Walk the Line

I had a really good year teaching.  My classes were an interesting mix of kids and even the “bad” kids weren’t all that bad.  I had some students for the second year in a row and they would call me Mom and I would laugh until I read their senior reflections where they wrote about why they called me Mom and cried instead.  I had a class full of Creative Writers who didn’t want to write but that led to a girl in that class thanking me for showing her what it meant to be fierce and determined.  I had apathy, laziness, and students who swore like longshoremen but I also had laughter, some learning, and a network of coworkers I love and respect.  So, a good year, but teaching is a profession that can leave you feeling not only ineffective as a teacher but also as a person some days.  Teaching is stressful, demoralizing, degrading, chaotic, and pays terribly.  Teaching makes you really long for summer and the end of a long, hot summer makes you long to get back to teaching.  It’s a weird line that we walk.

I recently commented to a friend that my plan for this summer is to walk the line between self-care and selfish.  I spend the school year taking care of everyone else and being so busy in my brain, I rarely think about what I really want to do.  I am too busy thinking if I get that prescription after work I can also get a gallon of milk and bypass the grocery store for another two days, but if I go after work, I will also add twenty minutes to our commute.  It is very busy up in there and it is exhausting.  I’ve spent the first three weeks of summer sitting on my deck drinking coffee, watching birds, and simply being.  Self-care or selfish?  I’ve cooked a minimal amount of meals and reply with “huh” when the kids comment there is nothing to eat.  Selfish or self-care?  I plan some days around yoga and when I can get a nap in but that just seems sensible.

I feel like I am walking weird lines with all aspects of my summer life.  One of the lines all teachers walk is how much work to do over the summer.  It is thrilling to think that we throw our hands up in the air and run out the door after the students with sunscreen in one hand and a good book in the other, but we all end up working in one facet or another.  I spent a week with the incoming Freshman and am so incredibly grateful I do not teach Freshman and won’t see these kids for another two years.  I will also spend a week proctoring make-up exams because it is easy and pays well but not because I am a make-up exam fanatic.  I also have to write a curriculum for my new class!  A class about women!  Taught by me!  I am so excited and so scattered on where to start, how to structure it, what to do.  I am caught up in the fact that not only did this Women, Words, and Wisdom class make, it saw enough students sign up for two sections!  55 students want to learn about women and I am going to teach them and I’m not flustered, you’re flustered.  Work, do nothing, work, think you should be doing something, do a little something, go back to doing nothing, school starts.

Staying fit is definitely one line that is definitely seeing some zig-zagging this summer.  I froze my Camp Gladiator account because my knees hurt and because I didn’t want to work out at 6:10am three times a week in the summer; that craziness is for the school year.  However, as much as I proclaim that I might as well go round, I am not ready for elastic waistbands and snap-up housecoats, so I am walking the dog every morning and going to yoga as much as I can instead.  The other day it was 95 degrees in the yoga room with 61% humidity.  I have never, ever sweat that much in my entire life.  Rivers of sweat.  Oceans of sweat.  Detoxifying and purifying and healthy.  Surely, I followed that with green tea and a wheatgrass smoothie, right?  No.  I followed that with a shower, two beers and a sandwich that had not only chicken sausage on it, but bacon as well.  Zig. Zag.

Better one, or two?

One, or two?

Parenting teens is a tight-rope walk all the time, but one I have time to think about during the summer and not just react to like during the school year.  Sophie has a new job.  Great.  She still doesn’t drive.  Damn.  That’s on me and yet I keep saying it is on her.  She will be a Senior this year and I already find myself thinking “last this” or “last that”.  I have to stop that or I will make myself insane, but I also want to be sure I stop to appreciate all these "lasts" with her.  The boy would be on a screen 24/7 if he could and I waiver between standing over him with a whistle and a to-do list or hanging back and seeing if he realizes that he can and should do more.  I don’t think there are ever really any clear paths or decisions in parenting though, just lots of love and a little bit of common sense.  I hear them laughing and talking to one another after I go to bed and give myself a mental high-five for excellence in parenting and the very next day feel I have taught them nothing when dishes are piled in the sink because I didn’t ask anyone to empty the dishwasher.  Up, down, back, forth.

The other morning, I looked outside and noticed that our garbage can was the only out on the street and got worried.  Did I have it out on the wrong day? We couldn’t afford to miss because the boy brought an unemptied can back the week before and it was jam-packed and disgusting.  I stopped to consider trash pick-up days and had to stop because I didn’t even know what day of the week it was.  I didn’t even know what day of the week it was and that friends, is summertime magic at its finest.  So, no matter what lines I am walking, summer has its restorative hold on me and while I might be wondering what day it is, I won’t wonder for too long because I have birds to watch and coffee to drink out on the deck.

