RenovationGirl

Let's Bake Some Damn Gingerbread Pirates

Today is our last day off after Thanksgiving. I am always grateful for this extra day. Since I worked Black Friday (and by Black Friday, I actually mean Thanksgiving night as we head to clock in by 11:45 to work the opening midnight shift...another post on that to follow...), I spent all of Friday recovering. Apparently, my body can't handle a 24 hour day like it used to! Builder Boy and I are both off today, and after a weekend of work, recovery, cleaning, and more work, I set a to-do list that included mostly things we do together, and with as little television as possible. On my list was read together, work on his homework, and study for yet another test (did I mention that he has a test almost every day of the week???). On his list was bake gingerbread pirates. Yay! Get some holiday baking done, spend some time together, and have him removed from the television for a few hours-it was win/win.

Our day had been going well...shortly after he got up, he asked to watch Empire Strikes Back. I was still finishing up some grading I was working on, so I put the movie on, made him some popcorn, and knocked a few things off of my list of to-dos. We had lunch and then settled in to bake some cookies. During a conversation, I answered a question he asked (when can he start using his advent calendar?) and he was not pleased with the answer (Thursday). "But Dad told me advent started Wednesday!" Me: "Well, he must have not looked at the calendar...December 1st is Thursday..." BB: "No, it's not. Dad said Wednesdsay." Me: "Well, buddy, I'm looking at a calendar and it says Thursday." BB: "Well, it's wrong. Dad said..." We went round and round like this for awhile until I hit my breaking point.

This happens a lot around here...Dad is always right, mom is always wrong, and stupid, and not as smart as a teenager (Builder Boy's words, not mine...). I have told him before how hurtful these words are. I've asked him to imagine what it would feel like if someone said that to him, but he doesn't get it. I'm his mom, a metaphoric punching bag for him. I get it...he and his Dad are the best of buds...a lot of that comes from the common interest in all things boy. But a lot of it comes from the fact that I am always working. Always. If I'm home, I'm cleaning, cooking, paying bills, working my cyber teaching job, grading papers. Or I'm at school or my retail job. Dad is here in the morning to get him off to school. He's here on the weekends and nights when I work my retail job. He's here to play with while I make dinner or make calls for work. Dad is here. Mom is not. To say I am okay with this would be lying.

I see the major divide. Them versus me. The boys against the girl. I have no other children to take to a movie or read with or be stupid for. When Builder Boy hangs out with Remodel Man, I am alone. Just me. By myself, existing in all the failure I see surrounding me. Being reminded of my infertility. Forcing me to acknowledge how I've failed to reproduce and even worse, failed to be the mom I wanted to be to the child I do have. Friends are too busy or too far away to fill the void. Just me.

So today, as I informed Builder Boy in no uncertain terms that I am NOT stupid and it's hurtful when he says that, I turned to him and said, "Now let's bake some damn gingerbread pirates!" Yea, how's that for some good bonding time with the world's greatest mother. Perhaps I should just find a fourth job to take...

Present and Accounted For

Hi there. Here I am! A horribly bad blogger. A horribly overwhelmed human being. A horrible person who at this very moment in time should be doing 10 other things, but I figured I'd better get something up here or I'd lose all of my readers (all five of you!). Since eloquence has gone out the window only to be replaced with incoherence and exhaustion, I will leave you snippets of my life right now.

The reasons I am a bad blogger:

1. Last year, I had 44 students at one job and 23 students at my other job. This year, I have 87 students at one job and 115 at my other job. Um, yeah....

2. Builder Boy is in first grade...it's going to kill me.

3. We have at least 7 projects going on at the moment...all need to be finished and there is only one Remodel Man and no money or time.

4. I took a good look at our finances the other day. If you're me, I don't recommend doing this.

5. I have a new boss at my job...this person does not have any education experience. It's comical, and sad, and a very public situation.

6. I am begging for technology for my classroom...and by technology, I mean an overhead projector that works. Hello, 1978! (I'd love a VHS that works, too, but really, that would be way to 1985 for us!)

7. My brain is mush.

8. I realized the other day that if I died tomorrow, I would die unhappy, and that would make me even unhappier. (Yea, I get it, I'd be dead and all, but you know what I mean.).

9. My prayers have gone from asking for help and guidance to downright begging. I'm thinking the Lord thinks I'm kind of pathetic.

10. Pregnant women and babies are all around me...I'm doing mostly well with it. Mostly. Well, sort of okay. Okay, let's just say that all those years of acting are an immense help to me right now.

