A New Normal

I have news.  Exciting news!!!!  Ready?  I have been offered a…..full….time….JOB!!!!!  Can I get a WOOHOO?!?!?!  I will be working in a high school library come August and I am thrilled!  HOORAY!  The funny thing is that I was actually offered two different jobs the same week – the when it rains it pours deal I guess.  I hemmed and hawed, I made a chart, and I compared and contrasted and went with the one I felt would be best.  Whew, all that interviewing over and a new chapter about to begin – have I ever mentioned how bad I am with change?

Once the thrill of being offered a job settled down, anxiety started to creep in. Anxiety to me is like a rat running around and around on a wheel in your head that keeps you from totally paying attention to what is going on around you or listening clearly or even thinking clearly.  I tell you, there was a pet store full of rats running around up there.   

I have not worked full time in a long time.  Like before kids long time.  I have been fortunate (i.e. saddled with debt) in that I have been able to be at home with my kids this long.  With my kids in different schools next year, I need to figure out what to do with my son after school.  Why does elementary school get out first?  Why can’t middle or high school get out first so that the girls could watch their brother and make my life easier?  I am a wreck trying to decide if I should find someone to watch him at the house or enroll him in something at school or something offsite that will pick him up.  I know my daughter will forget something vital each day and I keep picturing her waiting for the bus in the rain.  Am I crazy?  This is Austin, it rarely rains and certainly not every day.

Other craziness that has been spinning around is when can I kettlebell? Or volunteer at school?  Or bake?  Or take a nap during the week?  These little rats of insanity going around and around in my brain have led me to make many proclamations based on hormones and my fear of change.  Kids will now do their own laundry.  Kids will learn to cook.  Kids will actively engage in helping to make pizza or I will not make pizza any more.  Luckily for the kids, Bill reined me in before I could make more proclamations and completely ruin summer.  “We have time” he said, “We will figure this stuff out”.  He is so wise and calm to my crazy.

I did stick with the proclamation that kids will do their own laundry.  I watched my son fold his the other night and while it took him 45 minutes, he did it.  It made me think of all the other things he could do if I stopped doing them for him.  Maybe he will have better luck with friends if I am not there trying to smooth over his social awkwardness.  It made me realize that my daughter will definitely forget things she needs for school, but if I am not there to run them up to her each time, I bet she will forget them less often.  And I can always buy her an umbrella for the 4 days a year it does rain.  Maybe if they are hungry enough or bored enough, they will be the ones starting dinner and they will learn to cook.  And maybe if I back off a little, they will help make pizza on Fridays and Friday Pizza Night will be a real tradition, not just mom making pizza. 

I have been aware lately how big my kids are getting.  It is hard not to notice when two out of three are taller than you and that they no longer smell like puppies when they come in from outside; they just smell.  It is time for me to work more and it is time for them to do more and this change is a good thing. The new normal that will develop is a good thing, it will just be new.  Whew.  I have banished the rats from my head and am looking forward to this change– just in time to enjoy the rest of summer!  And my NEW JOB! WOOHOO!!!!

Book Blahs

I am twitchy and out of sorts.  It has been way too long since my last one.  I can’t concentrate; I am fidgety and impatient.  I need a good book to read and I need one now! Summer for me is usually a time where I like to read and read and read some more.  When I was a kid, I lost a whole summer to the Little House books and as a teenager I was back to school before I knew it thanks to John Jakes and his epic sagas.  

I took the kids and my mom to the library last week and they scampered around finding armfuls of books.  I found audio books for Bill and his long commute (“The Omnivore’s Dilemma” seemed like a good idea at the time) and then looked around for me.  Nothing.  Not one book caught my interest or invited me to crack the spine and read more.  Not one.  I thought maybe it was because I had interviewed there and they did not hire me and I was being subconsciously childish towards the books in an “you don’t want me, I don’t want your books” kind of fashion, or maybe it was because I found myself face to face with “Little Bee” again and was too disgusted to look further.  I just couldn't find anything.  Later in the week, I did check out some books from work but they were not the good book fix I needed either.  Meg Wolitzer’s “The Interestings”?  Not so interesting at all. The most interesting thing about the book is its fruit striped cover; I gave up after four chapters.  Dan Brown’s “Inferno”?  I finished it, but I skimmed an awful lot along the way and kind of wished that Robert Langdon would not find his way out of this one.  Perhaps reading such excellent children’s literature has left me disdainful of adult fiction?  "Wonder" and "The One and Only Ivan"  are two books I recommend instantly when people ask if I have read anything good lately.

