A Dull Roar

First of all, I have to say that my library is never a quiet place because, well, I work there. I never hesitate to throw back my head and laugh out loud if moved to do so and luckily for me, my librarian does too.  Secondly, we have at least 150-200 kids in here every morning before the bell rings.  They are waiting at the door for us as early as 7:30 and they trickle in when we open at 8:00 and completely engulf us by 8:45.  Some are checking out books, others are frantically finishing work, most are printing and the rest are here to check in with friends and TALK VERY LOUDLY until the bell rings.  We have classes in and out and moving through here continuously creating movement and flow of the noise.  We also have kids in here during their lunch period.  We used to let them eat in here but because they are kids and therefore slobs, that stopped by the end of the first marking period.  We can still get quite the crowd in here and the cacophony created is amazing.  The noise just surrounds you, it envelops you, it swarms over and under and through you and you get lost in a mindless buzz invading your brain.  And then, every now and then, it goes quiet.  You can hear the scratch of a pen over paper or the printer slowly grinding up for the next page. Or even better, snatches of whispered conversations from the back.  “….I told her I would….”, “He better not cuz…..”.   

A lot of the noise I hear is swearing.  Teenage swearing which is overdone and therefore ineffective for the most part.  I guess as an adult we learn to use it for emphasis or in my case, with beer.   The potty-est mouths of all come from our table of boys playing grown up Pokémon.  Magic? Magik?  However it is spelled, it brings out the longshoremen in these kids.  I actually get to tell people to watch their mouths.   If that isn’t irony, I am not sure what is.

Where can I get one of these?!

Oh, the technology!  Everyone is beeping and buzzing and tweeting and ringing.  They are listening to music so loudly I can hear it when they pass.  Forget Spanish, these kids need to learn ASL because none of them are going to be able to hear after age 40.

When caught in the tornado of noise and movement, conversations get started and end abruptly.  Sometimes we remember to pick the thread back up and continue with it, sometimes we forget.  Today’s involved a mom who came in and asked that we stop checking books out to her son, he is reading too much.  I got interrupted at that point and left thinking what a mean mom she was but apparently he is reading rather than doing any of his homework, so I am glad I picked that conversation thread back up before I started openly condemning her.  We also have coffee in our break room and teachers stream back and forth throughout the day and deposit words of stress or wisdom or “Wait til you hear this!” This definitely adds to the noise and fragmented conversations throughout the day.

This is a different environment from the very quiet library I worked in before and it took me some time to get used to the buzz, the business, the constant movement.  I told a mom today that it probably took me two weeks to stop getting annoyed at being interrupted constantly to realize that those interruptions were really the bulk of my job.    Now those interruptions have names and I know what classes they are taking, what they are reading, if they are having a good day or a bad day.   I get to encourage and admonish from a place called concerned adult rather than mom, and it is fun.  They tell me about their weekends and their classes and their lives and I love it.  One of my interruption's mom grew up in Buffalo!  We now bond over Weber's mustard and Bison chip dip.  I end up taking some of their heartache on, I just can’t help it.  These are good kids and they remind me that being a teenager is hard work in addition to being self-centered and self-absorbed.  And loud.  Really, really loud.

I think that the days of quiet libraries are definitely coming to an end. Hushing librarians and quiet study turning into urban legends.  I sometimes wish it wasn't always so loud, but given the choice over shushed and sterile or dynamic and vibrant, well, bring on da noise! 

Here's a Story...

You know what is a mixed bag?  Step-parenting: all the responsibilities of a parent and none of the control.  I have been doing this gig now for thirteen years and I am still struggling. There are times when I am awesome: cookies for her class, rides to wherever she needs to go, forgotten items run up to school to save the day.  There are also times when, quite frankly, I suck:  not ready for the level of parenting her age requires, being so frustrated by her lack of planning I am angry at her all week or just not wanting to drive her somewhere she needs to go.

 I met Maizy when she was just about to turn three.  She was small, vivacious, and verbose and liked having her Dad to herself.  She will turn sixteen, God help us, this weekend and I find myself thinking of the first birthday I shared with her.  On that third birthday, Bill and I took her to Chuck E. Cheese to celebrate.  I had no idea what I was in for as far as lights, noise, cracked out kids and primary colors.  Maizy and I bonded as we watched a girl pee right next to the ball pit, shake her leg and go back in.  We were united in horror.  We were also united in sobbing as we left: Maizy because she didn’t want to go and me because it was the most horrible place I had ever been to, I never wanted to go again and this meant I hated kids and never wanted to be a parent but loved this man who had a kid and wahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.  Bill wisely put us both to bed when we got home and I was pregnant six months later and the whole thing was a moot point. 

