Time marches on, ready or not. Lots happened in March, including a new job (yay!)…but also including B’s crossing from Cub Scouts to Boy Scouts. While this doesn’t sound like a big deal, it has really hit home the fact that my kids are all growing up way too quickly for my liking. Cub Scouts has been a part of our life for seven years, and it really has been a family adventure. I know other good things are to come, but in my reflection I came across this journal entry from years ago and thought it would be fun to share.
It’s important to understand that A only joined Cub Scouts last year (in 3rd grade) and only because his best friend was in scouts. So, we didn’t do any scout activities last year, besides the relatively mild meetings, Pinewood Derby, and banquet. However, he became an environmentalist in the process of the gifted program last year (they were GA River Keepers), and he wanted to go to the annual lake cleanup this year.
Since it was a cleanup at Lake Allatoona, I (wrongly) assumed that we’d be going somewhere around Acworth or Red Top Mountain to cleanup all the paper plates and beer cans left after Labor Day weekend. It wasn’t until I read the directions (this morning in the car as we were leaving) that I realized we were going to some remote scout campground up in Cartersville. As a side note, you’d think I would’ve learned to look at directions better after our trip to a Phish concert in the Seminole Indian Reservation…which was surprisingly NOT in Seminole, FL but actually 6 hours further south. Anyways, we were obviously late to the event this morning.
As we drove into the wilderness, I realized that I forgot to take my allergy medicine this morning. Then we pull into the only “parking space” left, which is surrounded by poison ivy on my side of the car. So, I have to climb across the car to get out. As we headed down a trail to where I thought I heard people, someone came by and mentioned that they just had to take the “other lady” to the hospital because she broke her arm. We found the rest of the group and got our trash bags for clean up…although this place didn’t look like it was inhabited enough to get messed up. We started heading over some rocks to walk around the edge of the lake in search of litter when B tripped and fell; then I lost control of my footing on the dewy rocks and fell flat on my butt. We were both ok, but I started thinking that we hadn’t gotten the best start.
E made a friend on the trail and I soon found myself in charge of five kids (we took A’s friend with us too). The older guys wanted to go up through the woods, the girls wanted to play at the edge of the lake, and B was climbing anything he could find. No one was finding any trash. We finally agreed on going through one of the trails in the woods right behind some of the “real” Boy Scouts. The funniest thing about this was that A and his buddy came along behind the big guys and found trash that the older guys missed…mostly fishing line. (I still don’t know how they spotted fishing line in the woods.) The woods were slightly nerve-wrecking because B kept touching everything. (Did I mention that there was plenty of poison ivy to be found?) But, the kids were having fun spotting toads, birds, and colorful mushrooms, so I just went with it.
Then it began…one child had to go to the bathroom…#2 (of course)…then they all had to go. We had recently passed a “bathroom” so we trekked back to it. Of course it wasn’t anything more than a hole in the ground with a seat over it and a hut built around it. There was certainly not any toilet paper. When I told the kids we’d need to pick some leaves, the boys giggled, E looked at me in horror, and B almost picked some poison oak. Thankfully, there was a low hanging maple tree branch that I could hold down and pull some nice big leaves off for the kids. Everyone survived, and I was thankful to have brought some hand sanitizer.
After our trek through the woods, it was lunchtime. Everyone was hungry and tore through the hot dogs, chips, and apples. Then, in a seemingly bizarre turn of events, the mayor of Kennesaw showed up to judge the dutch oven cook off (which we didn’t even know was going on). Oddly, I think everyone won some sort of prize, but we got to sample all that food too. There was everything from chili cornbread (awesome) to bacon-wrapped green beans (everything’s good in bacon) to cake and spiced apples. It made me think of dad and his dutch oven cobbler.
I thought we were leaving right after lunch, but the kids had other ideas. They wanted to go out on canoes. As soon as I agreed that we could do this, A got scared at the thought of tipping over and wanted to back out. I wanted to back out at the thought of letting the guys go by themselves (for their first time) and of going out myself with E and B. In the end, we all went and had a great time. A and his friend even managed to gather up some more trash among the reeds…until they saw a water snake and decided to come on back to shore.
