A.N.T.'s

I can only liken it to the high of having a new baby and then that coming off the high and sinking lower than ever before.  Last spring, when I finished that teaching job from hell and all but abandoned traditional teaching forever, I felt like the world was so bright with possibilities.  And to give me that little added boost, I wrote an article in thirty minutes, sent it off to "Scary Mommy" and, yes, they will publish it.  This blog got hundreds of views, people actually commented on posts I'd written.  And then we left for vacation, in the mountains, secluded, and this new life I had seemingly given birth to is perfect.

But we returned from vacation, and "Scary Mommy" had declined more pieces, and they hadn't paid me for the one that did get published, and I could think of nothing but complaining to write on my blog, not to mention the pressure to "be a blogger" and all the design that accompanies it.  I thought that maybe it would be a source of income, but as I read more about it, I felt this tremendous pressure to be something I was not.  First, I didn't want to whore out my project.  My blog was never meant to be this depiction of a perfect life and how your life could be perfect, too.  It was meant to be a log of how I take life one day at a time and force myself into finding happiness when the big things get way too big.  Suddenly the blog was one of the way too big things.

A.N.T.'s started infiltrating my life.  Automatic Negative Thoughts.  I don't really like to write.  It's not for me.  Blogging is more for professional writers/graphic designers.  That's not really my thing.  I experienced a little bit of a lag and immediately talked myself out of writing and blogging altogether.  And what made it easier was my children returning to school.  We began therapy again for my oldest son with selective mutism. Since school started, the boys' school has had one evacuation and two lockdowns as a result of threats.  The school has not been handling the situation as well as they could.  It was the perfect excuse to say my focus can't be with writing/blogging at this time.  

Only, I have been finding myself getting unhappier by the day to the point where I'd say I'm clinically depressed.  My body aches.  I've gained weight.  I sleep during the day, have insomnia at night.  I'm obsessing about money and all the things we can't afford (like private school or moving) and who is there for me and who isn't.  And my cat is sick.  My fifteen year old cat suddenly starting drinking obsessively.  He's had two UTI's and is losing weight.  The vet has offered no preventable or manageable solutions other than antibiotics when the infections occur nor have they said he's dying, but they are very content to bill me hundreds of dollars at each visit and send me home to clean cat urine out of rugs or comforters.  It's exhausting and just sad.  

But suddenly two weeks ago I got mad at myself over something.  "Scary Mommy" hadn't paid me and I just let them not pay me.  I never followed through with it.  I actually used it as a "sign" that I wasn't meant to be a writer.  How stupid was that?!?!  I wrote a piece that people loved and I deserved to be paid.  I emailed them and the issue was immediately resolved.  Just a glitch in processing a new writer.  The cat remained sick, the school remained broken, my son continues to have SM, but there was a little glimmer a couple of weeks ago.

That glimmer spurred me to write another article.  I don't know if it's been accepted yet, but I wrote it and sent it.  It was a step.  And it means enough to me to keep putting it out there until it is published.  It was written to bring awareness to selective mutism, so that's not something I'm willing to give up on.  While writing it, I started missing my blog, my blog from last year where I was writing about scrapbooking and books and finding fun projects to do around the house, anything to distract me from life.

Even though I was missing my blog, I had yet to sit down at the computer and write.  Last Wednesday was the most recent lockdown at my boys' school.  The oldest was too scared to eat his lunch.  The middle was denied bathroom access, wet his pants, and was left to sit in it for the remainder of the day.  The school had yet to address what was really happening.  On top of this, the school continued to trudge through ridiculous amounts of meaningless homework...I won't go into details, but I feel like I'm homeschooling my kid with all the work and modifications I'm making to the work that the teacher doesn't have time for, apparently.  I went to the board of education meeting last week incensed only to be met with denial that the school has any sort of problem.  We met with the superintendent on Monday to, in his words "hit the reset button".  He's very good at saying what you want to hear, but no change ever comes of it, and we walked away feeling empty.

