Calm Is Not My Friend

While my life is often filled with happiness and lots of laughter, it's damn hard, too.

I forget to give myself credit for the living with and being happy in spite of the Hard. I'm tired, though. There is a lot of stuff to have to juggle. Rather than recognize that, I tend to beat myself up for not doing enough! being enough! saying enough! and a variety of other verbs listed before enough!

I even beat myself up for beating myself up. (I get caught up in that vicious cycle, as I am my own worst enemy.)

Sigh.

~~~

It's obvious that things have been rough lately. I thought I had handled everything well enough; I was upset and angry, but not "overly" so. I was worried about our financial welfare, but I put it into perspective the best I could. One by one, I ticked through the crises that crossed our paths, dealing with what I (we) could while dismissing what was out of my control. I was cool and deliberate as I (we) did what needed to be done.

In general, things are now okay.

And it's not like the things that are not okay are any worse than they were.

In all reality, things are actually calmer than they have been for a long, long time.

Without anything demanding my immediate attention, there is nothing left to do but deal with the emotional toll all this craziness has taken. My energy is spent, my patience is shot, and my sleep is challenged. Worse, it doesn't take much to push me over the edge. (You would not believe the meltdown ants on the counter again warranted. It wasn't pretty.)

Now I am wallowing in the Sad.

Frankly, the Sad can suck it.
 

Hard Week

School has been a huge adjustment for all of us, and I have to say that things are far from perfect. To recap:

Day one was okayish but hard on Sh.awn. They did not have an aide in place for him. There was an aide, but she was suppose to split her time with some other kids in the school. The principal stepped in to help be his aide when the other aide was gone. That didn't go well. Sh.awn is not his best when there are a lot of transitions. He didn't know these people who were coming and going. It was just...not an ideal situation. Then they decided that the boys won't leave out the same exit as the other kids because there are other parents lined up with the afternoon kinder kids where we'd need to exit. The walkway isn't big enough for us to get through if other people are there. So now we go through the school and out the front exit. It adds a lot of extra walking for the boys when they are already just tired. Sigh.

Day two was a little better, but still not without issues. The aide was now going to be with Sh.awn all day, but how effective can she be when she has to ask Is.aac what to do when Sh.awn tells her "no." Um...tell him yes and get on with business? When I talked to her after school, she said she wanted me to come 10 minutes early to pick the boys up because she had to go to lunch before she had to work with another student. Again, um...No.

Day three was the day the boys were kind of done going to school. There were tears and they just didn't want to go. Got them calmed down and in school only to find there was yet another aide in there for Sh.awn. He spent the day crying off and on, asking for me. The principal was again in and out all day long trying to help out, but let's face it. They made a hard situation even harder by given him yet another change to have to deal with during an already traumatizing week. Sigh.

I ask them how the day went and don't get much info from them. The second day they forgot to pick up the boys' homework and didn't give us that night's homework. We didn't get it the next night either. I don't know if there was homework for day three.

According to the other teacher in the room (the kinder teachers share a room and help the other out when not teaching), Sh.awn is ready for school. He makes it about half way through (until recess) before he just falls apart. He knows so much, but he is just really struggling with the transition.

Sigh.

I knew there would be a challenge in the transition to school for the boys, especially Sh.awn. But I have to say that watching him go through this is really, really hard. My stomach has been a mess for days. Is.aac and I are at each other's throats over the stupidest things. It's just...ugh.

To top it off, the boys are sick with fevers and throwing up. (although I did paste in Is.aac's texts to me about Ja.son getting sick over on the boys' blog because it was pretty funny how he described it)

It's been a hard week.

Tomorrow I go back to work, so I'll be even more out of the equation. I can't help but think things are spiraling out of control and I don't know how to stop them.

~~

Forgive the crappy writing. I just can't bring myself to even go back and reread what I wrote. Blech.

Transition Pains

Nothing reminds you that your are full of crap like a dose of reality--or in my case several days worth of doses.

Apparently I underestimated how the boys' transition to having me around full time would go. I also didn't anticipate how much I would struggle with being home among people who constantly fight, yell, and generally make everything a hundred times more difficult than it needs to be. I suppose I envisioned we'd get right to the business of having loads of fun! and getting along! and doing amazing things! the second vacation started. Okay, fine. Maybe I wasn't naïve enough to believe we'd all be shitting rainbows, but I have to admit that I just wasn't expecting the drama.

Holy Hell the last several days have been painful for all of us. It's been six LONG days, people! (All of you stay at home moms can laugh now. It's okay. It won't bother me.)

I've been called mean. (But was told I was still loved.)

They've told me far too often that they were bored even though I'm trying to mix it up and keep things interesting. We went on a treasure hunt one evening. We've played outside in the dirt. We've done bubbles and art and watched movies and read.

Sh.awn has made it his mission to annoy Ja.son in every way possible. If Ja.son is building a traffic jam (or whatever it is that he's doing), Sh.awn tells him he's going to mess it up. He'll make moves toward Ja.son to act like he's really going to do what he says. That sends Ja.son over the cliff. They yell.

Sh.awn finds a toy that's been out of circulation for a bit, and Ja.son will make it his mission to take the toy away. Sh.awn freaks out. They yell.

Jack is in the stage where he has a meltdown any time I have the nerve to utter (or even imply) the dreaded "no" word. He does not want to be redirected. He wants to do what he wants to do. The boy is two. He's into everything. He climbs. I end up having to say no a lot. He has a lot of meltdowns.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

I feel really bad because I shouldn't be this crazed with only three kids. I mean, I regularly have 40 students around me at any given time, and I swear I get less stressed than the last six days have made me!

It hasn't helped that we have had an appointment every day since vacation started.

Sigh.

Yesterday I broke down and went to Target to get a whiteboard. Knowing the big boys do so much better when they know what's coming, I wanted to have a way to write the daily schedule for the boys to look at. I figured not having to answer that question three million questions about when we are going to do xyz would go a long way toward protecting my mental health. Ahem. I also wanted to be able to schedule time for me to get something done around the house without them asking for me to stop and play give them a designated time for solitary play.

Day one was yesterday. I managed to keep my sanity.

Day two was today. It was a much better day. I didn't feel the need to run for cover the second Is.aac walked through the door. Score.

I'm keeping my fingers crossed about tomorrow. It will be an appointment free day for once.

More Work to Do

I am surrounded by newly pregnant people. There are ultrasounds to discuss and plenty of morning sickness to sympathize.

It's tiring.

I knew a whole new can of worms would be opened after all of this. It's one thing to want it but not really expect it. It's quite another to want it and have proof that it could.

With this month's appearance of my period, right on cue I might add, I was shocked at how crushed I felt. I had been holding my breath...hoping, more than I realized actually, that the miracle would happen again.

“Remember that not getting what you want is sometimes a wonderful stroke of luck” (Dalai Lama)

I'm trying to get to the point where I feel like this.

I definitely have a lot more work to do before I'll get there, that's for sure.

This Takes It Too Far

Got an email from one of the aides the program I coordinate has hired. She's pregnant*. She wanted to tell me early to make sure she'd still be able to work for us next year even if she's pregnant. (I assured her all will be okay in that regard.)

Any guesses as to when she's due?

Yep. The. EXACT. same. day. as. my. pregnancy. would. have. been.

If it wasn't so totally fucked up, I'd have to laugh.

I mean, really?

REALLY?

The universe really thinks I need a live reminder of what could have been?

Sigh. This just takes it too far. A person only has so much strength and resilience. Mine are quickly reaching their limits.

Oh, and universe, let me just say that you suck.

