That's what he suggested.
I'd been talking about Korean food a lot since my return from visiting John's family. One of my favorite things about taking the kids to Michigan is eating lots and lots of Korean food, both home-cooked and in restaurants. John was the Korean chef in our house and I never picked up his skills, so I use our time with the in-laws to get my fill.
And so, either tired of or inspired by my gochujang-laced sighs and daydreaming, the suggestion was made and it was decided. Next Wednesday, what is settling in to be our usual mid-week date night, we'd go out for Korean food. Who was I to argue? Most people I know--myself included--need more Korean food in their lives, and his interest in trying new restaurants and new cuisines is one of the many things I find endearing and appealing about him.
What I neglected to note is that tomorrow, the appointed day for the Korean food outing, is John's birthday. My Korean chef would be 39 tomorrow. And now it happens that I will find myself eating Korean food with another man, one who reminds me in many wonderful and meaningful ways of John.
In fact, in the important ways he could not be more like John. He is the embodiment of kindness. He is thoughtful and generous. He brings out in me the things I like most about myself, and being around him encourages me to be the person I want to be.
He's not Korean, not by a mile. Not by a million miles. But there's a bittersweet, unintended symbolism to the fact that he'll have his introduction to Korean cuisine tomorrow. And even better, that tomorrow, as the banchan arrive, I can explain to him the significance of the day and he will appreciate it and value it and understand it.
***************************
John's birthday has since his death been one of the hardest days of the year for me. Much harder than the day of his death. The day of his death seems more of a celebration to me, the end of a struggle whose time had come, even if was not welcome. His birthday, though, marks the days he didn't get to have. Birthdays are for thinking about the year that has passed and the year that's to come, reflections that in this case are hollow.
I'm not very New Age-y or metaphysical, but coincidences around dates and events don't seem entirely random to me, either. I feel John with me this year in comforting ways. I was shopping over the weekend and one of the stores I was in was giving away Charms Sweet & Sour lollipops, a favorite of John's before he had cancer and a help during his treatments as they kept the nausea at bay. I would buy those things by the case and stash them in his briefcase, coat pockets, and car so that he'd have them at hand if he felt queasy. I don't think I'd had one since he was sick, and then there one was, days before his birthday. Last Friday, I learned that a neighborhood friend shares John's birthday. Then I made the realization about the Korean food date. I don't take any of these things as a sign of any type, per se, but as . . . something.
I ate my lollipop today, I'll eat Korean food tomorrow. Maddie and Riley asked about baking John a cake, but he didn't really like cake, so we're not going to do that. I'm going to take Maddie and Riley to school, go running, go to work late. He valued time; I will give some to our children, take some for myself.
Happy 39th, Goose.
06 December 2011
14 November 2011
And then almost a month goes by.
It's no use, really, to try to update on a month's worth of activities, so I'm just going to jump right in with what's on my mind now. I continue to stew in my contentment and moments of discontentment (those continue to be mostly work-related). But the satisfaction of being where I am seems to be here to stay, and it's most welcome.
One of the last times I posted, I mused about my lifelong lack of long-term commitments. That theme has continued to be on my mind during my radio silence. As someone who married late-ish, then as someone whose spouse died, I've given my fair share of thought to the long-term commitment that is marriage. I have deep admiration for those who sustain a life-long partnership, to be sure, but also the realist's understanding that some of that longevity is circumstantial; if you meet someone later in life, biology prevents you from reaching the milestones that are within the realm of possibility for those who marry at a younger age. Wonderful partnerships meet untimely demises. Other marriages end more by choice or necessity. I proceed with caution in revering those with long marriages/partnerships as somehow inherently more worthy or generally better than those who have shorter partnerships, but understand all the while that to make any relationship work over years and years takes work and commitment and dedication.
It took me a long time to be ready to be in a long-term partnership, and I felt ever the more wronged by having that readiness mocked by the universe when John got his terminal diagnosis. Since John's death, my lack of long-term commitments has continued to grow, and I speak her not only of dating but of life choices in general. I moved out of our condo less than a year after John died, moved to Oregon months after that initial move, and have changed jobs twice in the 4.5 years since he died.
