Hold me to it

Worky worky worky.
As I have said, I love to work. Since my kids were born I have done a good job (in my OWN opinion, anyway) of keeping one foot in the industry. I felt compelled to, things change so quickly that you must have a hold on it or you end up too far behind. So I teach online courses and freelance. (shameless plug: www.smckennastudio.com)

I find that working on my own has a lot of benefits. I am very nice to myself. I compliment my work. I take lunch. I work long hours, happily, if I need to. I make a good pot of coffee. Best of all, I don't ever snap at myself. (I know that sounds ridiculous, but you get my meaning.)

Now lets talk about working with others.
I don't like to be snapped at. Pretty much ever. I don't care who you are, I find it rude, and I find it disrespectful. Who says it is okay for YOU to snap at someone else? HOW are you more important than that me? How is your inability to deal with stress MY PROBLEM? WHERE do you get the right to treat someone else as if they don't matter. I DON'T LIKE TO BE BULLIED. By snapping at me you are being disrespectful and you are bullying me.

Since I don't snap, I find it very upsetting when someone snaps at me. I am taken aback.

I am generally non-confrontational. I don't like to argue and I really don't like to have to go to someone and call them out. In fact I will usually do anything I can to avoid that –this is where the problem starts. I am offended but afraid/reluctant to fight back. Afraid to say anything because I really don't like those kind of discussions. (This is a personal failing.)

I am going on thirty six years old and instead of fighting back I start to get anxiety. And then it gets worse. I get shaky and nervous. I give that person power to do it again and again! I worked with someone for two years who did this. It got so bad that even when I received an email from them I would get a sick stomach. Come on! It is sad to even write that! I hate to admit it, but it is true.

Now if you know me I don't seem like someone who would cower. I think I seem pretty put together. But I was raised, sorry mom, to not talk back, and it is a hard habit to break. That said, I am an adult and I need to change that behavior. 

So what this is leading to, well I have been snapped at. And it was in front of four other people. Nuh- uh. Not having it. The line has been drawn. And now, in order to prevent a situation like before, I have to grab sack (forgive the term, but it fits) and tell this individual that I will not deal with it.

Why am I writing this in my blog? It is seriously important to me. I have to do a better job of telling people what I need, what I can deal with and what I can't.  If I write it down I can't just excuse it away.

I want you to hold me to it.

bad bad yoga

It has occurred to me that the busier I am with design work, the less of a basket case I am. So that is good, but I hate being so easy to figure out. Or maybe it is good, it isn't like I have some deep seeded problems that it will take years of therapy to uncover. No. I just like to work. Could be worse. So that said, the last week I have been a worker bee, leaving less time to be tortured by my children. Okay, torture is a strong word. Think of something milder, and that is probably right. Not that mild. Okay, better.

Today was not a lot different, ran to work for a few hours. Learned something new about a software that I use, love that. Got home and for some reason, decided to work out. Well this workout came on the heels of a yoga class that about killed me. I mean I was laying in bed last night thinking I am so exhausted that I may die from yoga. Has anyone died from yoga? I am not sure, but I am convinced that last night I was on the precipice.

So workout today, and fully realize that I am not yet recovered from initial workout. I am smoked. I fit the kids with drinks and snacks and show and head up to my bed. I lay there just resting. I can't sleep, you never know what kids will do when they are awake and you are asleep. It can be very bad. Heh heh.

Enter Holden.

Mom
Yes honey
someping just happen when I take cheese to have a snack at table. make mess.
cheese?
yes
cheese for popcorn.
he thinks for a minute. no.
I think for a minute. cheese from the fridge?
yes, someping just happen (this is where he throws up his arms like, beats me mom, don't know how this happened. I would also like to note that this child loves the work JUST. I am guessing that if he says JUST he thinks it is less of a big deal. Me just eat penny. Me just use marker on wall, you know, no big deal)
what happened? this could be bad, he must have found the cheese we sprinkle on popcorn and has once again dumped it all over the table...
you come down now
okay, I will come down

we walk down the steps. he brings me to the kitchen table.

Well apparently in some languages cheese actually means raw EGG. From what I can decipher from the cheese story, my darling was looking for a hard boiled egg to eat. Naturally he grabs the first egg he sees and cracks it.

He realizes that one wasn't really working and that maybe he should go to the PLAYROOM and try another egg in case that one might work. Well no luck with that one either...

Okay, I am blaming the yoga.

jobby job job

Started a new job today. Part time, in town, in my field. This is very good. Three out of four requirements met.

Like to make a small point about this. Two years ago I applied for this job. I was offered it, but I turned it down. Many reasons, but always regretted not taking it. For two years it bothered me.