I want to find this year’s “Gone Girl”.  And no, “Reconstructing Amelia”, you are not it.  I want characters I love right away like the ones in “Me Before You” or characters that are so terrible I feel immediately better about myself and am compelled to continue.  Sometimes during the summer, I like to revisit   favorite authors and see if there is a book of theirs that I haven't read yet. A little PD James for wit, snarky dialogue and a cast of heinous characters only a British author can truly develop, some Larry McMurtry for a Western that is not really a western, or maybe some Marion Keyes for an Irish woman in her late 20’s who is trying to get her life together and loved by her quirky, sister-laden family.  No interest in any of them this year. Sigh.  When I was younger, I used to reread favorite books all the time but now I think rereading is a little pointless.  Or maybe I just have less time to read and like what I am reading to be new. 

I need to find a page-turner.  A read until my neck is sore and my eyes are burning kind of book.  One where you lose track of time and your surroundings and the kids ask for things and you agree to them while saying “Mommy is reading” and later find yourself dishing out ice cream for dinner because you said okay earlier. I want a book that is so well written and so absorbing I find myself with a book hangover when I am done reading.  So help, please, and quickly!  

Kettlebell, Kettlebell, Kettlebell

I know.  Kettlebell, kettlebell, kettlebell.  Marcia, Marcia, Marcia.  I have been taking a kettlebell class for the past 18 months and have probably bored people to tears talking about it the last 17 months and 30 days.  I kind of feel like I am selling Amway or Mary Kay when I approach people and say “Have you heard about kettlebell?” 

Kettlebells

Prior to kettlebell my main form of exercise was half-hearted running around the neighborhood.  When my son turned 4, I looked at myself and the additional weight I was carrying and knew I could not call it baby weight anymore; it was all mine.  My early attempts at running were slow and short-distanced.  I rewarded myself for running with handfuls of chocolate chips thinking “I deserve it, I ran today.”  As evidenced by my brother’s wedding pictures, this was not healthy thinking and I ended up gaining more weight.  Eventually my distance increased and the dread I used to feel about running slowly faded.  I still wasn’t fast, but I was out there, pounding the pavement and calling it exercise.

When a friend forwarded me a groupon about a kettlebell class at Punch Kettlebell , I had never even heard of a kettlebell but thought that if I didn’t have to run outside when it was 85 at 7am, I was all over it.  We went to the workshop and learned the proper way to swing, to clean, and to press and got introduced to the ropes.  My heart was beating out of my chest with exertion and I was so sore the next day, I knew it had to be good for me.  I was awkward, incredibly awkward, at first with how to hold the bell, how to swing, and it was not uncommon for me to hear “STOP!  What are you doing?  What is that?!”  Oddly enough, I found this encouraging rather than intimidating.  The trainers wanted me to be good at this and so did I. Slowly, I got stronger, less awkward, and more competitive.  (Thank you Karen and Jenny)  I could move more weight and didn’t have to go home and take a nap after class anymore.  I knew enough to help new people in class and encourage them.  Last week I heard “Watch Rebecca, she knows what she is doing” and I felt like I had won kettlebell gold. 

Ropes and no, that is not my arm.

Every class is different, every trainer has a slightly different style and you are never quite sure what the day will hold.  Will it be Ropes Gone Wild or the dreaded 300? Will you warm up doing moves you haven’t tried since grade school?  We unfortunately warmed up doing crab walks and bear crawls the day my friend’s ten year old son was there and he still can't look me in the eye.  Kettlebell is not just lifting weights; it is an intense cardio and all over workout. (Average calories burned in one hour of kettlebell range between 500-1000!) You are using your core for every single move and your abs will let you know!   I especially like Punch Kettlebell because the classes are small enough that you get to know the people you are sweating with.  We encourage each other, we cheer on the beast-mode in each other and engage in very friendly competition.( I do advise you to be friendly otherwise I will privately name you things like Sweaty Guy, Toe Shoes or worse.)  I have walked in to class feeling defeated or overwhelmed by life and left there feeling invincible.  How can you be angry anymore after 20 big slams on the rope or feel defeated when you have just push pressed more than you did last week?  Physically, I have not felt this strong since I played sports in high school.  Even with my bum toe, I can do 90% of every workout and the trainers have been not only accommodating of my injury, but creative in what I can do instead.  And no ladies, you will not get bulky. You will get toned and lean and strong.