Baby. You Can Drive My Car.

One thing that I like about summer is that I have a lot of time to think about things other than all the things I have to get done during the day.  There is plenty of time to get everything done and nothing has to be done right then.  It is a nice thing to experience.  A normal person would really give into the relaxation and just become languid and fluid and be. However, that normal person is not me.  I take this time to really focus all my worry and concern on one or two special topics I have may have ignored during the year.  Previous years have seen me angsting over whether or not I would ever find a job combined with wide-awake worry wondering if this is the year that the A/C finally gives up.   I also like to flush out those unresolved issues I’ve tucked into the dark recesses of my mind and replay embarrassing scenarios from my youth.  I could clean the house, but I prefer unearthing dusty memories packed in cobwebs and shame.

Right here is where I like to keep how I misspelled rutabaga and lost the 5th grade spelling bee.

This summer, I have focused my penchant for worry and obsessive thoughts onto two things: fitness and how big my kids are getting.  I have a lot of words about fitness and nutrition, but I think they will take up their own post and the big kids are really weighing on my heart, so they go first.

I have found over the last year or so that I am that creepy old woman who smiles at babies and toddlers and even comments out loud how adorable they are.  I watch the little kids swim next door and hear their happy laughs and splashes and sigh.  Not because I want a small child of my own, but I think because it feels like it has been so long since my kids were little.  When they came in the house with a sweaty head that smelled like sunshine and puppies and tag and didn’t make me recoil and say things like “Shower!” or “You stink!”  Now I cannot even put a name to the odor that emanates from the boy’s room.  I just open the door, shoot some Febreeze in there and close it before it can infect the rest of the house.

At sixteen and fourteen, these kids of mine are adult-ish every day.  Oh, I know there is a lot of parenting to go here, but I am looking at them and seeing adults more than kids.  The boy is huge.  Giant.  He is a man-sized child living in my house.  Eating all the food, taking up all the room on the furniture, leaving giant shoes everywhere for us to trip on and flexing.  So much flexing.  But it is not just physical; it is how they handle situations or their dry, obnoxious humor.  Or the fact that we can have prolonged, intelligent conversations about things other than video games and horses.  And that they are really getting interesting and I seek them out to see what they think rather than hide in my closet for just two seconds alone.  This stage of parenting seems to be a lot of waiting, followed by helping to extinguish the fires of a teen crisis, followed by more waiting, a whole lot of talking, more waiting and plenty of time to sit and wait and think.

This week, the girl got her permit.  We are late to the game here as many of her friends are already driving, but we weren’t in a hurry.  Teaching a kid to drive really sucks!  It is hard to explain what she should do based on something I do and never think about.  I made weird “Oooh-ooh-AHHH” noises that I haven’t heard since my mother made those noises as I was learning to drive. It was an eye-opening day, and I realized that not only did I step out of the driver’s seat and into the passenger seat of the Prius, but in her life as well.  I am not longer buckling her up and taking her where she needs to go.  For now, I get to sit alongside her and watch as she decides what to do.  I can offer advice, suggestions and my thoughts, but I am not moving her forward, she is.  I can say “Watch for this”, “Be careful here” and make all the ooh-ooh-AHH noises, but ultimately, she decides what she is going to do.  It is pretty amazing and humbling to realize that this is where we are in her life now.  It makes me ooh and ahh and sigh over babies.  It makes me want to adopt a cat with crossed eyes because it reminds me of the boy when he was little.  It made me crow over Jack-Jack in Incredibles 2 to the point where Bill leaned over and asked if my milk had let down.  

This whole stage of parenting makes me a little nostalgic and a little nervous and a little sad over how fast the other stages have gone by.  It also makes me glad that I have the summer to realize all of this, obsess about it properly and prepare my heart for how quickly the rest will go too.

August is a Giant

Natalie Babbit, author of “Tuck Everlasting”, once wrote of August that “August hangs at the very top of the summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning... motionless, and hot. It is curiously silent, too, with blank white dawns and glaring noons, and sunsets smeared with too much color.”  I appreciate the picture she paints, but the fact that it is a Ferris wheel gives us hope that it will one day turn and move and change.  Here in Austin, August is forever.  August is really more like a giant: a lumbering, crushing, havoc-wreaking giant.

Watch out; he'll chew you up.

Like Jack’s giant, our giant is brought on by our careless prodding.  True that Jack went a little above and beyond by stealing his giant’s goose, but our careless talking brings our August giant to life.  Statements like “It’s been such a mild summer!” start our giant stirring and follow ups like “I don’t know when I have enjoyed summer more!” bring it fully to life.  Within days, our August giant is here, he is tearing up the town and we only have ourselves to blame.

