I'm Outta Here

I just saw Sarah's new blog on Word Press and LOVE it.  You can password protect entries that may be a little touchy.  It will bring over everything from Blogger, nothing is lost.  And, it's really pretty over there.  You can follow me if you like:  www.mindofmandi.wordpress.com

Dealing with Anger

I am attempting not to filter my emotions on something that's tough for me to think about, much less talk about.  My Mother.  

I can separate feelings about her totally.  On the one hand, I am a mother and I know how completely tough and exhausting it can be.  She had 3 children, so her job was even tougher.  She was a fantastic mother.  She stayed home until we were in middle school and did everything for us.  She read to us, played outside with us, took us places, sewed our clothes, cooked cool things--and I have great childhood memories because of it.  

But, there's another part of me that's always a little angry at her.  You see, my Dad is one of my best friends.  We've always had that sort of relationship, with only a few small breaks here and there because of my stupidity with boys.  I look up to my Dad in everything and I think he is such a good man.  He would do anything to help anyone and he loves his 3 children more than anything.  My grandmother says, "Your Daddy, now he was a fool for you kids."  You have to hear that in her deep southern drawl and hear the genuine emotion in those words to get it, but it's true nonetheless.  My mother is not a very affectionate person.  She's never talked about why, but I suspect it has a lot to do with her relationship with her father.  From what I know about him, he was not so nice and didn't have much to do with his kids.  It seems he felt that they were mostly good for working.  Like I said, I don't know what happened or what made her crawl up into herself the way she has, but she's there.  She's been like this for a long time.  My father is always trying to please her and love her, but she's very resistant.  I've watched him hurt from this my entire life, but I know that there's nothing I, as a daughter, can do to fix that for him.  So, hurting my father is one thing that I've always held against her and been pretty angry about.

Now, I'm grown and I have a family of my own, but I do live on the acre of land right next to them.  So, we're still very involved in each other lives.  Thankfully they aren't the kind of parents who want to pry into your life.  They're really very cool to live next to.  But, living next to them I know some things that I might not otherwise know if I lived across town.  I'm pretty sure my Mom is an alcoholic and that really bothers me.  She NEVER drank in front of me when I was younger and I'm really not sure she drank at all.  But, sometime while I was in high school or maybe college, my parents joined a tennis and fitness club and met some richy friends.  It started off pretty slowly from what I've noticed.  She would have a beer after tennis or a drink or 2 if they all went out together.  Then, they got really tight with about 5 couples.  They hang out a lot and take at least one cruise together each year.  Well, these folks really drink heavily.  My mom started that as well when they would go out.  Then, it moved to drinking at home.  At first, there would be a bottle of wine or 2 at the house and she'd have a glass with dinner.  Now, years later, she can drink an entire bottle of wine and think nothing of it.  And, she fixes herself a mixed drink nearly as soon as she comes home.  Last night they invited us for dinner and I'm sure she had 4 vodka cranberries in the 2 hours that I was there.  And my Dad tells me that she really doesn't care what she drinks because she's just drinking to get drunk.

I'm worried about her.  Part of me wants to cry about it and part of me wants to smack her and tell her to WAKE up and realize what she's doing to herself.  I know she's taking years off of her life.  And then there's the issue of Carter.  Right now he's pretty oblivious, but soon he's going to realize what's going on and he'll realize that she acts different sometimes.  She does not take well to anyone telling her what to do or how to live her life, so confronting her about it seems like a way only to divide us from each other.  But there is going to be a point when I have to tell her that I don't want her to drink (and especially be drunk!) in front of my child.  How will I deal with that?  She's acting like such a child and I just won't have her influencing my son that way.  His relationship with her is so sweet and it hurts me to think that she may choose alcohol over him.  

Gratitude

"We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures."

              --Thornton Wilder

I don't know if everyone is like this, but each day I have a different level of motivation and a different mood.  Some days I wake up ready to face the world and interact with my life.  But, then there are others when I'm more apt to lay in bed and sulk about things in my life that aren't going my way.  And it's true, there are a number of things about my life right now that are not ideal and that I would change if I could.  It's just sad that it's easier to write when those things are beating down hard on me.  When life is tough, I want to just GET IT OUT; but when it's good, I want to keep it in.  I'm really not an eternal pessimist, it's just easier to complain that it is to praise in writing.

Today is going to be different.  Today I want to think on those things that I hold as treasures in heart.  I want to share some of the beauties in my life.  Most of them are small, but it's the small things that matter most.

• a small hand touching mine
• my "hug of the day" when Jeff comes home
• listening
• having family close enough to walk to
• this house and the story behind it
• paint and colors
• red leaves
• the dimples in both my boy's cheeks
• making it
• taking time away from my career to do things that matter to me
• pillows
• peppermint mocha
• technology and the fun in figuring it out
• words
• emotions
• lavender baby lotion
• first steps
• being needed
• down comforter and a cold room
• bare feet
• memories
• crisp air
• the smells of each season
• being good at a lot of different things
• being thanked for doing them
• my church
• my job--which happens to be at my church
• friends that call and call again when I don't call them back
• the honesty of children
• great books
• freedom
• baby talk
• food and always learning new ways to make it
• Christmas
• a glass of wine
• the high feeling  you get after exercising
• baby soft skin
• giggling and remembering how to be silly
• reusable shopping bags and compact florescent bulbs
• a fire in the fireplace
• blue-eyes, sky, water, my kitchen
• being able to type instead of talk

Why Do I Bother?

So far my husband, Jeff, hasn't read this blog.  He knows I have one.  I'm sure he's aware of the link to it that is always present on my link bar in Safari.  I just don't really think he cares to venture that far into "The Mind of Mandi".  :)   In light of the fact that Jeff will likely never read this and that there really aren't that many people who even look at my ramblings, I feel like this is a safe place to VENT for a few minutes.  I can't really vent to my friends about any marital frustrations because it's looked down upon.  This seems like a fairly private outlet.  