Started writing my blog when I really needed to get some things down and off of my chest. Prayed, because I really needed some guidance. Phone rings and job is mine if I want it.

Hmmm.

It is kind of amazing actually.


(okay, actually it was an email, but that didn't sound as good)

A moment of pause

Started writing yesterday, and stopped. I couldn't seem to gather my thoughts to make them coherent enough for anyone to read. Not great when you are offering your thoughts up for just that.

Recall the intro to my blog:

This is a blog about ME. It is going to be indulgent, frustrated, stressed, ranty, funny, honest and hopefully interesting to someone other than myself. It is a way to express my longing to be a better everything: mom, wife, person, designer, friend, etc.

I have been stewing about what the point of this blog is, and if that is point enough. AND if I have digressed from said point. I did say I wanted this blog to be indulgent, and I believe that I have lived up to that. It is past indulgent, we can even call it narcissistic. (We could even call it a journal of sorts. Ick, don't like that word, but still, it fits.) And I am okay with that. In fact, I want and need that. Any mom in my place needs that. Somewhere to rant, vent, be contrary, somewhere to be all of those things you really can't be when you have little ones to care for. If you shut those feelings down/stifle them for too long, they are bound to rear their heads in other, not so good ways.

Frustrated, aaah. Yes, well I have definitely covered that. My kids and my lack of forward movement seem to be the greatest source of frustration for me. BUT that doesn't mean that I don't adore them, or think they are amazing. Truly, they are a gift from God. I know that, and tell them that often. I personally don't like reading only the good things in life. A.) it makes me kind of jealous and B.) It is boring. I mean do you really want this to be one of those meandering Christmas letters where you tell everyone how awesome everything is and blah blah blah? Not me. Putting my angst about them out there does open me up to criticism. I accept that.

Stressed. check.
Ranty. I love that word.
Funny. According to the moms that I run into, yes.

Honest. Sometimes brutally. Sometimes I embellish a bit. I can say that my last post about Jamestown was not in fact my own personal hell. It was more like purgatory...

and, interesting to someone other than myself. And although I would like this, and I think it has been mostly...it is not at the top of my list. If the minutia of my life isn't exceedingly interesting to someone, that is fine. I can live with it. You can even go to the top of the page hit next blog and there you go.

Longing to be a better everything:

mom, something I can always improve on, and some days I do see it. Some days, ie Jamestown post, not so much. longing definitely the keyword.

wife, an ongoing education and I get to laugh my way through it with a wonderful man

person, yes, one of the most challenging

designer, I haven't really touched on this yet, and for good reason. I am not really ready. I am in the position where I can talk about these other issues, I can do it quickly and with verve. I am in the thick of those things. Design for me has a different compartment lately. It is almost like a pot on simmer. I will get to it, as it is an integral part of me. But for today, I need this space to get rid of my demons. Call this the baby steps blog. Hopefully I will look back and say: in the early days of my blog all I could do was talk about myself. Me me me. What a narcissist. But now I shall wow you with my knowledge of the international type style and my interpretation of it...

finally, friend, well, one can always can work on that, too.

So the point of this blog? I guess to help me get through it. Could be prettier, sure. Could be more elegant and hopefully it will be. Could NOT be more indulgent. But I like that.

You are a bad bad person

Disclaimer: i love these kids!

If we were to sit and discuss my own personal hell, it might be something like this: take four children, ages 7, 5, 4 and 3 to Jamestown on a Tuesday afternoon when the temperature is 92 degrees. I am not kidding. It sounds like absolute torture to me. And since, I am some kind of a masochist, that is exactly where I found myself. Today, a Tuesday, 92 degrees, 4 children. Sigh.

Now I think it is important to understand the psychology behind this situation. So I shall interview myself to offer a window to the soul, so to speak. The risk here, well it is concrete proof that I have tug of war conversations with myself.

Q: Why, Sharon, does this feel like your own personal hell?
A: Well to start, there is no way of getting out of the driveway without SOMEONE having to go potty. Of course we did the potty roll call just a few minutes previous to putting the car in reverse. Everyone was fine, no, don't have to go, no potty!, etc. But as soon as we are all buckled in it is pee pee time.

Q: Well that doesn't seem like a big deal.
A: Well that is not a question.

Q: Well then what?
A: Four children in a car on the way to Jamestown. That is a challenge to any adult's mental health. And if they say IT ISN'T, they are LYING. I personally choose not to pretend that I have it together, instead I am putting it out there. They shout, scream, yell at each other, somehow manage to get extendo-arms and hit each other from unreasonable distances. To top it off, the video that is meant to subdue them into a tv induced coma is a fail. It is instead putting me into a coma.

