Sometimes smaller is better

/ Cassie / Leave a comment

Usually around this time of year I begin to compose a post that is an ode to my favorite holiday. I. Love. New Years. LOVE. It has always been my favorite since I became a “grownup”. There are the lights and fireworks, being with your loved ones, and of course, the idea that the very next day is a blank slate. A do over. A new beginning and a new chance for anything.

Like I said, usually this post would be about all of that stuff. But not this year.

As I sit here and write, my house is in complete disarray. It is a literal shit show. And for someone who has anxiety related to clutter and crap, this is not good. Two of my kids have been sick. One is under-medicated and annoyed by the very one that only wants to spend time with him. The ear infection/lose tooth kid has been a terror because she’s been getting up before the sun. They all have. Every morning at 5:30. I am on break. Please sleep. Or rather, let me sleep.

And this is why instead of cleaning my house, or writing about love and magic and second chances, I have mandated that everyone lay down for the next hour and nap. I’m not naive enough to think any of them are actually doing it, but the doors are closed and it is quiet for five seconds, so that’s good enough for me.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this year and all the goals I made for myself last year…and I didn’t accomplish a single one of them. Don’t get me wrong, I have accomplished a great deal. But just not what I set out to do 12 months ago. I’ve barely run, let alone finished a race. I’ve gone into more debt (hello lawyer fees). I’ve added more stress to my life. I’ve definitely gained weight, because see above.

But I learned how to fight. I learned how to stick up for myself. I learned how to surround myself with people who appreciate those things and say goodbye to the ones who don’t. I’ve complained less. I’ve appreciated more. And while I’m not living my life while working from home in my RV, where I am right now is pretty great.

So, as I sit here with a glass of wine at 12:52 on a Monday afternoon (again, see above), I’ve come to realize that big goals and big resolutions aren’t all they are cracked up to be. Sure, I accomplished far more than I set out to, but still, had I made more manageable goals, maybe I would have gotten even further.

I’ve decided to set 5 goals for myself at the beginning of each month and document them here. That way, not only can I keep myself accountable, I can also hopefully inspire someone to “play” along with me and be my hand holder and cheerleader (and warning giver should I stray).

January Goals

  1. Finish four weeks of Couch to 5K – Running at least 3 times a week. I just spent $215 to sign up for these races, so I better actually do this. I love running. It has helped me through the toughest times of my life. I know it can help me again. Along with this, I’m going to drink less and eat healthy more (just not making it a concrete goal yet)
  2. Go to the gym at least once a week…to actually work out. I know this doesn’t seem like much, but baby steps, y’all. I paid for Merritt for months and never used it. I’ll hopefully update this goal in February, but I need something attainable right now.
  3. Unfollow all toxic people on social media. And by this what I mean is toxic people to me. People that make me feel less than or unworthy. People that complain way too much. People that live negatively and miserably. These people may not be toxic to others, but as someone who feeds into the climate around them, they are definitely toxic to me. While I need to use my phone and social media less to begin with, while I’m on there I need to surround myself with people who inspire and uplift me.
  4. Start each day with a daily gratitude. Each and every day I will pick one thing that I am grateful for and hold on to that idea throughout the day when things get rough.
  5. Decrease my daily phone usage by 10%…and do the same with the kids’ technology. Enough said. I use it too much for stupid shit and I need to learn how to put it down and read or write or cross stitch or something.

I’m definitely ready for these changes. They’ve been a long time coming. I’m ready to make my 39th year the best one of my life.

…Then it will change you.

/ Cassie / Leave a comment

I logged onto WordPress to find that today is my WordPress “anniversary”. Ten years ago I created my first blog and tried to quiet the ramblings inside by writing them down for all to see. I’ve had this particular blog since April or 2013. This was two months before my world became unrecognizable. Two months before my dad died. Two months before I entered into a completely unrecognizable relationship. Four months before I would begin running.