Making the commitment that John and I made to each other was the last time I felt the kind of settled contentment that I've been feeling over the past months. It's no surprise, I don't think, that the experience of John's death made me skittish. But here I am, 4.5 years later, getting it back again. Feeling settled enough to buy the house was certainly huge, and continues to be huge, and welcome, and wonderful. And my job is a commitment in a way, too; it's not perfect, but it's a long-haul kind of job that work every day to have peace with, and I make work decisions with the idea that I'll be there for the long haul, not with one foot out the door.
I'm getting there with the dating, too. I have a loooooong history—a lifetime, really, minus John—of dating Perfectly Fine but Wrong for Me people. To put a finer point on it, before John I dated either Smart, but Emotionally Unavailable or Dumb, but SO NICE! Then there was John who was smart, emotionally available, and nice: I finally got it all. Then he died, and since he died I have really dated Just for Fun. Which has been, uh, mostly fun. But I have found that Fun also gets Unfulfilling pretty quickly, so I've also dated Briefly. I've made nods at finding something real in the Fun, but nothing has been a natural fit to be sure.
But now I'm in this situation that is Fun, but also Real. Or that could be Real. This is a genuine person, not a career-focused guy who's about to move overseas or a bitter, recently divorced guy or a consultant in town short-term. No, this is a guy who like me saw the untimely demise of his partnership (although under different circumstances) and who understands how that feels, but also focuses on putting one foot in front of the other. He's ridiculously smart, incredibly generous, and funny to boot. Things are just meandering along in a lovely and happy way, slowly and sweetly. We are spending more and more time together, and talking about what that means, and musing about meeting kids. It's really great.
It's in fact great enough that I have been loathe to blog about it or talk about it much. I felt the same way about buying the house. I selfishly wanted all that goodness for me. Plus, I have that jinx-y feeling that comes from talking too much about a good thing and somehow thus causing it to implode. But it's what's on my mind lately, a lot. So I've said what I feel like I can say right now and hopefully it wasn't enough to hex it.
But just in case, I'll end by changing the subject. Halloween was awesome! Maddie was a Pegasus unicorn (thank you, eBay), Riley was a Jedi knight, and I was Princess Leia. Kindergarten has settled down and both kids seem quite content. Both of them are really into art projects now, Riley preferring to work in 3D and Maddie with a love of coloring/writing/drawing. We're going to Michigan on Saturday for our traditional Thanksgiving trip to see John's family; I always approach that with mixed emotions, but I'm always glad we go. We've been to the beach a bunch lately, and there's nothing but good about that. And then almost a month goes by, and we're still boringly happy and living our life or normalcy and about that, I have no complaints.
One of the last times I posted, I mused about my lifelong lack of long-term commitments. That theme has continued to be on my mind during my radio silence. As someone who married late-ish, then as someone whose spouse died, I've given my fair share of thought to the long-term commitment that is marriage. I have deep admiration for those who sustain a life-long partnership, to be sure, but also the realist's understanding that some of that longevity is circumstantial; if you meet someone later in life, biology prevents you from reaching the milestones that are within the realm of possibility for those who marry at a younger age. Wonderful partnerships meet untimely demises. Other marriages end more by choice or necessity. I proceed with caution in revering those with long marriages/partnerships as somehow inherently more worthy or generally better than those who have shorter partnerships, but understand all the while that to make any relationship work over years and years takes work and commitment and dedication.
It took me a long time to be ready to be in a long-term partnership, and I felt ever the more wronged by having that readiness mocked by the universe when John got his terminal diagnosis. Since John's death, my lack of long-term commitments has continued to grow, and I speak her not only of dating but of life choices in general. I moved out of our condo less than a year after John died, moved to Oregon months after that initial move, and have changed jobs twice in the 4.5 years since he died.
