Friday, May 27, 2016

The Grind

Every year Kaitlyn's birthday seeps up my last bit of give. When it's complete, I prostrate myself and reach with my fingertips for the finish line otherwise known as the Last. Day. Of. School. And I whine. I moan. I groan. I cry. Because I am not a grown up deep inside. I am a child with tired little dusty feet dragging myself home at the end of a long school day wishing to never repeat that misery again. That child inside me knows how they feel and frankly being on the mom end with a child's heart makes it almost impossible to make them finish. 
And as I sat in the corner of Kaits classroom watching the amazing slide show of their year, I saw her push her glasses up her nose and smile that Kait smile. She's so little but so big and here we go with middle school. I gazed at her and felt a little piece of my heart break. I'll miss this little girl with a big determination who loves Harry Potter and snap circuits. I took her picture with her teacher and Ms. Travis shook her head and said "I just wonder what she's going to be." I winked back tears and said "a teacher like you of course!" She shook her head and said "I just don't know about that. She's a very confident and mature young lady." I sucked back tears for the fourth time and nodded. Ms. Travis saw Kait and loved her for all that she is. 

I gazed around the room at all of the kids I never got to know and all of the parents who I've never met and totally pretended to be busy caring for Hazel. I'm not a social butterfly in schools. I blame my uncomfortability on those homeschooling years I always talk about. I don't walk my kids up and socialize with the principal. I don't make photo copies for teachers or attend PTA meetings. 
Of course, someone recognized me. I can only assume I have a very distinctive face. It happens at least once a month that I'm staring at the face of a complete stranger who remembers me from a distant brief encounter. And it's really stressful to try and remember them quickly and not be awkward.  I don't know why but it just saps me. Put me somewhere safe with familiar faces and Jody's arm around my waist and I will shine but enduring that brunch without crying over Kaits adorableness or offending strangers was hard. That makes me sound like such a pansy but it's true. 
I made my way to Nick's classroom and saw Ms. McKinsey. I'm so sad for Nick to leave her. She's such a great teacher. She has loved him like a mother and drawn great things out of him and it's all I could have asked and more. She said my note made her cry. I think I'm sick for feeling satisfied by that. Why must I provoke nostagia and play emotions like a fiddle with my pen? Why is perfunctory  thanks never enough? So, she stamped his heart with love and sent him on to fourth grade. Between his amazing soccer coach and his lovely teacher, Nick was launched into summer floating on a puffy cloud of inspiration.


Eden is so 13. Her year ended with an art  piece at the district show which I found out about a week late, followed by a friend telling me she won an award which they noticed in the middle school newsletter and showed me for proof on the spot. A couple weeks later, as my sister ran to award ceremonies for her middle schooler, I was oblivious to my daughter accepting yet another art award at her school as well as various other recognitions that she mentioned vaguely as "a ribbon" and a "certificate for something" this morning but refused to show me. She's a great kid. Her authenticity, blatant scorn of societal filler and recognition without money prizes is hilarious... refreshing... I really hope she never changes. It's weird for middle schoolers to have a picture taken with their teacher so Stella is a stand in for Mr. Townsend, the one who drew out Eden's great talent and saw her which pushed her on to build her artistic talent.
As a side note, I am still in a feud with her history teacher, Mr. Brand who is holding a stunning portrait Eden spent at least 50 hours on hostage and not returning my emails.

Hello Summer. Here we go.



Wednesday, May 11, 2016

Don't tell anyone about this but...

If I were to try to express what I bring to the table in a church crowd it would be... uncomfortable laughter, gentle gasps, a high regard for everyone's Christian walk in comparison to mine and a gritty, self reproach laden desire to laugh at the worst things. I'm also highly regarded for my parenting skills, alcohol tolerance and house keeping expertness. I didn't think you'd go for that but it felt nice to say it just once. But I AM a better blogger because I do blog therefore I AM.
I joined a Bible Study full of fresh young mommies with hearts a burstin with love for their very young children recently. I felt trepidation for a variety of reasons. The pastors wife would have me under the microscope, nobody in there has a 13 year old at home and well, see above. So somehow, one day, someone told a story about a toddler trying to cuss. Which I had to top. I'm competitive in all things, even cussing toddlers. I am as fond of monopolizing conversations with embellished stories as I am of blogging said stories in even more exquisite detail. So I lifted my voice and announced that I had the worst story. I saw them hesitate and then I hesitated because I realized I was going to have to drop the F-bomb either six or eight times in the retelling of this suddenly not so inspiring story. If there's one thing I can say for myself, it's that I have follow through. I say that as I stroke my chin wondering why I'm trying to make it sound like its a good thing in every situation. Anyway, I considered my options which were none and awkwardly plunged into my already regrettable story. I went hard and fast into my story hoping if it was quick, it would be less scandalizing.
"Well, I got so frustrated while trying to restring some blinds that I finally yelled f--k f--k f--k and Eden began running in circles chanting it over and over at the age of 2. Nobody laughed. Some pasted on frozen smiles. Some scooted chairs and took sips of coffee. Finally after an excruciating silence, the leader clasped her Bible and plunged back into the study. I felt a war within myself to hold to my authentic self or to melt into the floor so I could be myself somewhere less awkward.

