My Real Life

I cried the other night.

Deep, wracking, heart-breaking sobs.

We were in the last week of play rehearsals before the show, the night before had been the dress rehearsal, which means I had been at school from 7 am to around 10:30 pm. Hockey had just wrapped up, so even though I wasn’t driving Monkey in the Middle to the rinks, I was driving Monkey Girl to the high school for her own rehearsals and the dance studio for classes and her job, and I was in the midst of grading research essays and we were recovering from birthday season and I, my friends, was tired.

Baby Monkey and I went to daycare to pick up Tiny and while we were putting on his coat, he said “Mama, how come I didn’t get to go in the room where we took our pictures with Santa?”

“What?” I asked, a little distracted as I fought with his zipper and tried to figure out what we would be having for dinner.

“Everyone got to go in the room where we had our picture taken with Santa and wear nice clothes, except me.”

And suddenly it made sense.

“Tiny…was today…picture day?”

He nodded at me sadly.

I zipped him up and walked back into the room where the children were playing and asked the teachers, “Did I miss picture day.”

They nodded at me and said that yes, I had missed picture day. They talked among themselves to see if the photographer would be coming back and then agreed that that day had been the last day the photographer would be there.

So, apparently, I hadn’t just missed picture day, I had missed the entire picture opportunity.

I hustled Tiny out into the hallway and as we walked out of the building, the tears began to fall down my face.

“Mom, are you crying?” Baby Monkey asked.

“Yes,” I whispered through gritted teeth.

“Why?”

“In the car,” I hissed.

When everyone was clipped in, Baby Monkey tried again.

“Why are you crying, Mom?”

And the dam broke loose and I began to sob.

Why was I crying?

Because I was drowning.

Because I am everything to everyone.

Because the weight of my choices is a heavy mantle to bear.

And, yes, they are choices, and not choices I regret, and they are mine.

I loved everything I was doing, but it was a lot and it was all converging at once.

But, I was tired and I was, for the moment, drowning.

I honestly didn’t remember seeing anything about picture day coming home, but it must have and I must have skimmed over it or thrown it away.

And so, rather than burden Baby with the truth of the matter, I said, through my tears, “I’m crying because I missed picture day for Tiny and there are no make-ups and now, for the rest of his life, I will never have a Pre-K picture for him like I have for the rest of you and it makes me so, so sad.”

Baby reached forward and put his hand on my shoulder and said “I’m really sorry to hear that, Mom.”

I drove home and I cried the entire way.

When we got there, Monkey in the Middle was sitting at the counter, doing his homework.

“What’s wrong?” he asked the second he saw my face.

Baby filled him in and then sat down to his own homework.

Except it was math homework, and they were word problems and he was sure he was going to fail before he even began, and so, soon, his own tears started.

As I tried to get him settled and calm him down, while still crying myself, because once it turns on, it is almost impossible for me to turn off, Tiny decided he wanted someone to play outside with him.

I tried to explain that we were all in the middle of something, and he would have to be patient, and his own tears began.

So, at this point, three of us were in tears. Big tears.

And, slowly, I see Monkey in the Middle stand up at the counter and start to put on his shoes.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Taking Tiny outside. I can’t concentrate right now and then you and Baby can get through his math,” and as he walked by, I saw tears on his own face.

“Are you crying?” I asked. “Why are YOU crying?”

He answered in a small voice. “Because you are all so sad.”

Which, of course, made me cry harder.

—–

We made it through.

Monkey in the Middle took Tiny outside and Baby and I settled in and he got through the math.

Baby went out, MitM came in and got his homework done.

I stopped crying and got dinner on the table.

We made it through.

I made it through.

Why do I share this story?

Because I hear it all the time, “I don’t know how you do it all, Amy.”

The truth is, I do do it all.

And I truly enjoy everything that I do.

But, not without a price.

Things slip by.

I lose things.

I cry.

And that’s okay.

But, the point is, it’s not easy, and just because I look like I have it all together doesn’t mean that I do.

And that’s okay, too.

Teachers measure time in very different ways than civilians.

January 1st can come and go, but we all know that the year really starts and ends in September, when our classrooms fill with fresh, new faces and that scent of “possibility” is in the air.