Maizy has spent most of her growing up spending one week at her mom’s and the next week at our house.  When people ask how that works, I tell them that it is hard work to share a child.  Think about it, you have two people who had a relationship and had a child, but the relationship did not work for various reasons and now they are confronted with those reasons again and again as they work to raise a child.  Good times.  It is hard work for the kid who is coming back and it is hard work for the kids are there the whole time to adjust.  It is hard work for the parent who is missing her and it is hard work for the parent who is trying to do everything for her the week she is there.  When she was little, she used to come back and touch everything she had left behind as if to say “I’m back”.  Now that she is older, she takes everything with her each week back and forth.  I have tried to talk her into keeping boring things like socks at each house, but even those get shuttled back and forth.  She wrote a story for English once on how she liked having two houses to be at and how she liked the different dynamics of each. However, she has recently told us that she finds it easier to lie when writing anything autobiographical.   Hard work, indeed.

Hard shoes and hair to fill

I wish I had friends who were also stepparents – we could commiserate and help each other through the sticky spots and understand truly what the other was going through.  I don’t though. I know very few real life stepparents.  I still think Carol Brady and Joseph when I think stepparents and that is intimidating.  Carol Brady?  She took on all those boys and never batted an eye, just smiled and drank coffee with Alice in the kitchen.  Joseph?  He raises the human form of God willingly and obediently.  And I make cookies for bake sales.  I remember when Maizy first played soccer and Bill was coaching and I introduced myself to the other moms as her stepmom; they almost recoiled.  Feeling slighted, I thought, just wait.  Law of averages, half of you will be divorced in five years and dealing with your own stepparent situations.  Ha!  I am not always a nice person.

I want Maizy to know I think she is an amazing young woman.  She is independent and smart and so funny.  Like laugh out loud funny.  I want her to know that I think her situation stinks even when I am being indifferent to it.  I want her to know that saying things she doesn’t want to hear is not yelling.  I want her to know she is a part of our family even when she is at her mom’s.  I want to tell her to be as nice to her sister as she is to her brother because when she is not it makes me want to be mean to her.  I want her to know and appreciate how much her Dad has done for her and because of her.  Basically, I want her to know exactly what is in my head and heart and agree with it and think I am fantastic.  However, that will probably not happen until she has a child of her own so until then, if she just knows that I love her and mean well, even if I am “yelling” all the time, that will have to do.

Happy, Happy, Happy

You know, it is not often in life that you get exactly what you want.  Especially after you have kids and your life and your wants and needs come second.  However, yesterday, my 40th birthday was spent and celebrated and lived exactly they way I wanted.

It actually started before my birthday as my new co-workers brought me presents and cake and began my birthday celebration early.  In the two months we have worked together, I have shared a lot with these women, probably over shared, and every day that I work with them and laugh with them and live my life along side them, I see so clearly why all those job interviews before were a bust.  This perfect job was not ready for me yet. 

I woke up feeling no older or different that I had going to bed at age 39.  That was a good start, right?  I wanted to start my day with a hard kettlebell workout and I got it.  I alternately felt young, strong and invincible and then old, feeble and decrepit.  My legs and lungs burned and  I had to lay on the floor when I was done.  That was not stretching, that was complete exhaustion. 

Then there is my amazing husband who took my wishes for a comfortable, easy going birthday party to heart even though he would have much rather cooked a real meal for everyone and made it fancy.  He still spent a lot of the day chopping and preparing but the man is happier with a knife in his hand and vegetables cut to uniform size.  He created atmosphere on our back deck with a tarp and sparkling lights and while I did not appreciate him scaling the trellis of our deck from the second story, I surely appreciated the ambiance when he was done.  I am sad to say he did not join us in the dress code of comfy pants though.  The polite Canadian in him could not wear pajama pants in mixed company.

