the best Christmas

It wasn't because there were many gifts or much money.

Just Luke and myself in our two bedroom subsidized apartment.  This place was freedom to me because I could afford it, but at the same time, that was about all I could afford.

Now it is Christmas and Luke is maybe three years old.  I had one gift for him, cowboy boots.  That was it.  They were very, very nice cowboy boots.  I had guilt and sadness because I was failing him in the present department, but, he just did not seem to care.  We spent the morning opening gift, ok maybe it was like five minutes.  Then we headed over to my dad's house to spend Christmas morning with my family.

My dad was known for buying gifts for us girls that were, quite frankly, bizarre.  Crazy kitchen appliances that one would have very small use for, like food dehydrators, or waffle irons, or... I don't know.  Anywho, my dad's mother would send gifts for us to his house (she lived out of town) - and we also had a gigantic breakfast every Christmas.  If it was a breakfast food, he made it.

We sat down and ate breakfast around the living room floor (pow-wow style).  My dad would start handing out gifts.  This year, my grandmother sent us comforters, big, thick, soft, comforters.  How exciting, honestly, all of my blankets were dismal in comparison.  Tattered remnants of my childhood, too old to be amazing and too old to get rid of.  Then, my dad gave me his gift for me.  It was AMAZING.  No avocado scooping, coffee grinding, potato peeler.  No, this was far better than anything he could have ever purchased for us.  It was a 13 inch, television VCR combo and it was FABULOUS.  I didn't have cable, I didn't have a TV, I guess I didn't really have much of anything now that I think about it.  But I had this...

Usually on the way back to my apartment, I would be fighting the exhaustion of getting up so early and the carb fest at my dad's.  We got home, dug up a VCR tape, set up the TV in my room.  Unfolded that luxurious comforter from my gram, and fell asleep to the sounds of Ferris Bueller.  It was literally, the best Christmas ever.  I cuddled my Luke on my bed in this heavenly blanket and slept for hours... just to wake up and head to my other grandma's house for dinner.

the simple things.

It has been a little over a year since the last time I have confessed all of my life secrets in this little blog of mine.  I'm still here, rest assured.  I've been standing at home plate trying to knock all things I swing at, out of the park.  Finally, the universe's first string pitcher has thrown something that I somehow managed to see and recognize as the perfect pitch.

People say things that I think I understand, I think relate to, I think I have experienced -- then it is truly experienced and it's as refreshing as that first splash of water on your face after biking ten miles on the hottest day of days.

I hate to admit that I grew up a pessimist.  I remember being in elementary school, lining up on the risers on stage for a chorus concert.  My chorus teacher warned us against looking up into the stage lights, she said it would hurt our eyes.  I stared straight into those lights to prove her wrong.  I wasn't a believer.   My mother said that soda in the morning would give me a stomach ache.  Proved that one wrong.  Not a believer.  Eating before taking a swim...no cramps, nothing.  If you chew on your hair, you'll grow a big hairball in your stomach and it will have to be surgically removed...nope.

Someday you'll meet the love of your life and you'll know.  Seriously, now... come on.  I really wanted to be a believer.  Like if I pretended it could happen, maybe the pretend thing would actually turn into a reality... or some shit like that.

If I could tell my younger self something to keep me going when my mind was filled with dread and doubt about this life, my decisions, seeing the true intentions of people who I thought loved me for me and nothing else... I would say, "when the time is right, he will walk into your life.  He will surround you with his light and you will experience true happiness and genuine love.".

I have never trusted someone so fully and it is otherworldly.  He slows me down, listens, is completely tuned into my emotional state, and I have never loved someone like I love him.

I won't paint this as a happily ended fairy tale or something that is too good to be true.  I will say this though, I feel safe, I look forward to continuing growing with him, experiencing our life together, and am extremely optimistic about what the future holds for us.  I just want to be the best person that I can be, and someone who makes you feel that way is sui generis.  If you are lucky enough to find it, don't let it slip through your fingers.  I take zero of these moments for granted.

Falling off the balance beam.

I'm not a writer.  I wish I was.  I can't write songs, I can't write the way I would want to write, so I don't.

I've been thinking awhile about writing this post.  Writing about the end of a very long relationship, about feeling betrayed, and just about how tired I am in general.  So here it goes...

I remember the first time I felt depression.  I was in the 8th grade.  I expressed my sadness by not spending a whole lot of time getting ready in the morning, pulling my bangs and sides up into a partial ponytail, no makeup, hoodies... it passed, it always passes.  My entire life I have been known for my happiness, being cheery, funny, always relied upon to be fine no matter what circumstances were at hand.

