kids

Making a House a Home

/ Cassie / Leave a comment

Did you know…this is the longest I have ever lived in one house since I was seventeen years old? In fact, since I was seventeen I have lived in three different states, countless cities, and 14 different houses/apartments, and none of them for more than two years.

We moved every few years as I was growing up, so I guess it’s just a concept that has stuck with me in my twenties and thirties. I would pick a place, settle, and then immediately start looking for the next best thing. The better college, the better city, the better apartment, the better opportunity. I always felt that I had to keep moving. To slow down was to get complacent. To slow down would cause me to really look at my self and face my unhappiness. Instead of looking for something new and better I would be forced to discover why “this moment in time” was not working for me. To slow down was to die.

When we picked this house, we did so in a hurry. My current situation was dangerous and the longer I stayed the more dangerous it became, not only for me for my the kids too. I was trying to stay for as long as I could, simply to help ease the transition for leaving, for all of us leaving. But as someone who was the only provider in a house of five for the past 8 years, someone with three small children, and someone who had nothing extra to offer, I had no where to go. That is until Joe stepped in and decided he would buy a house for us. Sure we had just started dating, but we knew my situation was dire.

We looked for a while but there was always something wrong with the house: schools weren’t good, not enough bedrooms, no dining room, too far of a drive. Until one day we were simply driving through one of my old neighborhoods in the rain. As we drove down the street, the sun came out and a rainbow appeared…at the same exact moment that we saw the for sale sign. We had looked online in this neighborhood so many times, but had never seen this house listed. Joe made an offer the next day and two months later, on another rainy day in August we moved in.

We furnished it with random odds and ends found in our basements, on facebook marketplace, and Ikea. for almost a month we didn’t even have a dining room table and the kids would sit and eat on the window seat in our dining room.

Slowly but surely we filled the house with furniture and books, pictures and toys, laughter and our own personalities. But as someone who was always waiting for the other shoe to drop, I never let myself really settle. I couldn’t “invest” in this house as my home yet. To invest would have been to be happy, and there were far too many unknowns.

Two and a half years later, when my divorce was finalized and my custody battle won, the house had fulfilled its purpose. It was my savior in a truly harmful situation. The calm from my storm. My safe haven in a sea of turmoil and doubt. It was the place I was able to rebuild my life and my family and start the long process of coming home to myself. So do we stay or do we go? Do we pick up and start over again, or begin the process of making this house a home?

“Home is wherever you leave everything you love and never question that it will be there when you return.”

Every single thing I love is here. I think we’ve made the right decision.

Having a moment

/ Cassie / Leave a comment

Today was a day.

Wait. Hold on a second. It really wasn’t. For the most part, it was extremely uneventful. I’m just being extra.

For the most part today was extremely uneventful. We took the puppy for walks and outside time. I “danish parented” when I let Charlotte fill her empty sandbox with water and bubbles. I actually made three meals today instead of finding one to order out for. To be completely honest, I saved my delivery order for wine (cheers!). Everyone got along. No one made their way to time out. I felt like super mom for a moment.

And then…the witching hour (also known as it’s hot this afternoon so we’re all going to meltdown) happened upon us. We’re crate training our puppy so we went out for an hour just so he could get used to us leaving and coming back. I had the brilliant idea of letting the kids play Pokemon Go as we got milkshakes. Everything was fine.

Then something happened with Pokemon Go and Max had a melt down. Charlie was upset because I said she had to use a straw instead of a spoon in the car for her milkshake (mean mom award goes to me). I also bought fries for the kids to share and Charlotte was pissed because they all got an even amount and she didn’t get more than her brothers.

I’m in a mood, but holding it together to make dinner when we get home when the trifecta happens. All within two minutes the following happens: Oliver uses the hose to squirt Max in the face while Max is clearly screaming stop. Samson comes in from peeing outside to immediately pee inside. After I clean that up I go to check on Charlie outside as she is pouring soup into the grass all willy-nilly.

So I got more annoyed. And there may have been some yelling. And then cut to me cutting zucchini for my dinner (no grilled cheese for me) since I am now counting calories again sobbing uncontrollably. Everything annoyed me. Which in turn made me cry harder because I know it shouldn’t annoy me.

Ugh. I hate days like this. And the worst part is that I only get the kids for half time so I feel like I have now “wasted” time with them because I was in a mood.

So at 8:53 at night, when my children should be in bed, but clearly are getting some extra technology time due to mom guilt, I know I have two choices for the the rest of the night. I can continue in this mood and probably wake up like this tomorrow as well. Or I can focus on the moments that were good today: finding new books in the little free library, watching the kiddos run around with the neighbors during impromptu play time, and the lovely wine I have chilling in the kitchen for after bedtime.