On Tuesday there was a parent meeting to address the lockdowns, a week after the third incident.  There was an element of hysteria at the meeting, parents calling for metal detectors, others crying because they don't want metal detectors.  Others are on a witch hunt to punish the perpetrator(s).  What did I want to know?  How does this happen three times and you have no idea who it is?  They are just now implementing and following through on bathroom logs.  As of Tuesday, they have yet to limit the number of students out at the bathroom.  Are more frequent checks of the bathroom being put into place?  The answers were, of course, yes those plans are going to be put into action.  Why aren't they already put in place?  Some schools this is just policy from day one, and you're saying it wasn't put into place after the first incident.  Our kids had metal detector wands used on them and bomb sniffing dogs going through their belongings twice because you have no idea who was in the bathroom in a block of time and can only narrow it down to fifty kids?  The meeting ended with some parents praising the school for all it's doing (denial that their kid is in a potentially unsafe position) and others just shaking their heads.  

That was us, just shaking our heads and feeling powerless to do anything.  I have never been so down as I was yesterday.  I had surpassed sadness and anger.  I felt like it all was just hopeless, the school, the cat, all of it.  

This Sunday I turn thirty-nine.  As I lied in bed last night, I realized that it is hopeless, those things.  My cat is going to die and the school isn't going to change over night.  But I had one thing going for me, this blog.  And I remembered what happened last year when I focus on the blog and the projects I had attached to it, my life changed.  I got out of the house and landed a teaching job.  And though it didn't turn out the way I wanted, at least I knew.  I grew as a person, moved forward.  I'm back to sitting still and I hate it.  I don't want to be a blob at forty who is so achy she feels like she's seventy.  

I'm now focusing on what I can control and change in my life, and that is me.  I can control the fate of this blog.  I can learn about how to develop it slowly and within my terms of what I want it to be.  I can keep writing and let it be what it is.  And I can change my body and what I eat.  I can control that, and it's really time I start.  

On Sunday it'll be 365 days not just to happiness, but to FORTY!    

Defeated

Tonight I left my boys' back-to-school night feeling completely and utterly defeated with tears in my eyes. Over what?  Dress code. Yes, you read that right...dress code.  The school had been in uniforms for the past five years or so and this year decided to discontinue them due to parent and student outcry. I was 100 percent supportive of the decision, which is neither here nor there. But on Sunday night we received a phone blast reviewing the new dress code policy and one of the items was no camouflage...no camouflage anything. This struck me as odd seeing as how the print is very popular and yes, we bought a few items with camo print. I'm typically pretty good at reading through policies, but I missed the no camo. I called the school who said they weren't sure of the reason for it on the policy and directed me to the superintendent's office. I called and left two messages with no response.

Tonight I saw the superintendent, inquired about whether he had received my messages to which he responded he did, and politely asked him to call me tomorrow.  He brought me into the hallway and informed me that he was intentionally ignoring my messages. He said he was refusing to answer any questions regarding dress code because the decision had been made months ago. I said I just wanted to know the reasoning behind the no camouflage, which he couldn't or wouldn't give me a reason nor would he answer my questioning as to the type of research put into this new dress code (we are the only school district in a 10 mile radius, maybe more, with this restriction). He began to raise his voice to me saying I could have completed surveys, attended board meetings, etc.  There was one survey which I completed and one board meeting which I attended. I couldn't get in a syllable without him interrupting me and finally he said he wasn't speaking with me about this at back-to-school night.  I asked him to call me!  He initiated the discussion which quickly turned confrontation.

Where do I go from here? We live in such a small district, only two schools total.  One elementary school.  One middle/high school. We puff out our chest because we have the small town, personal touch, but your question doesn't matter, your concerns don't matter, you will be ignored. I won't even pretend to hear what you have to say. I will say right to your face, I'm ignoring you. How does that trickle down to our students?

Reason #2 To Love South Jersey...This One is Easy

Ever since I was a little girl, I've always had a hard time with sleeping...at night. It's why I nap so much. I used to say I was having "bad thoughts" and my mom would try to help me think good thoughts.  When I was very little, it was wolves. I was so scared of wolves, because, you know, living in the suburban East Coast we have that problem. As I got older, sometime around when the show Rescue 911 came out, I became afraid of dying of carbon monoxide poisoning. A lot of people on that show got sick from that. Any time I'd get a headache at night I was sure it was carbon monoxide.  I even bought my dad a CO detector for his birthday. I'm sure that tops the list of weird gifts kids get their parents, but are really for them.  I used to say to myself that I would know if it was CO if I was dead in the morning, and somehow that got me through the night.  It doesn't make sense to me either.  I suppose even at the age of ten I realized I was being completely irrational.  And I also realize now that if you suspect CO, it's not a let's-wait-and-see situation.  My house is fully equipped with detectors as an adult.