Q: Well that sounds a bit like complaining.
A: Again, not a question.

Q: So continue, what exactly is so frustrating about this experience for you? WHY do you have such a hard time handling it?
A: Okay, fair enough. Although I value and appreciate that the kids are running and playing and having fun, I am very self-involved and I would rather be home writing in my blog or working. THERE. I SAID IT. I AM A BAD BAD PERSON. I know they are having fun, but it is hot and sticky and I think I am getting sunburned and Holden just intentionally stepped in dog poop. Ella is on a continuous pout when it comes to the lemonade. She won't share it. She is taking the longest drink KNOWN TO MAN just so her compatriots cannot have any. It is hot, there are a few too many dragonflies who are doing flybys around my head. HOLDEN, don't hit anyone with that stick. HOLDEN. HOLDEN are you listening? You need to be a good listener to mommy! Does this kid speak English? Is his name even Holden? I have no idea. He doesn't seem to respond to either...
of course at this point my voice has just become background noise. I have become Charlie Brown's teacher. I HATE that teacher. As a matter of fact, I hate Charlie Brown. I have a feeling that is un-American on some level but I do. Well it is out there now.

Q: Um, that was a bit of a rant. Got yourself back together?
A: Sigh, yes.

Q: But don't you love the conversations you overhear among the kids? Aren't they priceless?
A: Oh you mean the uproarious laughter after Holden stepped in the dog poop? And me yelling at the top of my lungs, in Jamestown, HOLDEN DO NOT STEP IN DOG POOP! With this statement I have become ridiculous. If he has just stepped in dog poop, why do I feel the need to shout do not step in dog poop? I am now a loud, ugly American tourist, even though I live five miles from Jamestown.

Or the following:

Holden, did you step in dog poop on purpose?
Yes.
Why?
Because me like it.
But dog poop is dirty and smelly. It makes mommy upset that you did that!
But me just do this (demo of foot rubbing on dog poop).
Um, okay but I don't think that changes anything. (And I don't know what to say after that. And I think that he also thinks I am now ridiculous. I mean just listen to this conversation.)

Or this:
Holden, you need to listen to mommy, you are being too crazy. Did you just pinch your cousin?
Yes.
Why?
Me play pinching game.
You are not playing a pinching game.
Yes me is.
Please do not do that, you could hurt your cousin!
BURRRRPPP. (smells lovely, this corndog burp)
Sigh.
Scuse me. (cue toothy grin)

Exhale.

So, at the risk of sounding selfish, I just would really prefer NOT to go to Jamestown with four children. Or, funny enough, with two. Or even by myself...I know! Maybe the problem here is NOT me! Maybe it is Jamestown!

ya, right. ;)

Momentary lapse of reason

Early morning workout. Turn on tv, put in dvd. Wait for husband to come down. Sit down at computer to check fb. Mistake. BIG mistake. I see is some beautiful photography from a dear friend of mine from grad school. Love this girl. Read on to see she has spent the week away taking an advanced software class. Pictures are stunning. She is stunning. Disclaimer: Friend has three beautiful children. She has somehow successfully managed to balance children and successful career. And remember this is about me. Me me me. Back to my rant.

Suddenly, it as if someone has poured gasoline on me and lit a match. I am up in flames, consumed with what I haven't done. What I haven't accomplished. I want to be there. I want to be ten years into this career. I want to be working somewhere that values what I do, and lets me know it. I want to be away for a week learning more about my craft. I want, I want, I want. Sigh.

I am crushed. Whatever has set me on fire has now doused me with water. Or what I wish was water. Instead it feels more like paint. Sure it puts out the fire, but it covers me and leaves a sticky mess behind. It isn't just washing away letting me to dry. Instead it sits on me like a coat.

Suddenly the choices that I felt were so right, are just not feeling so right.

Sure it could be a momentary lapse of reason, and I am sure I will recover but for that minute I feel awful. I feel tragic. (As you know by now, I tend toward the dramatic.) I try to tell myself to see previous post where I state that I have been happy as a clam raising happy clams, or was I a duck? Whichever. Unfortunately I am unable to read – call it temporary blindness to reason.

When my kids were babies, if you had told me to go to work, to put down that baby and get myself out that door, I would have told you to take a hike. (Probably not so nicely, either.) No way. I was staying HOME. No part time, nothing like that. That baby was mine and I was raising it as close to me as possible. I wanted Carte_blanche. As much love as I could give, 24/7. And I got it, and that was a true gift. I still thank my husband that he wanted that for me too, and wanted that for our kids. He never made me feel that what I was doing wasn't the right thing. No time lines, no ultimatums, just when you are ready, then go. When I look back on that I can't think of anything better, we were in a love bubble.

