It's serene to be a preteen (ok, not really, but I needed to rhyme)

Dear G,

I do declare that I’m getting a taste of what it might have been like for my parents to raise me. 

I know I was a bright child, and I also know I had a difficult time regulating emotionally.

Highly sensitive to just about everything. 

That sounds quite a bit like you.

But, G, let me tell you, there is so much good in being bright and emotional, and I see it in you all the time.

I see how you can suck in the sheer fun and joy of moments and flash a smile of wonder. 

Like when we saw the moose in Colorado this summer. 

We had been hoping to see one all day, and even though you were more than ready to get back to the cabin to play video games with your cousins, you were so excited to see that animal foraging in the woods.

When I asked if you were ready to go, you said, “I want to stay here forever.” 

Often you fuss about having to go somewhere or do something, but you frequently remind me after the fact, “You know how I am, Mom. I always end up having a good time.”

You are our family's Tootsie Roll pop. 

You have a crunchy exterior, but a gooey center, and it takes a lot of licks to get to it. 

You have an empathetic heart.

You are so good with babies and young children, and even adults I know have told me how sweet you are to their little ones.

As you turn 11 and enter the pre-teen years, I hope you know how much we love you. 

We love you for your sense of humor; both the things you say and the looks you give, especially when Daddy tells his terrible “dad” jokes.

(That sense of humor--like when you took 29 

goofy pictures on my phone when

 I went to the bathroom at the airport.)

We love you because you’ve got the tightest butt muscles in the history of mankind because you bounce on the exercise ball while playing your video games.

We love it that you’re discovering new music and ask us to download songs that we can not only tolerate but often enjoy ourselves, like This is America by Childish Gambino or Led Zeppelin.

We love it that we can enjoy Marvel and DC movies with you, as well as Ready Player One. 

We love you for the boy you have been and the young man we see you becoming. 

I would say you are the fruit loop in our Cheerios, but we’re all kind of fruity in this family, which means you fit in perfectly.

Hope you have a wonderful 11th year.

Love you to Asgard, Gotham City, and Dormammu’s Dark Dimension and back,

Momma

Me too, raising sons and daughters, and Kavanaugh

I've been on a bit of a Twitter news detox, which has mostly been the result of not having the time.

I decided to play a bit of catch-up and am now reading about a second woman coming forward with information about Brett Kavanaugh.

I wrote nearly a year ago about my own very minor, very tame #metoo story.

Tonight, my parents came over for dinner and somehow we got around to talking about the priest situation in Pittsburg, PA and the Blasey Ford/Kavanaugh story. My mom said something along the lines of, "Why do people wait so long to speak out?"

So I told her about the boy in Florida.

I'm 45 years old, and I told my mother about this situation dating back 30+ years.
To prove a point.

Most people don't talk about unpleasant things.

A couple weekends ago when I was feeling suicidal after G's latest diagnosis, I went to the store and had people ask me, "How are you?," and I answered, "Oh fine," even though I was this close to tears for the first 48 hours post-diagnosis.

When I went through my nervous breakdown in 2004, I didn't tell everyone I knew. I felt ashamed and weak and was too damned depressed to talk about it. I told people on a need.to.know basis.

I didn't start blogging about it until 2006, after two solid years of therapy and medication.
It is 2018, and I'm STILL NOT OVER IT. I'm still blogging about my issue. I'm still working through how to live with the inside of my own head.

And this is a medical condition over which I have zero control.
Imagine how well people "handle" being sexually assaulted and the fear and shame that go along with that. The feelings that maybe, just maybe, they could have avoided it (even if they couldn't have). The feelings that they could have fought harder, screamed louder, taken a different route home, gone to a different party.

So I want to hear Blasey-Ford speak, and I want to hear any other women who come out about Kavanaugh's past behavior.

But here's the kicker, and it makes me mad to even have this thought, but I think it is because I have two sons, and I know how unbelievably stupid things get when more than one are together.

Even though sexual assault is totally wrong and boys should be taught better and the penalties for boys should be harsher, I cannot help but have the wonder, the thought, "What if it was an isolated incident? Should a man be ruined for one incident that happened when he was a stupid teenager?"

