Posts Tagged anxiety

new little job

October 7, 2009 at 12:02 pm · Filed under Uncategorized ·Tagged ,

Now about my new little job. I’ve now been herding kiddos for 1.5 wks. I’ve been peed on once, retrieved a poop ball off the floor, wiped countless noses, and learned the importance of time-out and naptime. Oh, and when they’re completely out of control and running amuck, flashing the overhead lights gets their attention every time. Kind of a disco effect.

Let me start from the beginning. Initially, it hurt my heart to be close the little ones. I kept thinking about my own hoped-for little one, and found myself detaching. But then had a realization… here I am with a broken mama-heart. And here are these little people who have been put in my care for hours each day. So what, exactly, am I accomplishing by slamming and locking my self-preservatory door? Absolutely nothing. So I started loving on them, sticky fingers & runny noses & all… and I can feel the knot of sadness and loss loosening a bit. I think this little job is exactly where I need to be right now.

I’m in the two-year-old class every afternoon, and substitute as needed in the morning in various classes. Must say that I think two’s are getting a bad rap. This whole “terrible two’s” thing? HA. The three’s are so, so much worse. The two’s are sassy, but ultimately, they’re still babies. The three’s are sassy, and listening to adults is now optional. Can be very overwhelming when there’s 8 of them and 1 of you.

In the two-yr-old class, I’ve been amazed by how easily and naturally they respond to routine. Routine is our friend — without it, that place would be sheer chaos. And they actually know & become irritable if you deviate.

Potty-training, oh my. The two’s come into our class in diapers, and don’t move up until they’re completely trained. I’m going to be a freakin’ expert. It’s an exhausting process, absolutely… they’re like little pee-bombs walking around and you never know when they’ll go off.

I’ve heard the argument for socialization as a reason to put kids in daycare, but I’ve never witnessed it firsthand until now. It’s hard to believe that Maggie’s the same age  as these kids… they act so much older than her. Of course, I figure that the little grown-up 2’s probably revert to baby 2’s when they get home, just as Maggie would act differently around an adult who’s not her mommy or Aunt Sassy. I’m still absolutely in the stay-at-home-mom camp, but I can really see how a good childcare environment can be a positive thing.

It’s been suggested that this little venture will help me decide if teaching is something I would want to do. Maybe, I guess, but I’m very congnizant that this job can’t even begin to represent the public school system. For one thing, this is a church-based program — that automatically puts a different spin on everything. And the tuition is very (prohibitively) expensive, for this area, at least. The kids are almost predominantly white and middle- to upper-class. During the 1.5 wks I’ve been there, I’ve met almost every one of their moms AND DADS because their parents are still together, and both are actively involved. The kids are cared-for, bathed, and well-dressed. Yeah, like I said — definitely not a representation of anything except maybe a private school.

And the names. Heh. I’m definitely going to have lots of ideas when it’s my & Bobby’s turn. Conner, Cameron, Camden, Collins. Aniston, Harrison, Emerson, Gunneson, Morrison, Jackson. Landon, Landry, Lujack, Manning, McCrae, Bode, Brady, Blakeley, Braden. And then you have a few classics — Ella, Ellie, Emma, Abby, Sarah, Sam, Zach, Jack, Luke, and John.

Oh, and last thought — have ya’ll ever tried to make 8 imps walk down a hall in a semi-orderly fashion? Yeah, so not happening. The first time I tried, they were running into other classrooms… nothing like broadcasting the fact that the new sub has COMPLETELY lost control of her class. The second time, I made them hold onto each other’s shirts and chug like a choo-choo train. This worked somewhat, but it’s not so good for their expensive little shirts. And then — *OH HAPPY DAY* — I found this sucker in the closet. Whoever invented the walking rope is a freakin’ genius.

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kill me now

August 19, 2009 at 1:05 pm · Filed under Uncategorized ·Tagged ,

Today, tomorrow, and Friday are dedicated to my dear, sweet, youngest sister Susanna. It’s 1:30pm on Day 1 of this Susannathon, and I’m seriously contemplating stabbing my eyeballs out with the nearest pencil. Seriously.