Here's the issue:  Once each week, usually on Saturday, I make the effort to plan something that we do as a family.  I always make it cheap and I try to make it something that has some potential for fun and memory-making with our beautiful son.  But Jeff doesn't really do special days, or special occasions for that matter, very well at all.  I think it's a difference in the way we were raised.  I can agree that these activities can sometimes require some effort and sometimes they don't go perfect.  However, it seems as far as attitudes are concerned, Jeff often takes the low road and it makes me want to SCREAM.  I am trying my best to make a fun day and it gets POOPED on with negativity.

Today is a prime example.  I planned an apple picking trip to Skytop Orchard in Flat Rock, NC.  Keep in mind that neither of us have ever been here, so I don't know any more than he does as far as what to do or what to expect.  We arrive and this place is gorgeous!  A huge orchard with about 30 types of apples right on the top of a mountain.  Our first decision was wether or not to take the stroller.  I thought it would be nice for Carter to walk around and use his new skills, so we don't take the stroller.  We get past the place where you pick up your baskets for picking and we can see that the terrain is VERY hilly and very huge.  Carter can't walk up and down the hills, so one of us has to carry his 24 pounds at all times.  I agree that it's kind of a drag, but we can do it.  Then, we get out into the trees and realize that we've come a little late in the season and most of the apples to be had are HIGH up in the trees.  So, Jeff has to go back to get this long stick with a wire attachment on the end that will fetch the apples from up high.  He also grabs a wagon to put our baskets on.  The wagon ends up being heavy and tough to drag up and down the steep heels.  And, the brake doesn't work on ours so you pretty much have to hang onto it at all times to keep it from rolling down the hills.  By this point, I can tell by the look on his face that he's ready to leave before we really get started.  I'm trying to be ultra positive to make up for things. 

Picture this:  there are rows and rows of apple trees stretching over hills.  There are signs at the beginning of each row telling what variety is in that row.  So, once you get back into a row, you have to go back to the beginning to find another type and some of the types are picked out.  I went onto their website and had some idea of the picked out ones, but I certainly had not memorized the list.  Apparently I should have and I should have known where they were all located at the orchard.  Jeff got frustrated that I didn't know this information.  When I tried to point at the rows where I thought we should go, he got frustrated because I POINTED WRONG.  I mean, c'mon now.  Pointing wrong? At this point you're just picking on me.

 We ended up picking 3 different kinds of apples that we'd talked about getting and then leaving before our baskets were full.  We paid for our apples and we got some caramel covered apple slices and some cider.  When we sat down at the picnic table, the yellow jackets were very attracted to our food.  There were three swimming in my cider and 1 on my caramel.  Jeff had had enough and we just threw the stuff in the trash and left.

I felt so let down.  This big trip that we've had planned for weeks turned into more work than anything.  Yes, it was tough, but I think it's possible to make the best of a bad situation.  

We get back in the car and Jeff acts completely fine, but my mood was pretty much shot.  All I could think was, "Why do I bother?"

The Anticipatory Smile

That's just one of the great things that Carter has learned in the past month or so.  He knows when something funny is coming his way and he gets ready for it.  And, he has another one, too, but I don't know the technical name for it.  Not only does he know when something funny is about to happen, but he knows when he is being funny.  If he's making a great sound or silly expression, he laughs about it almost as if he's encouraging you to laugh with him.  I love that.  He went from just laying looking cute (not too long ago, it seems) to a little boy who craves interaction.  

Also, last week he just TOOK OFF.  I mean that.  My grandparents were over after they had gone to church on a Wednesday night visiting and it seemed like he wanted to show off for them.  He was pulling out toys and doing silly little things to make my grandmother laugh and all off a sudden, he walked very quickly across the room to me.  I was pretty shocked.  He could take 4 steps and I'd even seen him take 7 steps, but walking across the room was not yet possible until that moment.  It was pretty magical for me.  Even though he looks like an old, drunk man walking and swinging his arms, it's still a beautiful site.  Since then he really hasn't stopped.  He can get everywhere and into everything and FAST.  Before I can get one disaster cleaned up, there he goes off to another room to create another one.  We have started spending a lot of time out of the house.  I really don't want his days to be filled with constant "No's", so I have to take him to places where there can be some freedom.  Too bad the weather is getting cool because the parks are about to be out of the picture.

I love how much he's learning and growing.  I'm just ready for some WORDS now.  In 1 month and 6 days I take Carter for his 15 month check-up.  At 12 months he wasn't really saying what I would call words.  Dr. Parker says that she wants 6 words by 15 months.  That's a lot of pressure.  I'm wondering what she's gonna do if he still isn't saying much of anything.  Will I get a "Bad Mom" label to put on my forehead?  I swear I do all that I can think of for his language development.  And, as a teacher, that's a lot.  So, I wait.  I wait and I wait and I wait for the first word.  My little guy has a great understanding vocabulary--he points to everything and wants me to tell him what it is.  And, if I ask him what things are or where they are, he can find them and point.  I guess he's just not ready to spit them out yet.  In the meantime, I'm polling every mom I come in contact with.  When did your child start talking?  There's such a wide range that I almost can't believe the doctor is worried because it seems pretty normal for boys to wait longer than girls to speak out the words they know.  I'll keep you informed.

Political Confusion

I don't know who to vote for.  I do realize that there are only 19 little days between right now and Election Day.  It's at times like these that I wish that I were someone who votes straight Democrat or Republican--but I'm not.  I always vote for the person.  The problem this go around is that I don't really want either of these candidates running the country that I love so much.  I'm also taking things much more serious now that I have a child.  Is one of these goobers going to further screw up the US to the point that I'll be scared and guilty about having my son grow up in such a place?  It's not all that unlikely.  Just look at what the current administration has done!

