I’m back, and it’s like I never
left. Now that I’m not teaching high school (more on that in a bit) I
can be my online-self again.
My kids started school this week,
and it couldn’t come fast enough. It’ll be nice to be back on a schedule, so I
don’t draw a blank when their dad asks, “When was the last time they took a
bath?”
I thought swimming counts
as one.
In a couple weeks, we’ll find
ourselves in those uncomfortable parent-teacher conferences, and after the
deconditioning over this unstructured summer, I’m already anxious. I admit, parent-teacher
conferences have improved each year. My daughter’s about to turn eight, and she
still might be working some of that delivery Pitocin out of her system. It
pains me that her teachers don’t use my preferred label, Indigo Child. When I walk into these meetings, I’m prepared for the
teacher to change into her doctor costume, and it’s not the slutty kind, but
the serious kind. Then listen to her diagnose my kid with a slew of mental
afflictions.
Last year’s wasn’t bad. In fact, it
was the best one yet. My daughter’s teacher started with, “Were all different,
and that’s ok!”
After the teacher opened up the
floor, my ex, told us at length how his parents say he was just like our
daughter as a kid; a clumsy little girl with her head in the clouds. When he
wrapped that up, they both looked at me for insight, how my parents perceived
me as a kid. I’m the middle child of 5 kids, all born within 6 years. My
parents didn’t know shit about me till I was 25.
My ex and I Co-parent, which
basically means we can’t let our kids feel any added stress from living in two
households because when they get more stress, it makes us ALL look bad. Like by
getting so angry their eraser ripped through their paper, they throw their
kindergarten chair. That is not a fun parent-teacher conference either, but at
least I can add insight. “My children get their emotional range from me, and
that’s why I can’t drink hard alcohol.”
After hearing that, the teacher
pulls out her medical chart and makes a notation, and she wasn't even in costume.
I’m back to primarily teaching
college students because the Mercury Retrograde in July took me on a wild ride!
I was offered a job, quit a job, and then unoffered the job I quit the job for.
Sounds confusing, but it turned out to unfold into exactly what I needed.
In the beginning of July I received
a message on LinkedIn about a position. I applied and had an interview soon
after, that was followed up by a second interview. It moved quickly, and I felt
good about it, so I wasn’t surprised when they emailed, offering me a position.
I immediately told the high school I was teaching at that I would not be
returning for the upcoming school year. I jumped the gun, but felt it was
necessary because they needed time to find a replacement.
I replied to the job offer, stating
my excitement, and also inquiring about a slight increase in the pay they
offered. Two days of radio silence. During this time in limbo, my mom calls me
every couple hours to see if they’ve written back, adding to the stress, but it
was like she knew this shit wasn’t happening. She might be on the spectrum too,
but the psychic spectrum.
And those feelings were confirmed
after receiving an email that started with, we’ve
decided to go in a different direction. I nearly choked on my tongue and
felt dreadfully unemployed for a quick minute. It dawned on me, the last year I
had insurance and I failed to get new glasses, go to the dentist and have
another baby. For the first time, all those things seemed really important.
A friend was over when I read the
email, and it was hard to digest all this change with a witness. My initial
reaction would be to go take a nap for three days, but I managed to keep all my
thoughts in a positive direction. With a nudge to be proactive, I wrote my
other boss, asking for available classes at the college. Seven am the next
morning, he emailed, and sure enough gave me more classes, so I’m totally
sitting pretty, and after that roller coaster ride, I understand why all this
happened.
There are couple
reasons I needed to leave my job. The first, a classic case of inner-office
romance gone thumbs-down. The second, I let my gutter mind vent on stage too
often to not get caught, and I’d hate for my foul mouth to cause an unnecessary
drama, where I’m left feeling like I’m a bad person. The shame game can be
strong amongst some groups, and they don’t give a shit about all of Brené
Brown’s research.
I’m
grateful for the flexibility of being an adjunct, now I get to volunteer at my
kids’ school. Their dad sent me the drop off picture from the first day. The temperature was predicted to be 107 degrees, and my daughter was
wearing a long sleeve shirt. When I picked them up at the end of the day, my daughter let me know she had fun, and then asks, “Why’d you pack me a
freaking long-sleeve shirt?”
I looked
around, to assess the scene. I think only one person heard. I whispered, “You
can’t say freaking!”
Obviously, she
has been hanging out with my mother.
Then she
said, “You need to sign the permission slip for me to see Miss Tracy.”
Miss Tracy
is the school counselor, and my daughter would prefer to spend her entire school
day sitting cross-legged on Miss Tracy’s couch, drinking lemonade, and
gossiping about everyone in her life. This completely innate behavior can’t be
blamed on my mother, her father, or too much delivery Pitocin. She probably
just likes the audience, getting all the trash out of her head, and I’m glad
she has a safe space to be herself. I get it.
 |
Note: I plan on publishing old posts, but as I go through
them I actually seize from embarrassment. It’s mostly the post-divorce stuff. As
I read some of it, I feel like maybe I should have seen a therapist instead of
my keyboard after eight cups of coffee. I like the stories about raising my
babes. It used to piss me off when my brother called my blog a mom-blog, but
fuck it, it’s a mom-blog, and I’m happy to be back!