Her brain. Oh my. It goes in 20 directions. All at one time. Talking to her is like swatting gnats. I made a list, and she resists. She typity-types on her laptop, and I ask her what she’s working on, and she snarls at me. I say “did you cancel your proactiv acct?” No. “How much do you still owe for this semester?” Um, not sure. “Where is your College of Charleston parking info?” It was right here…. but it’s not anymore…. um, I guess I lost it. “Why don’t we call and check on the FAFSA?” Uh, well, I kinda haven’t submitted it yet.

AAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!

I have a child, but I somehow skipped all the cute, cuddly years and went straight to parenting an irresponsible, smart-ass pseudo-adult who is somehow still lovable despite the aforementioned characteristics.

Then Daddy calls and wants to know if she’ll write him a check for $400 because he was only prepared to pay $2100 for her semester, and he had to pay $2500 instead. (To be clear, her semester costs $10,000. $2500 is merely a 20% drop in the bucket.) And she tells him she’ll write him a check, and then hangs up and cries. WHA!!?? I’m sorry that his little budget is suffering, but there will be absolutely NO reimbursing of the father here. I call him and tell him that Susanna has no frikkin’ clue how much money she has, or needs, and she will not be paying him anything. That she appreciates his help, and that the “extra” $400 can be his contribution in lieu of cosigning for her loans (which he still refuses to do). Maybe it was the blitz attack, or perhaps the post-miscarriage psychosis in my voice, but he didn’t even argue.

But then he said that he can’t help move her into her dorm on Friday because he has something to do on Saturday.

Lord, please deliver me.

So I put my list in color-coded sections on a whiteboard and prop it up so that it’s directly in your line of vision as you watch tv. Sue likes colors. And finally, we begin accomplishing things. The red section has been finished. The green section is next. And then blue this evening after I drag my discombobulated self to Dr Jerry for an hour of respite.

Tomorrow is her 22nd birthday, complete with cookout tomorrow night. Bobby is taking the day off and is doing the yard work while I clean the house, and Jennifer has agreed to come over 2 hrs early to assist with the cooking.

Friday is moving-to-Charleston day. Bobby and I are getting her settled in, taking her grocery shopping, and then staying the night before heading back home on Saturday.

And I don’t feel good. I know I am sounding like a broken record, but I just don’t. Ugh. At least I have a goal though… no time to think when you’re wrangling your sister’s finances/packing/birthday into submission

I will now conclude this testy little epistle (or should it be e-PISS-tle) and eat lunch. Perhaps food will help the green section of the whiteboard seem a bit less daunting.

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worried

July 2, 2009 at 12:39 pm · Filed under Uncategorized ·Tagged , ,

Logged into Facebook this morning and was met by these status updates. Tiffiney is the thoughtful, talented, compassionate photographer who photographed Mama’s funeral.  She’s now pregnant with her first little one, a baby girl named Sadie Mae.

Last night, 8pm:

“preterm labor. All sessions, event postings, etc are on hold. Thanks for your prayers it means the wld!”

This morning, 6am:

“thanks for your prayers. We made it through the night baby still in the belly. Things are still very risky. Keep praying.”

This morning, 10:30am:

“pray that this baby turns, she’s breach. As it stands now I won’t be leaving here prego. I’m only about 25 wks. We need your prayers.”

Nonononono, Universe, please don’t take Tiffiney’s baby. If you’re the praying kind, please pray. If not, please take a sec to send positive thoughts to her and her baby girl.

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Protected: ah, the joy of marriage

June 18, 2009 at 1:25 pm · Filed under Uncategorized ·Tagged , , ,

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I spoke too soon

June 4, 2009 at 10:34 pm · Filed under Uncategorized ·Tagged , , , , , ,

Should have known that I was tempting fate by sounding all calm and zen in the previous post.

Some background: I have this habit of picturing things in my head, whether it’s the perfect gift or the perfect wedding or the perfect event. I map out “The Way It Should Be According To Sarah.” And I’ll spend an insane number of hours trying to create my vision, no matter how insignificant to everyone but me.