There are a few pivotal moments that I can say defined me and completely changed my entire existence of being. Becoming a mother for the first time. My dad dying. Falling in love with running. And this entire divorce process. I’ve been feeling my own mortality lately. Not in the bad way, but in the good way. The “you only live once” and “you can’t take it with you” kind of way. I know it’s time to start making some pivotal changes in my life. But while I know what some of them are, I haven’t a clue where to even begin looking for the direction and motivation of the others.

This divorce has changed me in ways I didn’t even know were imaginable. I’ve gained 30 pounds (boo), become a better mother (yay), lost some friends (boo), and discovered some new found loves I never knew I had (I’m looking at you, camping).

But the true change has come in who I am. I listened to this TED Talk today at the recommendation of a friend (I can now officially say I listen to TED Talks) and while it focused on success and completion in the workplace, I can definitely say I see so many of these qualities in my every day life. Before my divorce I was an “agreeable giver”. I did whatever anyone else wanted, no questions asked. Now, to be fair, I like giving. I like doing things for other people. I like helping. But I realize now that sometimes it went too far. I changed my entire personality for friends and boys. I was a coward. I shied away from any confrontation. The only thing in the world I wanted was to be well liked (cue the absolutely abysmal low self esteem). I had no idea at all who I was. I didn’t know what music I liked. Or what books I liked. Or even what causes I liked. I was a follower…because I felt that made people happy.

But now…I’m different. I still love to give and help out. But I will challenge things that are blatantly wrong and I will fight for the causes I now KNOW I believe in. I don’t like fake (which is what I used to be). I’m not just going to roll over and take it anymore. Not from anyone. If you don’t like me, I don’t care. I will listen to my music and sing it loudly and I don’t care how embarrassing my Fleetwood Mac is! It’s freeing. It’s refreshing. And it’s also completely and utterly sad that it took me 38 years to get to this point. It makes me want to cry. But it also makes me want to rage against that girl that was so passive and complacent that she let her self almost pass her by.

I’m excited for the next few months. I’m excited to try and get back to running. I’m excited to try and lose the weight I gained back when I was in an abusive and manipulative relationship. I’m excited to see where I’m going to go professionally. But most of all I’m elated that there has been a reason for all this pain and suffering, and that reason is me. The caterpillar can’t just change into the butterfly because it’s his destiny. He has to work for it. He has to put in effort. He has to want it.

First it will challenge you…then it will change you.

Anything but that.

/ Cassie / Leave a comment

Yes, you can do hard things. But you shouldn’t always have to. Sometimes the best thing you can do is walk away and say “not right now”.

This is what I tell myself as I avoid something I very much do not want to do, something that I know will not only break my heart into a thousand pieces all over again, but will also create a fiery rage inside me where no one, not even me, is safe.

There are court documents I need to look over and check out. And I just don’t want to. I literally want to do anything but that right at this moment. They are full of more half truths than truths and in between are the blatant lies that I just don’t want to see. I skimmed them last night but now that I need to look at them more clearly, my breath is hitching and I can’t stop grinding my teeth in agitation.

On Tuesdays I am home by myself for about 2 hours. Usually this is time that I relish. As a mom of three and a kindergarten teacher time without tiny bodies touching you and calling your name of few and far between. I look forward to this day every week. I look forward to these two hours where I can be productive or not, depending on my mood. But today, all I could think about was having to go home and go over these documents and I immediately began having a panic attack.

So when I got home I decided that the documents can wait. I was not going to let them consume my time and my thoughts. I was not going to let this person, who I have given so much to already, take one more thing from me without my permission. I should of stood up for myself 10 years ago, but I didn’t. I know better now. I know how to take what I need. I know how to prioritize things so that I don’t fall into the darkness. I know how to say “not right now”.

So I changed my clothes and put on my running shoes and headed out the door. I did the run I didn’t want to get up for this morning. I uploaded some amazing pictures of my class to twitter. I poured myself a glass of wine and began writing this. Because I will get to those documents, I absolutely will. Just not right now.

