Category Archives: yeah write

Unwanted.

When I was a tween, I was recruited for my first job. The lady who lived two doors down asked me if I’d like to come with her to the senior citizen building around the corner and help her clean apartments and do laundry. She paid me an amount so small that, more than thirty years later, I can’t recall it, but at the time it was my surefire ticket out of my house and into an apartment of my own. I had big dreams back then.

From there I babysat until I got a job for five seasons at the local Dairy Queen. When they would close for the winter, I worked in a drug store and the mall (selling engravable gifts, lingerie and books, not all at the same time). Finally, in 1995, I landed my first office job filing and opening mail. It was supposed to last a few months, but I kept doing more stuff and they kept paying me and I didn’t leave there until 2007.

When I did finally leave, I had a 95% sure thing waiting for me. I popped into that job two weeks later and stayed for more than five years. My last gig started about 19 months ago and allowed me to work from home and gave flexibility in my schedule to deal with a child in elementary school.

I have always kept going, kept pushing, kept working. Whether I liked the job or not was irrelevant. I was supposed to work and earn money and so I did. Always.

That last job was working out well for me until, about two weeks ago, they let me know they eliminated my position. They told me not to take it personally, but that’s easier said than done. I’ve never not had a place to go or something coming up over the horizon. My ego is healing from the bruise of being unwanted but I’m done with wallowing. I’ve always taken the safest routes and it has gotten me nowhere. Now is the time for change.

As much as I would tell you that I wished I had free time to do whatever I wanted to do, there was a certain comfort in not having to make that decision for myself. The reason my book wasn’t done? The job. The reason I didn’t write more for pay or otherwise? The job. The reason I couldn’t exercise, plan better meals for my family, volunteer more at the school? The job. Always the job. It was a ready made excuse and I used it to the fullest.

Now I have all the time in the world. I’m faced with an uncertain future and forty-five unstructured hours per week to fill with trying to accomplish my goals. The universe stepped in and told me that if I really want to do big things, here’s my chance. It’s exciting and it’s scary. If I fail, I have no one to blame now but me.

So I will make myself wanted again. I will push through the self-doubt. I always knew I was meant for something more.

It’s now or never.

 

Lunch Shamed

With the onset of a new school year fast approaching, I know my kid is a bit nervous. I won’t lie though, I’m think I’m probably more nervous.

I worry about the usual things:

  • Will I remember to do laundry often enough so that Nathan has clean clothes every day?
  • Will I have enough of whatever odds and ends are necessary to make whatever ridiculous project he will be assigned that will require me to gather up odds and ends?
  • How many pencils will be thrown, tears shed, and papers crumpled in an attempt to avoid doing homework he is perfectly capable of doing?
  • And what about the bullying and shaming?

For the record, I’m not worried about Nathan being bullied. I’m worried about me. These kids are brutal!

Last June, I was standing on the playground with Nathan and some of his friends. He asked if I had packed his lunch I and told him I had. (Of course I had! I only forgot that *one* time.) He was satisfied with my response so I turned to join the grown ups and engage in some early morning, under-caffeinated conversation.

“Nathan’s Mom? I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” Nathan’s friend had a very serious face on as he addressed me and an even more serious tone.

I need to tell you something about this kid. I’ve always liked him. He’s such a nice, helpful kid. He offered me decorating tips once, including where I could install a flat screen TV on Nathan’s bedroom wall so that the next time he came over he could bring his Michael Jackson dancing game for PlayStation. He also suggested I buy Nathan a PlayStation of his very own. See? Very helpful.

Knowing I was likely in for some solid child-rearing wisdom from the mind of a seven year old, I gave him my undivided attention.

“Well,” he went on, “why do you only pack snacks for Nathan’s lunch?”

“I pack what he likes. There’s nutrition in there!” I was defensive. I’m a little self-conscious over my kid’s pickiness sometimes and now I had let his friend ruffle my feathers. But it was early and I’d only had one gallon of coffee so far. I wasn’t firing on all cylinders yet.

“There are all sorts of lunch things you could pack for him instead of cereal bars. See, my mom packs me chicken nuggets and sandwiches.”

“Your mom sounds great.”

“Do you want me to ask her what else you could make for him?”

“Um, no thanks.”

He was taken aback that I declined his offer. But then he smiled broadly and I’m pretty sure I saw a light bulb illuminate over his head.

“Nathan could buy his lunch. The school actually sells food. On Fridays they have pizza!” He was so proud of himself.

Nathan, who stood by silently this entire time, finally joined the conversation.

“I don’t like pizza,” he said.

“Yeah, he doesn’t like pizza,” I said as I put my arm around Nathan’s shoulder. Solidarity, my son.

Thankfully the teacher showed up just as this kid was refining the skill of the side-eye. He shrugged and said, “Okay, I don’t know what to tell you then,” and he took his place in line with the other children.

The other children who probably had better lunches than my kid did.

But this year will be different. I bought cinnamon bread and organic fruit strips. That’s going to change everything.

 

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Featured Image Credit: Me! This was an actual lunch I packed for Nathan before I gave up packing lunches he wouldn’t eat.