Now as an adult I rarely worry about CO poisoning, except on the rare occasion when I obsess about the back up battery failing during a power outage. My worries are much greater as an adult, as I'm sure most of you can relate to. Some are just as irrational, but too many are not. Too many horrors that no one would have thought of before are now very real realities in our world. It's not as easy to say, "That can't happen to me," as it once used to be. Random acts of violence are all too common. And falling into irreparable debt is sometimes right there, knocking on my door. My coping mechanism as an adult makes a lot more sense. I simply say to myself that everyone I love is currently tucked safely into bed and that at this very moment all is right with my world.  Sometimes I even get up and check on the boys and watch them sleep. It calms me and helps me to sleep again. (That and maybe a melatonin or ZZZQuil.) Sometimes.

Recently I couldn't do that as easily because my parents took all three boys to their house for a couple days.  This happens maybe once a year, if I'm lucky. It's a very unsettling feeling having them out of the house. There is a great emptiness. I used to think I'd be one of those moms who was going to be independent and still have her own life and be okay with sending the kids off for a week while my husband and I take an anniversary trip to Bermuda. First, we can't afford a Bermuda trip. Second, no one will take my kids for a week. I beg to get one weekend. And third, I don't want to leave them for that long! I couple of nights suits us all just fine. It allows us to miss each other just enough.

Anyway, those nights I wasn't able to say that at least at this moment the things I love most are tucked safely in their beds just a few feet from my own bed. My husband and I, having the interrupted alone time, also spent some quality time discussing moving.  Moving can be exciting, but more often it's unsettling, literally.  With those thoughts racing in my mind and an eerie quiet over the house, sleep was difficult.

I first started to try and once again find contentedness with my situation while simultaneously finding peace with knowing that my children are in good hands and I then expressed my gratitude to God for the doctors that are located right here in South Jersey and Philadelphia. All three of my boys have needed to see a pediatric urologist for three different reasons, but the most serious reason involved my middle son, Eli.  I've written about it before, but he had an enlarged kidney at my 20 week ultrasound that did not resolve itself at birth.  A very long story short, he's fine and has never had a related problem with it. Just a few weeks ago we went for his 18 month exam and the doctor said it finally looked in the "normal" range.  The drive to this urologist, who is a part of a group of doctors who is nationally ranked, is a little over twenty minutes.  The tests we had to endure during Eli's first two years of life were performed just over the bridge, ten minutes away, at St. Christopher's pediatric hospital.  Sitting in the urologist's and St. Chris's waiting rooms over the years, I know people travel long distances to see these doctors, which in and of itself is a hardship let alone whatever ailment is afflicting their child.

We are also just thirty minutes from one of the few selective mutism treatment centers in the world. My oldest son has mild SM and while some people fly across the Atlantic Ocean to get to Jenkintown, PA, we live thirty minutes from the SMart Center and received treatment for it last summer.  Our funds have run out and we can no longer afford treatment there, but I recently learned that CHOP (Children's Hospital of Philadelphia) has a therapist who specializes in anxiety disorders, including SM.

So there you have it, reason #2 I love South Jersey...not just love it but feel blessed to be here...is for medical professionals at the top of their field that are right in my backyard for my kids.

I...Love...South Jersey??? Because of the food...

Okay, so this is quite difficult for me to write because yet again we suffered another disappointment yesterday in terms of where we live.  My boys have been asking for a few years now to play basketball, only there isn't a rec league in our area.  There is a program at the Catholic church, but it's only for members, and since we aren't Catholic, we're out of luck.

At the end of the school year a flyer came out asking if anyone was interested in a youth basketball league.  I imagine that they got quite a good response, given that our park basketball courts are always full, we are literally across the bridge from Philly, and who doesn't love basketball?  Even I love basketball, and I don't really love any sport.  They soon sent out a follow up email asking for ages and contact information and then sent out a little over a month ago an email announcing two free clinics, one of which was suppose to be this Saturday.  I marked my calendar.