I've tried to be very responsible and research what these two stand for, but none of their "talking points" are reaching out to grab me.  It seems like everyone has that "hot button" issue that is a deal maker or breaker for them.  For example, my husband is an insurance agent so health care issues and economic plans helped him decide.  For some it's abortion.  For others it's immigration or the War in Iraq.  I just have a very hard time thinking of any issue as black or white, so here I am--sitting right in the gray area on most everything.  I mean, take abortion.  Yes, I personally believe that it is WRONG and that there are certainly methods that are sick, sad and terrible.  But even Jesus Christ gives us free will, even though it could mean that some will spend eternity separated from Him.  So, who am I to say that it's ok to take a woman's will away when it comes to her decision on an abortion?  I pray she'll make the right decision, but should I or anyone else FORCE her by law to make that decision.  

Further dilemma: I flat out don't trust Obama.  He has a sneaky face and I don't think he's much of a gentleman.  But, I'm not sure McCain has the balls to run this country.  He's seems meek to me.  There are so many issues he should be throwing in Obama's face, but he's so polite that he just shakes his head and moves on.  

What to do?  Some have suggested that simply vote for someone else, but I refuse to cast a vote that essentially won't count.

19 days and counting to MY Decision 08.

The Strength of Women

It's always been said that women are the fairer sex. And, sure we are -- to some degree.  Not many of us get into manual labor, heavy lifting and contact sports.  But, the internal strength that so many of my women friends have shown in the past week amazes me.  

The role of a mother is one of the most glorious and one of the most difficult.  Having a child is like taking the risk of having your heart live outside your body for the rest of your life.  A risk because loving something that much can often be painful.  Each time your child is hurt, crying, upset, frustrated, angry, sad you want so badly to make it all go away, but that's not always possible and each time you have to face these emotions with your child it rips at you on the inside a little more each time.  How each mother handles it is different: sometimes there is guilt, sometimes a sense of failure, sometimes there is just the knowledge that some pain has to enter into everyone's life.  But we all have to handle it.

And you say, but you GET to be a mother.  You're right.  It's a gift.  Every day there are glorious wonders that come from being around my child.  

The tasks of a mother aren't usually that difficult.  Changing a diaper.  Not that hard.  Giving a bottle.  Not that hard.  Bathing and dressing.  Not that hard.  Reading a story.  Singing a song.  Cooking a meal.  Cleaning the house.  Not that hard.  But, think about it.  To do all those things and more all day, every day, with a positive attitude and a smile can sometimes...get to you.  You begin to think:  "What about me?"  "What about my interests?"  "When do I get time to relax?"  And that is the tough part about being a mother because the answer is that ultimately, those things are put on hold.  You have to sit back and watch a part of yourself slip away.  Congrats to those of you that have been able to hold on to the old you and to those of you who aren't bothered by this at all.  So many women I know have sacrificed who they are and where they were going to raise a child.  We do it willingly and knowingly.  I'm not saying that any of us were forced or are angry about it.  Some days it can just...get to you.  It's tough to see the importance of the love and attention and influences that are given to our children each day through our sacrifice--through our being here.  I know that someday it will matter that I gave up my career to stay at home and be a full-time mother to my son.  I know that he is becoming someone better for it.  I don't regret my decision.

On those days when being on duty for 24 hours a day starts to chip away at the smile and positive attitude, we start to yearn and crave a piece of time that we could escape. Time when no one is expecting anything and no one is demanding anything of our time. We talk about these cravings and feel guilty.  Actually guilty for wanting to help ourselves.  So, we're strong and we push it away and we keep going.  We want to feel important, but we push those needs aside.  We want to feel appreciated, but we push it aside.  We want to remember what made us fun and interesting, but we push it aside.  We want to use our talents, but we push it aside.  How long can it be pushed aside before there's some explosion--a point where you scream and throw your hands into the air and give up.  I have a dear friend who is so close to that point.  To look at her you'd never know it.  She's a pro at putting on a smile and playing happy, but it's getting old for her.  I really don't know what to do for her.  She's so guilt-ridden for even feeling the way.  But, she's facing this and she's finding her way out of it.  She is so strong.  Somehow we've all got to realize that taking care of ourselves helps us to better care for our children.

I have another friend who is faced with possibly losing one of her children in a custody battle.  It's killing her inside.  The thoughts of not seeing him grow and not being the one to help him grow are almost crippling her.  But, every day she gets out of bed and she loves on both her children.  She doesn't expose them to the pain she's feeling inside.  She is so strong.

Yet another friend lost a great job very suddenly.  She took the high road and saw it as an opportunity to explore other outlets for her talent.  Sure, she was worried and scared for a while, but she stays positive each day.  She is so strong.  

I am very lucky to be surrounded by such strong women.

Another Day

I had in mind to write this great blog about my political woes, but I can't today.  I can't because it's one of those days.  I feel like my body is heavy and melting.  My face has no smile and I am on the edge of something--I don't know what.  It takes everything in me to stop from falling into whatever is pulling me down.  Gravity seems to work more on me than others today.  

I'd rather be sleeping.  I'd rather be crying.  For both it takes all I've got to resist them.  The things that might normally seem small and insignificant are magnified hundreds of times today.  My mind gets bogged down with why I'm not beautiful and why my husband pays me little attention and why my child often seems detached from me and why we never seem to have enough money to just make it.  Normally, I'll rationalize those fears away and clear my mind onto more positive ponderings.  But today I'm just rolling around in them.  It's weakness, I know--this giving in to the self-pity.  Exercise would  help.  Taking a shower would help.  Calling a friend would help.  Getting up off this couch and interacting with life would help.  But I'd rather just stay right here for a little longer.  I'm still and the whole world is moving at rabbit's pace around me.  I just can't muster the energy to care.

To analyze myself, I'd have to say that these are the ashes of issues I thought I'd burned from my past.  They were much darker and stuck around for longer when I was younger.  I should know better now.  I should know not to give in.   

So, I'll pray.  I'll pray even though I don't really have the words to say.  I'll pray for strength that I don't have.  I'll pray that I can see myself the way Jesus does.  I know he thinks I'm beautiful, even now.  I'll pray for my relationship with my husband.  I'll pray for my connection with Carter.  I'll pray for all our needs to be met as the economic world falls apart.  I'll pray for the fears to leave and normalcy to return.   Then, I'll get up and go take a shower.