Making the commitment that John and I made to each other was the last time I felt the kind of settled contentment that I've been feeling over the past months. It's no surprise, I don't think, that the experience of John's death made me skittish. But here I am, 4.5 years later, getting it back again. Feeling settled enough to buy the house was certainly huge, and continues to be huge, and welcome, and wonderful. And my job is a commitment in a way, too; it's not perfect, but it's a long-haul kind of job that work every day to have peace with, and I make work decisions with the idea that I'll be there for the long haul, not with one foot out the door.
I'm getting there with the dating, too. I have a loooooong history—a lifetime, really, minus John—of dating Perfectly Fine but Wrong for Me people. To put a finer point on it, before John I dated either Smart, but Emotionally Unavailable or Dumb, but SO NICE! Then there was John who was smart, emotionally available, and nice: I finally got it all. Then he died, and since he died I have really dated Just for Fun. Which has been, uh, mostly fun. But I have found that Fun also gets Unfulfilling pretty quickly, so I've also dated Briefly. I've made nods at finding something real in the Fun, but nothing has been a natural fit to be sure.
But now I'm in this situation that is Fun, but also Real. Or that could be Real. This is a genuine person, not a career-focused guy who's about to move overseas or a bitter, recently divorced guy or a consultant in town short-term. No, this is a guy who like me saw the untimely demise of his partnership (although under different circumstances) and who understands how that feels, but also focuses on putting one foot in front of the other. He's ridiculously smart, incredibly generous, and funny to boot. Things are just meandering along in a lovely and happy way, slowly and sweetly. We are spending more and more time together, and talking about what that means, and musing about meeting kids. It's really great.
It's in fact great enough that I have been loathe to blog about it or talk about it much. I felt the same way about buying the house. I selfishly wanted all that goodness for me. Plus, I have that jinx-y feeling that comes from talking too much about a good thing and somehow thus causing it to implode. But it's what's on my mind lately, a lot. So I've said what I feel like I can say right now and hopefully it wasn't enough to hex it.
But just in case, I'll end by changing the subject. Halloween was awesome! Maddie was a Pegasus unicorn (thank you, eBay), Riley was a Jedi knight, and I was Princess Leia. Kindergarten has settled down and both kids seem quite content. Both of them are really into art projects now, Riley preferring to work in 3D and Maddie with a love of coloring/writing/drawing. We're going to Michigan on Saturday for our traditional Thanksgiving trip to see John's family; I always approach that with mixed emotions, but I'm always glad we go. We've been to the beach a bunch lately, and there's nothing but good about that. And then almost a month goes by, and we're still boringly happy and living our life or normalcy and about that, I have no complaints.
23 October 2011
Language
It was Maddie's turn this weekend.
Like her brother, she was more quiet on this trip than she typically is when in Riley's company. Part of that can be chalked up to not feeling well—she's had a cold to varying degrees since starting school in early September, and this weekend things hit a particularly low point—but some of it also seems to be a phenomenon of not being so chatty when there's no one to compete with. Or maybe when I'm listening to half as much talking it just seems quiet. Hmmm.
We had a really nice, relaxing time. We started with some shopping on the way out of town, stocking up on spices at Penzey's (Maddie is very olfactory and loved sniffing all the sample jars) and then picking up some fun bath stuff at Lush (I'm addicted to the Grass shower gel and we got Maddie a super fun bath bomb. We arrived at the beach to dismal weather, but chose to hit the pool, try out the bath bomb, eat some dinner, watch a movie, and snuggle up in bed together for an early night.
Maddie fell asleep almost immediately. It had been a long day, she was not feeling well, and we stayed up "late" for the movie. As she fell asleep and then throughout the night, her sleeping habits called to my mind the 5 Love Languages. OK, I know: SO HOKEY! I had never heard of the 5 Love Languages until, oh, over a year ago when a guy I went out with a few times mentioned them and the idea kind of stuck with me. I've still not read any of the books, but I tend to like these overly simplistic ways of categorizing emotions, actions, and feelings; I find these broad ways of categorizing behavior useful when trying to identify what's important to me and for gaining perspective on actions of others that seem otherwise without any identifiable motivation.