The August giant comes in with booted, heavy steps and while he does not make the earth rattle, he makes it crack and fracture.  The earth groans with the weight of him and cracks appear and grow and fissure along once healthy gardens, open fields and even our front lawns.  These cracks continue to widen as if begging for water, but there is no water.  Our giant uses his shoulders to shrug away any moisture bearing clouds.  A quick upwards twitch of his shoulders takes our slight chances of rain and sends them soaring to the Midwest, the East Coast, and beyond.

This giant takes his dry, calloused, chafed hands and rubs our landscape between them until that which was once green and resplendent, is now brown and brittle and flowerless.   Grass crunches under your feet, leaves atrophy and poke when touched, cicadas come to die on your door and crunch as they are eaten with glee by your really dumb dog.  He has made everything you see brown or yellow or dead and he is still not done.

The August giant’s favorite thing to do is to breathe.  His breath is as hot as the sun. As hot as an oven.  As hot as hell.  He exhales over us and all hope is lost.  He inhales and takes away any chance of a cooling breeze and when he exhales, the air is one hundred degrees or hotter.  His hot breath lies in the air and does not move, it does not stir and it settles over us like an unneeded blanket.  We can no longer move freely, we are trapped under it and we hunker.  We hide from his breath, from his air, from his oppression. 

The giant is not done with us, not yet.  We are dry, we are thirsty, we are hot and uncomfortable and that is when he starts his favorite task: picking.  The giant’s large fingers pick and pick and pick at our nerves until they are frayed.  He unravels them until our thoughts are mean; our words are harsh and are movements are careless.  Watch interactions between parents and children at the grocery store right now, you’ll see this for yourself.  He reaches over the edge of the earth to pull the sun up early and holds it in his hands, high above his head, for longer than the sun wants to stay.  He squeezes every bright ray out and when he finally bores of it, fifteen or sixteen hours later, throws it over his shoulder until the next day.

The August giant is here and he is here to stay.  Even in September, this giant persists.  He might lay off some, or forget a rain cloud or two, but he is still here.  There is no chopping down a bean stalk to slay this giant.  The only that will kill it is the hope, the belief, that one day Autumn will come and push it out.  Autumn will slowly slide in and as she does, she makes no room for the August giant.  She will use her colors, her crisp air and her fragrant breezes to uproot the giant.  He will startle and try to take us back, but Autumn will have a foothold that cannot be shaken and the August giant will stalk away, forlorn and forgotten.  At least until next year when he hears someone say “I can’t get enough of this great weather!”, and makes his way back to settle and crush us once again.

And the Heat Goes On

Do you live south of Ohio?   Has your will to enjoy summer been replaced with hourly thoughts of how much summer sucks?  Does your forecast look like this?

Notice the 10% chance of rain each day? Lies.

Have you opened the door to go outside and then immediately closed it and sat on the couch defeated?  If you answered yes to one or all of these questions, there is a good chance you are suffering from SAD.  This is not the SAD that people get up north when it is gray and snowing and below zero all winter.  This SAD, or Summer Affective Disorder, affects those of us below the Mason-Dixon line.  SAD can affects everyone, old and young alike, with serious consequences so please, read the following warning signs and see if you, or someone you know, might be suffering from SAD.

Adults: have your plans for a well-rounded summer been compromised by the actual length of summer?  Are math workbooks and flashcards gathering dust and you no longer care if your children know their math facts because there are things like calculators they can use instead?  If so, you may be suffering from SAD.  Does the smell of sunscreen make you nauseous?  Or the thought of applying sunscreen to small bodies yet again fill you with unspeakable rage?  Step away from the SPF, take a deep breath and know you are not alone.  When you speak, are you the only one who can hear your voice?  It is because your children are also suffering from SAD and cannot hear anything you say unless it is "Ice Cream!" or "Yes, you can play video games until your eyes fall out."  Do you no longer care if their eyes fall out from watching TV or playing video games?  If yes, you are definitely suffering from SAD.

Kids: has swimming lost its appeal?  Do cannonballs into tepid water no longer bring the joy they once did?  Does the thought of one more outing with your mom and siblings make you want to cry?  If yes, you too are suffering from SAD.  Is your mother mad at you because you stopped listening to anything she had to say back in July?  Can you no longer even pretend to listen?  Do you walk into a room for something she asked you to get, forget what it was and sit down and get involved with something else?  If yes, don't forget to look hurt and maybe even cry a little when she yells at you later.  You are suffering from SAD and she is yelling?  What kind of parent is she?  Work the tears and gain more video time.