And the well-wishes!  Texts, emails, phone calls and Facebook prompting my friends to wish me a happy birthday helped make the day feel truly all about me: new friends, girl friends I have known since kindergarten, family all wishing me a happy birthday.  My parents sending a care package of Buffalo goodies for everyone to enjoy: Sahlen's hot dogs, Weber's mustard and Bison chip dip were consumed with gusto.  And then my party where my house and my deck overflowed with the friends who have become my family.  My friends who came to my house in their pajama pants and comfy pants because that is what I wanted.  Friends who really did not think twice when I opened the door clad in my reindeer pajama pants.  Friends who made and wore shirts openly mocking my love of Buffalo and comfy pants.  Friends who appreciate my thriftiness....


Make lemonade?  That is silliness.

As well as friends who know I have no filter...

read who starts the game

 

I have to say that when Bill lit all 40 candles on my cake and I stood there with them ABLAZE and heard twenty plus of the dearest voices I know singing Happy Birthday to me, well, I was overcome. It was all I could do not to ugly cry right there.  Only the thought of someone catching that on film stopped the waterworks before they started because it really would have been full on open-mouthed, no sound sobbing.  In that moment I knew that from now on, every prayer I say has to start with "Dear God, I am sorry for being a sucky whiner for the last ten years because truly you have blessed me in abundance."

Perhaps 40 is all about realizing what you have and being damn grateful for it.  I saw it and heard it and felt it all with intense clarity last night.  When asked how I felt about 40 last night, I could only answer "Exuberant."  Today I would add awed, confident, fulfilled, blessed, content and even excited.  And in the immortal words of Phil Robertson, I would also have to add "Happy, happy, happy."

Wistful Thinking

You know, the longer I am at this full time work thing, the more I see what a sweet deal I had being a stay-at-home-mom.  Of course I didn't appreciate this sweet deal when I was living it. No, I was worried about money or I was bored and a little listless.  I love my job and I see how much I need this interaction and intellectual stimulation every day, but there will always be things I miss about being a SAHM.

1.  Napping.  Oh how I miss a good weekday nap!  Got a bad night sleep?  No worries, a little post-lunch nap will be in order.  Rainy blah kind of day?  Curl up on the couch and sleep some of it away.  Sigh, napping.  Naps are wasted on the Pre-K, let me tell you. 

2.  Coffee/Lunch with Friends.  Those gatherings during the week with my friends where we could talk and catch up and see each other.  Email is a poor substitute for face time and texting is even worse because my fat thumbs constantly misspell things.  My weekends are gone before I get out to see anyone, or if I do, I feel like I am rushing through it.

3.  Shopping during the week.  I used to go to at least three stores to make sure I got the best deal on things.  There were no crowds and I could take my time or rush, depending on the day.  Now there are always crowds, I am stressed because people can't push their cart up the right side of the aisle and if I forget something back in produce, well, we are doing without because there is no way in hell I am swimming upstream to get it.

Not 100% sure, but I think this is our HEB on a Saturday afternoon.

4.  Being up at the kids' schools.  I miss volunteering at my kids' schools.  I miss coming up and chitchatting with the teachers and staff and helping.  I miss seeing my mom friends and hearing the latest and feeling like we are all connected up there.  Right now I feel like the only thing I do to help at school is make sure my kids put on deodorant before they leave. 

5.  Little errands.  You know running the non-essential errands like taking library books back, dropping off the donation stuff before it takes over the laundry room, getting the dogs' nails trimmed.  Right now both dogs are tick-tick-ticking across the floor and it is driving me crazy but by the time I take them to get them trimmed, they might just grow long enough to curl around (like the guy in Guinness Book of World Records) and maybe they will thud rather than tick.  Actually if anyone out there can come to my house and trim their nails, I will make you bread.

6.  Making bread.  How obnoxious was I with my posts of freshly baked bread?  Working friends, how you did not come over and smack me in the face with said bread, I don't know, but thank you for your restraint.  I spent a lot of time baking bread and cookies and muffins and liked to drop extras off on friends' doors like a Baking Fairy. 

This new normal of mine is a frenzied, cluttered place and it makes me a little wistful remembering the calm of earlier days.  Sigh.  Oh well, back to the frenzy.  Besides, Thanksgiving and Winter Break aren't too far away, there will be time for napping then.  

 And I am totally serious about the dog nail/bread swap - let me know.