So the love languages, for those not familiar, are: physical touch, quality time, acts of service, words of affirmation, and receiving gifts. I put them in the order for which they resonate for me. The first two are pretty much tied as far as I'm concerned, with the second two being also tied and totally meh, and the last one (gifts) a distant, distant last. But that's neither here nor there. What I started to wonder about, as I was all snuggled in with Maddie, was how early a preference for one language over another might start to manifest. It's clear to me that for Maddie, as for myself, physical touch is very important. Even in sound sleep, that child could seek me out and needed contact with me even if just with a finger. I kept waking up to find a hand on my shoulder, a foot on my leg, her whole body pressed against mine. If I would move away (HOT!!!), she'd fling out an arm, searching for me, or scootch closer, closer, closer, until she made contact.
Riley's pretty sunggly, to be sure, but not at this base even-while-sleeping level. In fact, I'm not sure what I'd say his primary love language is at this point. Maybe quality time? I think all kids love some quality time; that's certainly big for Maddie, too. And receiving gifts! What child does not love to receive a gift!
I'm sure the Love Langauges people have something to say about when and how these preferences develop and how they change, or don't, over time. I haven't bothered to look into that. But it was nice, for two of us who feel emotionally fulfilled by that physical closeness, to snuggle up together and listen to the waves. As another example of that, we sat right up next to each other at dinner, on a bench on the same side of the table rather than across from each other as the menus had been set out.
The Love Languages people say that we are often drawn to partners who do not share the same linguistic priorities. I have seen friend couples for whom this is true, and it can be quite stressful. John and I were totally on the same page about this. We always held hands, and he was especially good at doing things for me that he knew I didn't enjoy doing for myself (acts of service). We were slightly out of phase on quality time (he needed more alone time than I did, which I sometimes took too personally), but we never gave each other gifts and that was fine with both of us. Whew. This all strikes me as a morning person/night person kind of thing: it's super helpful when both people in a couple are on the same page, and when not, it's way more stressful than it seems it should be. Insurmountable? Probably not, but nice to have an awareness.
And so I had a special appreciation of my time with my snuggly girl last night. I reminded myself of how important that touch was to her as she did that typical small child thing of turning herself completely around more than once in the night and connecting to me physically by kicking me in the face. It comes from a place of love, right? It comes from a place of love.
20 October 2011
One
Last weekend, I took Riley to the beach. Just Riley.
I think perhaps I had mentioned that I was planning to do this, to take just one child at a time on an overnight trip. This is the first time I've done this. I've long wanted—and still want—to regularly spend one-on-one time with each of the twins, and as they have gotten older, I've started to grab hours here and there during playdates and such. But this was the longest stretch of Mama-Riley time I've ever had, and the longest stretch of hours the two of them have ever spent apart.
It all went swimmingly. Maddie stayed with my mom and stepdad, and by all reports, she was fine and thrived on the attention she got. The same is true of Riley. Both M&R had been a little nervous about the idea, and both felt like the one who was with me was getting the better end of the deal. Riley was more nervous than his sister about it all, and she generously offered for him to be the first one to go to the beach when we initially discussed the idea. I think, in the end, she now sees that she hardly drew the short straw (although she's very excited about her overnight with me this coming Saturday).
A few things about the trip surprised me:
1. Riley was so quiet! He is normally a really loud, talkative kid, but on this trip he was fairly reserved and quiet. Maybe he actually has a deep appreciation of silence but never gets a chance to experience it since he's always competing with a sibling for a turn to talk and have my attention? Dunno. It sure caught me off guard, though.
2. I am a much more relaxed parent when I'm only caring for one child.
3. That said, the things that Riley does that annoy me are still annoying even when there's not another child around.
In other, unrelated, news, I'm still going on dates with the same guy and it's still slowly and steadily great. I still love my house. My job is still chipping away at me, but I'm not completely and totally overwhelmed as I was for a couple of months there. I'm getting an iPhone 4S! Woo! Now that's news.
What's really news, actually, is that I've become a person for whom it is in fact big news to be getting an iPhone 4S. Big news is no longer that my spouse is going on hospice or that I haven't slept in weeks because my babies wake up every 45 minutes. Big news is no longer a cross-country move or a job change months after my spouse died or a six-figure loss on selling a condo.