Would I want my son to be ruined for one incident?
And as soon as I have that thought, I think,
"What if one stupid teenage incident ruined my daughter's entire life?"

PTSD from lacrosse info session

Prior to N making the field hockey team, I had told her she could only do one sport per year.

Call me a lazy, unsupportive parent, but last year wore me out. She did field hockey from July-October and then began conditioning for lacrosse in November, which continued until lacrosse season actually began in the spring.

At the time, I didn't mind her starting in November because she had never played, and I felt that she had a better shot at making the team if she knew something about the game.

As much as I complain about sports and what it does to my schedule and wear/tear on my car, I'm proud of N for playing field hockey. She enjoys it and is playing better and better. She plays it for the fun of it, and while she doesn't like losing, she isn't terribly competitive.

In the grand scheme of life, a game loss means very little.
For that matter, a game win means very little. 

With her enjoyment and the exercise she gets from sports in mind, I told her she could try out for lacrosse but that we are taking November and December OFF.

So the other evening, I went to the parent info meeting about lacrosse.

It can be summed up like this:

Spend all your money to fundraise for lacrosse between right this second and February, however, we will only have two teams per gender; plan on your kid not making the team. And if your kid expects to make it, they have to LIVE LACROSSE. Family, school, lacrosse---that's it. 

(The family, school, lacrosse thing is verbatim from the coach.)

The coach also talked about how some kids who are now playing fall sports come to the conditioning lacrosse is doing now, after having practiced their fall sport for two hours.

My initial thought was: "Are you fucking kidding me? My kid is not going to another hour-long practice after a two-hour field hockey practice because her body needs to REST." Not to mention her mind needs to rest. Not to mention that her family would like to see her occasionally.

Somehow, by mentioning the dedicated players who come to lacrosse after their fall sports, it felt like the family, school, lacrosse thing was really "ALL WE CARE ABOUT IS LACROSSE AND SO SHOULD YOU!"

I am, personally, a big, BIG fan of MODERATION.

Work, but don't work to the point that you fail to enjoy other things.
Exercise, but don't exercise to the point that you don't do anything else or you develop injuries from it.
Play, but don't play to the point that you don't work.
Read, but throw in some movies and music and art and travel and other things that make you a well-rounded individual.
Eat in moderation. Even too much water all at one time ain't great for your body and can make you puke.

This lacrosse info session did not, to me, seem very moderate.
It felt rather intense, and I'm so intense inside my own head that I try not to add to that intensity outside my head.

I have decided and informed N that
1. these folks are bananas
and
2. she can condition in January and try out in February
and
3. I'm not fundraising until her ass makes the team.

If this makes me unsupportive, selfish, and not a team player, I'm happy to claim that title.

Death by a thousand cuts

Yesterday at the high school, they did a suicide prevention seminar. Students had to complete a sheet of paper in which they marked whether they felt suicidal and felt the need for help, either today or immediately.

I was helping to collect these sheets and sort through them so that students could be seen by counselors.

It made me think about my own suicidal thoughts. 

I am not actively suicidal (by which I mean making plans), but suicidal thoughts are what I would consider "normal for me."

I am, at this moment, and since this afternoon, having suicidal thoughts.
This is normal, even though it is not "normal."

What is not normal, for me, is when people say they don't understand suicidal thoughts or have never had them.
I do not understand how this is even possible.
How strange to live a Pollyanna life.
My go-to when I feel overwhelmed is to think about death, about not being alive.
I don't intend to think about death or want to think about death, but that is where my head goes.

What brought on these thoughts is that G is being put on a new medication, but this is for ADHD and will be in addition to his OCD medication.

On the one hand, this came completely out of the blue.
His doctor said she had noticed symptoms last time but wasn't sure.
However, she felt like it was very obvious and concerning this time during this visit, and she wants to get ahead of it instead of letting it go and worsen.

And yet, this is not out of the blue because when G was 6, and he went through a complete evaluation, I was told he had symptoms that seemed ADHD, but weren't strong or clear. I was told to not be surprised if he was diagnosed with ADHD in the years to come.