~~~

*I am happy for this girl. She is one of my former students and is a pretty amazing young woman. Still, I could have done without the timing of it all.

Not Yet, But Soon Enough

The last week definitely ranks among the crappiest I've had in a long while. I officially miscarried on Saturday, and somehow I can't help but think that losing a pregnancy over Mother's Day weekend is the ultimate middle finger from the universe.

Sigh.

I thought I was managing things as well as could be expected. I was teary, but not overly so, until yesterday. Oh holy hell how I struggled yesterday. Even the tiniest thing was enough to send my emotions in a tailspin of despair. I did everything in my power to keep myself from falling apart (hello, stupid here went to work yesterday), and by mid afternoon the inside of my mouth was chewed to pieces in my attempts to stop the tears from falling. I barely managed to make it through an OB appointment before completely losing it in the car on the way home. But I survived, which I guess is the important part to remember. Thankfully, Is.aac was kind enough to let me just have some time to have a really good ugly cry last night.

I am not okay yet, but I hope I'll get there soon enough with time.

The problem, though, is that this experience has strengthened my desire for another baby. When I didn't think it could happen without medical intervention, I was trying to let the dream go. Now that it has happened, it's definitely renewed all of the feelings I tried to squash. I can feel myself being pulled into thinking, planning, and counting days until I ovulate like some sort of infertility addict. At the same time, the prospect of hoping for lightening to strike again only to be let down month after month tears me up inside.

It makes me wonder why something like this happens. Is it the universe trying to fuck with my head? Was it just for the experience of surprise? Maybe it's a sign to not give up believing? I don't know. I wish I did.

I'm sure it would make things a whole heck of a lot easier in my head.

Issues Much?

I have made it to the end of yet another school year. I should be excited and happy to spend the summer days with my boys.

But unlike how I usually feel at the start of my summer vacation, this year it starts with a strong sense of dread.

Today what I have been trying desperately to pretend wasn't going to happen finally did. My mom left for her long trip up the coast to Alaska. This being a car trip in itself is something that causes me a lot of anxiety. The fact that there is no itinerary ("We'll just drive for 5 or 6 hours and then find a place to stop for the night." said my uncle) is enough to literally make me lose my mind.