Seconds, Minutes, Hours, Days

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The weekends I don’t have the kids are the hardest. Because it’s not just 2 days, it’s 5. I haven’t seen them since Friday morning and as much as I enjoy the sleeping in, binge watching something that is NOT Captain Underpants, and eating chips that I don’t have to share, I feel like part of me is missing. I feel unwhole. Less than. Lacking.

It’s only been two months with this new schedule and it’s already tougher than I expected. I didn’t expect to feel like this…All. The. Time. My breath hitches when I don’t get a text back within 10 minutes. I constantly wonder if they’re happy. I wonder if I am doing enough. I have no idea how I am going to be able to keep this up for 14 more years.

These are the days the anxiety creeps in the fastest. Where sleep seems to evade me. Where I busy myself with project after project, cleaning after cleaning, glass of wine after glass of wine.

The every day worries get escalated. Not all at once, but slowly, like a snowfall that builds, and builds, and builds until it consumes you like a blizzard. I have a parent-teacher conference with Max’s teachers on Wednesday. Last week when I confirmed the conference I assumed (and kinda knew) that it was because Max is failing advanced math and they are probably going to move him to the on grade level math class. And that he’s a little silly and unfocused at school. And he hates writing. I’ve had this talk before…I know the drill. But today those worries escalated to the teachers outlining all of my failures as a parent leading up to Max failing math. It’s because I fought for them. It’s because I have to take them back to Mike’s at 7 am for school. It’s because I’m not able to come to the class parties.

So now my carefree weekend is filled with anxiety and worry. And I know it’s not going to cease until Wednesday when this parent-teacher conference is over and my littles are home with me.

And then it will start all over again.

We’ll get there when we get there

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It’s been a struggle recently, to say the least, of managing expectations. Not only mine, but other’s as well. I feel like I have them coming at me from all sides: work, home, kids, my ex. Even my dreams have started rustling up my anxiety.

Today was my first day to drive the boys to their dad’s house before school. Every single thing comes down to a single minute. Getting up. Getting dressed. Getting in the car. Driving there. Driving to work. And then doing the whole entire process again in the afternoon. And the next day. And the next week.

I sat in the car today on the way home quietly weeping while the kids sang the Pokemon theme song (why I let them add the songs to our Spotify playlist, I’ll never know). I wasn’t sad, I was simply exhausted. The expectations and the time constraints finally caught up to me and I began to leak at the seems. And guess what? This was only the first day.

I rushed around making dinner before we all had to get ready for Oliver’s soccer practice, calculating in my head the time we had to leave to make it on time and I stopped for a minute and realized “We’ll get there when we get there.”

Getting the kids to their dad on time? We’ll get there when we get there.

Getting to work on time? We’ll get there when we get there.

Getting my students from point A to point B throughout the day? We’ll get there when we get there.

Getting back to the kids after school? We’ll get there when we get there.

Getting to soccer practice? We’ll get there when we get there.

I would like to think this was a life changing moment where my behavior suddenly swung from type A to chilled out mama of three. I know tomorrow morning I’ll still be stressed out, but hopefully, it will start to wane as the days ebb and the weeks pass.

I’ll just have to keep reminding myself that we’ll get there when we get there.

And you know what, we will.

Who we want to be…

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It’s 3:46 pm on a random Wednesday. An insane thunderstorm just blew through so we are all stuck inside. I sit and write while the youngest two destroy the house I mean make a fort in the living room. I sit and sip a small glass of red wine to calm the anxiety I feel over the clutter and mess. I can’t count the number of times I have said “Please stop throwing the ball in the house” on both hands. Each time, there is a little less patience and understanding in my voice. I know if I have to say it again, I’m going to snap. And I also know that I really don’t want to do that.