So what is wrong with me? Why does that offering, made with the most true love possible, now make me feel so behind the power curve? Why do I feel frustrated with the choices I made? They were good choices, I am sure of it.

WHY is it so challenging to be a woman. To have to straddle the line of biological/hormonal drive and professional/personal satisfaction. WHY can't I be like my mom, she was and I quote "I was exactly where I wanted to be. Home with my four kids everyday. Crafts, baking, playing, you name it, we did it." She didn't want anything else until that fourth one was comfortably into school. And since that fourth one is ten years younger than me it follows that I had a stay at home mom until I was almost done with high school.

What or who created this monster? Was it my parents, encouraging me to be an independent, successful female? That sounds reasonable enough. Now mix that up with wanting to get married and wanting to have babies. (Or dare I say, needing to. Having babies was just what I was going to do, no second thought to it.) Okay, okay, so the choices I made were direct reflections of the things I WANTED. I GET IT. I carved this path and have the calluses to show it.

So now, here I am. I understand how I got here.

Now what do I do?

Gardening, what fun!

Exhausted. Well, that was the reason I was unable to post yesterday. I thought about writing all day, composing the article in my head, and laughing at how funny it was. In my head, anyway.

Instead, I spent the day gardening. Yes, I said it. I garden-ed. Is that a word? And no, this blog has not been the victim of a hostile takeover. I GARDEN-ed.

AND, it turns out, funny enough, that you CANNOT pretend that you don't have a yard, for like two or maybe even three years. NOT a good idea. Because, quite a few things happen.

1. your yard looks like a scene from the movie Jurassic Park. Sure we mow the grass, but it is the bushes that really start to scare you.

2. your plants NEED you. Yes, they need you. Because it isn't enough that you have had two babies within two years (23 months and one week to be exact) and that you are doing everything you can to SURVIVE them. That you are attempting to preserve your own sanity and the heath and welfare of your children and that of your husband. That you might want to have some professional life left and try to cultivate some freelance work. AND, that your husband travels and goes to graduate school so even when he is within your home state, he is at school. BUT NO, that is not enough, you must get out there and take care of your plants.

3. When you do finally revisit that yard,  resentment in hand, you are likely to angrily chop (notice I do not say trim) at the bushes all the while yelling things like this: HOW IS THAT FOR YA? HUH? TAKE THAT! HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT? Doing this, is problematic in a few different ways.
A. you realize that you have some unresolved anger issues.
B. You are forced to ask yourself: is this truly about the bushes?
C. Your neighbors think you are crazy and this behavior only confirms it.
D. Your husband knows you are crazy and doesn't want the neighbors to SEE it.
E. There is little to no bush left, and really, there is no going back.

4. The longer you let the bushes go, the larger they get, the harder it is to cut them back. It follows that it would take you all day to do even a few of them.

5. As you chop, sorry, trim them you notice that many of them are unwell. (see point #1) They have black dusty yucky stuff on them, some have white powdery stuff on them. It is gross, and I suspect not great to inhale while you are in a flurry of trimming. And, you feel bad, in a motherly way that you have neglected these plants. Even the ones you HATE. (see point #6)

6. What once was tiny little thorns you are now facing BLADES OF TORTURE on these bushes. I mean really. Can someone PLEASE explain to me why every plant that we have, minus one or two IS COVERED IN PRICKERS?? Someone must know the answer to this because I gotta tell you I am pretty TICKED OFF about it. I am covered in scratches and have had to pull like SEVEN splinters in the last 24 hours. I mean really.

7. Your children. Yes, there they are. You didn't think that you were going to get away with gardening without their involvement? It is just too much fun to watch mommy on her knees trying to pull dinosaur era grasses out of the one-time flower beds without HELPING her. Best to use small plastic shovels and throw dirt at her while she is doing it. And then say "what mom?" when in the heat of frustration, and covered in dirt, she shouts your name.

8. You trim, trim, trim, finally letting go of the anger. You stop thinking about the choices that have led you to this minute (not only those involving ignoring the yard), look around and realize you have tremendous piles of plant refuse all over your yard. Picking them up and moving them is DEADLY as the knife sharp prickers are glinting in the sun. You will need a full body hazmat suit to protect you from them.

9. You are now covered in not only scratches but twenty-seven mosquito bites. Should be fun scratching those.

10. You have little to no strength left in your forearms. Or just none, actually. And this limits you in every respect from picking up your child to lifting your fork. It really shows you that you need to get to the gym and work on that upper body. Like as soon as you are able to turn the key in the ignition of your car.

Which brings us right back to the initial point. Gardening to upper body exhaustion = blog fail!