So I’ve been picturing the packing up of Mama’s clothes with great reverence. My mother placed those items in the drawers, she hung those clothes in the closet. With her own hands. It’s one of the few things (maybe the only thing) that’s still EXACTLY as she left it. And once it’s moved, that will be that — almost like another, smaller death, another door closed & sealed permanently. I know it has to be done, but I want to fully acknowledge the emotional impact. I don’t know if that even makes sense?…

I purposefully chose to go Friday (tomorrow) instead of Saturday (which was the “deadline” imposed by my dear father) for no other reason than Daddy’s working on Friday. I don’t want him there. I don’t want him watching me, talking to me about her things, acting like he cares when he’s the one who’s insisting that Mama be removed from the house. You know that funny way that people treat you after a loss?… they kinda watch you out of the corner of their eyes like they’re waiting for you to freak out? He does that — he watches me, waiting for me to cry. Because he’s so emotionally deficient, he absorbs emotion, studies it, examines it and tried to make it his own. I feel wooden and defiant around him, like I don’t want him to see what I’m really thinking. It’s a ridiculous power struggle that probably makes absolutely no sense to anyone else. I just wanted to have the house to myself, so that I could cry and talk to Mama and be myself without worrying about having an audience.

And guess what? Yep, that’s right… he took the fucking day off. He explained to Jennifer that he was “worried” about me because I don’t come to the house that often, so he didn’t feel like I needed to be there by myself. And the truly fucked up thing is that he actually BELIEVES this reason. In his conscious mind, he is telling himself that he took the day off to “help Sarah.” Subconsciously, he’s terrified — absolutely scared shitless — that something will be out of his control, that I’ll take something of Mama’s out of the house without his knowledge, that I’ll steal my mother’s belongings from him. And don’t misunderstand — Mama’s belongings mean NOTHING to him personally. But if he senses that an item’s important to me and/or my sisters, the value of said item increases instantly. He has a pervasive mistrust of everyone, especially me. In his mind, every action, every decision made by others revolves around him — he’s that important.

Believe it or not, I’ve tried — really, really tried — to not let my anxiety about removing Mama’s belongings manifest itself as anger toward Daddy. It’s so easy to be angry at him… he just lends himself to it.  Susanna said it well this evening — Daddy is a permanent obstacle blocking the easiest path. He makes everything harder, more difficult, more complicated.

And if I ask him if I can have some time to myself tomorrow, it’ll be like waving a red flag in front of a bull. The paranoia will strike, telling him that I’m up to something, that I’m hiding something from him. Because obviously everything revolves around him.

I know I’m building this up in my mind. I know that I’m making it bigger than it should be. I just feel so anxious, almost panicked. I’m worried that I’m going to lose another piece of Mama tomorrow, that I’m going to wake up Saturday morning and feel even more lost, if that’s even possible. Right now, I know that I can go into her room and feel her — although I rarely do, I know it’s an option. But one day, sooner rather than later, I’m going to realize that I don’t remember her smell and I can’t hear her laugh. And that frightens me.

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Protected: symbolism of the ruffly skirt

June 3, 2009 at 12:28 am · Filed under Uncategorized ·Tagged , , ,

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pessimist or realist?

May 20, 2009 at 9:46 am · Filed under Uncategorized ·Tagged , ,

I’ve started many new posts since my last one, and haven’t published any. Just don’t know what I wanna say. I’m annoyed with myself and am feeling out of sorts. It’s hard to write when I feel like this. Dr Jerry’s out of town this week, and that just pisses me off… how dare that man go on vacation when I need him?!

I’m a pill.

As a general rule, I’m a glass-half-empty kinda chick… Bobby’s glass is always overflowing, so somebody has to be realistic around here, right? But when does realism blur into negativism? When do I actually start doing myself a disservice by preparing for the “inevitable worst”?

I’ve justified my pessimism/realism with life events — Mama’s sickness, her eventual death, miscarriage #1, then miscarriage #2. I mean, I would be an idiot to think that things are going to work out smoothly & painlessly, right? But maybe I’m taking the easy way out — I’m choosing to be cynical & jaded because being hopeful makes me vulnerable.

At dinner a few nights ago, I asked Bobby if he really, completely believes that our next pregnancy has a chance of making it. His response: ABSOLUTELY.  And I realized that I didn’t. I’ve been mentally & emotionally preparing myself for a 3rd miscarriage, for a long, painful journey through infertility that may or may not end in a baby. So where’s the balance? I don’t want to be devastated, blindsided, incapacitated by another pregnancy loss. But I also don’t want my future to become a self-fulfilling prophesy — I think things are going to be hard and sucky, therefore they are.