Driving, not knowing where she is because there is no PLAN, AND the chance of spotty cell phone coverage are triggering all kinds of lingering issues I have over my dad's death.

It didn't help that when she was getting into the truck, she managed to squeak out, "Don't let the boys forget me..." before she starting crying.

Sigh.

Good grief. I need to get over this. I do want my mom to have a good time, but I feel horrible for half (or more) wishing she wasn't going at all.

In many ways, this is a summer I want to just hurry up and end.

---

Tuesday was my parents' wedding anniversary. It would have been their 47th this year. Sunday is Father's Day.

More triggers.

Blah.

---

On Tuesday, my grandma and aunt and uncle drove down from Arizona to pick up my mom. They were going to kill a little time in California while they waited for me to finish up the school year. (my mom watches my boys while I'm at work)

During the days, they played with my boys, who of course were quite taken with my uncle. They followed him everywhere and hung on his every word. Both boys are now "Packer Fans!" thanks to my uncle's obsession with all things Green Bay. Cue eye rolling.

Almost immediately, Ja.son started calling my uncle "grandpa." We could not break him from it, and it stung each and every time I heard him say it. Before too long, Sh.awn was calling him "grandpa" also. Ugh.

I loved the sound of the word...I wish with all I had it was used on a different man.

My uncle is a sweet man. He is kind and considerate and practically worships the ground my aunt walks on. I have always liked him.

But.

Now I have this hot anger toward him. I couldn't wait for him to go.

It would have been awesome if having him go wouldn't have meant that my mom was going, too.

---

Yep. It does seem that I have a few issues.

I Envy Him

Is.aac and I watched the Jim Carrey movie "Me, Myself, and Irene" a little while ago. He was rolling on the floor with laughter. Me? Not so much. Granted, he was tired, and he gets incredibly loopy when he's tired. (And I do have to admit that his sense of humor is questionable, especially in light of the fact that he thought chasing me around the house while naked saying he was a "naked ghost" was hilarious also.) But still.

What is wrong with me? Why can't I just enjoy the stupid shit like this movie without feeling like I have the weight of the world on my shoulders?

I swear.

I envy him and his ability to just...be...to just enjoy. He doesn't seem to worry. He doesn't think about all the stuff that has to be done but hell it isn't going to becauseIdon'tfeellikedoinganythingbut OMGdoingnothingonlymakesmefeelworse. March isn't this big, heavy emotional mind fuck for him.

He doesn't seem to lose sleep over the future or the past or any of it.

It bothers me that I do.

I wish I could be like him.

Holland

Forgive me, as this post is a little disjointed. I am just trying to work some things out in my head...

Thanks to Caryanne, I was introduced to a new blog that has me absolutely rivoted. The author, Kelle, anxiously awaited the birth of her second daughter, Nella, only to find after the birth that her beautiful new daughter has Down Syndrome. This post describes Nella's birth and her realization that things are not how she expected them--have your Kleenex handy because you will need them.

This blog has touched me deeply. The author uses the metaphor of going on a trip and expecting to land in Italy, only to find that you have instead been forced to land in Holland. There is beauty to be found in Holland, but that isn't where you wanted to go. She is still struggling to learn to love life in Holland and is mourning the loss of her trip to Italy.

That's exactly how it feels for me. The life I pictured...and so wanted...didn't exactly turn out the way I planned.

I envisioned Italy with all the bright lights and fanciness it holds.

I never wanted to go someplace else, yet here I am anyway. While the boys don't have Down Syndrome, and it a lot of ways are doing very well, I feel like my family has been sent to Holland, too.

And it hurts more than I could ever really express.

I love Holland. Yet I hate it passionately too. LIFE can be hard in Holland.

I wonder how I can hate something that has anything to do with the boys. It makes me feel awful to even say it. What kind of person am I? That--hate--isn't even exactly right, anyway.

This weekend has been rough for me. I am really feeling the challenges we have faced in the past and the ones that still lie in our future.

I suppose I am just jealous of all of you who get to live in Italy.

I tried to force myself out of this funk, but it just isn't happening. I can't even bring myself to write my Sock It to Me post--and that is something that I was looking forward to doing.

I suspect that some of this has to do with a period that is now late (and no, I doubt I am pregnant) which is making me a hormonal mess. It doesn't help that I have the anniversaries of miscarriage number 2 AND my dad's death to get through this month. There's a neurologist appointment for the boys (and you know how I LOVE those appointments), and then there's the due date from my last pregnancy...

Sigh.

March is definitely not my favorite month.

---

It occurs to me that by dwelling on all that I am missing in Italy, I am preventing myself from enjoying Holland. That realization, though, doesn't mean that the sadness instantly disappears. I know I have an issue and just need to deal. But I am a fighter. That fight has gotten me --and us-- to where we are today. I need to figure out how to fight while allowing myself to relax and enjoy.

I also hope you understand that for the most part, I am happy with my life. I love my boys with a fierceness I hadn't known possible before they were a part of my life. Sure, there are things I'd like to improve, don't we all have that?