Our time at home is also measured differently.

Home projects and travel are considered and planned based on “breaks” and days are carefully plotted and planned.

For myself, I have a running list of things I need to get done around the house, and am consistently planning how and when I can get those things done.

The strange thing is, this year, despite the fact that it is January 18th, I continue to be planning for winter break.

“I really need to go through my closet and donate some clothes. I’ll get to it over winter break. Wait…”

“The garage needs another sweep before winter weather finally arrives. Winter break…hang on…”

“I need to list more items for sale. I’ll do it right after Christmas. But…”

Did I miss something?

How is it January?

I had a busy and productive winter break.

Christmas was wonderful and full of family and laughter and smiles.

The following week was spent with friends and each other (and Star Wars) and highly productive as I cleaned out three different areas of the house that had been long neglected, allowing me to keep doors to rooms open that have long been closed.

New Year’s was a great time, and, although I don’t sweat turning 44, I had the normal January 3rd birthday blues as I came off of the high of the activities of the week before.

Yet, as soon as we went back to work on January 4th, I started planning things to do…over winter break.

Completely forgetting that it was over.

So, it wasn’t that my time was wasted or boring or sad.

It was wonderful.

So, why am I still waiting for that winter break?

Part of me wonders if it was the weather.

New Jersey Christmas isn’t supposed to be almost 70 degrees.

Cousins aren’t supposed to be able to play in my driveway and yard on Christmas day without bundling up with snow gear.

One of the reasons that I have always loved living in New Jersey was the change of the seasons.

And this no longer seems to exist.

So, maybe it’s the weather.

Maybe it’s the fact that our Christmas decorations are STILL up.

However, our record is St. Patrick’s Day before taking it all down, so I still have a few months to go, so that can’t be it.

Whatever the cause, January is almost over and President’s Day weekend looms over the horizon, and I still can’t make that switch in my head.

Am I going to be sitting in the kitchen over Spring Break, wondering where the snow is and planning the things I still need to do for Christmas?

(Of course, at the rate we are going, there will be snow over spring break, but that’s another post.)

Time is just moving at a pace that is too fast for me, these days, and I can’t put my finger on why.

This was, by far, the fastest school year in which I have ever taught.

And that counts the school years where I only taught for six months because February brought a garden of little monkey babies to my life.

People say that time passes more quickly as you age, and, as a parent who is looking down the barrel of a 15, 12, 10, and 5 year old when March finally arrives, I realize this is true and I wonder how the heck that happened.

I don’t know what it is, but I’m still waiting for December 23rd.

So, if we’re talking, and I mention to you all the exciting things I plan to get done over winter break, just smile and nod at me.

Because, clearly, I missed something.

2015 passed and I made a list of things I wanted to accomplish in that year.

For the most part, I think I was fairly successful.

There’s a lot of talk about not making resolutions, and part of me thinks that maybe I should just throw in the towel and not make any.

I mean, who has ever made a resolution, or a list of resolutions, and kept them all?

Is making resolutions the epitome of setting yourself up for failure?

I don’t know.

I think resolutions and goals and wishes show hope.

And isn’t that really what we all need?

A little hope?

So, for 2016, I’ve got some hope.

Hope that the world will be better than it was last year.

That people will treat each other with more kindness and respect.

That we can heal.

I also hope that I can be better.

I have hope that I will make good choices.

I have hope that I will be patient.

I have hope that I will be a person I want my children to grow up to emulate.

Those are my big hopes for 2016.

On a smaller front…

1. I hope to make time for myself this year. In 2015, I rejoined both my handbell and my singing choir as an effort to regain some much needed time doing something that was just for me. And then hockey changed nights and suddenly, I had to bring Tiny and Monkey Boy with me to handbells, and couldn’t stay to sing. That’s being a Mom and having responsibilities, and I am 100% aware of that. However… whether it’s getting a sitter on choir nights or carving out thirty minutes a day to exercise, I need to commit to myself.
2. I hope to bulk up our bank. I always have goals to save money or to make money, but the bottom line is, in 2016, I want to be successful with our finances. We have four kids to eventually put through college, and places we want to go and things we want to see. This is the year I hope to pay more attention to the little things and stop the leaks before they happen. There’s a lot of stuff around here, as well. Stuff that I think someone else might be happy to have, and so I plan to sell and donate many, many things.
3. I hope to write. Somewhere, something. Just write. Publishing would be amazing, but I love to write, and I want to get back to that. Writing for the love of it.
4. I hope to be the change I want to see in the world. I tell my own children and my students countless times per day that we should be as kind as possible as often as possible. In 2016, I hope to be a living example of this. I think I do a good job of this, but we can always do better. We have to do better.