I live in a neighborhood where all the women are doctors, lawyers, CEOs, hold multiple degrees or are incredible activists for the community.  They run the PTA like a Fortune 500 Company and carry this over to their exercise as well.  They are marathon runners, tri-athletes, long-distance bikers.  I have been intimidated and exhausted just watching them.  Until kettlebell.  Kettlebell is my marathon.  It is my triathlon.  I love to share it with my friends who text me early the next day with things like “I am so sore” or “I hate you”.  I snicker like Snagglepuss and enjoy my day even more. 

So I apologize for pushing kettlebell like Sam-I-Am in “Green Eggs and Ham” but like Sam, I just can’t help myself.  And really, what is the moral of that story?  The Grinch-looking guy tries something new and then what?  HE LIKES THEM!  HE REALLY, REALLY LIKES THEM!  So try it.  You will like it.  And I can’t wait for your text telling me how much you hate me.

My Achy, Breaky Heart

Tomorrow is my 5^th grader’s Learning Celebration/Graduation.  I can’t believe she is done with elementary school!  She has had a hard year and is so excited to be done with school and to move on to middle school and I am glad for her.  She is anxious by nature and I am glad to see her looking forward to a change rather than worrying about it.  Lately, she has had to dress up for activities at school and I am stunned by how tall and grown up she looks.  She looks much older than 11 and that has been an eye-opener.  I have also learned never to shop for clothes with her at the same time.  Ugh. 

A sweet note I had to save

We were talking the other night about how she and the 3^rd grader will be in different schools next year and the more we talked, the sadder he got.  She has been his constant companion for his entire school career.  Finally, near tears he said “I can’t talk about this anymore; it is making me feel fragile.”  To be honest, I am feeling fragile about the whole thing too.  I like her in grade school, among friends I know and the parents I know.  I like that she is well cared for and has a good group of friends and that they all treat each other well.  I am dreading the shifting of friends and activities as these kids branch out to find themselves and grow.  Blah!  The drama of “she is my friend, she isn’t my friend, she said, I said, I think she said”.  My tender-hearted girl is in for a wallop, I know it and it makes me sad.  I just want to tell her that friends will disappoint you, that boys at this age are not worth worrying about or EVER waiting at home for them to call.  I want her to apply herself and to be passionate about something.  I want her to continue to be so kind people remark on it and I get to tell them that kindness, like height, seems to skip a generation.  I want her to remain the person who befriends the new kids.  I want to her to be self-confident.  I want to tell her not to worry about being cool; no one is cool right now.   I want her to just be herself, because she is so amazing.  She is kind, she is beautiful, she is smart, she is funny and she is interesting.  She relays a story with so much enthusiasm and emotion you feel like you were there too.  She loves children and animals and they love her back. 

Best work, ever.

I have this slide show of her going through my head as I think about her heading to middle school and it makes me feel so happy/sad.  I see her as a newborn when I held her and thought: “This.  THIS is what I want to do for the rest of my life.”  Or at age 2 throwing a fit at Target that was so lengthy and loud in its duration that a woman came up to me and said “Don’t worry, this really does pass.”  Or at age 4, singing “Go Tell it on the Mountain” so exuberantly in the Preschool Christmas Program, that the man in front of me turned around and said “It’s been told!”  There she is at 5, running, skipping, leaping, and galloping all the way to kindergarten.  Or at 6, reading her big chapter books, Hank the Cowdog almost exclusively.  Second grade, trying to be so brave while changing schools and looking out for her brother.  Braces and braids and the last year she would ever wear skorts.  Third grade and Girl Scout vests, DI tournaments and giggling, SO much giggling with girlfriends.  Fourth grade and zip up sweatshirts despite the heat to hide her changing body.  Fifth grade, a hard year – slumped shoulders, angry eyes, sad faces, angst written all over her.  And now, at the end, of fifth grade, taller than me, smiling so that her eyes shine, she gets ready to step into this next chapter of her life while I am trying to hold onto her childhood with one hand and help guide her into her teen years with the other.  When they are little, you hold their hands to steady them or to keep them on the right path or to encourage them to keep moving and you are always a little bit in front of them.  Now I feel like it is her hand that is one step ahead of me and that I better run to catch it.

D is for Done

Done.  I am done with school.  I am done with early mornings and I am done with packing lunches.  I am done with homework, I am done with projects and I am especially done with projects that require poster board or tri-folds.  I am done with kids being stressed about testing or kids being too relaxed about testing.  I am done with emails home saying "School isn't over yet".  The kids are definitely done.  I was in the library at school helping out today and the noise in there was amazing.  I was also in the cafeteria at school today and the noise in there was tremendous.  You could feel the noise rumble in your chest like a herd of elephants approaching the closer you got to the cafeteria.  God bless those teachers and the school staff the next few weeks; they deserve combat pay.