My First Adventure in Poop

There are some things that you think only happen in movies.  The rationale is that only Hollywood could create something so disgusting that it's funny.  But today, the disgustingly funny came to my life in the form of a poop adventure. 

Each morning I'm awakened by the sweet sounds of my son babbling to himself over the baby monitor.  As I lay there listening, resisting the start of the day, Jeff says to me from the ironing board, "That baby probably has a diaper he's wanting to get out of."  We didn't know how true that statement was.  So, I get up and slide my feet down the hallway and before I even get to his door I can smell it.  I have ZERO affection for changing poopy diapers as it is, but the smell coming out of his room is far worse than any other diaper aroma I've ever experienced.  But, I know it's unavoidable.  I go in.  The smell is almost alive, knocking me to the side.

Carter is standing in his crib with a big smile on his face, as if he knows what I'm about to see and he's feeling a little proud of his creation.  I'm walking slowly forward with a smile on my face so Carter won't know how distressed I am about what I am facing.  I see it.  I know that I cannot be the sole witness to this mess, so I call in a small voice, "Jeeeeeeff."  He says, "What?" I say a little louder and with a little more urgency, "Jeeeeeeff, you gotta come here and see this."  He walks in, buttoning his dress shirt and stops.  He can't see it yet, but he smells it.  "Oh my God Carter, did ya' have to stink up the whole house?", was his reaction.  He comes closer and understands.  

There is poop everywhere.  It is in little puddles of brown on his light blue sheet.  It's on his bear's head, and the bear does not look happy.  It's smeared in 3 places up the side of the bumper cover.  It is on his beautiful Pottery Barn Kids quilt that normally hangs neatly on the side of the crib.  It is on his cute little matching pillow.  His blue dot blanket that he treasures is wrapped around him and through his legs.  It is covered in brown spots.  But, most of all, it is all over my smiling baby.  

Diaper?  What diaper?  That diaper did NOTHING to stop the avalanche of sludge escaping his body early this morning.  It came out between his legs and went south.  It came out the back the diaper and went north clear to his shoulder blades.  He had it on his arms and his legs and on his feet.  His construction pajamas were only a shell of their former whiteness.  Somehow it all had to be cleaned up.  Thank God I have the loveliest, nicest and most helpingest husband in the world.  He lifted Carter out of the crib, told him good morning and kissed him (brave, right?).  I grabbed a disposable cover for the changing pad and we laid him down.  Jeff took off the pants and I took off the shirt, tossing them into a plastic bag.  I took off the diaper that was solid poop from front to back and side to side.  No wonder it had given up the fight.  We lost count of how many wipes it took to get everything solid off of Carter so that I could carry him to the bathtub.

As I walked down the hall to the big tub, I could smell his hair.  Oh my, it was IN HIS HAIR.  Thankfully, Carter loves baths.  So, he was getting excited as I filled his little tub with water.  So excited that he PEED all over me.  Perfect, I thought.  Just perfect.  I cleaned up Carter and I took Carter back into his room to get him dressed and found Jeff taking everything off of the bed and putting it into a trash bag.  I knew I'd need to wipe down every slat on that crib before anyone touched it and somehow get the smell OUT of that room, but for now we had made progress.  Before walking Carter into the kitchen for breakfast, I brushed his teeth...just in case, you know.  Then, we all sat down for breakfast together to the sound of the washing machine.  What a shitty start to the day. HA!

The Fitness Journey

Before I got pregnant the first time, I was in pretty good shape.  The best I've ever been in, I'd say.  I've NEVER had a hot bod by any stretch, but it's felt pretty good to live in.  Then, having a miscarriage frightened me away from any physical exertion.  Out of running, working out and yoga, I only stuck with the lame yoga for pregnant chicks DVD for the first 2 trimesters of my second pregnancy, then it was lay around and wait to have a baby.  After having Carter, I only had 7 extra pounds to get rid of, which I didn't think was that bad.  But, little sleep and eating whatever and whenever took my weight up instead of down.  I'd read that at 6 weeks you can start exercising again, and if a book says it's ok, I generally go with it.  Lesson:  Listen to your body.  I did a full yoga session anyway and thought I would DIE.  Really, though.  I was in hurting in places that I fully expected to be hurting, my heart was racing and I was having a hormonal sweat.  I'm sure I did more damage than good that day, but I thought, "I've just got to get back on the horse."  But, I didn't.  I didn't really do anything active consistently until Carter was about 7 months old.  As a reward, I reached pre-pregnancy weight at about 9 months old.  

If I could make it there, I could go farther.  At 1 year I've lost another 8 pounds.  I feel so ready to step things up and get back to a strenuous activity level, but I'm finding that my body won't let me.  Each morning (except Sunday) I put Carter in his stroller after breakfast and we walk almost 2 miles.  Lately, I've jogged a bit.  At first, my legs weren't very strong and would start getting tired and force me to walk again.  Today, I decided that I would start off running and run the entire way.  To my frustration, my lungs and airways gave out before my legs did.  I had an asthma attack.  When I was young, I had exercise induced asthma.  I really haven't had problems with it in a long time, but then I haven't pushed my body and my lungs the way I did today.  It was a beautiful day, I felt great, I ran about 3/4 mile and then BAM--the burning, the airways closing, the gasping for breath.  I wanted to cry.  I have the motivation and I'm making the time, but my body doesn't want to cooperate.  I did a little reading on the condition and the treatment, aside from prescription drugs, is to walk.  

Dreams

For the past few nights, Jeff and I have had some strange dreams.  Where do these things come from?  Our thoughts, our fears, our hopes?  It seems like all those things wound into a place in our minds where nothing makes much sense.  

