what I like to call FMS or Frantic Mom Syndrome.  Gail, my mental health professional likes to call it Generalized Anxiety Disorder.  I wish it had a nicer name that didn't include the word "disorder" in it, but whatever.  She's the mental health professional.  Basically, it's a three-word description for that completely scattered/overwhelmed/worried/manic thing that I'm pretty sure most mothers feel most of the day (the ones who aren't sobbing/weepy/catatonic/hopeless).  My "disorder" felt frenetic and I was having a really hard time knowing how to shut it off.  I was having dreams that my final exam in calculus was coming up and I couldn't remember the combination to my locker to get my book so I could quickly try to learn calculus.  Even in my sleep, it continued. 

Well, next thing you know, Drew and his family decide that after years of competing with the Cunninghams, the Cleavers, and the Bradys for Happiest Godamn Family of the Year Award, they'd take this opportunity, the same damn month I'm having my own little mental breakdown, to start dealing with their  issues.  They thought this was the perfect time to start delving into the dark parent/sibling corners and with all the issues no one talks about in families (all the regular family relationship shit the rest of us are steadily trying to ignore or deny.)  So, my appointments with Gail, my mental health professional became Drew's appointments with Gail, my mental health professional.  Drew and I have always held onto the philosophy that only one of us can be mentally unbalanced at a time.  So, I held it together knowing my turn to be insane was right around the corner. 

By the time it got back to me, I was trying to remember where I was or what the problem is.  My FMS has subsided a great deal, certainly.  I must say, blogging has helped-having an outlet.  But I've also made a concerted effort to get myself back on the list of important people in this family.  In retrospect, that's what had happened around here.  I had fallen off the list completely.  I think it's so easy, especially if you don't have another job to go to every day.  Given where we live and the fact that BoyChild hadn't started school yet, I was in this house all day everyday with nowhere to go and nothing to do and with nothing happening for days and weeks and months on end.  It's no wonder I was a bit "touched." 

So, today I sat on "the couch" and was trying to think of something to talk about with Gail, my mental health professional.  The conversation started going where it always goes--I told her how this morning I woke up, got dressed, put on lip gloss, put on real clothes that snap and zip (not yoga pants and a t-shirt).  I listened to real music in the car.  I stopped and got myself a $4 coffee.  I was a normal person for a few hours.  I felt good.  And I felt guilty about it.  Here it was, a beautiful Saturday morning and Drew was home with the kids and I was gone--again.  I'm either too entrenched or I'm missing. 

And here's what she told me...

Even Jesus needed time to refuel.  It is that sacred.  People would go to him and say, "Hey...what about those folks over there?  What are you gonna do for them?"  And Jesus would say, "Nope...I gotta stay right here and pray right now.  I'll get back to you when I'm done. "

I understand that Christ wasn't out getting his hair highlighted or shopping for a new pair of shoes.  And I'm sure he'd think $4 was way too much for a Grande Iced Decaf Caramel Macchiato, but I got what Gail, my mental health professional was saying.   If it's good enough for the J-man, it's good enough for me. 

The Hike

The clan ventured out  yesterday mostly for the benefit of , I think, Mommy's mental health.  I had a slight mental breakdown/pity party Friday night which  led me to utter such famous SAHM phrases as:

1.    I feel like I’m drowning
2.    It’s like I don’t even exist as a person anymore
3.    I can’t even remember who I am
4.    I feel like I am an employee of everyone in this house

As Drew sat there on the bed handing me tissues and listening to my sob session with a concerned look on his face, he  insisted I leave the house immediately and engage in some non-kid, non-Mommy, Shannon fun time.  Oh, ok...if you insist. 

So I went out last night and ate dinner and wandered aimlessly thorough shoe stores and ate sushi and enjoyed several cocktails and got to hang out with my girls and now I feel (somewhat) normal again (whatever that is).  I went on and on for hours about how I'm moving far away which made me feel much better.  I gotta have a dream, you know?

Funny how all I do is beg for a break and then I couldn't get home fast enough to peek in on them sleeping soundly.  They were wiped out after a day of throwing rocks in the creek and swinging in the sun.