Since that dinner, I’ve made a concerted effort to examine my thoughts rather than defaulting to what comes naturally — pessimism/realism. This is tied to my emotional eating as well… it’s so much freakin’ easier to down a candy bar or an entire pie than to actually THINK about what’s bothering me. Self-awareness and analysis is much more work than just existing.

Hello, understatement of the year.

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Hello, World

February 11, 2009 at 10:42 am · Filed under Uncategorized ·Tagged ,

Let the Chronicles of Social Sarah continue…

Arose yesterday morning after a night jam-packed with good times.  Ron, my former boss, was the headliner of my dreams – I had actually somehow forgotten just how terrifying he could be – how his hooded eyes could look at me and I would just curl up under my desk in fetal position. The entire night was a montage of job-related angst… Who knew that three hrs as a museum volunteer could bring up so much repressed distress? I tell you, it takes talent to be this dramatic even in my sleep.

Had coffee and oatmeal, then headed off to serve my community for three hours. I’ve been out of the world for eight months, but can I just say that some things are EXACTLY the same? There’s the patronizing know-it-all who overwhelms you with information that makes even the easiest of tasks seem paralyzing (we’re talking manning, or womanning, the front desk – seriously, how do you make that scary?). And there’s the “ally” – the one who rolls her eyes just slightly while the know-it-all is expounding, then makes some sort of disparaging comment as soon as we’re alone. The ally was nice – she gave me a tour, asked for my resume, and seemed genuinely pleased that I existed.

Three hours of front desk management then began. Precisely 15 people came through in 3 hrs – 2 little old ladies in need of free entertainment, 3 business men for a meeting, and 10 residents of the local psychiatric hospital. At 1pm, I was relieved by the next volunteer, a pushy old woman named Greeta (pronounced “greet – ah”). She demanded to know my name, frowned at my last name and demanded I spell it. I complied and she said “Never heard of that one” and sniffed. I explained that it’s more common in Pennsylvania, where my husband’s family from and she said “Oh, so it’s a Yankee name… seems like no Southern people even live in the South anymore.”  And yes, I found myself participating in this ridiculous conversation by explaining that my husband and I were both born and bred within 15 miles of that very spot… because I needed to defend my Southern-ness to this old bat? Nothing like encouraging her…

As I left, I received a text from Jennifer, warning me that Daddy was heading toward my house, in case I was wearing Non-PAC. That’s sister shorthand for “non parental-approved clothing”…. aka pants. And yes, I was wearing devil britches, thus making it impossible for me to go home and encounter my father. Yes, I’m 31 yrs old and still hiding from my father when wearing pants. So I headed downtown to distribute a few more resumes. Covered a wide array of Anderson businesses… first, a little shop, the kind that crammed with an incredible amount of trinkets and baubles and really smelly candles. Denied. Second, a floral shop. Denied. Third, a law firm with plushy chairs. Denied. Fourth, a jewelry store… and I confess, I walked in, saw the sparkling cases and the plastic smiles of the girls greeting me and tucked my resume safely in my purse and scampered away. My four months at a jewelry store in Charlotte scarred me for life. Fifth and finally, I headed to the library. Annnnd, that would be a big fat Denied.

Headed home, which was now father-free, put on my pajamas and soothed my soul with a bowl of cream cheese frosting. Have I mentioned that I love my house? It’s warm and clean (at the moment) and free of strange people and doesn’t deny me anything (including cream cheese frosting, which isn’t necessarily a good thing). So today, Social Sarah is staying safely in her house until her self-esteem has recovered from the rapid-fire rejections and exposure to the outside world, and she’s going to stencil her bedroom wall with a victorian damask design in light champagne. Still jobless, but my bedroom’s going to be delightful! :)

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nerves

February 10, 2009 at 12:08 am · Filed under Uncategorized ·Tagged ,

Today, I was social with a vengeance. Went to lunch with Bobby’s company in celebration of VIEW’s one-year anniversary, then came home, printed out resumes, and headed back out in search of a job. I didn’t find one, but I’m now officially a volunteer at the Anderson County Museum. My first volunteer shift is tomorrow from 10 to 1pm… I’m pathetically nervous. I mean, I’m working for zero dollars… WHY would I be stressing about this? I just think it’s the idea of being out in the “real world” again, meeting new people, learning new things, and trying to be exactly what they want me to be.