Jeff had a dream that Carter died and we had a little girl a while later.  The dream was at the hospital on the day of her birth.  Since then, I have been so aware of each move that Carter makes.  I'm more careful when I drive.  I cut his food into smaller pieces.  I jump if he coughs.  Whatever that dream sprang from, it translated into some very real fears for me.  I know that would be the biggest pain I'd ever have to face, so there's part of me that imagines that dreams come from a place of some truth.  Possibly as a warning? Now I feel like it's my job to watch Carter like a hawk should there be an ounce of truth to it.

Last night I had a dream that I think sprung from my difficulty to trust anyone, including Jeff.  We were in a crowded auditorium, which I think was the auditorium where we hold church, but 3 times the size--Eastside high school, and we were fighting.  Apparently I had caught Jeff looking at porn.  The most frustrating part of it was that I was crying and obviously hurt about the situation, but Jeff was laughing through all his words in the most disrespectful and uncaring way.  I kept getting more and more upset, but he was unaffected by my emotions.  He didn't care that I was hurt.  I woke up feeling as if it had just happened.  I was on the verge of tears and I felt so insecure.  I tried to talk to Jeff about it and he tried to make me feel better, but I can't shake it.

Sometimes I wish that I could escape dreaming.  They may start as thoughts or images, but they make their way into our lives and change who we are.

What is up with me?

Does anyone else ever ask themselves that?  What is UP with me?  It seems I've spent most of my 31 years chiseling away at this little comfort bubble that surrounds me.  I'm comfortable at home, with my family, with myself...but not with much else.  I suppose it's just the personality that I've been given--I'm an introvert.  I've never been much on speaking in front of others, and I find myself on some days not wanting to speak much at all.  But, it comes and goes.  Most of the time, I can muddle through being a sociable person and no one really notices.  It's an act I've perfected in the last 12 years or so since high school.  Then, I was the quiet girl.  I hated that, so I vowed to make a new start and a new me.  I think I did pretty well.  I can make friends and be in a group...and with no time or money spent on counseling (ha ha).

It's on those days that it "goes" that I'm asking myself that ever-so-serious question: Mandi, really, what is UP with you?  Take for example, a little outing that I went on last week.  Each Wednesday morning I take Carter to a playdate with some other kids his age.  It gives him the chance to be around other children to develop some social awareness and it gives me a chance to get out of these four walls and talk to other moms who are going through the same life issues that I am.  Most weeks, I LOVE it.  I like these people and we have a lot in common.  But this week I don't know what was going on.  It seemed like every word that came out of my mouth was so completely random and without much merit.  And, I could hear myself from inside my head with this annoying little echo.  Talking seemed so out of place on this day.  I tried to coach myself from the inside: "Come on Mandi--say something intelligent or halfway interesting", "Why don't you try smiling", "You're not being very perky--perk up, girl!"  But I was stuck inside awkwardness and self-consciousness and childishness.  Honestly, I think GROW UP and SUCK IT UP.  I'm afraid it usually just comes across as my being snobby or uninterested, but that's not the case.

It is sadness that brings these days of inner quiet on?  I don't think so.  I don't feel sad.  I really am so happy with my life on most days.  In thinking about it over the last few days, I think it's just who I am.  Not everyone can be the life of the party and some of us are just meant to listen sometimes.  I'm ok with that.  

At least I think I'm fooling most everyone.  I've tried to tell some people that I'm really pretty shy and quiet.  They think that isn't possible for a teacher.  Teaching is different, though.  I relate it much to an actor on a stage.  When I teach in front of a room filled with children and their little eyes and their little ears absorbing it all, I'm acting out a role in my life.  When I have on that hat, my voice is different.  I can sing, dance, act silly, read with feeling, talk intelligently (usually), show affection and emotion.  Maybe I just need to learn to translate that into other areas of life.  As my friend Robin says, "Just do it on behalf of yourself"

On a not totally separate subject, what is UP with people who feel the need to spill their entire lives and deepest secrets upon first meeting?  I guess I, of all people, just DO NOT get that.  I mean, don't you have some veil of intimacy that we need to get past as friends to be able to spill some of that stuff?  I'm sure I feel that way because whenever I get to the point that I feel I can talk about myself on a personal level to someone, I always feel somewhat guilty afterwords.  Did they really want to know all that?  Am I forcing them to carry a burden of knowledge that they weren't ready or willing to take on?  

Ah, it's like another job to me--something I have to work at every day.  Relationships, conversations, connecting, friendships--all work, but all definitely worth the trouble.  

My Brother is Leaving

I haven't written in a while. A lot has been going on that I just haven't felt that I could air out in public...at least as public as this is. But, life goes on and I'm still moving forward.

In about 5 and a half hours my younger brother is leaving to move to NY. In a way, I'm so happy for him. I know about having dreams. I can see that his talents as a chef have outgrown Greenville and its restaurants. I understand that he needs a bigger place and bigger opportunities. But, his leaving has still left me feeling a lot of regret. Regret for not really knowing him in a long time. We have different schedules--me with a baby to take care of and him working the restaurant schedule. Occasionally the entire family gets together on his nights off and he cooks for us and those are some of my favorite times. But still, I don't know him and now he's leaving.

The most important thing I know about him is something that I recognize no matter how little we see each other, and I pray that this will never change about him: my little brother has the best heart. He is so caring in a quiet and almost shy way. I'm sad that I won't see that for a while.

Why didn't I make more of an effort to spend time with him? Are we just too different? I've always felt a bit on the outside of my family looking in. I'm different from all of them in that I'm such the traditionalist. Both my parents are very athletic and I don't have that. Chad is into theater, music and big cities. He's so bold and outgoing. Jason is fun in a crowd and a super talented chef. They are each such individuals and so special in their own right. I don't really have a stand out talent and I'm big on following rules. But, we all love each other and I know in my heart that no matter where we all live, we'll always cherish the times we have together.

Bye little brother, I wish you all the best in the big city.

Summer Has Arrived

There are just some moments in life that you wish you could freeze and capture forever. Tuesday night was like that for me, and it came so unexpectedly. It had been a pretty busy day. Jeff had been studying for his big securities license test and I had to run all over town in the sweltering heat getting groceries and gas, returning this, taking care of that. Life moved fast on this day until the sun started going down.