Yesterday, just a few days short of the clinic, I get an email saying, casually, that they are changing the day to Sunday.  No explanation as to why, just that it was switched.  My boys can't go, and I wonder how many other kids can't go.  And so it begins, the last minute changes and disorganization.  The turn out they originally anticipated isn't there, and suddenly it's the community's fault and the phrase "cancelled due to lack of interest" is thrown out there.  But, it's not lack of interest.  It's lack of getting your shit together.  With a fledgling organization, you have to cross your t's and dot your i's.  People will give up on you and won't give you a second chance if you drop the ball.  And to drop the ball on your first event??  Well, it's discouraging to say the least.

I realize that this is not a problem unique to my area of the country.  It's just another disappointment in a long string of disappointments.  We believed our district started instrument lessons in the third grade, and when they didn't, we had assumed it was fourth grade, only to find out it's actually fifth grade, which is far too late. My friend's kids in a different state are playing classical pieces by the fifth grade, while our concert was "Hot Cross Buns" (I'm not even exaggerating.).  They cut the foreign language program at the elementary level, not to save money, but because they didn't see its import and reallocated the money elsewhere.  We are fighting right now to keep the local Scout troop viable because over the past few years it was so poorly run they nearly lost all their members.  My husband has stepped up and is leading a den and is also trying to be a force with the organization of the entire troop, but the word is out there that the program is a dud and recruiting new members is difficult.  He also stepped up and volunteered to assistant coach our oldest son's soccer team because two of the coaches left the team when their sons tried out for the "A" team and made it. The second soccer team was formed because, according to the coaches, there was a group of boys who wanted to play and didn't have a team and any kid who is eight years old and wants to play soccer, should be able to play soccer.  We were told that the team would stay together and build their bonds as a team through the years growing a sense of loyalty and pride, but the first opportunity to try out for the "better" team, they took it.  Luckily two other dads and my husband volunteered to keep it going.

I just feel that there is nothing we can get behind here.  We are willing to volunteer and help out in anyway we can, but with every organization I feel it's a struggle to just survive it.  At any moment it feels as though it could be pulled from under our feet.  It's exhausting to try and be apart of so many things at a "keep it going" level, and with the lack of opportunities at the school district level, where there is nothing we can do, no matter how heartfelt your speech at the school board meeting is, it's downright infuriating.

So we sit at home, put the kids to bed early, and order takeout to have some quiet time and discuss our current predicament with basketball or soccer or scouts or how will we pay for private music lessons, just as we did last night.  And here comes the good part...the food in South Jersey.  It's plentiful and 100 percent authentic.  I fell in love with Damascus, but there were about four, maybe five eateries in town, only one of which was a real restaurant.  There were a couple cafes and one taco shop whose proprietor's name was Joe Killian.  Now, we didn't eat there and Joe could have a Mexican mother who married some Irish dude and they somehow settled in the mountains of Virginia and they could have been the best tacos I had ever eaten.  I'm not knocking Joe's, remember.  I'm trying to find a reason to like where I live now, and my Mexican restaurant is two minutes away and the lady who owns it is named Juanita and my favorite dish is the dish her village in Mexico is know for.

We have pizzerias galore, and while not all of them are as great as their North Jersey counterparts, which I grew up eating, they can still be classified as real pizza.  I have a sushi joint on speed dial and the whole Japanese family who runs the place knows me by first name.  Our favorite family restaurant for a special celebration is actually an Indian restaurant about twenty minutes away, and any Indian restaurant in South Jersey is pretty much guaranteed to have an Indian chef.  My favorite Italian place just up the rode from the Indian place is operated by a family right off the boat and is Zagat rated as one of the best Italian restaurants in the country!  I've eaten Greek, Brazilian, Vietnamese, and even Burmese, all authentically cooked and served and all delicious.

There aren't too many places that offer such a selection of cultural tastings in such a compact space.  And I like food...all. kinds. of. food.  So in that respect, South Jersey and I are a perfect fit.  And when disappointments arise, as they often do, there is always some comfort food awaiting us just minutes away.     