When we got back to the car (and I climbed back through the passenger door), we all drank through half the case of water I brought. Everyone was hot, tired, muddy, and scraped up. Yet we all had a great time and were looking forward to our next scouting adventure.
P.S.-No one ended up with poison ivy, ticks, or sunburn!
Category: Uncategorized
Struggles of the Working/Volunteering/Staying Mom
Does any other mother (or father, for that matter) struggle with pinpointing their own parental identity? Is anyone “just” a working mom or stay-at-home mom these days? And why doesn’t anyone call themselves a volunteer mom? As I continue to climb the emotional mountain of sudden job loss coupled with the frustration of financial setbacks, it brings this issue back into the light for me.
Although I’ve lived in this do-it-all mentality for several years now, it was never my intention and it certainly didn’t come about by wanting to be that picture perfect mom who does it all. Way back before I got married, this was all discussed and figured out (at least in the best way you can do as a young adult with no experience and big dreams). We were on the same page about wanting a family and wanting me, when the time came, to stay home with the kids. Our friends were shocked at how my man could be so chauvinistic and how I could whack away at feminist gains. We ignored all that because we knew what we wanted, knew they weren’t going to be an integral part of it, and knew why we wanted it to be that way. (From two different angles, we felt it was the best possible way to raise decent humans up into this crazy world.)
We had it all nicely figured out…how we’d never live off my income and would save it all up for the family to come someday. We knew that we’d share the workload of the house while we both worked, then I would take it all on as my job when the kids came along. I’d stay home until all the kids were off to school, then jump back into a “real” job and go back to sharing the house load. Yet the reality was quite different…my income mostly seeped into a trip here and a concert there and was eventually wiped clean when we bought a house. I worked and went to school when we were first married (varying degrees of part time and full time for both paths), and it stayed that way until I graduated college less than two months before our first baby was born. The workload around the house was never quite 50/50 (partially because I wanted things done when I felt they should be done and partially because I lack confidence in speaking up about needing help). Of course, once the kids had all started school I discovered a few facts we hadn’t counted on. First, finding a job that will work with a school schedule has odds similar to winning the lottery. Second, the schools and the activities are in desperate need of volunteers. Third, the kids actually seem to need more attention, supervision, and direction as they get older (not to mention driving to and fro).
So all of these things lead to a culmination of craziness, as I’ve lived for the past ten years or so. I started out falling prey to various companies that gave promises of flexibility, being your own boss, etc…and I have nothing good to say about those multi-level marketing companies. I’ve known people “at the top” and seen through the lies…that’s all I’ve got to say about that. Next, I went through an array of work-from-home jobs thanks to some serious networking…but they were all just long-term projects that eventually ended. Then I moved on to jobs in the education/child-care realm. I diligently searched and hoped for a job in the school (but sub positions never seem to be open, and the parapro certification I acquired didn’t bring me squat). If the church offered short-term paid positions (from childcare to teaching ESL), I took them. When an opening came up in a local preschool, I jumped on it…and discovered some shocking business facts about daycare, making me extra thankful that I didn’t have to put my children in daycare and leading to that being just a one-time venture. (Don’t flip out on me, I’m sure there are plenty of fine daycares…) Finally, I discovered the world of freelancing and eventually scored a long term contract doing something I came to love…writing about family events, writing procedures, and cleaning up databases. (Yes, I know how geeky that sounds.) I’m thankful for the time I had, but sad that it only lasted 3 1/2 years.
During the time I worked on that contract, I became increasingly aware that I was taking on the persona of that “do-it-all” mom. Those around me joked about me being super-mom, but I never felt worthy of the title. I never wanted that image, particularly because I know the stronghold that can lead to in other parents…trying to keep pace with that false sense of doing everything. While it was true in a technical sense, it was never true in the successful sense. Sure, I was working 30 or more hours a week, volunteering 10 or more hours a week, taking care of the house, helping with homework, running kids all over town, cooking dinner, helping at church, visiting family, etc. However, I was exhausted and certainly not giving 100% to everything every time. I tried to keep it real when talking with friends or on social media, but it’s a very fine line between being positive and bragging as well as between keeping yourself humble and complaining. Truth-be-told (and finances aside), it was a mental relief when the job went away, and has given me a much-needed vacation of sorts to catch up on things around the house, help with more volunteer stuff, and take time to actually play with the kids again.