So yeah, enter in 20 or 30 years of living, couple kids, couple marriages, and here I am.  Trying to give myself on honest take on who I am.  I realize and am aware lately, more than ever, all of the toxic behaviors I have engaged in, in the past.  For a long time I was not responsible with my physical body.  I ate without abandon, drank without abandon, basically did what I wanted.  I overstayed my welcome in relationships that were painted as loving when they were everything but.  I hated myself, but I didn't know that.  I did not do the hard things until this year, this particular year.

This year has been different for me in the sense that I have faced many inner demons that I have failed to acknowledge for as long as I can remember.  Who am I?

I am the girl who seeks love in the wrong places.
I am the girl who hides when she is depressed, wanting nothing more than to lay and cry and not know why.
I am the girl who is easily distracted.
I am the girl who will give you a hug, a genuine hug.
I am the girl who freely tells all of her friends how much she loves them.
I am the girl who justifies her bad behavior and believes her justifications when she should not.
I am the girl who did not cry at her grandfather's funeral.
I am the girl who is lost.  I don't think I will ever be found honestly, learning to live my life in a state of wander.
I am the girl who lost the ability to lie.  I can't anymore. 
I am a girl.  A really tired girl.

At some point, I will probably be able to elaborate more.  I hope I will be writing that blog post about how I found happiness within myself.  How I finally felt like I was worth something meaningful.  How I found my confidence, and how I shrugged off all of the negative things I constantly thought about myself.  I hope I figure this all out.

Pass the sour cream.

A short note to quickly explain how completely overwhelming it is, sometimes, being a teacher, a single mother, and trying to be perfect all the time, every single day.  Besides teaching, during the day in a classroom M-F, I also work in the evening teaching college classes at the Community College on Tuesdays/Thursdays.  Along with this, I spend many hours furthering my skills as a teacher as part of a NYS fellowship, last year I logged 120 hours, on my own time.  Basically, I am very, very, busy, making ends meet and making everything work.  Since my son was at his Father’s this weekend, I volunteered to spend my weekend at SUNY Plattsburgh with the NYS Fellowship.  After receiving a call very late Saturday night finding out that my son had a dental emergency, I rushed back early Sunday morning to pick him up and take care of the broken tooth dangling from his braces.  He and I then spent three hours shopping and running all over Watertown, then delivering to school supplies to reward the 86 students that were in my classroom the last day of school, with a surprise taco party.  I spent $170.  This is a glimpse of what my life is like ALL of the time.  It is never ending and every day.

Today, the last day of classes for grades 7-12, even though I got to school early, cooked the taco meat, cut the lettuce, put out the plates, drinks, and decorations,… I still managed to run down to my supervisor and ask if it was too late to give awards to the 7th/8th graders.  Every year I struggle with whether or not I should give awards because I have so many amazing students, when awards are given, I think more about the kids who are left out.  I think about the ones who don’t think they are good enough, I hate letting anyone down.  My supervisor said it was fine and to try to contact the parents asap.  I went back to my room, made all the phone calls, almost got everyone, the bell rings, students walk in, phones have to go away.  My students were ecstatic with the surprise taco party, they thanked me profusely and no one went hungry.  Fourth period came, I gave out my awards.  The couple of students whose parents I was unable to get a hold of, I made sure to whisper an apology to, as I was giving them their award.  I am definitely not perfect, by any means and will never claim to be.  I received an email that a parent called and chastised the secretary at school because I was unable to get a hold of her prior to the award ceremony, a secretary who has no idea or stake in whether or not I give or do not give an award and also has nothing to do with notifying parents.  The email also stated that the parent called back a second time to speak with my supervisor, again, to express her anger that she was not informed quickly enough.  I then, was made aware that the parent posted a picture of me on her Facebook, again describing in detail how mad she was that I was unable to get a hold of her in time.  Other people commented on her post, mostly in a negative manner towards myself.  I think this makes it pretty easy for me to say I will no longer participate in the awards ceremony, I was always weary of it to begin with and would rather do something on my own that can not be misconstrued as something negative.  Something that all of my students can benefit from and get the accolades that they deserve rather than just a lucky few. Although I really do want to apologize for not getting everything together last week like I had intended, and also apologize for trying to make it happen the day of the ceremony, I realize that had I just forewent the awards and stuck with just having a surprise taco party, this would have never happened.  Apologies should also be sent to all the people who try to find the good in a situation rather than turn it into something negative.  I am beyond thankful for the smiling faces that keep me coming back every day and am angry with myself for allowing a this bit of negativity overshadow so much love that was felt at our beautiful school, all day long.