I recently read an article that talked about the kinds of people in your life and realized just maybe I'm this one:

  • Negative Influences. There are people who are wonderful, interesting, bright, and creative. And yet, for some reason, I am negatively influenced when I am around them. It’s not that they themselves are bad people – it’s that I make bad choices when I’m around them. For some reason or another, hanging out with them is not conducive to my success. These are the trickiest people to identify, because there’s nothing about them that’s bad or easy to rationalize avoiding. It’s how they influence you that tells you about whether or not it’s a good person to have in your life.
Because I have... friends and well... For instance, just the other day our church hosted an appreciation banquet for the volunteers on Cinco De Mayo. All my poor friend had to do was say in passing how sad it was that we couldn't have Margaritas there. 


I said no worries honey, I just hand squeezed 10 lemons and limes. We can have one before we go! She wasn't planning to drink before a church event... But here I was holding out the forbidden fruit. I won't drag this story out, let's just say that I think I didn't shake up the margaritas very well and somehow consumed a whole glass of tequila in 30 minutes. I was wasted. My husband and friend thought I was kidding. Theirs didn't even give them a buzz. Well as soon as we got to the event the Children's ministry director came over... And the preschool director...and I chatted too much, too close and I think they sniffed out puffs of tequila. I don't know if I'm still on the volunteer schedule or not.
I got home and fell into bed in my dress. My honey jokingly asked if I planned to, you know, brush my teeth, put on pjs... I said I thought I would take off my sweater. The next morning I got up and he cough/laughed and said "you really slept in your clothes!" I gave him the most condescending look I could muster and announced that I feel blessed to not be constricted by society's norms. What I wasn't really thinking through was that my friend from the night before was stopping by with some folding tables for a garage sale... Which incidentally never materialized... And as we stood chatting in the driveway we avoided the elephant in the room until I took a bow and said "yes I'm still wearing the same dress." That story got combed over so many directions on a girls night out that I finally had to declare the story over. It's over. It'll never be over. I have drinking dresses. They have built in bras and feel like a nightgown when I get home. I'm sure if everyone were honest they do too.
While I'm on a roll, I'll just save one of the funniest text message histories in my life while planning the Bible stories for Kids Week at our church.
 Eleanor: Aster, I am reporting on the meeting you missed. A quick summary is that Mindy pronounces Tubal as "Two Ball" which gave me unstoppable giggles. 
We also think the time estimates are pretty accurate. 
And are trying to decide the best method for dividing the task load. 
Aster: Got it. 😂
Eleanor: Yep Two Ball Cain was a cool guy. And of course Mindy had to beg my child to read the mysterious first half of a Bible verse that the curriculum strongly discouraged us from including in the lesson. It was about how Cain had sex with his wife and Enoch was born. Now my child knows all about Enoch's origins thankfully. 
I swear I don't know anybody who can just read plainly written words and turn a VBS curriculum into a combination of frat humor and sex Ed.
Except... Mindy
Aster: I feel like I really missed out. 
Eleanor: I couldn't really say. I'm a bit of a story teller and I'm often accused of exaggerating.
Mindy: I made her child look up inappropriate bible verses. 
I think it went well. I can come hang out with your kids too sometime if you want Aster! I think your super spiritual husband would be okay with it. 
Aster: Oh sure he would. 
Eleanor: I do think it went well if your goal was to examine the scripture closely. 
Mindy: I mean, really. When they advise you to NOT read it... How can you resist. 
Aster: He's pretty liberal when it comes to that stuff. He offered to play the part of David dancing naked if we'd like. 
Bible-ish. That's his slogan. 
Eleanor: Oh perfect! We can put that in the scene with when Noah gets drunk and his sons get naked with him 
Aster: This will be a memorable VBS
Mindy: So, where did we land on including the sex verse in our show?
Aster: VBS NC-17 LOL
Eleanor: the Children's director would be curled in a ball biting a pillow right now 
"I don't know what happened! They were just moms!"
Mindy: Can you imagine if we put the amount of time we put into funny texts into our VBS planning....
Eleanor: 😂😂😂
Aster: 😂😂😂 Lives would be changed. Instead of just undies.





Sunday, May 1, 2016

Goodbye

I'd never said goodbye to someone I loved. I didn't know it would hurt so terribly... that I would have tears spring to my eyes without warning a million times a day for months slowly lessening but never seeming to stop. I didn't know that there would be moments and spaces in time left empty forever. Or that sometimes I would cry without processing a single thought other than an expression on his face. I had no idea that it would take two years before I could tell my daughter that he loved mushrooms and apricots (not together) as we walked through a produce section without crying. That it would take years before I could tell a story about him without giving up entirely in a sea of tears. I didn't even suspect that his death would drive me to suicidal thoughts or binge eating. I hadn't the faintest idea of how much I loved him or even really how much he loved me. 
But here I am 2 years and four months later, wishing he was here to be my dad and laugh at me playing a mad scientist in a silly church skit just like he always was when I was a kid. 
I told Jody goodnight tonight and I pressed my face into his shirt just to smell him. And I love him. I know I do. But it scares me that for now, I don't even know how much.