I haven't been this eager for the end of school since I was in school myself.  Usually I am the parent who knows exactly how many days of summer vacation are left three days into summer vacation.  Seeing the big pencil hanging from the ceiling of Target in mid-July gives me a Christmas morning kind of feeling when I see it.  I like to buy the school supplies in the beginning of August and lay them out on the dining room table as a warning to the kids and as a beacon of light for myself.

In the beginning of the year, I pack lunches with thought and care and nutritional value. I cut off crusts and write little notes about how much I love you or you make me proud.   I use reusable sandwich bags and tiny containers housing tiny healthy snacks.  By now most of the reusable bags are lost, the containers have no lids and I am packing Reese Puffs instead of sandwiches because they claim to be fortified with iron and I choose to believe them. 

Homework?  I am over homework too.  They tell me they don't have any, I choose to believe them.  This did lead to a harried, hurried project involving posterboard and copious tears from the 5th grader last night but I am focusing on the life skills she is learning.  Don't put things off to the last minute and unlike your mother, always have posterboard in the house.  Spelling tests?  Listen you are three weeks away from the end of 3rd grade, if you can't spell these words by now, well, there is always next year.

Maybe it is because my 5th grader had such a hard year this year and her usual enthusiasm for school and learning has been whittled away to lethargy about school.  I want her to have the summer to rest up and get ready for middle school.  Or maybe it is because school is such a chore for my 3rd grader and he is tired of holding it together and I am weary of holding him together.  Maybe it is once that damn STARR test is over that everyone is just too depleted to keep going.  Why don't they have those tests the last week of school?

Realistically, I know that summer vacation can seem endless as well.  We don't  have any travel plans this summer.  No camps lined up.  I know it will be 100+ every day and the kids will be bored with being home.  I know they will use every glass and plate in the house and leave them all over.  I know they will eat more food in a day than I planned on for three days.  I know I will have great plans of forcing math facts on them thinking that with all the time we have they will finally embrace and learn them and that they won't. I will get tired of swimming and applying sunscreen and washing towels.  I know.  But as of right now, it just sounds so much better.

Suit Up

We have had a lovely spring here in Texas.  There are years when it goes right from pretend winter to summer, but this year we have had mild temperatures, some rain and everything is fresh and blooming. Verdant even.  Slowly the days are creeping up to the high 80's and even 90's and I know that it is coming.  The heat..., the ever present sun...., the wearing of bathing suits.  Ugh.  I make it my mission each year to pack away my bathing suit on Labor Day and not break it out again until Memorial Day.  I know that there are people who like to swim year round (sickos) or even for as long as the weather will allow (weird) but I am not one.  We do a lot of swimming here in the summer and by August, even the kids are tired of swimming and I am tired of pretending I look good and am comfortable in my bathing suit.  Oh I had some years where I rocked the beach attire (ages 16-18 and 25-28), but right now I am a mom who does her best to be healthy and buys her suits based on functionality and price. 

There is a vulnerability about wearing a bathing suit for months and I blame the whole purchasing of a bathing suit on why I also find it soul sucking.  First, don't order one from a magazine.  You are not 20.  You are also probably not 6'1" and weigh 120 pounds and you will not be airbrushed into perfection along with your new suit.  There is no doubt you will be disappointed when your suit comes and you put it on, only to see you and not the nubile young coed from the magazine.  Second, trying a bathing suit on in a store is demoralizing.  Have you ever looked worse than you do standing under all those fluorescent lights in your underwear with your pale and pasty winter white skin illuminated and reflecting back to you?  And not just the front view.  You are looking at yourself from every angle imaginable.  I don't own a full length mirror for this very reason.  I put things on and assume they look fine until a glimpse in someone's mirror or reflective window tells me otherwise.  I don't want to see what is behind me...that is why it is behind me! 

I am not alone!

The steps to actually trying on a bathing suit just strip away your self-esteem step by step. Bathing suit sizing makes no sense and no matter what size you normally wear, you will need something 4 sizes bigger.  You will struggle into the suit and step back to look and wonder if it is your underwear under the suit making your hips look bulgy and misshapen so you will pull the sides up, down, back all the while wondering how long it has been since you shaved.  You will then put on the top or adjust the top and see if your children will be horrified when faced with your breasts and the way they have been pushed, pulled and squeezed into the top.  You jump around to see how much more is exposed and bend at the waist to see if you can keep your dignity if you should drop something or have to pick someone up.  No, you cannot.  Finally you give up, pick the color you like the best or the cheapest one and head to the check out.  I do advise you to do this before you absolutely need to.  I once waited until June and ended up at Kohl's at 7:45 in the morning because I had to have a suit THAT day and ended up looking like a mad cow all summer.  Seriously, a black and white splotched tankini was the best I could do.  A look around this morning confirmed that I destroyed any and all evidence of that in pictures.