Vacation, All I Ever Wanted

Injuries suffered while on vacation:

       Sprained wrist

       Sprained ankle

       Baseball sized bruise

       Scraped knee

       Scraped elbow

       About 15 other miscellaneous bruises and cuts

And those were just mine.

We went to Damascus, Virginia which is, I'm pretty sure, part of the Smokey Mountains and home to the Virginia Creeper Trail, an old railroad line that has since been converted to a bike trail.  The entire trail is 34 miles, but most people who come to Damascus just to a 17 mile stretch from Whitetop down into Damascus.  My best friend suggested the vacation to us as she and her family have been down twice and described it as the best vacation they've ever had.  So we decided to venture there as well and cross a new state off our list.

In addition to my injuries, one kid fell on a hike and scraped his knee.  Another impaled himself with a campfire skewer (minor injury) and fell out of bed giving himself a "deep" bruise on his foot that required a trip to Urgent Care.  My injuries were all acquired from a very uncool wipeout on my bike about 5 miles down the trail.  Eli was riding behind me on one of the half bike attachments and we think his wheel might have caught on a post throwing us off balance.  We both went down, but I sustained all the injuries which were black.  Yes, my scrapes and much of my skin was black.  The trail is lined with coal, so when you fall it gets into your skin and they call it tattooing.  I have no tattoos, and I was definitely not into getting this kind either.  I guess you could say the Creeper Trail was a Creeper Fail...but it so wasn't.

I'm suffering from vacation withdraw...bad.  This was our first vacation in three years and was easily one of the best vacations we ever had, but the tragic flaw was that it was set in absolute, attainable heaven.  I'm almost (almost) happy I fell because it really slowed us down.  Instead of flying down the Creeper Trail on a bike, I got to walk six miles of it taking in all the scenery. (Didn't I mention that?  After my fall, I had to walk six miles out of a forest before I could get to help.)  Rushing streams and cloud topped mountains.  Even when the thunderstorm hit and my kids started to freak out and all I wanted to do was sit and cry, I still was able to recognize the beauty around me.  And then there was our cabin.

We stayed at a little cabin (the area is peppered with cabins and cottages throughout the mountain) just across from the trail.  Our view...a Christmas tree farm down the side of a mountain.  An elderly couple rents out the cabin on their property.  She bakes a chocolate cake on your first night there and he talks firewood and pocketknives.

So on our ride home as we left the Smokeys and passed through Shenandoah heading into the rush of D.C. and then Baltimore and then Philly, I realized that of all the beautiful places we could have chosen to live, we chose one of the least picturesque parts of the United States.  And it's not just about being pretty.  It's crowded!  I mean a lot, a lot of people.  We went grocery shopping in Virginia at 11 o'clock on a Saturday morning.  There were maybe ten cars in the parking lot.  Have you ever been grocery shopping at any time, let alone on a Saturday, in South Jersey? There are never just ten cars in the parking lot.  I had all three kids and my husband with me plus it was a half hour trip into town and then another half hour back out and we were still finished with a full grocery order faster than when we run up to the Shoprite that's five minutes from our house for a few items.

This was one of the first vacations where I felt more at home on vacation than I do where I actually live.  I suppose that's it.  Whenever I'm at the beach, I always picture myself living there, but there are always a lot fewer people than what's really at the beach.  Not to mention that I'm loaded with cash. Most vacations you say it was nice to visit, but then you're glad to be back home.  Well, not this one.

Since I'm still not 100 percent and it won't be easy for me to get out in the garden, I've decided for the month of August to focus on some of the positives of living where I do in the hopes of shaking off this discontent.    

Summer Cleaning...Check!

Today I will be able to check off the final room on my cleaning list.  It's a bit of a colossus, our finished basement.  It serves as a family room, play room, laundry room, and office to me.  It typically is strewn with miscellaneous toys, video games, blankets, pillows, papers, dirty laundry, and the bane of the existence...Legos!  I don't touch Legos as far as cleaning up.  They apparently have specific bins in which they belong, but to me they all look the same...little daggers ready to slice into my feet and twist my ankles.