We had just eaten dinner, someone came to adopt two of my kittens, I gave Carter a bath and Jeff decided to try putting together the church's huge new screen and projector to test it out. It's so big that he had to set it up in the yard. He plugged in the projector and set up his laptop to show on the screen. While he was doing that, my parents walked over to have some dinner as well. He went inside to grab a DVD so that we could tell the quality of the image. "Walk the Line" started playing and we all found a seat. I was in the rocking chair in the corner, my Dad had Carter in the rocking chair next to me. My Mom was sitting on the bricks and Jeff was in his stadium seat up near the screen. A warm breeze was blowing and the sun was setting all around us as the movie came into clearer view. As I watched my Dad rock Carter and everyone relax around me, the stress and busyness of the day melted off me. I settled into my chair and took a deep breath. I let the dishes stay dirty on the counter. I let the clothes sit in the dryer unfolded and I took about 2 hours out of my life to enjoy being with my family. It got darker and I saw a firefly. I took Carter to bed and got everyone a bowl of frozen yogurt on the way back out. All of a sudden, it was summertime.

The Big Question

I constantly feel the need to tell people what a dedicated teacher I was. Is it guilt from leaving my profession and the children behind? To me, it's the big question--Do I need this? I've been looking for the answer to this question for months now.

I began teaching in January of 1999, second grade. It was a long-term sub position for a teacher out having a baby. I have to be honest--it kicked my butt. All those grand ideas of going in and transforming lives with the gentle words coming from my mouth flew right down the toilet. I looked about 17. The children didn't respect me. I didn't know what I was doing and my feelings of inadequacy and self-consciousness manifested themselves in screaming. I interviewed for a full-time position at this school and didn't get it. I wasn't surprised and I was a bit relieved.

As much as I was disillusioned about the teaching profession, I knew I needed a job and this was the degree that I held. I sent out 53 resumes and got 4 interviews. The job that I took was from a first-year principal teaching at a 50+ year-old school in the projects of Greenville. 99% of the children lived below poverty level. Drugs were rampant throughout the neighborhood and most of the children parent's didn't give a rat's ass about what they did at school or even where they were most of the time. It was sad, but it felt like a calling. The principal called me a few hours after our interview and she said she had a good feeling about me. I accepted a job as the only 4K teacher at Hollis Academy. It was Greenville County's only year-round school, which meant that I'd be starting school in just 3 weeks. I'd had the most experience with 5 year-old Kindergarten in practicums and student teaching, so I quickly threw together a simplified version of 5K in my sad little room. It was located in the basement of this terribly old school and it smelled of mold and dust. There were dead roaches in the cabinets and mouse traps on top of them. The children's bathroom was down two flights of stairs and around the corner. There were no windows in the room. The walls were made of brown brick.

I met my assistant, screened about 120 children for 40 slots in my class (there were 2 half-day sessions at this point), called the parents, told them they were accepted and set appointments for home visits. I didn't know about Mapquest at this time, so I got my map of Greenville County and set out to conduct home visits with each child.

I grew up in a nice, clean home with great parents so I had no idea what I was about to walk into. The homes of these children were dark, dirty and hot. The children were often dirty and in clothes that looked like they had been worn a few days in a row. More often than not, their parents wouldn't even turn off the big screen tv that was blaring along one wall of the house. 12 of the 40 children didn't even speak English. At the end of these sad and eye-opening days, I cried. I began to feel guilty for the nice things that I had and I began to love these children who hadn't seen much love in their short lives. I wanted to save them all.

I became obsessed with making the toys and classroom as beautiful as it could be for these children, though it all look like it had been there as long as the school. I bought sandpaper and a gallon of paint to sand down all the wooden furniture and paint it a cheery lavender. I bought fabric with clouds on it to create the look of windows and made little curtains to hang on each side. I put artwork up all over the classroom. I cleaned and I worked until it was ready.

I'll never forget the first day of school. I went into the hallway to gather my class and a little boy stood up with tears streaming down his face and threw up right at my feet. I was horrified. What was I supposed to do? I wasn't going to TOUCH him or his throw up. I asked my assistant to take care of the little boy and the mess and I took the other 19 children to our classroom. The adventure began.

They didn't know how to walk in a line. They didn't understand what "put your bags in your cubby" meant. They went in the room and immediately began to get into toys and pull things off the shelves. Half of them needed to go to the bathroom and the other half were crying for their mother. There was only one of me and the bathroom was a maze to get to. I felt like crying, too, at this point. After making it to the bathroom and back without losing any children, I then had to take them to the cafeteria for breakfast. They didn't know how to hold a tray or where to sit or how to open a milk carton. An hour later when we made it back to the room, the children didn't want to sing a song with me, they didn't want to listen to a story, they just wanted to play. I gave in and let them. They did what 4 year-olds do best--they pulled all the toys off the shelves, mixed them together and ran around the room. I wanted to quit.

Two weeks later the director of 4K came to my room. She very boldly took down half the things I had in my room, pulled toys off shelves and sat me down. She took me under her wing and she began to teach me how to teach 4 year-olds. Slowly but surely, it got better. I read books. I stayed until nearly 6:00 every night getting ready for the next day and it was down in the moldy, dark basement of an old school in the middle of the worst neighborhood in Greenville that I stopped just surviving each day with these children and I became a teacher.

The next year the program went full-day and we moved into a new building half way through the year. The principal gave me the biggest classroom in the school with a rounded wall of windows overlooking the playground. I had my own private office and storage room, 3 brand new computers and a bathroom in the classroom. The director of 4K used a lot of her funds to purchase new furniture and materials for the room. I kept some of the purple furniture, just for the memories. I found my voice with the children and their parents. I found a way to reach them. I found a way to teach them more than anyone thought they could learn. I went into their homes and asked them to turn their televisions off. I talked to them about how to read to their child. I talked to them about the influences they were allowing in their children's lives. I talked to them about problems they had at school and how they could help me solve them. The parents began to respect me and several of them are close friends to this day. I loved on children who were difficult to love. I taught concepts over and over until they got them. The progress I made with these children didn't go unnoticed. My job became more than a job. It was down under my skin and it was who I was.