And, so there you have it.

And, with any luck, hopes turn into reality and we all have a good year.

2015 has come to a close and I had set some goals for myself, and it’s time to reflect and see how I did.

However, I will say that, no matter how many of these things I have accomplished, it was a tough year for many people, myself included, and the fact that we all survived it is good enough for me.

1. Take the family to DisneyWorld. Didn’t happen. We watched many friends take their families, and, quite frankly, I just don’t know how to find the time or the money to get 6 people to Disney or Universal. Sounds like an excuse, but it’s the truth.
2. Participate in at least one random act of kindness per week.  There may have been a week or two when I missed the boat on this one, but I think, for the most part, I was able to succeed here.
3. Exercise at least twice a week.  Some weeks, yes. Some weeks, no. I actually just checked the MyFitnessPal app and I’ve gained 10 pounds in the last year, but I have a feeling that has more to do with my eating than my exercise.
4. Watch less tv.  I may have succeeded here. I did cut back on a lot of the shows I watch. However, I still watch a lot of tv. And I stream a lot. But, I like to be entertained, whether it is movies, tv or books.
5. Make $1,000 by selling on eBay, consignment, etc.  Maybe $100, but it wasn’t even close to $1,000.
6. Blog at least once a month.  I came close. I did. And some months, I blogged more than once. However, some months were empty, here on the blog. I had more than 12 posts for the year, so the average is once a month, but we all know that’s not really the same.
7. Read 50 books (and keep track!)  I actually read 60 books in 2016. That makes me very happy. They weren’t all deep and thought-provoking, but they kept me entertained.
8. Really go through my closet and be ruthless with getting rid of what I don’t wear.  I did this, but there is more work to do.
9. Play piano at least once a week. I did this and loved it. This was a great goal for myself. It makes me very happy.
10. Write in my journal more often.   I am looking in my journal right now, and I can see that I wrote in my journal twice this year. So, I’m going to count this one as a miss.
11. Get published, again.   Can’t get published if you don’t write. And I didn’t.  So, no.
12. Re-edit my novel.  It didn’t happen.
13. Shred and pare down all of our files. Did it. Feel great about it.
14. Entertain more. Um, yeah, no. I did not do this. I love to have people here, and I had a candle party, a work party, and hosted Christmas, but for 2015, that’s it.
15. Be kinder to myself. I don’t know. Part of me thinks I did this, but part of me thinks I didn’t. Probably the part of myself that is too hard on myself is the part that thinks I failed.

So, I guess you win some, you lose some, and when I look at this list, I see things that I want to carry through to next year. I don’t know what is coming in 2016, just like, in a million years, I couldn’t have guessed what was going to happen in 2015. Life throws you curveballs. All you can do is keep your head held high.

Real Man and I went to the movies, the other day.

While we were there, right before the previews, I realized I had to run to the ladies room.

While I was in there, I happened to overhear the woman in the stall next to me conducting a business meeting.

In the bathroom.

Sitting down.

We both emerged from our stalls at the same time, and as I washed my hands, she finished her call.

She hung up, moved forward to the sink, looked at me and shrugged her shoulders and held up her phone.

“Always on call, these days. Right?”

I smiled and nodded, and felt the weight of my own phone, in my back pocket, but I couldn’t help but wonder…

Does the amazing technology we have, today, mean that we can never, truly leave work?

—–

One of the things I tell my students, and their parents, is to email me their questions any time.

I always have my phone on me, and I’ll get back to them very soon.

I do this, because if they are working on something at home, and they encounter an issue, I want to help them get it resolved, and answer their question, rather than have them stop the work and not have it done.