But now I’ve come full circle in the working aspect of things. After looking into a few opportunities, I’ve come to the realization that I need to keep plugging away at the freelance thing…whether it’s just one-time projects as often as possible or a long-term contract. This go ’round of job searching is a little different though; I’m working on a future plan by teaching myself database management (thanks to those who encouraged me and saw my potential in that area). Of course, this doesn’t answer my identity question, but I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one out there. So instead of calling myself a stay-at-home mom, a working mom, or a volunteer mom…I think I’ll just go with “mom” and be satisfied with the knowledge that we’re all in this together, no matter what we’re doing in the moment.
I’m looking forward to your comments, the verbal beatings will keep me humble and those who understand me will keep me going. 😉
Violet
Count your Blessings & Climb those Obstacles
Am I the only one who feels like they’re living near the edge of a cliff?
Perhaps in the view of a lifetime, this is just a season I’m going through. However, it seems like most of my adult life has been careening way too closely to major pitfalls. I’m continually thankful to avoid the actual pits, but I often wonder why I’m so close to the dangers to begin with. Is it simply how everyone’s life is? Is it just the choices I make? Is it just a matter of perspective?
I go ’round and ’round on this, but always come back to one thought: I think God keeps me on this path because it’s the only path where I stay humble and thankful. It probably sounds naive or ridiculous, but the times when I’m struggling are the times when I realize just how much worse things could be. Don’t get me wrong, I have to continually fight the overwhelming feelings of wanting to just give up and I’m fully aware (thanks to my friends’ glances and comments) that I seem to have a high quantity of “bad luck” or “tough times” or whatever you want to call it. I’m also fully aware of the “she’s crazy” looks I get when I talk about whatever situation might be worse than whatever I’m in.
Obviously, I’m in one of those seasons right now. My knee is improving, but slowly (and at a costly rate with physical therapy). We all eventually succumbed to the flu after Thanksgiving, but made it through. It took a toll on the oldest’s grades at the end of the first high school semester, caused us all to really work together to make decorating and fun happen, and gave me the motivation to do much of my Christmas shopping online; however we were all well for Christmas and New Year weeks. (Which is certainly more than I can say for many friends…) Things were looking up there for a bit and I was so proud of choices our family was making–everyone made sure to send church offerings from their Christmas money, we were all being positive and enjoying the days off together, and plans were being made for the upcoming year.
Then IT happened…the world began crumbling again. The unsettled feelings I’d been having about my job came to fruition and I found out that one of my two departments was folding immediately. (The other department claims to be intact, but it certainly seems like the end is in sight.) Then the oldest came home from the first day back at school with a high fever and flu-like symptoms. (As of this moment, the doctor is sure he has something “nasty” but all tests are negative.) Now I’m back to the near panic of not knowing how long the bills will be “easily” paid and feeling like I need to prepare myself for the possibility of house-wide illness (along with cancelled plans) for who knows how long.
Despite all this, I still feel peace. My brain’s running a mile a minute, my prayers are running a mile a second, and that edge of anxiety is there. Yet, I am not worried. You might think that means I’m delusional, but I believe this is the oft quoted “peace that passes understanding.” Perhaps it’s easier for me to have it because I know my parents won’t let us end up living on the street. Perhaps it’s also because I know my faith isn’t hollow…God has guided and protected us more times than I can count. I know that our feet will land where we need to be, as long as we’re trusting and following.
So for all those suffering right now (from job loss to depression to illness), if you can’t see beyond the darkness, focus your thoughts on each and every little thing that is right…that is a blessing. You will get over, under, or through whatever your current obstacle…then make sure to appreciate it when you get there.
Happy New Year!
Be Careful What You Say
Since starting this blog, I’ve really had to test my own strength…both emotionally and physically. The irony of my blog title has not been lost on me, and makes me think about how you should be careful what you claim; you might just be tested on it.
I was in the middle of doing something that I do everyday–walking down the stairs from tucking in my youngest. Somewhere near the top I misstepped and suddenly found myself halfway down the stairs, lying on my left leg (folded in half behind me) and with a lovely rug burn on my right arm. Nothing seemed broken, as I could hobble down the rest of the stairs, but the following hours brought on some nasty pains and a trip to urgent care. I’ll spare you the boring details (especially since I’m still in the midst of it all), but it certainly has been an enlightening experience.