But, after today, everything will have been dusted, vacuumed, wiped clean, Windexed.  It's never all clean, all at the same time, but at least now I'm in a position to maintain.  I'm sorry, but this is important to me.  The number one piece of advice people gave me while working was to not worry so much about having a clean house.  So I tried not to worry and my house became scuzzy and I felt awful.  It actually got to the point where it was physically painful to sit in my living room and look around at the mess.  My skin crawled.  For me, a clean house is sanity.  It represents an organized life and a sense of control over my life, at least my little piece of the world contained in those walls.

Oh, don't worry!  Having three boys and a husband has kept me real in terms of what is realistically expected and "clean" is a relative term.  At any given moment, there is a very high possibility that there is pee on my bathroom floor and something sticky is on one of the kitchen walls.  There is always a pile of something somewhere that belongs elsewhere.  Usually, I take it in stride and roll with it, cleaning it in stride.  Every now and then I have a small meltdown which is a sign to my family that the overall state of a room has crossed the line and they all pitch in and clean. Even they are starting to sense the line of disorder and will begin to straighten up unprompted by me.

My summer projects list, which I guess you can say were "challenges" just not very fun or distracting ones, is now considerably shorter.  The remainder of my list includes the garden--this is a part of my life where the threshold for order needs to be reigned in...A LOT.  I don't have weeds.  I have weed trees.  Part of the reason it gets out of control is the sun.  And bugs.  And it hurts my back.  And things grow much bigger than when I originally planted them.  I guess you can say I don't like gardening.  I like the thought of it.  I appreciate nice gardens.  I in no way know how to design them and maintain them.  It's a problem, but the neighbors are starting to stop and look for all the wrong reasons you want them to stop and look at your landscaping.  Too bad they can't see the inside of my house.  There have actually been people that come in and are literally amazed at how nice it is on the inside.  It's not really all that nice, but I think their expectations have been considerably lowered based on the state of my outside and they are pleasantly surprised.  Maybe I should keep this trend going.

 

People...People Who Don't Need People

One good thing about teaching was that it distracted me enough that I forgot about how I don't like where I live.  Pool season was a stark reminder.  I hate going to the pool for many reasons.  One, I hate the sun, or rather the sun hates me.  My skin prickles and turns beet red in a matter of seconds. It physically hurts me to be in the sun. Two, it's a lot of work.  You have to pack everything up, carry it all to the car, then to the pool, then back to the car, then back inside, and back to it's proper place.  I try to give some responsibility to my boys, but it usually results in our lunch cooler being swung around resulting in either a smashed lunch or a strangled brother.  Three, I have three boys at three different stages of swimming who want to swim in three different pools, some of whom are restricted to certain pools only.  I can't hop in and swim in the deep end with Boy 1 because Boy 3 isn't allowed yet in that pool.  Four, my boys are, well, my boys.  While most 9 and 6 and nearly 4 year old boys are off swimming with their friends in whatever section of the pool they want, my boys are socially stunted, choosing to stay with each other and refusing to learn how to swim.  Oh, don't judge me that my kids can't yet swim.  They've had swim lessons since they were three, every summer.  I don't know why they can't swim.  I'm assuming it's because they are mine. The youngest still refuses to go in any pool other than the one foot pool, which then often results in the other two wanting to stay with him, so there we all are, the baby pool gang.  And finally, my last reason for hating the pool...people.  At the pool is where I feel the most socially self-conscious.  While other moms are chatting each other up, watching each other's kids, there I am alone juggling all three of mine.  There is no place I feel so friendless as at the pool.  There are a few moms I see on occasion, but for the most part I'm flying solo, which wouldn't be so bad if I could just sit back, let the kids run, read a book in the shade.  Be aloof.  But not yet.  I am forced to be present.

I keep telling myself that eventually we'll hit the summer where they're off doing their own thing, and I'm sure that summer is closer than I realize.  Every now and then I catch glimpses of it.  For now, though, I'm stuck keeping vigilance while my mind wanders to the countryside where I imagine my own private retreat, pool included, and allow discontent to wash over me.  I've found myself once again stalking Realtor.com dreaming of a different life.  Seriously, I'm totally pathetic.

So this is where I somehow need to turn the pool into a positive.  Aaannnddd....I've drawn a blank.  I have no idea how to do this.  I think it might just be something I need to suffer through as a sacrifice for the betterment of my children.  And in the meantime, pray for rainy days.