I don’t have it with me during dinner.

I don’t bring it with me when I’m playing outside with the kids.

It’s not out when we are doing something as a family.

However, I check it soon thereafter, and do respond as soon as I get the questions.

In some ways, it feels no different than how I often spend the weekend grading papers.

In other ways, it’s invasive.

But, for me, it’s a choice.

I don’t have to respond after hours or on the weekend.

I want to.

But, for so many people, that phone…

It’s not a lifeline.

It’s a tether.

A leash.

A way for a boss to assign just one more case for you to work on and have ready for Monday morning.

A way to make sure that even when you are home, your mind is on work and the things that you have to complete.

My neck feels tense just thinking about it.

I mentioned in a previous blog post that I’ve been rewatching Sex in the City.

In the show, Miranda is a lawyer.

In the later seasons of the show, she is very conflicted about the amount of time that she spends at the office, and then the amount of work she has to bring home.

Every time I see her struggle, I think, “Thank goodness she didn’t live in the time of smart phones!”

You know, because she’s a real person.

I think about all the people that I see, nose in phone, everywhere I go, and I know that all those people aren’t on Facebook or Instagram all the time.

A lot of them are working.

And then I wonder…what are the jobs that don’t require you to be in contact like that?

Do sanitation workers have to respond to emails about the new trucks that they are using to pick up the trash on Monday morning?

Does my mailman have to respond to a group email that he receives on a Saturday afternoon about a meeting that they are having before running their routes on Monday morning?

I don’t know.

What I do know is that the blending of work and home time isn’t a healthy piece of progress in society, and we need to be careful that we don’t wind up working all the time.

A few weeks ago, I woke up and found a strange lump on my clavicle.

Well, not on my clavicle, but above my clavicle, at the base of my neck, a bit to the side.

And, it wasn’t just a little lump.

It was a big one.

I apologize for the visual, but the best way I can describe it is that it was like someone put a breast implant on top of my shoulders.

Weird, right?

It didn’t hurt, but it was unnerving.

And embarrassing.

It wasn’t yet sweater weather, but I started wearing a sweater to work to cover it up.

And then, after two days, I went to the school nurse.

She was stumped, and called the FastER in town, and put me on the phone with the doctor there.

He, too, was stumped and wanted me to come in for a closer look.

So, I went.

He poked and prodded, brought in another doctor to check it out, and in the end, put his hand on my shoulder and said “Well, you are just strange!”

I could have told him that without the $10 copay.

He was no closer to knowing what was up, so he ordered bloodwork and told me, if it hadn’t cleared up in two days, to call the local imaging center for a CT scan.

Two days later, not only hadn’t it cleared up, it had gotten bigger, so I called and scheduled the CT scan.

The next day, I got a call that the bloodwork came back and was clean.

So, hurdle one, cleared.

—–

The next week, I went for the scan.

It was a CT scan with contrast.

They hadn’t been sure that they were going to do the contrast because of my shellfish allergy.

They had me bring my inhaler, take Benadryl, and were prepared for disaster.

That really set me at ease.

The woman warned me, beforehand, exactly what it was going to feel like when the IV fluid was going in.

She said it was going to be hot, and then I’d feel flushed and hot from the chin to “the groin” and I’d feel like I had peed in my pants.

“The dye can’t actually make you urinate, but you will definitely think you did.”

Sounded lovely.

“The most important thing,” she told me, “Is that you don’t move. Not even a fraction of an inch.”

Okay.

I lay back in the machine and closed my eyes, and the table began to move me through slowly.

From the other room, she pushed the button that began the IV.

I felt it creeping up my arm, but it was freezing, and not even a little warm, like she had said.

I figured this was it.

The end.

I was having a reaction to the contrast, and that was why I was feeling it as cold instead of hot.

That my body was beginning to shut down.

To paralyze.

I was turning to stone.

And then…I began to flush.

My face felt hot and sweaty, and it traveled down my body until…

Oh no.

She was wrong.

I was the exception to the rule, and the dye had made me pee.

All over the table.

I was mortified.

I lay there in a pool of my own urine, and tried to figure out how to extricate myself from the situation with grace and just a little bit of dignity.