SAD sufferers take heart because you are not alone and there is hope for recovery.  Follow these simple steps and see if the symptoms of SAD alleviate:

1.  don't watch the weather until October.  It is going to be 100 every day.  Rain?  No.  Don't count on it and don't believe the 10% chance they put on there.  It is to keep people from killing the weather man.
2.  stop planning "fun" events.  Nothing is fun when the walk to the car gives you heat stroke.  You did fun, you did it well, stop while you are ahead.
3.  Yes, your children are watching too much TV and playing too many video games but you have all the winter months to shoo them outside and make them be kids.  Refuse to feel guilty.
4.  Kids -every now and then break out a board game.  This will make your mom feel like she has done something right and she will reward you with more screen time.
5.  Count the days, or hours, until school starts.  It is close enough now, this will bring you peace.  This goes for kids as well because it will get them away from a crazy mom and siblings.
6.  It is too hot to cook, so don't.  Grill?  Good Lord, no!  Sandwiches, lots and lots of sandwiches.  (If you cut them on the diagonal it looks like you tried.)


SAD is here and it is real, but sufferers, you are not alone!  Take heart in the woman who screams at her children at the grocery store; at least you scream at yours at home.  Look into the eyes of the fatigued parents surrounding you and know you look the same.  Know that you will be found innocent if you happen to kill someone who says "hot enough for ya?" while smiling.  Little by little by little the heat will abate, children will go to school and the oppression of SAD will lift.  You will want to go outside, you will want to engage in the world around you and you may even want to be fun mom again.  May.  Until then, hole up in your air conditioned house and curse. Curse the weatherman, curse the sun and curse the month of August itself.  This will bring you a small amount of peace and give you the will to go forward.  SAD sufferers we shall overcome!!!

Bastard.

Silence IS Golden!

It is the last day of school!! I have not been this happy about a last day of school in about; oh well, a lot of years.  I woke the kids up singing songs about it being the last day of school.  Neither one was impressed.  We had an impromptu dance party to celebrate and everyone went on to their respective schools. I only had to work an hour today.  Happy Summer to me!  

When I found out I was only going to have to work an hour today, I first thought that I should pick up the kids or do something crazy, mom fun like that said "WOOHOO SUMMER!".  Thankfully, I quickly came to my senses and instead you can find me at home right now. Alone.  Enjoying something I will not have anytime soon: silence. Silence will not be heard in this house for a long time.

Thank you.  I will.

 In the beginning of summer we go outside and bring our noise with us.  We swim, we play in the driveway, and we go to the park.  But as summer drags on and it gets too hot for man or beast, all of our noise will be inside.  There will be a TV or radio or video game and they will be on loud.  There will be the slam of the door opening, closing or my yelling "Close the door!".  There will be whining, there will heavy sighs, there will be moaning.  There will be yelling: yelling at each other, yelling at the dogs, yelling for me MOMWHEREAREYOU?  I am hiding in my closet trying to find one minute of silence, that is where I will be.

It won't be all bad noise.  There will be laughing, please God, lots of laughing.  There will be the squeal of preteen girls jammed four to a bedroom squeaking and squealing and laughing until they cry.  Because everything is funny, everything has to be relived and everything must be screamed at the top of their lungs in that small room.  There will be boy laughter that starts with "dude!" and ends with a fist bump and goes right into lengthy video game discussion.  There will be adult laughter over summer drinks because really, everything is very funny and laugh-out-loudable over summer drinks.  There will be dinner conversation where everyone talks over each other until Bill and I lock eyes and smile thinking we made this loud mess.  Or we lock eyes and question how many more days til school starts?  There will be teen laughter; secretive and almost elusive and we will strain to hear more.  There will be friends over adding to the din and requests for lemonade, food, more food, more everything.

There will be the daily questioning of where are we going today?  What will be fun today?  Thankfully I have Adventure Mondays in my pocket courtesy of a good friend who is a fun mom and I can tag along, slacker-like, as we all have fun, at least once a week.  There will be road trip planning and with it a million questions of where is this?  What can I pack? How long will be gone?  What about the dogs?  

There have been many summers when I have braced myself for the onslaught of summer and its noise.  I planned camps or weeks or days down to the minute. I don't feel like I am bracing myself this year. I feel like my silence today is giving me time to mentally prepare for summer and after two hours of it, I say bring it.  Bring the noise.  Bring the stickiness of summer with its watermelon faces and lemonade on the counters by kids who pour while watching TV.  Bring the smell of sunscreen on warm skin and chlorine bleached hair.  Bring the smell of BBQ on the breeze, however warm and stagnant that breeze might be.  The boy and I will be on the back deck breathing it in.  

You can almost smell how hot it is.

I think it was three or four years ago you could ask me at any day during the summer how many days it was until school started.  "Eighty-six" I said as school ended that year, or "We are down to twenty!" I cried jubilantly.  However, if you asked me right now how many more days, I would say not enough.  I hope this is still my answer in August.  Hopefully if I tuck away just a few pockets of silence between then and now, it will be.