Ok, Ok

Sorry about Lil Miss Grumpy Pants.  Part of the job description of being a SAHM, I guess. 

It's funny-you read and hear all about it.  In one ear and out the other.  It lands in the same place in your brain that all that "your body will never be the same" stuff lands when you're pregnant.  You think, "Oh, not ME.  I won't be gaining any sixty pounds!  My boobs won't be affected by breastfeeding. "  Also right up there with "My kids won't be watching tv" and "I would never allow my child to get away with that." 

Never say Never.

So, when I heard about the monotony and the overwhelming and taxing emotional drain that being NEEDED 24/7 can do to a person, I thought, "Nope.  Not me.  I have a LIFE. "  I had romantic ideas that our children would just fit right into our little world like a puzzle piece.  I suppose a lot of people have that idea.  It's what they tell you to do now along with avoiding honey and eggs for a year. 

But the reality is so different.  After all, I quit my job.  At the same moment I was adjusting to leaking boobs and sleepless nights, I was adjusting to half the income, little adult contact, and way more dishes in the sink.  It was my choice and I am not complaining.  (Am I complaining?)  I just mean that there was no way our children were going to just magically fit into a settled life because our life was unsettled and it was because of the changes we made to fit the baby into our life.  Good.  So that's clear.

It's the constant struggle-to be a mother who is actually a person first.  I am in and out of that struggle constantly.  I need my children to know (and God, I need to know) that there is more to me than filling sippy cups and tying shoes.  But when your day is filled to the gills with that, it's hard to know where to begin.  It's hard to remember who you were before when you spend all day as your alter-ego.  It's difficult to find the energy to determine who you want that person to be and how in the hell to execute it. 

I am one of the lucky ones.  I am married to someone who understands that and is supportive of whatever it takes for me to find that balance.  Some days I manage it better than others.  I have girls' nights and time away from home without Cheerios being flung at the back of my head.  I get to sleep in on weekends and disappear to write once Drew walks in the door. 

The irony is something I am so aware of--palpably aware of every moment...that this is fleeting.  That my frustration of constantly being needed is slowly but surely coming to an end.  Not today or tomorrow, but everyday. Little by little.  Soon BoyChild will tie his own shoes.  Soon GirlChild will be potty trained.  They will feed themselves and make their own decisions and drive away and the solitude I crave will surely come in a heartbreaking and empty form. 

Be careful what you wish for.

And so, I try.  Like all parents, I try so hard to burn it into my memory and appreciate it.  I try not to wish so hard that she would sleep for ten more minutes or that he would stop singing that song for the thousandth time.  I try not to wish that I could get up off the floor and stop playing trains for just ten minutes because the day will soon come when that wish will come true. 

And who will "Mommy" be then?

is it Me?

Ok, is it me?  Am I the only mother in the world who has had it UP TO HERE with spending ALL DAYplaying cars and trucks, kissing the baby doll, sweeping crumbled crackers off the floor, and sitting on the floor?  Am I the ONLY one who would like, for ten minutes, to inhabit an honest-to-God piece of furniture and, oh, say, do something that isn't directly to benefit another person?  Am I just a selfish bitch?

I made the mistake of browsing a bunch of crafty sites last night (see "Were time not an issue" listed over there to your right) and it was, seriously, not inspiring at all, but dreadfully depressing.  I'm not a very "crafty" person, so it's not so much the inability to sit down and stitch a pillow that has set me off.  It's the fact that I couldn't do it EVEN if I knew how and EVEN if I wanted to. 

(No matter that I could count on one hand the number of those sites written by ladies who have more than one child.)  I am a total fucking failure.  I don't DO anything.  I would very much like to DO something, but nope.  I don't.  Now, now, don't email me and tell me about how I have the hardest job in the world and that raising two amazing children is doing way more than enough...blah blah blah.

Yes, I get that.  I know that.  Obviously, I wouldn't trade doing Nothing and being their Mommy for doing Something and Not being their Mommy.  But why is it a choice?  Is it me?  Am I just not managing the situation correctly?  Not organized enough or on the ball?  Am I not multi-tasking appropriately?  Am I not a team player?  Do I not know enough corporate speak bullshit to make it in the real world?