With all this being said, my intention is definitely not to spread any negativity.  My intention is to help people understand how a simple post, a comment, a mean emoji, can feel on the receiving end.  For one act of perceived negligence, there are 200 acts of love, kindness, and understanding.  It is much easier to post nasty things and scream into a telephone at a stranger, than to just call someone directly and explain and try to understand their side of your story, no matter how big or small the situation is.   

I was that mom.

I didn't know what kind of mom I would be.  To be honest, I never had a plan for being a mother.  I never played "mom", I didn't dream about being a mother, I didn't have any desire until the day I found out I was going to be a mother at twenty years old.

So, there I was, alone, very young, in a huge city, baby in belly.  I didn't know how I got to where I was, but I did know that it was going to be hard and I would prevail.  The ultimate love, the unforgiving feeling that you have no control over the most precious being on earth.

You might be surprised at what this post is about.  It is not about how much I love Luke or how powerful our bond was and now, in his twenties, still is.  This post is about what I became when he left my arms from toddlerhood and straight into the waiting arms of his teachers for the next 13 years of his life in the public school system.

First of all, there is this possessive thing that happens when you become a parent.  These kids are created from your blood and bone, they are your DNA, your chromosomes, how could anyone not be completely devoted to their child?

That being said, I first started to see the signs of what was to come when Luke started pre-school at New Day Children's Center.  His teacher pulled me aside when I picked Luke up to tell me that he ran away from the group that day and into the church (which Luke thought was a castle).  I definitely understood why the teachers would have concern, they would have to chase him down and make him stay with the group.  He was a bit of a handful.  These types of interactions between Luke's teachers and I became the norm.  In kindergarten, he would have his card flipped on a daily basis.  First grade, Second grade, Sixth grade, his parent-teacher conferences would be something that I would dread.  I started to get angry.  Why couldn't they handle Luke?  What was it about my kid?  When we were home by ourselves, just him and I, he was perfect.  He behaved perfectly, was focused, helpful, had a huge heart.  I was getting so frustrated with the reports coming from Luke's school, every... single... day.

Now this is where I drop the revelation.  A.) Luke was gifted and bored, B.) Luke was dyslexic and acted out, C.)  Luke's teacher's didn't have enough patience, D.) Luke was bullied, E.) Luke was just being a boy (and boys will be boys right?), F.) Luke was, was, was....

You do realize that all of those revelations are not revelations, I wanted a revelation, I wanted a reason, any reason.  Any reason that would lift me off from this hook that I would dangle from anytime I was interacting with his teachers, reading a referral, getting the notes (written in vain) trying to get me on board.  The truth was... my kid was an asshole.  Seriously though, when my kid went to school, he did not act the way that he acted with me when I was home.  He was a smart ass, disrespectful, little asshole.  The shitty thing about this was, for years and years, I would walk into school to talk with his teachers and I would make excuses for him.  I would cover for him, yell at the teachers, go to the principal, complain about the teachers.  Lunch lady didn't like something Luke said, then she is a bitch.  Bus driver writes Luke a referral, well he is getting kind of old to be handling these kids, isn't he?  When I realized what my kid had become (sometime around the sixth grade), I was beyond horrified to look back and realize that all of those years I was standing in the way of the people who were trying to help my child be a productive member of his classroom, respected among his peers, and also impart to him that his actions had consequences.  Here I am thinking that I am being the best parent to my child when all along I was teaching him to never think he is wrong.  I taught him to victimize himself if he was called out for making poor decisions.

What happened in grade six did you say (or think)?  Well, at this point in my life, I had managed to put myself through school enough to obtain my initial teaching license, and became a teacher in a small k-12 school which I also enrolled Luke in.  I went from seeing my son only at home, to also being in the same building 24-7.  Those pesky teachers became my colleagues, and well, you now know the rest I suppose.  I learned the horrifying truth behind my child's behavior.  He wasn't bullied.  He wasn't dyslexic, gifted, bored,  and he definitely wasn't being a boy.  He was being an asshole and I enabled him.  I might even say that I made it much worse to the point where I could claim that I created this kid's behavior by taking away his consequences.

The next six years were not as easy as they could have been had I not been a wishy-washy mom-friend that I was at the beginning of all of this.  Luke was grounded a lot.  There was no grounding limit.  I recall having a conversation with my father-in-law at one point who told me that it is not abnormal for a kid to be grounded for their entire high school tenure.  "Do what it takes." he said.  Did I get tired of grounding him? yup.  Did it ruin some of the fun things that I wanted to do sometimes? yup.  Being a good parent required sacrifice.