Luckily I did get a cute suit last year that will work again.  I will wear that until the bottom pills completely or the sides split.  And I also have my one piece red suit that Bill picked out a few years ago and fulfills some Baywatch fantasy of his I never knew about.  Really all I need is a cover up that doesn't make me sweat and I will be ready, if not willing, to enter bathing suit season.  We are headed to the pool tomorrow; I have been bribed into it two weeks early with the lure of wine and chitchat. 

I tell Bill all the time that when I hit 60 or 65, I am going round.  At 5'3", my body wants to be round and by that time in my life, I am going to stop fighting it.  I am going to eat ice cream every night if I want and I will be able to have Doritos in the house again.  I am going to order my "housedresses" from the back of magazines and coupons in the Sunday paper and they will snap and zip and have nary a piece of elastic, or hint of a waist, anywhere near them.  And come bathing suit time, well, I am just going to put my feet in the pool and smile.

For My Dad

My dad will turn 70 this Sunday.  70 is amazing because it is 70!  70 is also amazing because he was diagnosed with thyroid and tongue cancer in October of last year.  He has had a rough go of surgeries, radiation and chemotherapy since then, but he has made it.  He has beaten it.  He gets to celebrate 70!

My dad was born on May 12, 1943. We think this is a picture of him as a baby.  I say we think because it says Peter on the front but it also says "Peter?" in shaky handwriting on the back.  He was the third baby born at home and I don't blame my grandmother for blocking things out. 


Peter?


When you have someone you loved diagnosed with cancer and you are not sure the outcome, they and you spend a lot of time reflecting on their life.  There is a lot of wondering if they will come through surgery, if the chemo will work, if this is their last Thanksgiving or Christmas or will they make 70?  I spent a great deal of time thinking about my Dad, about my childhood, about the relationship I have with my Dad as an adult, about the memories my kids have with him.  My dad is not a perfect man, he is flawed, he has failed, but in the end I am so very proud of who he is and so very proud to be his daughter.

One word that sums my Dad up in its entirety is service.  My Dad is a server.  My Dad graduated high school and joined the navy to serve his country.  He got out right before Vietnam and when the Navy wouldn't take him back he tried to get into the Army and I think even the Air Force because if there was a war, he wanted to serve.  Luckily for me and my siblings, no one took him.

Handsome?



My Dad then went on to serve his town by being a police officer and later detective for the Town of Lancaster.  My Dad loved being a cop.  He loved the chases and the camaraderie.  He loved the late nights and he loved being part of something big.  Really, what I think he loved most was serving people, helping people in bad situations and helping people stay safe.  As a result of being a police office, my Dad knew everyone in town.  We didn't go anywhere where people weren't saying hello or how was he today.  When I was little I thought that was awesome, when I was a teenager it embarrassed me to no end and as an adult, it makes me a little envious.



(I put this picture in just so everyone could see my Dad's late 70's afro)

After he retired from the police force, my Dad struggled to find work that left him employed and fulfilled.  This is when he started serving his community.  He ran for judge.  He lost, but he knocked on a lot of doors and listened to a lot of people.  He then join the Lions Club and began serving through them.  And by serving I mean recruiting new members, grilling hot dogs, attending benefits.  I don't think there is a Pancake Breakfast he hasn't been to in the last 25 years.

Above all though, my Dad really served his family.  My Mom and Dad have been married for 45 years. I am not sure they always liked each other, but they kept at it, no matter what and showed us what it meant to love and persevere in hard times. When we were little, my Dad worked two jobs and went to college. He showed us responsibility and endurance.  My Dad took time to coach our softball team when we were little and to show up at our band concerts, field hockey games and track meets in high school.  He showed us support and encouragement. 

My Dad has an unfailing sense of right and wrong, and by God, don't wrong him because those Arenas can hold a grudge.  My Dad loves a joke and the dirtier the better.  He laughs so hard before he can tell the punch line that he has shown us not to take ourselves so seriously.   My Mom has often referred to my Dad as "Peter Pan" ,sometimes very lovingly as in "oh Peter, you charmer!" and other times exasperatedly as in "Dammit Peter".  I like to think of my Dad as Peter Pan; as believing in the good, in expecting a happy outcome, in making time for fun.  So keep trudging Dad, and remember, it's the second star on the left and straight on til morning.

Happy Birthday, I love you.