I love my children, I do. Parenting is the most amazing I have ever done and, honestly, if I could I would quit my job and stay at home so I could have more time with my kids. And yet…it’s also the hardest thing I have ever done, each day bringing on new challenges that, even after three kids and teaching for over 15 years, I never feel quite prepared for.

I feel like I try my hardest, I really do, but it seems that each night I go to bed cringing at myself for some mistake I feel like I made and a prayer to have a better day tomorrow. For some reason, as confident as I am in my ability to be a teacher, I completely lack most of that confidence in my parenting ability.

Part of it, I know, is the custody struggle that I’m in. I constantly feel like I need to be on my game, radiating perfection 24/7 because someone is always watching. I feel like my parenting is constantly questioned and other people are trying to catch me “doing something wrong”. Let me tell you, this is exhausting.

The feeling of needing to be perfect doesn’t only come from there. It comes from inside too, of course. I have always had the need to control everything, it’s essentially the only way I feel safe and secure. Basically, I need to know it and I need to do it. The anxiety I feel when I am in a situation that I can’t control is palpable. So basically, since having that amount of control when you have kids (and especially when you SHARE kids) rarely happens, you can imagine how I feel almost all the time.

I know the kind of mom I want to be: the kind that is patient and not sarcastic. The kind that is understanding and helpful. The kind that remembers that kids are just that…kids. No one is going to listen all the time. Brothers are going to fight. Toddlers are going to tantrum. THIS IS NORMAL. And I feel like I’m halfway there. I’m more patient than I used to be. I have stopped expecting so much from them all the time. I’m learning to live with a little bit of mess and chaos without completely freaking out.

But I am still growing. I’m still navigating. I’m still learning to stop being a cruise director and let them set the rhythm for the day. And yes, I’m still trying hard to not make a big deal when there is a ton of grass covering the floor because they had an epic water battle outside and dragged it in when getting changed.

And I’m working hard to remember that even if today is a complete shit show, all they need at night is a hug, a kiss, and a promise that I love them.

Quiet Contemplation

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I know it has been a moment since I posted anything on my blog. It’s not that I don’t know what to say, (a million thoughts run through my head every single second) it’s just that I never give myself the time to sit down and write. So, on our last day at the beach, I am giving myself a few minutes while the children are happily ensconsed in their technology.

If you’ve seen me on Facebook or Instagram at any time in the last four weeks you know that I am completing a run streak. I have completed it a few times before, when I first got into running, to challenge myself and see how far I could go. And now I’m attempting it again in the hopes that I can find that self that I lost.

It’s been a few years since I have been able to finish it, always attempting, but usually giving up somewhere in the teens when I decide “It’s just too hard”, or “I can’t do it”, or “I’ll try again next year.” But for some reason I decided that this year is going to be different. I was going to finish. I was going to complete all 39 days and somehow all my problems in life would be solved.

And yet, here I am at day 33, with only one week to go, and I am contemplating not finishing.

There are a variety of reasons that I sit here and try to decide if I’m going to fit a mile into my life somehow today, and really, if it’s even worth it.

Parts of my body are hurting…like really hurting. And I know it’s probably because I’ve done too much, too soon. The run streak was designed to challenge you. And it definitely has done that, but its has also taken it’s toll.

It’s really hard to get this done on vacation. Running around after the kids at the beach and the pool all day, in the hot hot heat is exhausting. And then, to pile a run on before or after that is awful. The humidity here also makes it tough. I’m running a lot slower and a lot shorter distances than I was at home and it’s starting to take a mental toll on me, constantly wondering why I am even running in the first place if I’m going to get worse instead of better.

And I am getting worse, I know that. Because I am NOT taking breaks, I’m running all the time so I am NOT cross training like I should. I’m just going through the motions of getting it done. While this streak started as a motivator, it has turned into a chore. And it is stressing me out. Making sure this gets done every day is causing me anxiety. Being tired and in pain every day is causing me a anxiety. And I know all these things are not making me the best mom I can be.

