I could relate to this kid. I have filled and overfilled and refilled and shuffled and rearranged my days and commitments till I haven't got time to turn around any more. I knew it was trouble when last summer, my 2014 was getting booked up through May. I added several Tuesday night engagements, even though on Tuesdays I already have a commitment once a month, started adding things for Leah to do, committed myself to the other children doing things. It became insane. Honestly. Recently, Leah wanted to quit dance, and I totally agreed with that decision. Tuesdays were so stressful--we had 4 hours between school and dance, and then 1 hour between dance and my choir practice or board meeting (depending on which night it fell). So her deciding to drop dance was a good thing.
But the crazy didn't stop. And I didn't stop. I started getting itchy to travel again in March. After all, it'd been something like 6 weeks since I'd gone anywhere, and it was a whole entire month before we'd be going anywhere again, so I knew I had to get out of town. It was a rough winter. We were stuck inside A LOT. Far more than a kid of Leah's energy levels should be. I thought a lot about the things that we used to do "before", and I started remembering hikes in the woods, visits to historic sites, playgrounds and parks, nothing we could do indoors. So I booked us a trip to Las Vegas. You've read about it. It was awesome. We had the best time. Two weeks later, we left on a cruise. The day after we got home, my dad arrived and stayed until the day before we left, 5 days later, to go to Chicago for 4 days. I was originally booked to come home from Chicago, get in the car the next day, and drive to Vermont. I wanted to go to Vermont more than anything, until I realized, suddenly and unexpectedly, that all I wanted to do was go home.
My house, my local friends, my community connections have all fallen victim to benign neglect. I joined the UU choir back in January and in the 3 months since, I've managed to sing with them once, even though they perform monthly. I missed out on many events at the UU that I really, really wanted to participate in, but that I haven't been in town for--women's club meetings, potlucks, fundraisers, and more. My friend Danielle had a baby back in November, I still haven't been able to snuggle with him, to bring her a meal, to give a little gift. I cancelled my Anglophiles Club in April, have blatantly ignored 2 dinner invitations from friends in NoVa, missed other club meetings, fell behind on my schoolwork. There was a museum exhibit in Richmond I desperately wanted to see, when I finally found the time, I discovered it had closed literally the day before.
Not to say when I've been home, I've been slacking. I've had tons of schoolwork this semester that I didn't understand and had to kill myself over. I had tons of homework that I did understand and had to kill myself over, especially considering my daughter's school schedule has been insane. I've shuttled Leah to dance, gymnastics, and swimming. I've been dealing with some medical issues that required a number of appointments from Fredericksburg to Woodbridge and back. I've been to club meetings and board meetings, I stage managed a show, did choir rehearsals for performances I had no hope of completing, entertained my niece, had friends over to help me paint, had a birthday party for Leah, and a million other things.
And I look back on my old blog post about taking a rest, and I laugh. I think, "Well that was well intentioned, but it never happened." But finally, it just has to. It has to give. I got home from Chicago at Easter and I just sat down and cried so hard. I was exhausted. Leah was exhausted. She's so stressed out that she's acting up, acting out, needing stability and comfort. I've stopped sleeping, I wake up 3 or 4 times every night, and I'm usually awake for good by 5:15AM, even though I usually can't fall asleep before midnight. My memory is shot--the other night I fell asleep at 7:30PM, woke up at 2AM and discovered I'd left the stove on. Mercifully it was on the lowest setting so the worst that happened was that we lost our leftovers, but our house could have burned down courtesy of my exhaustion and forgetfulness. My hair is thinning, my belly is widening, I feel like an old plant gone to seed.
So I set myself a firm deadline of "no more after June 1" and I will spend the summer plan-free, with the exception of our former exchange student Penny coming in July, and Kyle coming to go to see Justin Timberlake a time or two... I've canceled my summer travel plans, even though there is a string of three BNL concerts in a row in MA and RI that I would just about kill myself to go to, but I'm not. I'm hosting friends in May for a craft night and Leah has a couple of birthday parties in May to go to, plus my Anglophiles club, and that's the extent of my May. I considered today signing up to work at the soup kitchen again in June, but given that I'm due to have surgery in June, I dialed it back, gave myself a reality check, and said "The soup kitchen isn't going anywhere. You can do it again in a few months." It seems bizarre to look at my calendar and see six months of blank pages staring back at me.
The director of religious education sent out her weekly email asking for volunteer teachers for the next 3 weeks. I knew I should go and do some hours in a classroom, but I ultimately emailed her and asked her if there wasn't some other way I could support RE. I explained that I really treasure my 1 hour in church per week, kid-free, and I would love to help in any other way possible. So she asked if I would be interested in serving on the RE committee--childcare included--and I said that sounded perfect. Even though it adds a meeting to my months, it subtracts teaching or being around children for my precious hour each week.