But it’s a step, you know? A step out of the house, out of my little bubble that I’ve created since quitting my job 8 – yes, EIGHT – months ago. And how cool is it that if they like me and let me come back, I get to learn all about Anderson history?!?

After I get off tomorrow, I’m planning to distribute my neat little stack of resumes at the downtown businesses. These shops/businesses are the small-town kind – few have a website, and even if they’re online, job postings probably aren’t going to be listed. I’m telling them that I’m only interested in part-time positions. We could definitely use a full-time income, but I’m ridiculously terrified of committing to 40 hrs per week again… just want to ease back into it. Plus, if the Museum works out, I’d like to have time to still volunteer there.

So there you have it — my first venture back into the world of employment. I don’t even think that I fully realize how used I’ve gotten to being alone… it’s going to be quite an adjustment, I fear. These words sound deceivingly calm, almost like my stomach’s not flipping at the thought of tomorrow. It’s so strange, looking at myself, at this person I’ve become — not someone I particularly wanted to be.

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this morning’s conversation

January 26, 2009 at 10:56 am · Filed under Uncategorized ·Tagged ,

Daddy: Blahblahblah-Dave Ramsey-blahblahblah-Michelin-blahblahblah-Ceilbrite-blahblahblah
Me: [Interrupting him, employing the surprise tactic 'cuz I'm sneaky like that] So when are you getting remarried?
Daddy: [Surprised, laughs] Well, Sarah, I’ve rescheduled it for next week.
Me: Ha. Funny. I’m serious.
Daddy: I don’t know. When the time is right.
Me: That’s a non-answer. Have you talked to Mr. Oklahoma-Preacher-Man about it?
Daddy: Well, yes. I’m not going to talk about this with you because you’ll get mad at Mr. Oklahoma-Preacher-Man.
Me: Um, no I won’t. I might get mad at YOU, but I won’t get mad at him. Why would I? So what’s the deal? You talked to him about it?
Daddy: Yeah, but there’s nobody… you know, nobody for me to marry.
Me: [In a disbelieving voice] You mean Mr. Oklahoma-Preacher-Man hasn’t set you up on any dates, or even given you one suggestion?!
Daddy: Well, one, but it didn’t work out.
Me: What do you mean, it didn’t work out?
Daddy: Well, I called this girl and asked her out for a hamburger and she said she wasn’t interested. [Good call, unknown-girl-from-Oklahoma]
Me: [Red flag has been alerted by the word "girl"] How old is this girl?
Daddy: I don’t know… around 18. [Laughs]
Me: [Sitting in stunned silence for a moment before the words manage to explode from my mouth] WHAT?!? ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?!?
Daddy: Sarah, I knew you would overreact, that’s why I don’t tell ya’ll anything. She wasn’t 18, I was just kidding. She’s about your age.
Me: Oh, she’s MY AGE? Well that’s MUCH BETTER. You know, on second thought, I am mad at Mr. Oklahoma-Preacher-Man.
Daddy: See, this why I can’t talk to ya’ll. [Heaves a long-suffering sigh at the stupidity of his eldest daughter]

For additional information about my father, Mr. Oklahoma-Preacher-Man, remarriage policies, or my jacked-up religious background, refer to “Full Disclosure.”

And here are a few other gems from the conversation. I typed them as he was talking… wouldn’t want to misrepresent or anything.

My next wife is not going to tell me what to do. I’ve already been down that road, and it just doesn’t work.

One thing is standing in the way of me getting married…. Michelin*.

*You know, for a brief second there, as the “M” sound came out of his mouth, I thought he was going to say “Mama.” As in my mother, the woman he was married to for 31 years. What was I thinking?

I’ll marry somebodythat ya’ll approve of. I mean, don’t get me wrong.. I don’t NEED your approval. But ya’ll will like her and it will be NATURAL.

So, blog readers out there, would any of ya’ll like to marry my father? Because you’re just about the right age bracket, apparently. As I was sitting there looking at him, as these sentences were falling out of him mouth, a thought popped into my head. It’s a thought I’ve had many times… sometimes I feel guilty for thinking it, and other times I’m just too mad to care.

“Why, God? Why Mama instead of him?”

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