Advice to my daughter: Be careful what you wish for

In July, when N tried out for field hockey, she hoped to make the varsity team.
She got her wish.
Like many wishes, she is realizing that the "dream" of the wish is different from the "reality" of the wish.
This is similar to the "dream" of career, marriage, and babies; what you envision rarely pans out to match reality.

N has not played in the last two games, and last night it brought her to tears, especially since her grandparents came to the game.
Now, N is not alone in not getting as much playing time as she wants; there are at least 5 other girls on the team who haven't been getting much time.

It is hard for me to walk this tightrope with her.

The part of me that abhors sports just for this reason is saying (inside my brain), "Told you so. This is why sports suck. It is win at all costs. Winning is more important than confidence-building or skill development or general enjoyment of the game."

When she complained about playing so many games in a row, I did actually say to her, "Well, N. This is varsity. You wanted to be on varsity, and now you are."

There is another part of me that knows she isn't playing up to how she did last year.
The untrained psychologist in me thinks this is due to 1.) her ankle injury and 2.) being back on a team with girls she played with in middle school who are really good and really aggressive.

Even if her ankle isn't actively hurting, she knows that spot is there, and she is being careful with it. But careful isn't an asset in a game; focusing on an ankle takes your mind off the ball.

And N seems to have reverted to that "let the other girls lead" thing that she had in middle school.
Last year, on JV, she was able to assert herself more.

I think N is letting her own head get in her way.

I have tried (gently) telling her that.
You can't tell a 15-year-old much.

As my children get older, I am, more and more, missing the days when the worst problem they had was that I gave them a green sippy cup instead of a blue one, and that was the sole focus of life's disappointments.
Even though N's problems then were as annoying as N's problems now, I could at least do something about them. 

Anxious mom sending her anxious child to middle school

Here is what rational brain keeps saying:

You worried about how he'd do in preschool, and he did great.
You worried about how he'd do in elementary school, and he did great.
You are probably worrying about how he'll do in middle school, and he'll probably do great.

Irrational brain, however, is over here beating this drum:

He's going to be miserable. His OCD will go off-the-chain. He is going to start failing classes. It is going to be an even bigger vat of suck than what middle school already is. 

I think part of the reason I haven't been crazy gung-ho for school to start is because of G starting middle school and just not knowing what this is going to mean for him, for me, and for our family.
This year I have been happy to live in a little bubble of avoidance.

G's modus operandi has always been to do great at school, to hold it together there, and then lose his freaking mind at home. Become tantrumy and belligerent.
This is not unusual for kids with anxiety.

He had gotten to a point where this wasn't happening other than a rare episode.
I don't want to start this again, even though I know we have a physician in place now to help us.

So with this school year, I'm not over-the-top exuberant to have my house to myself again because even though I have been able to clean with the peace of knowing that it will stay clean until approximately 2:45, I'm an anxious pile of goo at the prospect of how G is, how he's feeling, and how he will react or decompress when he gets home. 

Why do these situations happen to me?

I wrote about the band director not too long ago.

I failed to mention that this awkward situation came on the heels of two other incidents on the same day that had "worked me up."

I don't even remember now what the first one was, but the second one was when N and I were on our way to field hockey in traffic, stopped at a light. A man in a white truck next to me waved for me to pull forward. When I rolled down my window to see what he needed, he informed me that I needed to pull up closer to the car in front of me to allow more people into the lane.

I told N, "I think he just mansplained driving to me."

Sometimes I can come across as a complete bitch, and I hate to even say that word because what I'm actually coming across as is a woman who is assertive when things are stupid. A woman who doesn't just sit there and allow stuff to happen around her but speaks the truth/common sense when it needs to be spoken. 

Like telling the band director the cones weren't up so how could I possibly mindread and know his plans for band when they weren't practicing outside when I parked. 

Yesterday, something fury-inducing happened.

I went to D's work clinic to pick up a prescription, but the pharmacy had failed to deliver it to the clinic (as they were supposed to). The clinic nurse called them, and they said they had it.
So, I went to pick it up from the pharmacy.

Let's be very clear and specific here: The pharmacy screwed up so I drove from where I was supposed to pick it up to the second place.

When I got to the pharmacy and asked for it, they said they didn't have it and I'd have to get it the following day.

It was at this point that something resembling smoke came out my ears.

And so I got on my phone and called the clinic. I spoke to the clinic nurse (whom I had just seen seven minutes prior) and asked her who at the pharmacy she had spoken to that told her the prescription was ready.

This individual then went to the back of the store (where the original girl had gone and found nothing) and found G's prescription, which was there, but still wasn't ready to go out the door.

It had been called in at 9:30 am; it was now 3:30 pm.

I didn't call anyone names.
I didn't tell them they are stupid or inept.
I didn't cuss anyone out.
But I said in an assertive voice, "Wait, a minute. Brittany just told the clinic nurse that the prescription is ready, and you're telling me it isn't ready? I need to talk to somebody in charge who knows what is going on because I drove over here to pick up the prescription that you failed to deliver in the first place."

I spent a considerable part of last night fretting over whether I came across as a bitch.
Do I come across this way all the time?
Are my hormones and general mood instability coinciding to make me a raving banshee?

Of course, I'm biased, but I don't think I'm a lunatic.
I think most people think I'm pretty nice (although admittedly my filter is a little messed up).
Because I don't insult people in general.
I try to be fair-minded and considerate.

I simply won't just "take it" if it is poor service that I'm paying for or someone accusing me of doing something that I didn't do or blaming me for something I am incapable of doing (like mindreading).