Spectacle

On an August afternoon in the summer of 1986, just before fifth grade, I rode my bike to my best friend’s house. In my pocket was a note for my friend’s mom written by my own mom. I was instructed not to read it, but this was apparently before she realized she should seal envelopes she didn’t want me to open. The note explained there had been an incident and now there was a restraining order. My dad wasn’t allowed to come near me. If he did, my friend’s mom should call the police.

I started school that September armed with a similar note. Dad was not an emergency contact. I should never be released from school into his care. He was dangerous.

I felt like a spectacle. I felt like everyone knew things about me, about my family, that I didn’t want people to know. Every time they looked at me I could feel their thoughts weighing on me. Everyone knew, and now they were looking at me in a way only the neighbors previously had.

It took me years to figure out that this is why I’ve always been preoccupied with the notion of others thinking of me. Whether they liked me or not wasn’t really the issue. The more I thought about that, the more I realized I would just prefer people didn’t think of me at all. Thinking about me opened doors that felt better left closed.

It’s better to just stay below the radar. It’s safer over there.

The trouble is that I don’t have that kind of personality. I keep thrusting myself into spotlights, wondering how the hell I got there, then wondering what people are thinking. And even when I’m playing the wallflower, life happens. Hiding isn’t really easy for me, so I’ve had to work at being comfortable being seen. It takes practice, and effort, and intestinal fortitude.

I’m getting there, but maybe not really.

***

The past few weeks have been full of ups and downs. We had two wonderful family vacations. We also had a death in the family, a car accident, and summer colds. I’ve had to explain to people what’s been going on. Camp counselors needed to be made aware of all the things that could be contributing to my kid being out of sorts. I’ve had to explain to my job why I’m taking an early lunch or I need to leave 15 minutes early. I’ve made multiple calls to the insurance adjuster and texted a zillion questions to my friend whose husband is fixing my car. I’ve had to ask for help in my personal life based on so much schedule upheaval.

Mostly through no fault of my own, I’ve directed way too much attention toward myself lately.

I feel uneasy.

I feel like every point of contact I make, the other person is thinking, “Oh no. Not her again. What is it this time?”

I feel like I should hide for awhile, but I also know I probably can’t.

I know everyone has months like this where things are hectic. I know having a kid means constantly updating his various caregivers on our home life. I know this is not the same as what happened in 1986. I know it. But still somewhere, in the back of my mind…

***

I am a spectacle. I will always be a spectacle.

After a bit of a hiatus, and seemingly counter-intuitive to the above post, I’m joining my friends at yeah write. If you’re a writer who blogs or a blogger who writes, please join us by clicking on the badge above.

In an exciting turn of events, this post took home crowd favorite at the yeah write weekly writing challenge this week. Thanks to everyone who voted!

Brace Yourself.

One of the greatest things about being a human is having opposable thumbs. Perhaps you’ve never thought about this. Perhaps you take your thumbs for granted.

A few years ago, I was lifting a 50 lb bag of dog food out of the trunk of my car. As I flung it over my shoulder to carry it into the house, I felt a searing pain through my hand and wrist. I honestly thought I had broken my hand. Or, to be more precise, I thought perhaps I severed my thumb. After several days of pain I went to the doctor. Turns out I had De Quervain’s Tendinosis.

What’s that now?

De Quervain’s Tendinosis is an inflammation of the tendon (and all its tendony parts) on the thumb side of the wrist. There’s no one specific cause, rather the inflammation primarily happens as a result of repetitive movements. The orthopedist told me that he sees it a lot in mothers of young children because of all the diaper changing and dish-washing they do. That felt like a pretty sexist thing to say but since he knew how to treat it I wasn’t about to get into a feminist debate.

The pain is typically worse when making a fist or when grasping objects, particularly in a thumb to index finger manner. The treatment is to wear a brace. When it was severely inflamed, I was told to wear the brace as close to 24 hours a day as possible for two weeks. I could take it off to shower but that was about it. I was to find someone else to do all of my diapering and dish-washing.

He had warned that it would probably bother me on and off for the rest of my life. Turns out he’s right. Last night it was bothering me so much that I had to go dig out the old brace. I put it on and have since only taken it off to shower and write this post.

The brace helps the tendon heal by immobilizing the thumb. Have you ever had to live with an immobilized thumb? Here’s a list of the things that I’ve found easy to do with an immobilized thumb:

  • Sit.
  • Wear clothes (though not necessarily put them on or take them off).
  • Watch TV.
  • Listen to the radio.

Here is a list of things I’ve found difficult to do with an immobilized thumb:

  • Literally almost everything else.

I couldn’t grab my seat belt when I got in the car this morning. I could barely fold the laundry. I can’t do anything that involves water since the brace will get wet. I can’t really hold stuff. Reading is hard if I have to hold the thing I’m trying to read (most of my books don’t float, unfortunately). Eating anything that requires two hands is off the table. I could go on forever, except typing with the brace is close to impossible and typing without is too painful.

So you might be wondering what I did that caused this to flare up in the last few days. First, I mowed the lawn last week and I think holding the self-propelling bar on the mower strained it. It was tender, but tolerable. I think what put it over the edge was texting and typing on my phone. And now, both things are going to be problematic for a while.

I’m totally cool with the not mowing the lawn again soon part. That’s actually a good thing. It will give me some free time to practice my one-handed texting.

 

I have no choice but to give this post a thumbs up.

I have no choice but to give this post a thumbs up.