Well....color me surprised.
And obviously forgetful.

So this was the cut #1001
that follows the cut Wednesday, finding out that I have to have a crown replaced but my insurance won't pay for it because the craptastic dentist I had before didn't do it right two years ago (and they only pay for a new crown every 5 years).
that follows the cut from needing to pay the 2K tuition for this grad class.
that follows the cut of M needing another ear surgery in November.
that follows the cut of taking the grad class and all the extra stress it involves.
that follows the cut of Dad having a leaky heart valve and maybe needing surgery to repair?
that follows all the other daily little stressful cuts.

I felt weepy and all out of sorts (which I still sorta feel)
so I went up to G and asked him for a hug.
I told him I felt sad and asked what he was watching.
And this is what he was watching in his room.

The kid I worry about all the damn time watches inspirational videos of kids with all sorts of issues that feel far heavier and worrisome than OCD or ADHD.
Kids who have brain surgeries and can't communicate at all verbally and have super short life expectancies.

It got my head screwed on a little straighter than it was.
It reminded me that mental health is unseen but still a huge struggle that is different from physical disabilities but a struggle nonetheless.
It reminded me that he (and I) have value even in the midst of our issues.

Serious, sensitive, uptight, and sometimes funny.

I have been knee-deep the last 4 weeks in subbing and doing observations for the grad class I'm taking.

I cannot wait until this class is over. I'm nearly halfway through my 90 hours.

Even though I have until December to get done, my goal is to be wrapped up by the second week of November. (If everything goes as I hope, I'll be done by the end of October.)

I'm hoping to sub for an English teacher at N's school after Thanksgiving and through Christmas break.

Normally, because of my cottage school Fridays, I am unable to take long-term sub jobs, but I'll be on break from the cottage school then, and I think it would be a good experience for me.

If there is anything that observing is doing for me it is helping me remember what kind of teacher I am.

I have a theory about what makes a great teacher: it is a special deep-roasted blend of personality, knowledge, and organization.
To be great, all 3 have to be present.
A good teacher has to have two of these traits.
If I have to choose which one is missing, it is organization. Better to be a bit scatter-brained than lacking in basic knowledge of the content or have the personality of a parched hat.
A meh teacher has one-and-a-half traits.
Just one trait and..... well, we've all had a one-trait teacher.

I try not to talk too often about the grad class because it is a bit of nonsense that just makes me clench my teeth.
I've been observed two times by my college instructor and he has given me "tips" like, try the Jigsaw method of teaching.
That in itself is not a bad tip, but the reason I don't try the Jigsaw method is because THIS IS NOT MY FREAKING CLASSROOM, AND THIS TEACHER DOES HER ROOM AND STRUCTURE A CERTAIN WAY, WHICH I FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE MUCKING WITH FOR TWO LESSONS, AND IT IS PLUM WEIRD FOR ME TO COME IN AND DO ALL SORTS OF CONTRIVED GYMNASTICS JUST TO SHOW OFF FOR A COLLEGE CLASS.

(unclenches teeth)
(takes deep breath)

When I did this song and dance nearly two decades ago, I was the dumb "untried" teacher, like the "untried" parent I was before I had kids.
I knew SO MUCH!
I had all sorts of thoughts about what I would do when x, y, and z happened. I wouldn't do this, and I wouldn't do that.
Now, after having experience as a teacher, a sub (and in parenting), I've eaten enough crow to know that I should leave off the criticism and just do my thing.
I'm wise enough to know that I would do things differently not because I know more or am better or someone else is worse but because I am me, and I listen to my own drummer, and I have to follow that tune.

I do not pretend to know everything about everything related to English teaching.
I most certainly do not know everything.
But what I do know about myself is that, considering I haven't had a lick of professional development in 14 years, I know some things about how to make a lesson engaging.
I'm not loosey-goosey and go with the flow.
I'm uptight and mostly serious, but with a funny streak when I feel like it.
But I'm mostly uptight and sensitive and serious.

Which makes me take this grad class way more seriously than I probably should.
And push myself way harder than I probably should.
Countdown to done starts soon.
And my teeth will thank me.