Tomorrow is a new day. It will be better. The mama guilt won’t last forever. And I will remind myself constantly that I am only human.

Summer is Different This Year

/ Cassie / Leave a comment

The past few summers have been a shit show. I mean, I’m sure there’s a better way to put it, but why sugar coat it. They were.

There’s the summer three years ago when I sat around every single day trying to find the courage to tell my husband that I was leaving. The amount of stress and exhaustion were enough to kill me…and I’m pretty sure they almost did.

There’s the summer two years ago where I was still scared of doing anything wrong. Anything at all that could make me somehow lose my kids. And the guilt of leaving was still so fresh that I constantly gave in to unhealthy behaviors simply to stay afloat.

Last summer was the worst. Going through the divorce and custody battle caused my anxiety to be at an all time high. I was nervous going anywhere even when I didn’t have the kids because something could go wrong. I couldn’t make one wrong decision or one single misstep because it could come back to bit me in the ass. I actually think I have slight PTSD from my custody/divorce battle. I actually had to turn my email notifications off my phone because hearing the ding reminded me of all the emails from my lawyer and I actually start to shut down.

This is the first summer where I finally feel free. Free to go on vacations with and without the kids. Free to make decisions without constantly worrying about what someone else might think or make an issue of. Free to mention Joe’s name without worrying about the repercussions.

It’s an amazing feeling, but you know what’s funny? It’s almost like a piece of me is missing now. I held on to all that worry, all that anxiety, all that anger for so long, that there is a void. What do I worry about now? What do I think about now? What should I do now?

Luckily, it’s still summer and for the first time in forever I can allow myself to find these answers. I can allow myself to figure out who I am or who I want to be. And most importantly I can actually allow myself to breathe.

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.

Who we want to be…

/ Cassie / Leave a comment

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.

Today was a good day

/ Cassie / Leave a comment

Today was actually a good day.  It’s hard to pinpoint what made it a good day, it just was.  And the funniest part?  School actually contributed to my good mood (somewhat).

The morning started out like any other with the millions of children (I have 34) coming into the classroom for breakfast.  We did our thing like always; we ate breakfast, changed to our leveled reading classes and continued about our morning.  Nothing remarkable, nothing mood altering, just typical Wednesday.  For the most part, everyone worked hard, everyone was respectful, and everyone walked out with a little bit more understanding of why character traits are important in a narrative.

Then it was time to change back to our homeroom classes.  This is usually a busy and loud time of day where I just feel like screaming “SIT DOWN AND BE QUIET FOR 5 MINUTES!” I stepped in the hall to talk to another teacher about a student when I slipped on something and went down hard.  There were a quite a few students in the hall, but it was pretty anticlimactic.   It didn’t hurt (though I have a giant bruise now).  But what happened next did.

Someone laughed.  And not just someone.  A child.  An 8 year old laughed at me.  And then I cried.  I wasn’t crying because I fell, I was crying because an 8 year old was mean to me.  Yes.  I am 34 years old.  Yes, this kind of disrespect happens at my school daily.  Yes, I realize that kid’s opinion of me means nothing, but in that moment, my feelings were hurt.  By a child.

But then a funny thing happened.  My entire class crowded around me.  Through the chorus of “what’s wrong” and the many, many hugs I was able to tell them I fell and that while I wasn’t hurt, my feelings were hurt by another student.  And they were upset.  They were upset that someone would hurt me, even if it was just my feelings.

And in that moment I felt truly loved by these little people, in a way I don’t think most teachers get to feel, at least not in my school.  In the 11 weeks that I’ve been with my 35 little friends I’ve questioned how much of a difference I’ve actually made in their lives.  Some days I feel like we’re getting somewhere, but most days I want to throw up my hands and walk out.  The fights, petty bickering, and whining and arguing get to me on a daily basis (Seriously, why can’t you just keep your hands to yourself?!?!?!  How is that so hard?????)

But not today.  I heard their concern.  I saw their love.  And for the first time I thought maybe I can do this for the next 100 days.  Maybe we actually are getting somewhere.  Maybe we actually are going to be OK.

A step back

/ Cassie / Leave a comment

“Slow down, you move too fast.
You got to make the morning last.” ~Simon & Garfunkel

I woke up this morning to feed the baby around 4.  Once she was finished and feel back to sleep I was awake for awhile.  I was literally itching to run.  I was calculating if I should or shouldn’t throw my running shoes on for a 4 am walk/shuffle around the block.  That way I would have tons of time to do other stuff during the day.  I know I shouldn’t be running.  I know I should be taking it easy so I can fully heal.  And here I am, making bargains in my head at 4 am about how to manage everything I wanted to accomplish on my ever growing mental list.

