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.