11. I am gaining weight. I'm flabbergasted by this. Yet, I won't stop eating.

I cannot tell you how many times I have opened up my Compose Post page, filled with words and thoughts and ideas, only to close in back up in fear. Fear of what? No idea, but I close up once I actually commit to writing. I think it's partly because I've said it all before...there's no new ideas in there. I live the same day, month, year, over and over again, and frankly put, it's depressing. So very many of my blog friends are joyful where they are in their lives and I don't want to rain on their parade. So I don't write. And yet I want to. But I don't. ARRRRGHH!!!

I'm still here and hoping that this post will open the floodgates. That I will make time to write. But this school year is kicking my butt, so all I can promise is that I'll do my best.

Ouch #2

At work last night, a supervisor asked me how long I had been married.  "Nine years," I replied.

"NINE YEARS AND YOU ONLY HAVE ONE CHILD?!?!?!?!"

 

Stay tuned for Ouch #3...expected sometime later this week.

It's Just Really Hard

The title says it all...this whole working full-time, working two part-time jobs, raising an energetic, intelligent, and challenging little boy, attempting to take care of a house constantly under construction, doing laundry, planning/shopping for/preparing meals, and trying to have a life is really hard.  It sounds whiny, doesn't it?  I feel like a child stamping her foot out of an immature frustration.  Of course, I'm not surprised that it's hard-I'm just surprised by how incredibly hard it is. 

I guess I'm not a good time manager, but I'm finding that I just can't get the house clean or laundry folded or meals prepared each week.  One thing may get done, but not all that needs to get done.  Not even close.  This past weekend, Saturday was a family day and date night.  We spent the amazingly clear and hot day picking pumpkins and navigating corn mazes and slinging apples into a lake.  Saturday night, Builder Boy headed to the grandparents while Remodel Man and I had a yummy dinner, a favorite place from our early married days, and went to hear an awesome band.  The day was lovely, it truly was, but it left me stressed and anxious.  I worked on Sunday so my weekend was done. Sigh. How to get anything done?

During the week, my time is even more constrained.  After picking Builder Boy up from school, we head home, changes clothes, and grab a snack.  Builder Boy usually watches a tv show and then we play or read.  Soon after that, it's time to make dinner, eat dinner, and clean up dinner.  That leaves at most an hour before the bedtime routine begins.  We've been having Wii bowling marathons and we try to master our Wii Jedi skills (okay, I just watch on this one!) so we can spend some family time together.  After Builder Boy is in bed, usually around 8:15 if we're lucky, it's time to make lunches, get the coffee ready for the next day, and set out clothes, bags, etc. for the upcoming school day.  At this point, I'm exhausted. I should go to bed, but there's work to be done.  I fall into bed between 11:00 and midnight.  It begins again the next day...I'm living Groundhog's Day!  Add to that the occasional shift at my part-time retail job and the daily checking of my on-line students. 

I just can't figure out how to fit in all that needs to be done.

And I won't lie...I heavily envy those who get to stay home.  I recognize how difficult it is and have profound respect for those who do it, but I'm so incredibly jealous.  Jealous that some days, she can get up, throw on her sweats and drive her child to school, only to go home and enjoy a cup of coffee, the daily newspaper, and a long, hot shower.  Me?  The alarm goes off at 4:49 AM (don't worry, I hit snooze a zillion and one times!), I take the world's fastest shower, usually only shaving what is absolutely necessary to shave, frantically racing around getting dressed and made up, grabbing the coffee, a protein bar, and heading out the door.  And it's really hard. 

On the positive side, though, financially we are finally making all of our bills.  We're still not paying anything down, but at least we're not falling farther behind.  I'm enjoying teaching this year more than I have in the past few years.  And I'm heading to a professional conference in Disney World (woohoo!!!) in a month paid for by my school.  These are all wonderful, positive things.

So if you are a full-time working outside the home mom (and I can't even begin to tell you how very much I have always hated having to differentiate between the SAHM and the WAHM!!), I'd love your tips on how you manage your time.  I'm not asking, I'm begging, because I'm drowning in it all right now. 

HELP!!!!!  :)

Sunday Night Blues

Do you get the Sunday night blues?  My dad always talked about them when I was growing up and when I entered the adult world, I knew exactly what he meant.  There you are, happily going about your weekend when BLAMO! it hits you.  You have to work tomorrow.  Well, I don't start back to work until the week after this (three weeks before Labor Day-how ridiculous is that?!) and yet I already have the Sunday Night Blues.