No, no, no. Big news is getting a smartphone, going out with someone kind and smart and thoughtful, planning our au pair's birthday party, making the decision to let Maddie and Riley watch Star Wars. There is a deep contentment in big news being the stuff of everyday life. I was out to lunch with a colleague yesterday, and in the course of our conversation, it dawned on me that I've never stayed in one place or done much of anything longer than a couple of years for my entire adult life. Sure, I lived in Boston for 10 years, but in 5 different apartments. I did have one job for seven years. Eight? Something like that. But that's the longest I've stuck with anything: a job, a home, a partner. John and I were together almost exactly four years from our first date to his death, my longest relationship by quite a bit, but in sheer time a blip on the radar. Even Maddie and Riley have only been a part of my life for five years (six if you count the pregnancy).
I've been an emotional late bloomer my whole life. I'll be 40 in January. It's just now, after a whole hell of a lot of change and lightning-quick living, that I feel thrilled by the idea of being here, where I am, for the long haul. I know that change will come, and I don't wish to stagnate. But I wish to be rooted and grounded, and I wish to know the contentment that can come from being still.
03 October 2011
Upswing
After my latest series of posts in which Everyone Was Out of Sorts, I'm pleased to report that we're all on the upswing.
Maddie is settling into school. It's clearly still tiring for her, both physically and mentally, but she seems more like herself, more settled. She gives positive reports about her days and hasn't asked to bring her lovey to school. She did completely lose her mind on Friday night, falling apart about something tiny and absurd, and she is still seeking control over any and everything in her sphere. But I can see the shift happening, and I'm glad for her (and, selfishly, for me).
My work is evening out. As many kind commenters picked up on and offered suggestions for, the issues at work run deeper than just things being busy right now. Much of the deeper issues are not appropriate blog fodder, but I'm working on them now that I have time to think about something beyond staunching the flow so that no one bleeds out. I think my job is fundamentally good for me, but it's the most difficult job I've ever had and I can find it hard to put the effort into it that it needs. Also, I've learned from this job that management does not come naturally to me, nor does leadership. I'm a slow learner about a lot of things, and those areas seem to be no exception. The growing pains are difficult, and I'm far from hitting my stride, but I want to give it more time. I love many things about my job, and I'm an optimist, an optimist who finally has a few minutes to catch her breath during the work day.
I don't know at what point you say that you're dating someone, but over the past couple of months I have gone out on a number of dates with someone and we plan to keep going out on dates, so maybe we're dating? I don't know. We are certainly enjoying getting to know each other. Past experience would indicate that blogging about dates is often a death knell, so I hesitate to say much, but I'll say this: he is a smart, thoughtful, interesting, and kind person. Being around him makes me feel good about myself and about my life, and it makes me happy. So I'm enjoying that, although we both have busy, complicated lives and so we don't see each other all that much. But when we can, it's nice, and unhurried, and just positive.
In other positive (if totally random) news: Spotify is genius; I've been running more often, faster, and with more enjoyment; I continue to love, love, love my house; I'm not ready for the transition to fall and winter; I'm hoping the recent, more regular blogging settles back into a trend. I don't know that I'll ever have as much need or desire to write as I did during my more intense periods of grief, but I miss the regular practice of writing. May it be so.
And now: gratuitous kid pics! M&R got haircuts over the weekend. Here they are, in all of their five-year-old glory. Riley looks kind of surly, but the notoriously hard-to-photograph Maddie is looking quite sweet and lovely, if I do say so myself.
Maddie is settling into school. It's clearly still tiring for her, both physically and mentally, but she seems more like herself, more settled. She gives positive reports about her days and hasn't asked to bring her lovey to school. She did completely lose her mind on Friday night, falling apart about something tiny and absurd, and she is still seeking control over any and everything in her sphere. But I can see the shift happening, and I'm glad for her (and, selfishly, for me).