Do I love my Luke more than life?  I do, so much.  I am so proud of Luke and what he has accomplished so far in his young life.  The sky is the limit for this beautiful child of mine.  He is so much like me, still has a great big heart, and is learning about life in leaps and bounds.  I still have to physically stop myself from hovering, even now, but I do and he is killing this whole 'adulting' thing.
Anyway.  I have wanted to write this post for a very long time.  Glad I got it out there.  Every time someone tells me that I did a great job raising Luke, I have to bite my tongue and spit something out like "oh, if you only knew....".

The Moth.

I have been a fan of the Moth Podcast for the past five years or so.  It started when my sister called me one day after listening to an episode of the moth on NPR.  I was an instant fan!  I combed the internet looking for episodes of the Moth to listen to.

Podcasts are great, they are modern day radio shows, all about the audio.  Even better, I have always loved stories and story telling.  In the sixth grade at Wiley Intermediate School (Watertown, NY), I won a trophy and honorable mention for story telling and forgot how much I loved it.  I want to say that there is some potential in me when it comes to being a professional story teller.

To my surprise and pleasure, my son Alex (9 years old), also loves the Moth.  They developed an app that gets updated weekly with new stories, every time that Alex and I go for a drive anywhere in the car, he ALWAYS asks to listen to the Moth.  I am not sure who loves the podcast more, Alex or myself.

One funny thing that happened a few years back one night, while I was making dinner and listening to the moth podcast on my headphones.  Usually, at the end of an episode, they announce that they will be coming to this town or that town in the near future..  Well.. by some crazy happinstance, they announced that they were coming to Clayton, NY!!!  Also, it was that night!!!  In like one hour!!!  I had partaken in a glass of wine (or two) while cooking so I called my friend Brandy and asked her to come get me.  I went online and bought us tickets.  Being the amazing friend that she is, Brandy showed up immediately and we headed over to Clayton to find out that I was off... by a week!  The following week I was there with friends and bells on!  I love the Moth.

This brings me to now, a few weeks back when I knew that I had a commitment in Plattsburgh, NY and also found that the Moth was going to be having a story slam nearby in Burlington, VT.  Always looking for ways to bring pleasure to my beautiful Alex's face, I bought us tickets.  Alex was beside himself with happiness the morning that I told him (the same day that the show was happening), and we just kept getting luckier and luckier as the day went on.  Parking spot right in front of the New Moon Cafe... we were accidentally an hour early... (so we WERE able to eat dinner before).. and then, the producers gave us to reserved seats in the second row!!?  I had some ideas floating around in my head, so, I figure I might go for broke and put my name in the hat.

I have to say this one more time, everything in life is sweeter through my son's eyes.  His excitement and happiness makes everything brighter and so much more beautiful.  Every time someone pulled a name from the hat, he would just... tense up.  There are ten slots for story tellers for the evening and five have told their stories, short intermission, then it is time to announce #6.  The hostess spills my name from her mouth and Alex just bounces up in his chair, you can tell... he cannot wait.  Later on when Alex and I discussed his feelings at this moment, he described it like this "well, I was thinking in my head "oh my god, oh my god, oh my god...." and was very nervous".  I swallowed, stood up, and stepped up to the microphone and this is what came out.... (on a side note, at the end of this recording, listen for the second round of clapping to hear Alex let out a couple of whoops for his mom).

a self reliant idiot.

I have been reflecting on myself and a slight flaw of my character that has been pointed out more than usual lately.  That is... my lack of ability to trust people to do things for me, or on my behalf, or just... delegation in general.

I hate asking anyone to do anything for me.  I pretty much keep finding myself at the door step of a mental breakdown from pure exhaustion rather than ask for help.

I have realized that this is a learned behavior beginning with the first job I was let go of because my son's father did not show up to pick him up and "babysit" him, from my place of employment so I could work that day.  For obvious reasons, I stopped asking him to help me.

I don't like owing people.  I don't like relying on anyone.  I just do not feel comfortable asking anyone to do things a majority of the time.  Most of all, I hate the feelings that I get that make my blood run cold, when on the rare occasion that I ask someone for help, they act put out by it.  Especially when they have found themselves on the receiving end of favors/help that I have offered to give and followed through with on more occasions that can be counted.

I don't really know how to get past this issue, I don't see myself changing.  For some reason, I could allow myself to ask for help and dig deep to find the trust that I won't be turned down or allow what I am asking to fall through, and it would be a success a thousand times.  But then there is the one time that I am let down, I beat myself up over and over for allowing myself to trust that person.

I fancy myself a pretty happy person a majority of the time, wanting to spread the love, spread the peace.  Lately, I have been feeling very let down, by myself and other people.  I hope I can find my way out of this hole sooner rather than later.