I tend to favor positive posts and happy highlights on this blog, which is generally not a difficult thing to do. Since I post only once each month, I can usually dig through and find plenty of good stuff to write about. Besides, who doesn't feel guilty for complaining? Optimism is one of my favorite qualities, both in myself and in others.
On the other hand, I do dislike putting out a version of our lives which is a little too rosy. Especially since I run up against some pretty dark hours from time to time. To be perfectly honest, even though I recognize that we live in some really enviable circumstances right now, I've had a ridiculously difficult time adjusting to them. I'm sure a big part of it is my particular season of life. When you have little kids, you
have to make friends right away just to survive . . . or maybe that's just me. Being a mother has been one of the primary things that has allowed me to transition from place to place in our many moves. Now that my kids are in school, they get to do that grunt-work themselves, and I honestly have to hand it to them--they have adjusted to life here as seamlessly as I could ever have dreamed. Unfortunately, I somehow have to make the adjustment myself as well. And I haven't done nearly as good a job as they have.
One perspective I'm attempting to take is remembering the scriptural adage that weak things can become strong. I've developed quite an admiration for Sera and the tough way she has dealt with this broken arm of hers. Other than that first day (when she screamed and whined and hung on me all day long, and rightfully so), she has been such a little trooper. I instantly worried when I saw that it was her right arm that she had broken, that she would really struggle with not being able to color or draw or play the piano--her trio of favorite activities. But you know what she did? She got busy learning how to use her left hand. She has gotten so good at writing with her left hand that she can beat out Emerson . . . who is actually left-handed (though to be fair, he really has some of the worst handwriting on the planet--sorry future Emerson, when you read this). She learned how to play quite a few of her songs on the piano using only the four right-hand fingers that were mostly unencumbered. Once she's fully out of the brace that she has graduated into, she's going to be stronger than she was before she broke her arm! She's going to have full use of her right hand,
plus the improved use of her left hand which she has developed because of the break.
Somehow I need to be more like that. Because to tell the truth, I've acted far more childish than she, dragging myself along with sad thoughts about how nice it was to live in a place with so many friends, to send my kids to schools where I was already clear on how things worked, to have a job that I liked and that I was building into something exciting and that brought in enough money to make me feel like I was making a financial contribution to our family, to contribute something I felt was valuable and valued at church. It has felt like a really big deal to give all that up this time. And as much as I like to have fun (and I can't deny that we have managed to have fun here), I detest the feeling of uselessness, of inability to contribute, of pathetic ennui that I have had as I have fumbled about trying to figure out where my life is going right now.
So with that out of the way: August. It really wasn't a particularly exciting month. The first couple of weeks were definition dog-days--kids killing time running around the neighborhood (because I told them to
get out!), racing snails on the balcony (and fibbing to me to sneak them up there in the first place), and then coming in and begging to watch TV. In a way, I appreciated the ordinariness of those days--everyone here seems so busy! productive! that I wonder if they've forgotten how to just be lazy. On the other hand, I'm no laziness enthusiast myself, and one of the primary reasons I kept refusing to take them anywhere was their messy rooms. I'd send them upstairs to clean, and either they would disappear for the next several hours (without their rooms getting much cleaner), or they would come back a few minutes later to tell me they had finished . . . though an inspection would inevitably reveal a laundry basket or box filled with all the things they didn't want to clean up stashed somewhere. Once I found three such boxes and baskets left out on the balcony--classy, right? I would have been excited for them to start school, but that has been a bone of contention with the older two as well. I have felt that a return to the Montessori school Asher attended last year would be the best choice for them, while they have both insisted that attending the public middle school would be the best and "most normal" thing. Without going into excessive detail, let it suffice to say that I am neither "normal" nor middle school's biggest fan. It would be easier to wrestle them into agreeing with me if Aaron didn't agree with them as well--being outvoted is no fun. All of that has served to dramatically increase the length of my supply lists, not to mention my anxiety.
Somehow or other, however, we did manage to get everyone ready to start school at the end of the month. We attended orientation nights at both public schools (since the charter school starts a week after the others, we worked out a plan to test out both schools), and got the big stuff taken care of. Emerson and Sera both like their new teachers, and Asher and Addy seem happy with the public middle school, although I am already unnerved by the piles of homework. We're looking forward to trying out the other school next week, and hopefully coming to a decision before too long. Until then, it's just me and the piles of laundry. And the slow trudge toward cleaning out all those "secret spaces" from shoe and linen closets to the dark recess of the kids' closets that I know are never going to magically clean themselves. I find myself asking frequently "when did I sign up to be a maid?" One way or other, I hope using this "weak arm" of mine will somehow make me stronger in the end.
