All the back to school busyness has left me kind of
raw. Very raw actually. I’ve been thinking about it a lot, trying to figure
out why. Is this year different? Is it because my baby is in preschool now, and
Addie in full day? Is it because we no
longer have our nanny?
There is certainly the fact that my babies are getting
bigger. That’s great. And hard.
And sad. And awesome. And fleeting.
But that alone is not at the heart the rawness that I feel.
Third grade. Lily is
a 3rd grader. That’s part of
it. Man, kids were mean to me in third
grade. As an adult, a successful, well-adjusted
adult, I have had multiple people come to me as adults to apologize for how
they treated me as a kid. I’ve always
brushed it off as ‘kids are mean’, as that is what we said before bullying was
a district-wide curriculum word. But
just the other day, I was thinking about this rawness. And third grade was rough, they were mean. Mean, mean.
The fact that adult men and women, who have lived 25+ years of life
since that time still feel so sick and guilty inside for the way they treated
me, the fact that they contact me on Facebook to apologize…well that’s how
mean. So, it’s okay if I have a little
bit of scarring when I think about sending my kid off to grade 3. Don’t get me
wrong. I had friends, I didn’t walk
around school with my head held low, my mama loved me like nobody’s business, I
was the best big sister on the block, I was too smart for my own good…I didn’t
let it ruin me. But when my little girl
walks out the door to third grade…it hurts.
The little Jenny inside of me feels afraid for how third grade
feels. The mama in me knows that she is
different and wonderful, and the kids she hangs out with are different and wonderful. But still, I’m scared. Because kids are still mean.
The next thing I’m noticing about back-to-school is the
constant state of comparison I have going in my own head. The tireless what if…what if I was that kind
of mama? what if I didn’t have to worry
about this or that? what if my kid
didn’t have to ride the bus? what if I
volunteered more? what if I got to work
earlier? what if we had less toys. Seriously. I’m reading blogs about it, validating blogs,
articles about how we are all doing okay. Things we all should read. Your okay and my okay don’t look the same and that’s okay. How liberating. But why do I feel the need to read another
mom’s articulation of what’s okay for her to make sure I’m doing alright? I am
an advocate of other moms and of myself.
I never want to be in any discussion that reeks of mom vs mom. My ways barely work for me, so I certainly
won’t push them on anyone else. I can
feel convicted about how I want things to be, regardless of how different my reality looks, I will even work hard for those things, but I won't judge others in order to see the value in
myself. It makes me sad that by the time
I get this all figured out, it will be nearly over and re-do just isn’t an
option. My kids will be out there in the
world with all the best and worst of how I've treated them and how they treated
each other.
Last week I go to preschool with Bryson and I feel nervous
and awkward. I’m the only working mom in
the class, I’m the only one who has a youngest child in the class. I’m not used to that. My hands feel weirdly empty, like they should
be busier soothing a baby or picking up a puzzle that my toddler spilled. I’m not in yoga pants because my nanny will
be meeting me in the parking lot after this little orientation so I can rush
off and be late to work. I’m not doting on him like
a first child, and he doesn’t need me like the other kids in the class seem to
need their moms. He can't get enough of his new teacher. Want's every minute of her time. This feels
awkward, like I’ve never felt
before, and I leave feeling like I won't fit in with all the wonderfully nice moms I've just met, and that makes me sad. But then 5 days later it is time
to drop him off for his first real day of preschool. The first day when the mamas leave. What was awkward a few days ago, feels good
now. Some of these three-year-olds have
never been left before. They are crying
out in pain and anguish. Their mamas are
crying too. The pain in the family is
palpable, and in one case, seeing it brings tears to my eyes, I’m hurting for
how much they are hurting. Bryson goes
in happily, confidently, and there is not a doubt in my mind that he
won’t. He is all joy. He has been waiting for this day as long as
he can remember. He got toted here in a
car seat, lost here in the halls as a toddler, and waited for his sisters many
times at the end of the hall in the parent area. Now it is his turn to go into his classroom, and his heart could not
be more full. I look at him and I feel
proud. I look at the crying kids and I feel bad that my boy happily waves “ga-bye mama” after a
quick hug. I know I shouldn’t. I’m happy because my boy is not sad. Am I a better mama because my kid didn’t cry
at preschool drop off? No, of course
not…
But I’m reminded for the millionth time in this parenting journey that there are more
ways than one to do this well. I'm getting validation from my child's happy face. The one of three faces where I should be looking for it.
So raw isn’t a sad word or a happy word. It’s that my heart feels more on the outside
that usual. Which is, you know, saying a
lot coming from me. I’m noticing my
failures and my successes a little more often.
I’m loving what I am, but mourning what I am not. I can taste the tears and laughter of my own
childhood. And during this time I take a
few vacation days to savor the time with them.
Then I work hard and efficiently to make the most of my time at the
office. Then I wake up early and stumble
to the coffee pot to remember I am God’s child and spend time being still. To feel that God is love. And I am loved.
And this raw life is beautiful and good, and it’s mine and
I’m proud of it. My kids will have their
own kid hurts that make them raw, but it probably won’t be the third grade, or going
to preschool for the first time. It will
be things that I can’t and do not want to anticipate. There are beautiful blessings
everywhere. Tomorrow I will be careful
to notice them.
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and this
Me in my first "lead" as a brat in Johnny Appleseed, I'm the one sitting with glasses
Me in MCT PAC show 'Growing Pains; Rockin' a Hard Place' circa summer 1990
She's center among the five on the first row, silly faces