For a month now, I’ve been saying how much I’d like a break and a chance to just sit and work for a day–this wasn’t what I had in mind. I was “tired” of running errands and having places to be–now I wish I could do more (without getting that ugly look from my hubby). I even had found myself in a place where I was mentally grumbling about interrupting my work at night to tuck children in–now I miss going up and down those stairs a few times every night. Funny how you get what you (think you) want only to find the complaints rolling off your tongue once you get there.
As I was starting to heal enough to do a little more, I was probably poised to overdo it this weekend, so problem number two struck: a sick child down with the flu. Now, funny enough, I’m less concerned about myself and more concerned about my “baby” and praying that no one else gets sick (don’t give me too much kudos though, I’m also selfishly worried about getting sick too). This all reminds me of the joke about giving God a good laugh by telling him your plans.
So, as we roll into the week of Thanksgiving, I’m certainly not physically strong and I’m mentally spent with concerns over taking care of the family, doing up my hubby’s 40th birthday “right,” laundry, shopping, the looming medical bills, Thanksgiving excitement, Friday shopping, and decorating for Christmas (we won’t even talk about the cleaning that should be taking place). In other words, I’m probably like most of you out there. You may not have the same circumstances that I do, but my “old age” tells me that almost everyone has something looming over them at one time or another.
Thanks to my experiences and my neighbor (for sharing a similar sentiment on Facebook), I’ll fight the good fight to focus on all that I have to be thankful for and, most importantly, I’ll pray for everyone out there to fight through whatever illness, troubles, or sadness that plagues them.
Love you all & Happy Thanksgiving,
Violet
What am I Getting Myself Into?
People have suggested I write a blog, some have even suggested I write a book. I’ve considered both on many occasions, since I find myself frequently composing stories in my mind (and sometimes on paper). I’ve always stopped short of committing to either of these because I don’t have confidence in myself. I wonder if anything I have to say will be interesting or helpful to anyone…outside of being cathartic for myself. Yet I return to the possibility, simply because writing gives me joy. It offers me a similar experience to that of scrapbooking–the chance to relive something significant to me and to preserve it for later enjoyment or pondering.
Of course, I’d be lying if I didn’t say all this was spurred on by my job. I’m a freelance writer, in the loosest sense of the term. Much of my time is spent in fixing poorly worded things or in rewording other people’s descriptions for my purposes. Don’t get me wrong–I LOVE my job. I make okay money (does anyone ever think they make “enough”?), I get to work from home, I can wiggle my hours around to fit my schedule (ok, the kids’ schedules), I work “with” a fabulous chick in Portland, and I get to seek fun family events to share with strangers around the country. Since there’s no such thing as a stable job, it only makes sense to further my skill set. In this case, having internet-published work that proves I (occasionally) know how to spell things might just make a difference in the next job someday.
Now, you may be wondering about the title of this blog. You might even say it’s too vague or doesn’t demonstrate what I’ll be blogging about. It’s just one of those phrases that has rung a chord with me for years now. While it first came to me from yoga, it’s about more than just physical strength–it signifies stillness, faith, and passion. So, the title is more about who I am than about my material. I’ll likely write about a little bit of everything–some things that I share with my closest peeps and some things that I probably wouldn’t talk about in person.
My blog name comes from way back, in a way that even most people close to me don’t know. My grandma used to call me this occasionally when I was young, because some kids made fun of my name. She said I was her beautiful little Violet, and would grow to become as beautiful as any flower. Not fully trusting in that last part, I chose a violet (well, that’s what it’s supposed to be) as my one and only tattoo. I had big plans to grow that tattoo with other pieces of me and my life’s journey (including a cross, clover, and a windmill) but money doesn’t grow on trees and there are way better things to spend my money on now. Regardless, that nickname has grown within me over the years…it’s just one of those quirky things that I can’t fully explain.
Feel free to post comments or not, forward this on to friends or not…I just hope you get something from my rambling, and I thank you for giving my words a few of your precious minutes. Now, in the words of a fantastic musician I know, “Let’s Kick this Thing!”
Violet
Standing Strength 