My work is evening out. As many kind commenters picked up on and offered suggestions for, the issues at work run deeper than just things being busy right now. Much of the deeper issues are not appropriate blog fodder, but I'm working on them now that I have time to think about something beyond staunching the flow so that no one bleeds out. I think my job is fundamentally good for me, but it's the most difficult job I've ever had and I can find it hard to put the effort into it that it needs. Also, I've learned from this job that management does not come naturally to me, nor does leadership. I'm a slow learner about a lot of things, and those areas seem to be no exception. The growing pains are difficult, and I'm far from hitting my stride, but I want to give it more time. I love many things about my job, and I'm an optimist, an optimist who finally has a few minutes to catch her breath during the work day.
I don't know at what point you say that you're dating someone, but over the past couple of months I have gone out on a number of dates with someone and we plan to keep going out on dates, so maybe we're dating? I don't know. We are certainly enjoying getting to know each other. Past experience would indicate that blogging about dates is often a death knell, so I hesitate to say much, but I'll say this: he is a smart, thoughtful, interesting, and kind person. Being around him makes me feel good about myself and about my life, and it makes me happy. So I'm enjoying that, although we both have busy, complicated lives and so we don't see each other all that much. But when we can, it's nice, and unhurried, and just positive.
In other positive (if totally random) news: Spotify is genius; I've been running more often, faster, and with more enjoyment; I continue to love, love, love my house; I'm not ready for the transition to fall and winter; I'm hoping the recent, more regular blogging settles back into a trend. I don't know that I'll ever have as much need or desire to write as I did during my more intense periods of grief, but I miss the regular practice of writing. May it be so.
And now: gratuitous kid pics! M&R got haircuts over the weekend. Here they are, in all of their five-year-old glory. Riley looks kind of surly, but the notoriously hard-to-photograph Maddie is looking quite sweet and lovely, if I do say so myself.
27 September 2011
She's not alone.
Maddie's not the only one with adjustment issues these days. I'm having issues myself.
I hesitate to blog about work because, well, duh, it's dumb to blog about work. Some of my coworkers occasionally read my blog, what I write is intended for public consumption, and I'm not anonymous, so caution is warranted. But I can say this much about work without it being too much: for the past month or so, work has been totally kicking my ASS. I've made a ton of dumb errors (and been called out on them by people as high up as the president of the college. Niiiiice.) I manage seven people, morale in the office is low, and I have not done a good job of helping to bring morale up. I haven't felt good at what I do in quite a while. I wake up at night and think about work, then when I'm actually at work, I'm distracted and distractable. It's just been hard.
I'm not a person who ties a whole lot up into my professional identity. That is to say, I don't feel like I define my success and worth through my job. That said, I spend 40 hours a week at work and it's wearing to feel like I'm spending that much of my time doing things poorly. Especially when I go home and deal with the fallout of adjustment to kindergarten and such.
Boo hoo blah blah. Instead of whining about it, I should be working on fixing it, right? Alas, my recent work-related mishaps are for the most part not a result of slacking off but rather a result of well, I'm not sure what. I'll think I've done a good job on something only to have mistakes pointed out to me by all kinds of people. I'll think I'm on top of something and then find out that I've overlooked something major.
Where is my brain, then? How can I get my head back in work? How can I do a better job of being empathetic to those I manage to help them to feel better about their work? How can I do all that and have empathy left for my children?
As Maddie and Riley get older (and their lives get more complex) and as my career grows longer in the tooth (and thus also more complex), I feel the squeeze of work/life balance more and more. Some might find that invigorating; I find it stressful, exhausting, and untenable. I think my recent mistakes at work are the result of simply not having the capacity to do all that I'm supposed to do. When forced to choose—work or family?—family wins, and work, which has needed a lot of attention of late, has not gotten all it needs.
There's no easy answer here. I'm doing the best that I can, just feeling frustrated and as though my best is falling short of the mark. We just wrapped up a big event at work, and this week is thus far all about figuring out just how many things got lost in the shuffle of event prep. With any luck, things will even out here on the work front in a couple of weeks, and on the school front, too. I've learned a lot about patience, at least as applies to situations, but patience with myself is a different matter entirely and getting practice in that area is just not very much fun.