I had a friend ask if she could come visit, and I honestly said "no, I'm sorry." I wanted her to come, but I just couldn't. I don't want anyone here right now. It feels selfish and wrong, like I'm isolating myself and shutting out the world, but I just don't want to worry about the stress I go through when someone is coming over--the house isn't clean enough, I need to prepare refreshments of some sort, will Leah behave, will the cats behave. I just don't want to deal with any of that. Leah's school is having a field trip to the National Zoo next week. 4 hours on the bus for 2.5 hours at the zoo. I did the math and it didn't quite compute. There is nearly nothing I would rather do less than sit on a bus full of 4 year olds while stuck in DC traffic trying to get to the zoo, only to turn around and come back. I explained to Leah that I would take her to the zoo this summer if she wanted to go, but given how she reacted to the Lincoln Park Zoo at Easter, I'm not so sure she even cares. So I pulled the plug, We're not going to the zoo with her class. And ya know what? She's cool with that.
Leah's birthmother called me a week ago to let me know she was expecting another baby. She is keeping this baby, and she is so excited, and I am so happy for her and so excited for her. She is an excellent mother and I know this baby will be well loved and cared for. Even though I don't really pray any more, I prayed and prayed and prayed that she would choose to keep this baby and not ask me to adopt it, not that the subject ever even came up. And she did. Because I don't think I have it in me to go back to babies. I had considered doing foster care this summer--I had even attended an information session and was working on the packet, thinking it would be wonderful to have another child in the house. But I have even dropped that idea. I don't want any more change, any more upheaval. I don't want to have to adjust our routine so that Leah and I live more cookie cutter 'normal'. We are getting by just fine. And we like ourselves this way. No need to rock the boat.
I am forcing myself to accept compliments. Usually if someone compliments me, I say "Oh, thank you but..." and the "but" that follows is a criticism of myself or a downplay of whatever it is I did. But now, I am accepting and gathering in that kindness, because it is nice to have people say nice things to and about you, and it is affirming and healthy to accept that and not downplay it.
I have removed myself from the family drama that seems to crop up all too frequently. I don't miss it. The limited amount of time I have with my family feels appropriate. When they start complaining or fussing about or at or to me, I just say, "Nice to see ya" and leave. Or I mentally tune out and don't get involved, invested, or drawn in. It's been almost 6 months, and while I feel awful that they don't care enough to issue apologies I feel I deserve and they don't feel I do, I feel secure enough that I'm right in waiting for them and not bothering otherwise. Life is too short to surround yourself with anyone other than people who treat you well. I sat with a wonderful lady at church on Sunday, also named Susan, who I am so pleased has thought to adopt me into her circle. She is on my Facebook and she follows our adventures. She said to me Sunday, "I so enjoy your Facebook. You seem to have such a magnificent collection of friends." I said, "I do. I am so lucky." She replied, "I don't think it's luck. You, my dear, lead an extraordinary life and you draw quality people in to you." Needless to say, I started to cry. And I believe that at the very least, I have indeed drawn some extraordinary people into my life, friends who treat me lovingly, respectfully, and kindly, even if I can't always count on relatives to do the same. Whether or not my life is extraordinary remains to be seen.
I have finally returned to my Hospice writing group for support, and I see a counselor a couple of times a month besides. I'm better understanding that what I've done for the past 20 months has been the result of deep, unbearable trauma and grief, that I was conditioned to accept certain ways of thinking in my upbringing (as we all are) that are not conducive to healthy behaviors as an adult, that I can't use avoidance to cope any more, I need to sit and breathe and feel and accept. I still find it so hard to accept that Mike has died. That he isn't merely gone, but that he is actually, really, truly dead. The fact of that literally takes my breath away, it is something I feel physically. As I talk about our marriage with my counselor, as I talk about Mike's death, as I talk about how I have behaved and reacted, as I talk about my past and my background, this lovely, grandfatherly old man reminds me, "You do know you've been through a lot, right?"
I try not to have a victim mentality. To accept that I've been through a lot indicates to me that I am a victim of something, whether it's fate or people or the stars or whatever it is. But that's not necessarily true. The fact is, I have been through a lot. I have been through a lot. And I need a break. Put another way, while I was in Chicago, Kyle and I were talking and he said something to the effect of that for 10 years I was the wife of that most amazing blind guy. I was a footnote at the end of the story, buried in the back paragraphs. Now I have a chance to move into the fore of my own life. And I have to sit and process that decision making very, very carefully. I see a vision of my life in my head that I don't know if I can make a reality, but I'm starting to have my own thoughts and dreams, and I think that is a huge step in the right direction.
So if you ask for anything in the coming months and I say no, I hope you won't take it personally. At least not for a while. I have to really and truly start taking care of myself so I can be a better mother, friend, a better human being. I am looking forward to a summer of abject laziness. I look forward to lots and lots of time spent outdoors, lots of time at the pool, lots of time reading and playing games and having water fights. I hope to see friends from time to time. I hope to better learn how to juggle the myriad responsibilities I have until the end of the year when I can step aside from the choir board and remove that from my plate, when I can finish my degree, when I have more than 3 hours a day to myself to try and cram things in, unless there's a field trip or a party or inclement weather, in which case my 3 hours has disappeared more times than I care to count in the past 8 months.
I look forward to 6 months of focus on myself and my daughter, and seeing what changes may come in that time, no matter how much discomfort they may bring, I know they're going to bring long term positives. And I am so, so ready for things to look up.