Mostly because we just got back from vacation and I know that this is my last full week of freedom.  In exactly nine days, I will officially be back to work full-time, plus my two and a 1/2 side jobs.  It's fine.  Truly it is.  We will all adjust to our new lives, but, to be honest with you:  I DON'T WANNA!!!!!  While I have worked the past years many more hours than the normal full-time worker, I could do much of it in the middle of the night, in my pj's, no make up or cute clothes.  I certainly got a lot less sleep than the average human, but it worked for me.  I could be a part-time stay at home mom and feel like I was involved, yet make money and feel some sense of personal satisfaction beyond diaper changes and Lego contests.  It worked.

Now, I will be up 5 days a week a 5 AM.  I will never be the one to take my son to school. I will have to race to pick him up after school.  I cannot be there if he gets sick at school (I work an hour a way) or volunteer in his classroom.  At least one night a week, I will work outside the home at my retail job.  All nights I will have to work my online job.  Occasionally I will work my stamping consultant job.  It will be crazy.

YET, there is some peace of mind that I will have a steadier and bigger pay check.  The benefits are better than what we've had.  The drive to work, while long, is familiar as is the curriculum I teach. All will be well. 

But boy these Sunday Night Blues are yucky!!  :)

Um, Hi?

It's summer...I'm a teacher...I should be reveling in free time and pool time and play time.  Yep, that's what I should be doing...alas, I am teaching summer school (online, but soooo much work!!) and working my retail job and trying at least for a few minutes a day, to purge and clean (um, well, so, okay, I've been working on one closet for the past week...I know, I know, this is going to take awhile at this pace!) and of course, to be a good Mama.(Seriously that last one is the hardest!!!)

I wanted to write a bit this summer...not just on this blog, but on some other ideas swirling around in my head, but all my computer time is work time and when I'm done with that, I'm done sitting at the computer (did I mention that my laptop's hard drive crashed on vacation?  Now I'm stuck on the desktop, chained to the most uncomfortable place to sit and type for any time longer than 5 minutes).  Hopefully when I get in the summer groove (argh, it's halfway over and I still can't find that stupid groove...), I will be posting something of substance.  For now, though, here are some things brewing:

1.  Builder Boy and I are doing "Mama school" this summer.  It's funny to see what he thinks is "school" and what I think is "school."  You'll be surprised-since I'm a creative teacher, he sometimes thinks my creative projects aren't school at all.  :) My secret plan is working! 

2.  I decided to find out the sex of our baby from the most recent miscarriage.  I put on my big girl panties, called the RE and...he hasn't called back.  It's been two weeks.  No idea where he is, and now I'm scared I've lost my confidence in finding out.

3.  Similarly, assuming my RE hasn't run off to some remote island never to return, I would like to schedule my surgery for the second week of August.  I wish he would call back...I am also losing my courage to do this surgery...

4.  Over the past two days, Remodel Man has made more progress on our house than he has in months.  This makes him feel good and gives him increased motivation.  This makes me over the moon...I love some good progress!  Pictures to come if any one project is completely finished.

5.  I have been questioning my blog existence.  I have not been a good blog reader or commenter, and this is reflected in my own readers and commenters. I sometimes feel like I'm in middle school at the not-quite-nerds-but-definitely-not-a-popular-kid table.  I don't seem to fit in anywhere...

6.  Deconstructor Cat has been sick and this stresses me out.  He is the champ of hurling a pill from the back of his throat, two feet into the air.  While this is incredibly frustrating, it is quite amazing to see. 

Welcome to my stream of consciousness...OH, and if you see my RE somewhere, will you please tell him to call me back????

Jealous

I hate being jealous.  I simply hate it.  Yet, today and this entire weekend, I find myself feeling jealous.  It's such a negative feeling and not a very Christian "place" to be, and yet, there it is. 

It started Friday with a frantic phone call from a best friend on the way to the beach for the weekend.  It continued with a Fac.ebook posting from another friend on her way to her parent's summer cottage.  Then it was the distant friend announcing her pregnancy...after having two older kids and having said, "We're done!  I don't want anymore!"  Then it was the mountains of papers I have to grade, and student phone calls to make, and hours to work at my retail job while the sun was shining and an excited son waited to go to the pool.

I'm tired of being the screw-up.  I've been working at least two jobs since I was 15.  I work so hard and yet I constantly find myself stressed about our horrible debt.  My house is a continual mess and I can't rely on a housekeeper to help out.  I'm trying to figure out how to add a fourth job to my already heaping plate in order to possibly dig out of this debt hole even slightly.  I don't spend money on clothes or frivolities.  When I do make purchases, they're on clearance and they're not fashion labels.  From the last pregnancy and subsequent blood tests and surgery, I am knee deep in medical bills. 