I hesitate to blog about work because, well, duh, it's dumb to blog about work. Some of my coworkers occasionally read my blog, what I write is intended for public consumption, and I'm not anonymous, so caution is warranted. But I can say this much about work without it being too much: for the past month or so, work has been totally kicking my ASS. I've made a ton of dumb errors (and been called out on them by people as high up as the president of the college. Niiiiice.) I manage seven people, morale in the office is low, and I have not done a good job of helping to bring morale up. I haven't felt good at what I do in quite a while. I wake up at night and think about work, then when I'm actually at work, I'm distracted and distractable. It's just been hard.
I'm not a person who ties a whole lot up into my professional identity. That is to say, I don't feel like I define my success and worth through my job. That said, I spend 40 hours a week at work and it's wearing to feel like I'm spending that much of my time doing things poorly. Especially when I go home and deal with the fallout of adjustment to kindergarten and such.
Boo hoo blah blah. Instead of whining about it, I should be working on fixing it, right? Alas, my recent work-related mishaps are for the most part not a result of slacking off but rather a result of well, I'm not sure what. I'll think I've done a good job on something only to have mistakes pointed out to me by all kinds of people. I'll think I'm on top of something and then find out that I've overlooked something major.
Where is my brain, then? How can I get my head back in work? How can I do a better job of being empathetic to those I manage to help them to feel better about their work? How can I do all that and have empathy left for my children?
As Maddie and Riley get older (and their lives get more complex) and as my career grows longer in the tooth (and thus also more complex), I feel the squeeze of work/life balance more and more. Some might find that invigorating; I find it stressful, exhausting, and untenable. I think my recent mistakes at work are the result of simply not having the capacity to do all that I'm supposed to do. When forced to choose—work or family?—family wins, and work, which has needed a lot of attention of late, has not gotten all it needs.
There's no easy answer here. I'm doing the best that I can, just feeling frustrated and as though my best is falling short of the mark. We just wrapped up a big event at work, and this week is thus far all about figuring out just how many things got lost in the shuffle of event prep. With any luck, things will even out here on the work front in a couple of weeks, and on the school front, too. I've learned a lot about patience, at least as applies to situations, but patience with myself is a different matter entirely and getting practice in that area is just not very much fun.
26 September 2011
Adjusting
"Mama, I don't like school," said Maddie to me as I kissed her goodnight tonight.
It's been clear to me since kindergarten started two-and-a-half weeks ago that the transition was hard on Maddie. She truly enjoys new experiences, but she also likes to know her place in the social structure, and she prefers that her place be on top. Kindergarten was a whole new ball game there. She has quickly picked up on the rhythms of the classroom, her Spanish is excellent, and generally "school" as a societal construct makes sense to her.
Her social world is, however, topsy-turvy. Her closest friends from preK are in her class, but so are a bunch of new kids, and there are a total of 28 small people in the room with only one responsible adult. Maddie wants to stick with what she knows—her friends from preK—and leave the newbies to the side, but it seems that last year's besties are testing their wings with the new kids. Riley is off with his friends, and Maddie is left feeling adrift.
Maddie's used to being the queen bee, so this is hitting her very, very hard. She's got a strong, some (ahem, her mother) might say bossy, personality, and it's hard for her to be so unsure of where she fits in, especially since where she fits in might not be as the leader. I'm sympathetic, but it's also made her a tyrant at home, with a need to control even more than usual and a need to try to control all kinds of things that are not reasonable. Like everything. There are threats and demands, there is yelling, and there are ultimatums. It's most unpleasant.
What I find most frustrating about it all is how hard it is to evaluate the information she gives me. Five year olds are charming storytellers, but notoriously unreliable narrators. Are her friends really deliberately excluding her on the playground all the time? Does she really have a toothache? What actually happens at school each day is a bit of a mystery to me. I can ask a seemingly straightforward question such as, "Did you go to the library today?" and get a yes from Maddie and a no from Riley. They're in the same class. "Well, maybe that was Friday," amends Riley, but the thing is there's no way for me to tell.