The best part about the run streak is that after finishing day 32 I know it accomplished what I wanted it to. I am getting back to my life. I am going to keep running.

I just have to decide if I’m going to do it every day for the next seven days. I just have to decide if it’s worth it.

The Things We’re Not Supposed to Say

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I’m supposed to be at the doctor today, 10 weeks pregnant, giddy from the idea of hearing my baby’s heartbeat and maybe getting a sonogram. Instead I’m sitting in my pajamas trying to get comfortable with the idea that I just had a miscarriage. As in JUST. As in this morning. On the day I’m supposed to confirm that everything is ok, it most definitely is not.

We knew this was a possibility. The numbers were low early on. The measurements were slow early on. Everything was being treated with a grain of salt. There was always a 50/50 chance of things going either way. Things could be fine…or not. So for six long and hard weeks we played the waiting game. Always waiting for the next appointment. Always waiting for a definitive answer that things really were OK. Or even that things really weren’t OK. Something more than the 50%.

Because while the 50% may have been a blessing for some, it was slowly and ferociously eating at my soul. Never knowing what was what. Never having control. Never being about to do ANYTHING to help this situation. I cried a lot. And slept a lot. As do most people at the beginnings of their pregnancy. But really it was more than that. It was the constant weight of the wondering and hoping while also trying to be realistic that was crushing me.

But now, it’s over.

This is not my first miscarriage, but it is by far and away the hardest one yet to endure. There was the ectopic before Max. And the miscarriage before Max. And the miscarriage after Oliver on Mother’s Day. And the miscarriage the day Charlotte turned 10 weeks old. This is obviously not my first time here. But this one is different. Not only is it because it is with someone new, someone who I love more than anything, someone who I wanted to share this very special and sacred thing with. Not only because I was further along than any of the others and literally had to feel the miscarriage. Not those things. With each miscarriage before there was always the idea of trying again. That there will be more opportunities. And at this point in my life, I just don’t think that’s true.

And I know we’re not supposed to talk about these things. We’re not supposed to put this shit in the universe. It’s all supposed to be unsaid and hidden, deep down in the core of our soul. But really, why? Because we might make someone else uncomfortable? That’s mostly why I write instead of talk. You can read it if you want. Or not. That’s your choice. But I’m sad and hurting and to me, keeping it inside makes it worse. It makes me feel like it’s my fault. It makes me feel like this is something I should be ashamed of. It makes me feel like I’m alone.

AND. NONE. OF. THAT. IS. TRUE.

So I’m going to pick myself up and put on some running clothes. I’m going to open the blinds and let some sunshine in. I’m going focus on the things that I can do now: a second cup of coffee, hot tubs, hiking part of the Appalachian Trail in April, running, wine, brie, and so many other things. While I know it won’t take the pain away, it will remind me that I’m still here. I have still have things to do. I can still make plans to make my life extraordinary.

And I can hug my three little miracles a little tighter each night knowing they truly are a gift to me every single day.

On the eve of 38

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For the longest time I wanted this blog to have a “direction”.  Would it be a funny diatribe about parenting?  An environmental log of the good we can do in the world? A place to rant, mostly incoherently, about the state of our public education system?  I’ve had this blog since April 2013.  That’s almost 6 years.  And on the eve of my 38th birthday I finally figured out its purpose.  It took me that long to realize that this blog is my therapy.

I write because it’s easier for me to put words down than it is for me to say them out loud.  I write because it’s easier for me to form my thoughts when I can see them rather than hear them.  I write because I’m pretty sure my head would explode if I didn’t get some of these thoughts out of my head.  I write because I feel like when I do I have a voice, even if no one is listening.

And so, on that note, we begin our story, on the eve of my 38th birthday.

I woke up early this morning for no other reason than I just couldn’t sleep anymore.  This tends to happen on mornings when I am “allowed” to sleep in, but such is life.  I went about my morning business, as you do, and gave pause when I noticed that it looked like my “time of the month” was beginning (I realize no one is probably reading this and I could just be blunt, but just in case, a euphemism gets my point across in this situation).  Now normally this wouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary for a woman of a certain age.