Don't get me wrong, I know I'm blessed and all, but I still feel so jealous.  Of the friends in my life who don't have financial worries, or have had an easy time having a family, or who can afford housekeepers, or who have been able to stay home with their kids.  I know their lives aren't perfect.  I know they feel pain and suffer loss and have stress.  It just seems through my eyes that my stress is a lot more than theirs.  Sounds childish, doesn't it? 

The hardest part is this-I don't see an end to my stress.  I have gone over and over our finances and don't see a way out unless we win the lottery or one of us gets an amazing job offer.   I never wanted to live this way.  I never thought I would have to.  I work hard and at a lot of jobs.  I don't go on shopping sprees.  I use coupons.  I buy generic.  I watch how we spend the money we have to. 

And it all brings me back to this-THANK YOU, INFERTILITY!  Not only have you robbed me of the family I have always wanted, but you have also taken away a joyful life while I work on paying off the failed attempts at getting said family. 

So, I'm guessing this is the anger part of the grieving process...

Yeah, We're Back to This

A colleague peeked her head into my room, "Are you okay?" she said, with a look of concern.

Breathe in, breathe out. 

"Yes, thanks.  I'm okay.  I have to be, right?" I joke.  But the joke falls flat at the feet of someone who knows me and my struggles far better than that.

"Okay, well, if you need to talk..." she waved her hand in that all-encompassing gesture and closed the door behind her.

I sat down and considered the events of the past 45 minutes.  A year ago, I would be trying to hold back the tears, my stomach churning, my heart throbbing in my chest, and in my abdomen...emptiness.  But now, a year or so later, I just sit pensively, slightly irritated, a bit out of breath, but otherwise, fine.  Just fine.  Because what choice do I have?

Forty-five minutes before this, a young colleague of mine, still practically a newlywed, caught me as I was literally running out of the faculty room, late for my class as usual.  I had just run down to grab a calming cup of tea, reheated for the third time, to help me make it through this next energetic, yet lovable group of teens.  Today we would be discussing the ending of Macbeth and they were eager to get started.  (Ahem,okay, allow me this little bit of fiction-of course they were not eager...)  "Renovation Girl?" I paused mid-stride and turned around.  "I've started to announce it so I wanted to tell you personally..."

My heart lurched.  You all know where this is headed.  If you're infertile, you've been here before, standing in my shoes as time stops and you wonder, "How will I get through it this time?" She cracked a smile and giggled, "I'm having a baby!" and then she searched my face in concern, wondering how this old, infertile body would respond.  "Funny," I thought to myself, "I'm wondering how I will respond, too."

Cue the theater degree...House lights dim to a fuzzy brown, the thick, red velvet curtains slowly part to reveal a foggy stage.  As the fog clears, you begin to see the shape of a woman, clearly broken, but standing still, looking straight ahead, a non-committal smile plastered on her face.

"OH, colleague!!!!!" I said, running over to her.  "That's wonderful!  This is wonderful, isn't it?" She nods an enthusiastic, "Yes!"  I hug her.  "We'll have to talk later because I'm a late for class, but I can't wait to hear all about it! Congratulations!!!!"

I exhale slowly as I now walk gingerly to my classroom. 

This time the announcement affects me differently.  I normally focus on the  baby that will come...the sweet smell of sleeping baby, the soft skin that nuzzles your neck, the first smiles and giggles, watching the wonder of life unfold through your baby's eyes.  But this time, as I walk away from my glowing colleague, it's the pregnancy that I miss.  I miss the flutters of movement.  The swooshing of the heartbeat on the ultrasound screen.  The way I felt productive and fulfilled.  I felt a part of everything around me.  There was life inside me.  And it was amazing.

And now I feel empty. 

In most ways, we have moved on.  I have started to give away some baby things.  We are piling up items to sell.  I am able to get through pregnancy and baby announcements.  I am able to see a newborn without fighting tears. When my period comes, I am disappointed, but not surprised or devastated.  It is still difficult to watch Builder Boy without a sibling, but as he grows more and more independent each day, I know that he will be okay alone. 

But I still scheduled that follow-up appointment with my infertility doctor for Wednesday.  I'm not sure why.  We have no money to do anything. But he wasn't the doctor with whom we did our IUI's and IVF's.   I want his expertise to let us know what he thinks is wrong and what he would do differently if he had been our doctor at that time. 

So, yeah, we're back to this again. 