I taught at Hollis Academy for 5 years. I hated to leave, but my husband I were building our first home in Greer. I got a transfer to Dunbar Child Development Center, one of 5 Child Development Centers in Greenville County. These centers house only 4 year-old classes and it is very difficult to get a job working at one of them. The centers are jewels for the school district--very well taken care of and full of only the best for young children. Though they are beautiful, they are strategically placed in poverty-stricken neighborhoods to serve the children who need it the most. It was important to me to continue to serve the children and families who needed me. At the end of my first year at Dunbar, the other teachers at the centers had voted me Teacher of the Year for the next school year. To be thought of in such a way by other, more experienced teachers was a huge honor for me. It was one that I took seriously and intended to live up to for a long, long time.

At the beginning of my second year at Dunbar, I got pregnant. 8 weeks later I had a miscarriage and wasn't sure I wanted to be pregnant again. I pushed through and prayed through the pain and decided to try again. I got pregnant on the first try. At the end of my second year, I was 7 months pregnant and carefully organizing my lesson plans and materials for the long-term sub that would be starting out the next school year for me. There was no talk of my not returning. In my mind, that just couldn't happen. This was who I was. This is what I did.

Carter was born on August 28. I took 12 weeks of maternity leave with him. My mother-in-law was set to keep Carter 3 days a week, my dad one day a week and Jeff the other. He wouldn't be going to daycare, he would be at our house. I went back the first week of November. On Thursday of that week, I went into my director's office in tears. I told her I couldn't be a teacher anymore. That same day the director of 4K came to visit me and I had to tell her the same thing. Something had happened inside of me. I didn't loose the love for those children or their families, I just gained a bigger love for Carter and a bigger need to be the one to raise my child. I wanted to wake him up each morning. I wanted to be the one to comfort him when he cried. I wanted to set his schedule and make the decisions each day that formed his life. I needed to be a mother--and not just for 3 or 4 hours each day, but full time.

I worked until the first week of January so that they would have time to find a new teacher. I could almost feel a riiiipppp as I walked out the door on that last day. I felt panic overtake me. What have a done? What did I just give up? I may never get back into a center again. I may never get to teach 4K again. Mandi, what did you do? What if I need this? But I kept walking, knowing that what was done was done. Regrets were worth nothing at this point.

The first 2 weeks at home were heaven, but then that big question hit me again--What if I need this? Jeff was giving Carter a bath one Friday night and it had been a particularly exhausting day. I was coming down off of the high and I began to miss the way that other adults had respected me and looked to me as a person of authority. So, I asked Jeff--What if I need to be a teacher? Of course, there was nothing he could say. It was done. He reassured me that Carter needed me more. He needed me to learn all their was about him and how to care for him just like I had learned how to be a teacher. He needed me to be his expert. That really struck me and I felt settled.

Two weeks ago I had to go back to Dunbar to help screen the children for next year. While I was there, I saw parents of students I'd had in the past, I saw my old classroom, I was asked to come back and it gave me a good feeling. I thought long and hard about it. The last day that I was there, I came home and asked Jeff--What if I need this? He asked me a question in return--Could you walk out the door each morning and leave Carter? No. I knew I couldn't and that was the end of my battle. I went back to the school. I cleaned out all the things I had left behind. I said goodbye to all my old friends and I walked out those doors again. This time there was no riiippp as I went out the door. Really, there was nothing.

A few days ago, I was playing with Carter. I was "getting him" (creeping towards him and blowing a zerbert on his neck). I held him up and he leaned forward, cackling and smiling, and did the same thing to me. All my questions had been answered.

Two Precious Moments with Carter

The Store

I just needed to run into Hobby Lobby to grab a few things, so I strapped Carter into the cart and off we went. I got what I needed, and was ready to go--but I just couldn't. Carter was holding my hand. I know that must seem so simple and not a big deal, but these shows of affection initiated by him are just starting to happen. So, we just walked up and down isles and in circles around the store. I wanted to take it in and not do anything to break that moment. It was something I'll never forgot and I hope that throughout my life I'll never forgot how important it is to appreciate those gifts that you don't ask for and how important it is to take time to enjoy them.

________________

5 AM

Carter has been sleeping all night long for a while now...so long I can't really remember what it was like to get up every night anymore. But, on occasion, he wakes up. When he does, I know that there's something wrong. I always wait a few minutes before going in because I want to give him a chance to go back to sleep (which he often does). This morning I heard him cry at 5 AM and I just groaned, thinking "Oh no, not now. I was sleeping so good. Please go back to sleep. Please, please, please..." He didn't go back to sleep, so I got up and made my way to his room in the dark, trying not to open my eyes too much, trying not to get too far away from sleep. Lately, it's been his teeth that bother him, so I have a few tricks up my sleeve that I try with him. But this time he stops crying almost as soon as I pick him up. This really never happens. He can't tell me what's wrong, so I imagine that it must've been a bad dream. So I just hold him. Carter isn't a very cuddly baby and he doesn't tolerate my hugs and squeezes for long, but at 5 AM on June 5 he layed his head on my shoulder. He put one hand around my arm and the other on my other shoulder and he just layed there. I was in such awe of this moment I could hardly breathe. Inside, I felt like a happy cry. So we rocked and I rubbed his back and I whispered to him until he fell asleep on my shoulder (which he also never does). This was so precious to me. I must've sat there for about 30 minutes. By this point, I was fully awake, but I was glad--glad he needed me and glad that I got up at 5 AM.

Thoughts on Home

Last week, Jeff and I started taking a walk each morning after we feed Carter and eat breakfast—usually around 8:00. This walk has been a great time for us to talk about things that are on our minds, air our frustrations and just BE together without the thoughts of what needs to be done. This is my new favorite thing to do. It requires no gas and it requires no money. I LOVE it.


