A Little Celebration!

Boof bought me flowers, to say Thank You for getting through the busy season with him. I said that he was the one who did all the work (who knew accounting could be so HARD with a kid), but he said that I did the work, being home late every night with Potamus and trying to juggle everything without him. Flowers to celebrate that the busy season is over and real-life can resume.

But I look at those flowers as a celebration, because, as of Monday, Boof is now employed as a full-time tax accountant! He proved himself a worthy seasonal accountant, so they’re keeping him on full-time! YAY! This means we can stop borrowing money from our in-laws, and can afford to take a breathe without the haunting past coming for us! It’s been a long year, but I am so thankful that we have gotten through it, together, and have proved to be stronger, closer, and a little bit  more thankful!

First Week, Fall Quarter

Whew, what a whirlwind the last two weeks have been! I am happy to report that I have successfully completed my first week of teaching at a local community-turned 4 year- college!

In a quick turn of events, I was hired, gave my notice at my crisis-counseling job, and transitioned into this position that allows me the freedom and flexibility to be both a worker and a mother. I spend four days a week at the college, two of the days as an instructor and the other two as an advisor for 16-20 year old students who have dropped out of high school. The mix of kids is delightful. There’s the run of the mill “thug life” kids that bounced from school to school because of expulsions, suspensions, and pop-off attitudes. There are the little-house-on-the-prairie homeschool types, who wouldn’t dream of who have clearly excelled academically to a degree, but the somewhat intellectual arrogance has left them socially awkward and blowing out of regular high school. There are mothers, felons, medically fragile, procrastinators, and class clowns.

Regardless of the reasons behind dropping out, they are welcome here in our program, a 4 quarter structured program (much like a very scaffolded running start) where they are introduced to college and supported as they attempt to get an AA degree, or a transfer degree, or even a certificate in an area of focus. And I get the newbies, the ones who are first stepping into a college classroom and hoping to be changed.

Okay, that’s actually optimistic and lofty. Many of my kids are simply hoping to not fail again. And many of those intellectually arrogant are actually just trying to “jump through the hoop” of my class in order to gain access to their 2nd quarter where they can take an English class, and their 3rd quarter where they can “take the fun classes” (actual quote by a student today, as she pushed her glasses back up her nose).

My curriculum is intangible in so many ways. These students have been taught subjects, but in my class, I hope to give them the experience of learning about themselves in a different way. Because that’s what I learned in college…I learned to think outside of the black/white paradigm and analyze poetry and give my opinion on things without stuttering or wavering in discussion. Of course I will teach things like study skills and learning styles, but I hope they gain a sense of community at the end of it all.

My college self, the one who thought about being an English teacher,  but didn’t have the confidence to really finish that degree, is now standing in front of a college class, with unbridled freedom in planning and executing the teaching objectives. Want to watch an episode of Dirty Jobs to illustrate Career Development? No problem! Want to give “This I Believe” speech/essay assignment? Go for it! Want to design group work or have free-writes or listen to music lyrics? All acceptable.

And the best part, perhaps, is coming home at the end of the night, happily tired with enough emotional energy to drop to the rug and play with Potamus for a few hours until bedtime. While I’m not getting much sleep at night, thanks to full-on reverse cycling and Potamus nursing at least every 2 hours (if not more), I am happy. So happy.  But like a quietly contented happy.

assorted box of things stored in the attic of my mind

• Potamus crawled yesterday (8/28). He is 8 months and 1 week old and had been whining and trying to scoot for over a month and then suddenly, trying to reach a metal measuring cup, he did it. Inch by inch, with a chicken’wing type gait, he did it. And then he did it again. And then he performed on cue for the camera. And today he won’t stop…crawling after cords, and the dog’s bone, and anything that catches his goldfish like attention span.

• I haven’t gotten more than 2 hours of sleep in a row for at least a month..probably more. While Potamus has never been a good sleeper, the longest stretch ever being 5 hours (happened once), but he used to faithfully go 3 or 4 in the first part of the night and then slowly disintegrate to 2 or 45 minutes. Now he is sleeping for 2 at a time if I’m lucky. I might or might not be a basket case…or at least on the verge of basket case in the very near future.

• I have 2 interviews in the next week. One for my ultimate dream job, the other for my next-to-ultimate dream job. Good vibes for me, please!

• We’ve side-carred the crib and I keep thinking “hot damn, why didn’t we do this earlier?” While the arms-reach co-sleeper was great for storing things like my cell phone and stuffed animals, Potamus barely ever went down there without a fight…some nights he’d make it there until midnight, most it was until 10pm and then he’d end up in bed with us (something I am fine with, until baby feet end up in my ribs).
• Boof is dating accounting firms. I hope it lands in a sweet job, but I do enjoy having him around the house again.
• The drive over Snoqualmie Pass was beautiful, but sad because the leaves are already turning yellow. Is it fall already?
• My parents are coming into town tomorrow to watch Potamus while we deal with wedding festivities this weekend for Boof’s little sister. I hope it goes smoothly, but 4 adults, 1 baby and 3 dogs under our tiny roof is bound to put some pressure on an already stressed system.

Burnout

There’s a clinical term for the rage I fee: secondary trauma…vicarious trauma…burnout. Try to explain that rage, funneled into one angry outburst of angry “stop screaming!” at my teething/growing/over-stimulated baby tonight.

Not my finest mother-moment.

Sure there are many contributing factors to this rage: Boof being out of work due to his own dumbass mistakes and taking this intensive 10 week class while also working for the Mariners when they are at home (currently there tonight, yes, part of my frustration), and a family caregiver who loves Potamus dearly, but hasn’t quite gotten into a very good rythym of watching him due to the up-and-down nature of my job. She’s gotten too comfortable, scheduling hair appointments one day, nail appointments another, and while I’ve been okay for the most part, I am actually getting paid a salary, even if my work is slow, things come up and Potamus needs to be minded, and I can’t be the village raising my child. And as my clients get better, I seem to be getting worse, but then I beat myself up about wanting a new job.

Today I consulted with a dear friend, former colleague, and former classmate. She made me laugh when she said, “oh, you aren’t supposed to be affected by seeing suicidal kids everyday? by seeing the worst of the worst situations?” I do see the seedy underbelly of mental health and family life. I impart wisdom and coping skills and education to my clients, and am losing just a little bit of myself in each of these exchanges. I am having  a hard time stopping the slow leakage and its effecting me deeply.

The look on Potamus’ face when I yelled at him, was heartbreaking. While this isn’t my first time, when he was only a few weeks old, he reacted out of what seemed to be simply instinct. Tonight there was awareness. There was this flitting look on his face that seemed to say (before he broke out in even more tears) “but this is my mom who is yelling, why? why?”

After 30 more minutes of nursing/rocking/stroking of sweet baby hair, he was finally asleep. Will he wake up with forgiveness? Will I?