But, I never moved.

Finally, the table slid back out of the machine, and she came in.

“All done!”

I sat up, ready to explain what had happened, when I realized, I was dry.

And all the weird sensations were gone.

“How was it?” she asked.

“Great,” I responded. “I barely noticed a thing.”

—–

Fast forward a few days, and I get a call from the doctor.

“So, the results are in,” he says. “Everything is clear. There doesn’t appear to be anything there.”

“Wow! That’s great!” I say. “So, um, what the heck is going on?”

“I honestly don’t know,” he said.

“Hey!” I said. “I have an idea… maybe it’s bunched muscles or something? I recently started working out with kettle bells, and it works different muscles than usual, and it’s possible, right?”

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

“Right?” I asked, again, a little more desperately this time.

He hesitated, and I couldn’t help but wonder what it could possibly be.

Not cancer…the bloodwork was clear.

Not a cyst…the CT was clear.

So, what was it that he was so terrified to tell me?

What could it be that had him, a trained doctor, trying to find the words to say?

He cleared his throat and spoke softly.

“Actually…I think it’s just…fat.”

Now it was my turn to be silent.

Finally, I mustered an “Excuse me?”

“I think it might be a new pocket of fat.”

I thanked him and hung up and sat there, at my desk, incredulous.

Grateful, believe me.

Very grateful that it wasn’t cancer or anything dangerous or anything that would require surgery.

Yet…

I was dumbfounded.

Fat?

On top of my freaking shoulders?

I no longer have to just worry about my butt, my thighs, and my belly.

Now, I need to worry about collecting fat on top of my shoulders?

And so, if you need me, I’ll be doing bench presses in the basement so I don’t wind up having to wear a turtleneck bathing suit next summer.

But, hey, maybe if it’s migrating from other parts of my body,  I’ll fit into skinny jeans sooner than I’d hoped!

Monkey Girl has always been tall.

In nursery school, she was always the tallest kid in her class.

In elementary school, she towered over the boys.

By middle school, some of the girls had caught up, and by the end of 8th grade, the boys had generally caught up, and her friend group included some supermodel tall young ladies, and she was no longer walking around, hunched over, trying to appear as though she wasn’t the Big Bird to the Bert and Ernie’s of her peer group.

But, I will never forget those early years.

Because she was tall, everyone expected her to behave like an older child.

In stores, if she was acting two, when she actually was two, people would look and shake their heads, because they would assume she was four.

When I would pick her up from nursery school, they would say “Well, she was sucking her thumb again. We talked to her again and are trying to figure out a reward system to help her stop.”

I’d say “I’m fine with her sucking her thumb. She’s three.”

And they’d smile at me and say “She has to grow up sometime, Amy.”

I’d smile back and say “Yes. Some day. But not when she’s three.”

And when she was five and she was ready…

She stopped.

—–

Well, now I’ve got another tall one.

And he’s only gonna get taller.

But, right now, he’s only 11, (and he’d kill me if he ever heard me say this), 11 is little.

I’ll say it again…when you are 11, you are a little kid.

Granted, 11 today is different than 11 when we were kids, but at the end of the day, they are still pretty new to life and need to be treated as such.

And that’s hard to remember when you are eye to eye with the person you are trying to teach a life lesson to.

I curb the impulse to say “Knock it off and act your age” because he usually is acting his age.

He just looks like a 15 year old behaving like an 11 year old.

Age is not a license to act like an idiot, but it definitely is a reason why silly can sometimes be okay.

—–

I dropped him off at a 6th grade social tonight.

He walked in among the other kid; head and shoulders above them all.

I whispered in his ear, before he ran ahead of me “Make good choices,” and I think he probably will.

But he looked so grown up with his hair gel and size one million sneakers, and in my head, I finished my thought “…and if you don’t…let the adults remember that even though you look big, you are just a little kid.”

—–

So, if I was going to wrap up this post in a neat, little bow, I guess I’d do it by reminding you not to judge a little, tiny book by it’s great, big cover.

Being a teacher and a parent, the one thing I always make sure to remember is that all of my students are someone’s babies.

Even the ones that I have to physically look up to.