Seriously, I have no fucking idea.  All I know is that it is physically impossible for me to do anything other than manage my children if my children are around.  Ok, maybe a little housework.  But I'm talking about inspiration--creative projects that have anything to do with ME.   Am I just in perpetual hold until they are both in school?  If so, fine, but I really need to know because I keep feeling like if I could just get my shit together, I could DO SOMETHING.  So, instead of doing anything, I'm constantly trying to figure out HOW to get organized enough so that I CAN.  Is this even making sense?

Case in point...Let's say I wanted to, oh, say, knit a scarf.  I'm a shitty knitter, but I'll use that example.  My children would be unraveling the yarn.  They'd be pulling at the knitting needles.  GirlChild would be climbing on my lap.  They'd be in the other room screaming at each other and I'd have to put it down so many times and break up the struggle for the ONE hot wheel that they both must have this second (despite the eight hundred scattered about the room) that I'd finally say, "fuck it."

And the thing is, I have really GOOD kids.  I mean, well-behaved and easy kids.  But they can smell my interest in something other than them like a dog smells a bone and it's all over. 

So how is it that other mothers manage to sew things and create artwork and paint and do illustration? How is it that  I feel like the only poor sap on the planet who is sitting around on the floor for ten hours a day watching her beloved children play (and watching and playing) and wondering how early I can get GirlChild to bed so maybe, just maybe, I could DO something.

But then bedtime comes and goes and BoyChild wants ice-cream and the kitchen is a disaster and bath toys are scattered everywhere and I haven't eaten anything all day so instead of sitting down and hoping to "get inspired", I load the dishwasher and put away the laundry and surf the web where I  find myself looking at well designed blog sites of other mothers with quirky crafts and pretty flowers they planted and I hate them all.  Is it me?

Have some Smack and a Smile...

I'm a new years resolution junkie.  I make all sorts of bizarre resolutions and long lists and never ever keep any of them for the span of a year. 

I'll spare you my list this year (which I didn't even write down).  but at the top is kicking caffeine.  I've done it a handful of times before-the last time was just last summer.  And it always sucks so badly that I swear once I get past the grumpy, shakey, exhausted, DTs. I'll never put that toxin in my body again.  No more cokes, no more coffee, no more real tea.  I'll be free as a bird with no 2:00 dependency on the coke I stashed in the freezer for my afternoon pick-me-up.

That is until I'm eating pizza one night or go see a movie.  Who can drink water at a movie theatre?  With popcorn?  No me.  No sirree. And it begins all over again.

So, I'm on Day 2 of this and so far, well, it sucks.  I am not only craving a coke,  I am craving all the food that accompanies said coke-basically anything covered in salt--chips and popcorn and pizza and burgers.  I'm going to gain 800 pounds if I stop drinking liquid sugar. 

crazy

In case you're considering cancelling your NetFlix account, let's just get one thing straight. That ain't allowed.

Don't go to the website and click on "cancel" because all it does is take you to a screen that tells you to call them if you want to cancel.

Don't call that number because after sorting through the phone tree options (none of which are "cancel"), you must sit on hold for 16 minutes listening to a recorded voice telling you that you can "also cancel online!" in a really chipper voice like it's the best idea since sliced bread. Too bad it's a load of crap.

Now don't even think about navigating the site again looking for this mysterious portal through which cancelers must go. It does not exist. It will only piss you off so much that you hang up and try a different route.

You may think it's a good idea to then email NetFlix and explain that you'd like to cancel and why the fuck isn't there an option to do it online like the friendly recorded voice says there is. (If you do decide to go ahead and do that, I wouldn't use the "F" word.)

Ok, let's say you get a bee in your bonnet and you go ahead and do all that stuff. You know what would happen? Well, three days later, NetFlix would email you back and ask when you'd like the cancellation to be effective.

And although you email them back within seconds and tell them NOW. RIGHT THIS VERY SECOND, they'd charge you for another month and send you three more movies. Cha-ching!

Like I said, don't bother.

It's no wonder I'm crazy.