I didn’t think I’d get to this place.  I thought I was going to do everything differently.  Right now I’m having a tough time. Normally it’s quite hard for me to admit that.  I don’t like others to see my weaknesses and I usually feel that if you don’t admit to them, they don’t exist.  But here I am admitting this for the whole world (or the 15 people who read my blog) to see.  I am having a tough time.

Surprisingly enough, I’m not having a tough time with the whole “parenting three kids” thing.  Once you have two VERY active boys, adding a third child, especially a calm, almost always sleeping baby into the mix really doesn’t change much.  I’ve found with a little finagling I can balance most of what everyone needs, though maybe not what they all “want”.  Sure, I have a husband at home who is helping and the two oldest are in school at least part time.  But for the most part we are prattling along just as we always did, maybe just a little more tired than we were before.

What I’m having a tough time with is stepping back and simply taking time.  For the first time, I actually have time.  Time to sit back and relax.  Time to heal.  Time to think.  Time to simply enjoy the smaller and larger things in life.  And what am I doing with this time instead?  Planning.  Making lists.  Checking my work e-mail.  Replying to other emails. Organizing and cleaning.  Mentally and physically exhausting myself because I seem to think EVERYTHING needs to be done TODAY.  I feel like if I do it today, I won’t need to think about it tomorrow. I’ll have time to relax tomorrow.  I’ll have time to give more individualized attention tomorrow.  But you know what happens?  A new task or plan pops up for tomorrow and I am right back to square one, thinking that I’ll always have tomorrow to play catch up on the more important things.

Part of it is that I have no idea what to do with free time.  It’s not that I never have it.  Having “grandparents” who love my kids and take them all the time gives me loads of free time.  But that free time is usually marred by the guilt I feel.  Guilt about having a slightly messy household.  Guilt about maybe not having my lesson plans done months in advance or having some new game or activity created for my students.  Guilt about not spending every minute of the day involved with my kids.  Guilt thinking that I should always be doing “more” than I currently am, whether that be at home, work, or among friends and family.

I seem to live by my guilt.  And I’m pretty sure if I don’t do something about it I’m going to die by it as well.  I’ve got to learn to slow down.  I’ve got to learn how to enjoy the smaller things.  I’ve got to learn to let go…especially of the overly high expectations I have of myself.  Maternity leave, while it’s just begun, will be over before I know it and I don’t want to look back and regret not spending more time with the kids, or relaxing, or just being.  I don’t want to look back and realize that the work e-mails could have waited.  The laundry could have waited an hour before putting it away.  Who cares that there are 3 dirty dishes in the sink if it means I spent a little more quality time with the people in my family, or even just some quality time with myself.

I need to breathe, heal, and relax.  I need to take this time to work ON me FOR my family.

And right now, I need to shut this laptop and go play a video game with my 4 year old who is patiently waiting for some extra time with his mom.

The best laid plans…are sometimes better left undone.

/ Cassie / Leave a comment

“The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.” ~Robert Burns

I’m a planner.  And we had plans.

The kids, for the first time in a month, were going to spend the night at the grandparents house.  We were going to make appetizers from Trader Joe’s, have a glass of wine, eat chocolate, and watch really crappy TV.  I doubt we would have made it to midnight to see the beginning of 2015, but I would have tried. And it would have been OK because there would have been no little feet padding towards me at 1:30 or 3:45 in the morning needing to go to the bathroom, or an extra hug and kiss, or needing a drink of water.

We had plans.  And like the many other times we made plans, they slowly imploded on themselves until none of the original plan was remotely intact.

After shipping everyone off and sitting down to binge watch crappy TV UNINTERRUPTED I received “The Call”.  The little one, who hadn’t been feeling so great lately, didn’t want to stay.  He just wanted to be home and snuggle with us.  My face and spirits fell and I immediately  began to cry (chalk it up to pregnancy hormones).  I was going to get to watch TV!  I was going to get uninterrupted sleep!  I was going to stay up past 10!

And then I stopped and really thought about the situation.  And guilt replaced my outrage and upset-ness.  My little one, who wouldn’t be my little one in 3 short months, wanted to stay home and snuggle with his mom.  Why in the world was I upset about this?  I admit that we have it rather easy on our end.  The kids spend an obscene amount of time with their grandparents giving us ample time off.  And here I was wanting more.

I had this whole post written in my head about how, while 2014 was very tough, it was also a year of growth.  I was going to write about how 2015 was going to trump last year, I was going to go harder, push more, and ultimately be fierce.  This was going to be MY year.  It was going to be all about ME and what I wanted to accomplish.