6 Days, 35 Hours

Today I end the sixth day of work streak.  As of 7 PM this evening, I will have worked 35 hours.  While this is normal to most Americans (and a little more), what makes this quite unique is the fact that these 35 hours are in addition to my two other jobs.  So, technically speaking, this actually is the last of 75 hours I will have worked in the last 6 days.  To say that I am exhausted wouldn't even touch how I truly feel.  Because besides the sheer physical exhaustion, I am overwhelmed by everything else that is affected by this schedule. 

My heart aches each time I have to tell Builder Boy that I have to go to work and he breaks down-sometimes in tears, but more often in anger, his emotion of choice, followed by his taking his anger out of me. 

My body aches from standing on legs that are too out of shape to stand for five hours straight and from the lack of sleep I've had for the past, oh, six years. 

My house aches as it waits for some long overdue attention...organization projects halted midway through, toys that need purging, clothes that need laundering, floors that need scrubbing, walls that need washing, wood that needs polishing. 

My soul aches for all of the above and the toll it takes on me.  I have aged quite a bit of the past couple of years.  My face is showing the feelings of weariness and exhaustion.  I am soft in the middle.  The wrinkles on my face are more pronounced.  A "natural makeup" look just doesn't cut it anymore.  I long for some time to myself without the worries of bills, or a dirty house, or food the needs to be cooked, or family that needs tending to.  I ache for time to scrapbook, to tell Builder Boy's story, without feeling guilty for not working or cleaning or cooking. 

Worst of all?  I ache for the time away from my growing son, who at five cannot understand that I have to do this.  I ache for all the baby years I spent too stressed and occupied.  I ache for the preschool time when we should have played instead of watching television because I was too tired to do anything else.  I ache for all the fast food he has consumed (and his addiction to the toys) because I didn't have time to cook the way I like.  I ache for all the missed moments as I headed off to job one, two, or three.  And yes, I know he knows he's loved and provided for.  I do the best I can for him.  He's lucky to have such a great daddy and wonderful grandparents (on both sides), cousins who adore him, and aunts and uncles who would move mountains for him.  But I want to be there more and in better form.

So, today, I am just tired.  I will be glad when my shift is done tonight.  While I still have to get up at five tomorrow morning to go to the first job, at least it will be knowing that I have the evening to spend with Builder Boy.  This is what will get me through. 

This Funk Is A Punk!

For the past two months, I have been in a funk.  This is not unusual.  It is the long stretch of post-Christmas, pre-Spring in Western Pennsylvania.  The days are short, the weather is crappy, and the sun is rarely seen.  We have had record snow in the month of February.  I am battling laryngitis and a cold.  Our house is cold (our windows are original to the house-130 years old original) and the only thing I seem capable of accomplishing nightly is to sit on the couch under my heated throw with the computer on my lap and the television on.  I then go to bed feeling guilty and exhausted and like a big, pathetic sack of poo.  (How's that for eloquence?)

I'm not alone, though.  I have had many friends tell me they are in the same funk.  I guess it's good to know you're not alone in this, but I've been struggling for ways to climb out of it.  It's not a depression type funk, either.  I'm happy, just lazy.  So lazy.  Some nights, I can't even make myself go into the cold kitchen (a large narrow room, with only one radiator in one half of the room) to clean up after dinner.  It's gross, my friends, just gross.  But like every funk I've ever experienced, there comes a moment when you're just tired of being lazy and funky.  Sunday was the day.

Thankfully, I had to get out of bed before anyone else and head off to T.ar.get because I had inside info that they were going to have some W.i.i's in stock that morning.  (Builder Boy's birthday gift) I did some other needed shopping and was home by 9:30.  We went out for a yummy breakfast and were home by 11.  Usually, we're not even out the door by this time!  So we made the most of the long day we had.  No work, no commitments, just being together as a family.  We played a bit, watched silly cat videos on You Tube (which, by the way, makes Builder Boy cackle with laughter!), and finally cleaned.  We cleaned two rooms thoroughly and one room partially.  It felt great.  It is invigorating to "get something off your plate" that is hanging over you.  It was just the act of getting off the couch that helped melt away this frozen funk I have been in. 

Today, I am continuing on in the same way...determined to make something of the time when Builder Boy is in school, I have already in 45 minutes, vacuumed the entire downstairs, checked work email, graded 1 1/2 long school papers, made a delicious pot of tea, messaged with an out-of-town friend, and wrote this post.  I know I can't keep up this momentum all the time, but you better believe that I am going to enjoy it while it lasts!  Now, to finish 15 1/2 papers before preschool pick up time...

Happy Monday, everyone!