Except that I’m supposed to be five weeks pregnant.

Now I know it could be “nothing”.  I know it could be normal.  I know it could be this and that.  But I also know what it could be. It could be the beginnings of an early miscarriage.

Because I’ve been to this rodeo before.  Too many times.

I don’t say these words lightly.  I don’t say them to get sympathy.  I don’t say them for shock value.  I say them because they are true and that’s what I need to hear right now.  Something true.  Something blunt.  Something real.

I could be fine.  I could be having a miscarriage.

I found out I was pregnant a little over a week ago when I craved a brownie.  If you know me, you know how insane that is because I haven’t eaten a brownie since kindergarten (it’s a boring story, I promise).  And then I had an ENTIRE meltdown when Charlie was being a typical three year old.  Two entirely different reactions, but when they happened on the same day, they gave me pause.  So I took a test. And it was positive.  So I did what every other rational woman does who gets a positive pregnancy test…I took  2835392 more.  You know, just to make sure.

I found a doctor.  Made my appointment.  Tried to remember what I was and was not allowed to put into my body.  Got a flu shot.  Fought a sinus infection for four days with just low dose Tylenol. Told a few close people.  And tried to calm the fuck down.

And I did calm down.  Until this.

You know what?  I’m handling it better than I thought I would.  I’m handling it better than I ever did the 5 others times I’ve been in this place.  I’m trying to continue to remain calm.  But also, I’m trying to face the reality that this could all be over in a few days.

Maybe not.  But maybe.

So just incase, I’m going to concentrate on some things that I know will help.

I have 3 beautiful and wonderful children, each born after at least one loss.  They are amazing and thriving and HERE RIGHT NOW.  So I plan on making sure I prioritize them and all the love we have between us.

Thinking about having 4 kids made having three so much less overwhelming!  You want to build with your mega blocks right in the middle of the kitchen floor while I cook dinner using both the stove and the oven?  You go right ahead baby!  Because in 9 months we’ll be doing the same thing but I’ll also have an infant strapped to me and that will be really challenging.

When we thought we may have to move because 3 bedrooms and 4 kids doesn’t always equal happiness, I realized how much I truly love my house and my neighborhood.  I usually spend time looking for new houses because #boredom but now I know while this is my house, I’m ready to put in the work and changes to make this my home.

So, on the even of my 38th birthday, I know I’m ready.  I’m ready for this year.  I’m ready for all of the challenges that are undoubtably going to get thrown my way.  I’m also ready for all of the loveliness that will make an appearance too.

And you know what?  In 5 weeks you may see a pregnancy announcement from me letting everyone know that baby #4 is on the way.  Or you may see a picture of me with a giant glass of wine, enjoying adulthood and parenthood and my relationship full force.  While both pictures may be wildly different, never doubt the happiness that each of them entails.  I know I won’t.

Little Victories.

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So I’m going to list the good with the bad. The bad being it was a very rough day in the world of inner city teaching. My teaching team member was out today so It was just me and our ESOL para wrangling up two classes of kindergarteners. That mixed with 9 kids out due to the flu, a new student who definitely needs extra supervision, and one of our fifth graders and his mom being killed on Friday, led to a very somber and overwhelming Tuesday. I was supposed to go to the gym, but honestly I just don’t want to. I am mentally exhausted. And its not something the gym is going to bring me out of. I know after my run yesterday that my body (and mind and soul) need a rest so that’s what I’m doing.

The good news is that as much as I wanted to just throw in the towel and eat out tonight, I didn’t. I made a healthy dinner, tracked all my calories and still came in under my goal. The old me would have just thrown away the entire day, but the new me is going to take whatever victories she can make happen. Today it wasn’t exercise, it was healthy eating and self-care and that’s good enough for me.