But as always, it’s the smallest things that lead us to see the errors in our ways.  I do need to improve, but not in the way I so desperately thought.  Instead of constantly needing to pick up new things, try new things, be new, I need to be better at the things I already am.  I need to be better at the things that are inevitable (not in a bad way).  I need to be better at the things that I already am: mother, wife, friend.

That’s not to say that I will not continue to make time for my running, that I won’t branch out and seek the unknown, but simply that I also need to pay attention to the now, be present in the moment, remember that each day is a gift.

I need to stop trying to go out and be extraordinary and “make” extraneous memories, when my everyday actions are creating memories of their own: reading a book with little O, going for a neighborhood jog with M, feeling Baby 3 kick every moment of the day.

I need to stop thinking “been there, done that” for these moments and realize that each experience, no matter how repetitive or mundane may not be that way for the littles or for others involved.

I need to start appreciating what I have a little bit more.

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The Great Balancing Act

/ Cassie / 2 Comments

“If you don’t design your own life plan, chances are you’ll fall into someone else’s plan. And guess what they have planned for you? Not much.” ~Jim Rohn

I feel like a failure of infinite proportion lately. I am having trouble achieving balance in my life. It feels like if I am doing well in one area, another one begins to suffer and I’m not quite sure how to handle this.

Things seem to be going pretty well at work. My students are learning, my planning is always completed on time, and I have been receiving accolades from the people from “above” who have come in to watch me teach. But I have also been spending way to much time on these items. Planning has been taking place at school, yes, but also on the week-end and during the week, much to the chagrin of my family, and even me.

It seems that the reason things are going so well and I am doing so well, is because I am putting all my time and effort into it, which would be fine if I were not a mother and a wife and also did not have outside-work goals of my own. At what point did I begin to sacrifice my happiness and my family’s happiness for doing a great job at work?

The truth, that by the time I put all that effort into the work items, I have no more effort to give the people around me, the people I truly care about. I become short-tempered, short-fused, irritable and down-right mean, which is of no fault of anyone’s but me.

When was the last time I worked on an art project with my two little ones? Or built a pillow fort? Or made some weird looking house out of legos? I can’t even begin to tell you. Because when I’m home it becomes about packing lunches, making dinner, cleaning, or simply doing more school work because, somehow, the 10 hours I already gave the place isn’t enough.

And don’t even get my started on the last time I went for a run when it wasn’t dark out, or the last time I read a book, or even the last time I went and just enjoyed dinner with a friend. I can’t even remember when those last happened. Those seem like luxuries I can no longer afford. And I can’t tell you what my son’s homework was from last night because I didn’t have time to help him with it, dad did. I can’t even tell you what my kids are asking for for Christmas this year. Though I can tell you the last work e-mail I wrote, and I can tell you the last spill I cleaned, and I can tell you the last television show I turned on for the littles while I tried to get these things done.

And really, if I’m being super honest, I put all of this pressure on myself EVERY SINGLE DAY. I feel that if I’m not doing all these things someone is going to get mad at me, or rate me unfavorably, or simply (totally egotistical right here) outshine me. The sad part isn’t that I care about these things. The sad part is that I care so much I’m letting other, more important things, slip by the wayside.

I spent almost the entire weekend worried about a field trip we are taking on Tuesday. Worried that certain parents are going to get mad their kids aren’t going (even though THEY didn’t pay after the 15 notes I sent home), worried about what we are doing with the kids who aren’t going (which teacher is staying back?), worried about an upcoming observation that has yet to be scheduled…I worried so much that I missed out on truly enjoying my weekend.

It’s hard to tell myself that it’s ok to step back and take a moment. I KNOW deep down inside that I will still do a great job even if I don’t spend every waking hour on worrying about school and completing school related tasks. Everything will still get done. I KNOW this. But yet, I still don’t do it.

I didn’t run this week-end, I told myself, because I wanted to get the house cleaned, spend quality time with the kids, focus on family. Well, I didn’t run, but the house is still a mess, the kids are napping, and I binge-watched Netflix the other morning since they were at the grandparents.

I feel like I have these great ideas and great plans on ways to get my life back to how I truly want it to be. Yet, I do nothing about them. Planning and doing are two separate things I don’t seem to have the energy or the attitude for the one that actually takes an effort.

I need to be OK with not being perfect or the best. I need to be ok with a messy house if everyone is happy. I need to stop putting everyone else in front of my family and myself.

I need to stop. I need to breathe. I need to listen.

And then…I need to act.

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