As I walk, I think about home. This is my home. It’s not just the place where I live, it’s the place where my parents and my grandparents and my great-grandparents lived. This is the only place in the entire world that I really feel is mine. As a child, I played on every inch of the land surrounding me. Everywhere I look as we walk holds a memory for me—even the smells take me back. My favorite is the smell of honeysuckle. Right now the honeysuckle is growing like crazy all over the fences along with wild pink roses. The smell is so incredibly sweet that I can’t resist plucking off a flower and pulling out the nectar to taste. I gave Carter his first taste of honeysuckle this week and he seemed intrigued.


My grandparent’s old country store has been closed since 1995 and it’s falling apart now. The roof is caving in and it’s overrun with junk from my uncle’s cabinet shop. But I can still remember the chunks of my childhood spent there. After school, I would sit on the big freezer with my cup of crushed ice and Coke, a pack of saltine crackers and a slice of hoop cheese. I did homework, watched the neighborhood walk in and out and spent quality time being friends with my grandmother. As I got older, I got to help cut and weigh the “buy the pound” items, ring in prices on the old cash register and put the purchases in paper bags. The store wasn’t computerized. Everything was done by hand. I ran the store during my senior year in high school. When the store closed, I felt a part of my history and this neighborhood’s history passing away.


Down the road I pass my grandparent’s house. They would work 10 hours a day, 7 days a week. That left their house empty very often. Kelly and I would find the “hidden” key, punch in the alarm code and spend hours going through her desk in the guest bedroom and playing some form of Office, interviewing each other on her tape recorder to preserve our deepest thoughts on tape for the future, or going through the deep freezer to hopefully find some peaches or strawberries to munch on before they thawed out.


The houses of my childhood friends are still here along the streets of this neighborhood, but most of them are gone. I think about catching bugs in bags, building forts in the woods, riding 4-wheelers (though it was illegal), picking strawberries (that we hadn’t paid for), making up games, staying out until dark on our bicycles, getting dirty and not caring.


There are the cows that I feared, the pond that I fished in, the trees that I climbed, the fence that I cut my leg on, the porch that I sat on, the house that I lived in, the gardens I worked in, the fields that I ran in, the people who raised me—all right here. It’s my home.


I look at so many friends from my past and so many of my family members who have gone away from this place and for a moment I imagine that it must be so exciting and glamorous to leave home and explore big cities and have new experiences (and it probably is). Before I let jealously creep in, I remind myself of what a rare thing it is to run in the grass that my mom ran in as a child and to have my child run in the grass that I ran in as a child. I’ll be able to share the beauty of this small place in the world with him and he’ll also call it home. For that, I’ll have no regrets.

I Miss My Brain

I mean that...not in the “I“m loosing my mind” sense, but in the sense that what exists in my skull seems to be a former shell of what used to be. I really didn’t believe those that told me that you forget how to have a conversation with an adult when you have a baby. Now I am proof. I’m a statistic in the worst way.
Grabbing onto the Facebook and MySpace wave has put me in touch with some of my past and it’s put me into a very nostalgic mood. Just talking to Kelly makes me remember what nerdy little kids we were. In our elementary years, we would actually sit together for hours trying to write a book about our lives and our experiences. We tried our hand at designing our own line of clothing. The point is: we wrote, we drew, we dreamed, we read, we thought big. Those things stuck with me through high school. I have a poetry book that I wrote. I have shelves of books that I read (though I’ve sold many of them now on Amazon to help put gas in my car). I have artwork and memories of artwork that I created. In college, I could write about ANYTHING and I was good at it and it was easy for me. I would have long conversations about life, love, religion, friendship for hours on end. I could open up.
Now...where is that person? I bought a sketch journal a few weeks ago with the intention of reconnecting with my brain. I glued in a few pictures and quotes from a magazine and there it is on the shelf. I haven’t painted anything in almost a year. I’m not sure I remember how. I don’t REALLY talk to anyone anymore...the bearing-your-soul kind of talking, that is. When I try, it feels a little stretched. I was a darn good teacher. I reveled in the creativity that it allowed me. I did that every day for 8 years. I’m not sure I can do those things anymore. I have Love in the Time of Cholera on my nightstand. It’s been there since Christmas. I’m still in the first chapter. “WHO IS THIS PERSON?” I can read an adult level book. I swear it.
So now the challenge: to find what got in the way and to find where I went. I don’t blame Carter or feel any resentment towards him, but I know that taking care of an infant leaves no time for much else. I can’t just sit on the couch for hours reading. I can’t immerse myself in painting for a day. In my free time, I have to do things like: take a shower, eat a meal, wash clothes, clean the house. Those aren’t choices. I guess my answer is simple: I’ll do what I have to do and when I have time to do other things, I’ll do them and I’ll try to do them well. I need that for me.
___
Sorry for the overall negative entry. This is where I’m at today.

Like Birds in the Wilderness

For some reason I need to do this. I need to be able to write about what's going on inside my head if for no one else but me. But, imagining that someone out there might read this and make some connection gives me a purpose for writing it. If you know me, you may want to caution yourself in reading too many of these because I plan to be very honest and it may not always be pretty. I need somewhere that I can be brutally honest and what better place than this huge abyss that we all love and know as the internet.

In college I had a lot of friends, both at school and church. But, things happen: lives changes, people move, their lives move along different paths that make it difficult to connect with each other anymore. So, now it's me and Jeff and a few acquaintances. Jeff is wonderful, but some of the things that cross my mind aren't exactly things you discuss over dinner. I'm sure he'd say that I can talk to him about whatever I want, but sometimes it's so darn hard for me to find the words and make them come out in a way that makes any sense. That's one of my biggest challenges--speaking. I could always write, but speaking is sometimes a foreign langugage all it's own for me. With typing, the words don't get in the way--it just works.

So, here I go, diving in head first...