The details of the situation are in some ways unimportant. If Maddie is feeling hurt, left out, and nervous about how to fit in, then those feelings need to be addressed. As an adult, I find coming up with a strategy for addressing those feelings challenging without understanding the nuances of where those feelings are coming from. I can hug and love and reassure, but I'm empty-handed and silent when it comes to ideas for what to do during a lonely recess. She's been packing a lovey in her pocket, a small bear, which has helped. It might be that time is all that can help, and we've talked about how periods of adjustment and transition can take a while to feel settled.
It's just hard to watch your child struggle with big feelings. Little kids, little problems; big kids, big problems, or so I've heard it said. She's still pretty little in many ways, but things are starting to feel big. In a few weeks, I'm doing something for the first time: taking each of the twins on an individual, overnight trip with me. My mom and stepdad will keep one of them and I'll take the other over to the Oregon coast for a night. I'm super excited to do this for a whole bunch of reasons. With Maddie, I hope that while we're away, we can really talk about what's bothering her, uninterrupted and with focus. Even if the talking doesn't lead us to any solutions, I think the attention will help her. Riley will love the attention, too, but Maddie really needs right now. Small(ish) girl, problems getting bigger.
It's been clear to me since kindergarten started two-and-a-half weeks ago that the transition was hard on Maddie. She truly enjoys new experiences, but she also likes to know her place in the social structure, and she prefers that her place be on top. Kindergarten was a whole new ball game there. She has quickly picked up on the rhythms of the classroom, her Spanish is excellent, and generally "school" as a societal construct makes sense to her.
Her social world is, however, topsy-turvy. Her closest friends from preK are in her class, but so are a bunch of new kids, and there are a total of 28 small people in the room with only one responsible adult. Maddie wants to stick with what she knows—her friends from preK—and leave the newbies to the side, but it seems that last year's besties are testing their wings with the new kids. Riley is off with his friends, and Maddie is left feeling adrift.
Maddie's used to being the queen bee, so this is hitting her very, very hard. She's got a strong, some (ahem, her mother) might say bossy, personality, and it's hard for her to be so unsure of where she fits in, especially since where she fits in might not be as the leader. I'm sympathetic, but it's also made her a tyrant at home, with a need to control even more than usual and a need to try to control all kinds of things that are not reasonable. Like everything. There are threats and demands, there is yelling, and there are ultimatums. It's most unpleasant.
What I find most frustrating about it all is how hard it is to evaluate the information she gives me. Five year olds are charming storytellers, but notoriously unreliable narrators. Are her friends really deliberately excluding her on the playground all the time? Does she really have a toothache? What actually happens at school each day is a bit of a mystery to me. I can ask a seemingly straightforward question such as, "Did you go to the library today?" and get a yes from Maddie and a no from Riley. They're in the same class. "Well, maybe that was Friday," amends Riley, but the thing is there's no way for me to tell.
The details of the situation are in some ways unimportant. If Maddie is feeling hurt, left out, and nervous about how to fit in, then those feelings need to be addressed. As an adult, I find coming up with a strategy for addressing those feelings challenging without understanding the nuances of where those feelings are coming from. I can hug and love and reassure, but I'm empty-handed and silent when it comes to ideas for what to do during a lonely recess. She's been packing a lovey in her pocket, a small bear, which has helped. It might be that time is all that can help, and we've talked about how periods of adjustment and transition can take a while to feel settled.
It's just hard to watch your child struggle with big feelings. Little kids, little problems; big kids, big problems, or so I've heard it said. She's still pretty little in many ways, but things are starting to feel big. In a few weeks, I'm doing something for the first time: taking each of the twins on an individual, overnight trip with me. My mom and stepdad will keep one of them and I'll take the other over to the Oregon coast for a night. I'm super excited to do this for a whole bunch of reasons. With Maddie, I hope that while we're away, we can really talk about what's bothering her, uninterrupted and with focus. Even if the talking doesn't lead us to any solutions, I think the attention will help her. Riley will love the attention, too, but Maddie really needs right now. Small(ish) girl, problems getting bigger.
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