I'm beginning to think I'm never going to have a quiet week.
School started. Web redesign at work. iPhone app development. Band camp. Marching season.
So, um, sorry. More to come. Until then, a photo of our one quiet, relaxing weekend: A hole created by rushing water, Pendernales Falls, Texas. Sort of a metaphor for what I have to push through to get through the collection of things I need to accomplish lately. :-)
To say our teen daughter was upset, full of angst, and depressed really doesn't cover it. She was pleading for us to stay even after the house was sold, the car and moving van loaded, and we were driving through Oklahoma.
One year ago this weekend, we packed her scared -- though she'll never admit that -- sad self into a church van and waved goodbye. It was a retreat/camp for young teens, and we figured that would be the easiest way for her to make friends. She hated us for doing it.
I worried and fretted the entire time she was gone, by the way. Would she make friends? Would she sulk the entire time? Would she get hurt?
She was radiant upon return. Not only did she make friends, she climbed some insanely high cliff, grabbed a brass ring, and rappelled down. She was one of a very few who did that.
It was the first time she had smiled in weeks.
This year, one year later, she stuffed her bags again. She checked in, was immediately hugged by her friend Mary, and then bounded off to help. All smiles from the start.
There were consequences. Perhaps unintended. Perhaps the kind you didn't foresee because you didn't investigate the ramifications of your decision before you went ahead.
This has popped up a couple of times this past month for us.
The eldest was bummed at her graduation for a bit because she wasn't winning any scholarships. Name after name was called to be honored, but not hers.
We explained later that she didn't receive any scholarships because she didn't apply. She was going to the awesome public high school, the one with the awesome band program and architecture program. No scholarships needed.
Middle child runs into consequences all the time. He recently had to pony up $10 of hard-earned cash to replace the DS cord he gnawed to smithereens. (We're actually lucky Mr. Oral Fixation didn't electrocute himself. I'm sure he was doing it while it was plugged in.)
Youngest is learning all about consequences these days. That baby attitude won't fly when you are a five-going-on-six kindergartener-to-be.
It happens at work all the time. I know I'm not the only lone voice crying in the wilderness out there. More than once, I'm sure, we've all tried to point out the consequences of actions taken, only to have to deal with the messed-up results later.
You could even say that we, as Americans, are all dealing with consequences.
Most of us idly sat by and trusted our government to do its job. We didn't ask questions. We didn't push media outlets to investigate more when the past administration was pretty buddy-buddy with energy companies. We didn't ask questions about how quickly the new administration might make changes.
Now, with the Deepwater Horizon disaster, we are all suffering from unintended consequences. We didn't intend for this to happen. Nor did the engineers involved, I'm sure.
It happened all the same. Now we have to deal with our mess.
This week was already a mess of meetings and social media session prep.
Add in a dead dryer. An injured cat. Last-minute help to daughter filling out Jr. National Honor Society application. Um, some other stuff I can't remember.
Hey, scientists: How's that cloning thing coming? 'Cause I could use one. Or ten.
It was the episode of "Parenthood" last week that really hit me. The mom was trying to explain something to the teen daughter, trying to prove that her voice had value. The teen was, of course, blowing her off.
It took the dad taking the teen daughter to the park her mom helped create during her years on city staff to prove that mom not only had worth, mom did some pretty cool things pre-kids.
That's me. That's every one of my friends.
It's like we live two lives, constantly in tension. There's the Us-Who-Do-Career-Things. We do damn cool work. I've put together textbooks, edited and written stuff that city planning students are apparently forced to read as coursework. I've edited websites and alumni magazines.
Heck, I just presented at a major conference last week as an expert in a session. Scary, I know. But true.
My kids are oblivious. They only know me as Mom, washer of clothes, finder of stuff, cooker of food.
I have tried to show my eldest that I do cool things. Meh. She won't even read my books.
It isn't just Mommies who get this treatment, apparently. My husband presented at a different session. We were gone four days. We came back, the kids shrugged, and when we mentioned at dinner how our presentations went, the eldest looked at us funny and said, "You presented?"
Perhaps that is how it should be.
I never knew, until he was too old to care, that my crotchety grandfather was apparently well-known enough to win multiple awards for corn production, that he was one of the men on the board of our church who rebuilt the structure from scratch (although I do wish now he'd stuck to his opinion that they needed 12 more pews in back and put the choir in a true loft), who fought the county commission and had them construct a real bridge, rather than an old-fashioned ford crossing, over the creek near our family's farm.
But it sure would be nice for the younger generation to see that we have more than one facet of our identity, kwim?
It does not help that blogging non-work things is verboten in the current job, so by the time I make the commute home, make dinner, deal with kid crisis, laundry, and whatever freelance work is on my desk, I just haven't had it in me to write anything.
It isn't going to get better any time soon.
But we are alive. Easter was great. First Communion next. If you are in ACES, you'll be able to meet Mr. and Mrs. Mommy-Tracked, because we'll be in Philly presenting.
After that, it is home, 8th birthday party for the son, sleepover for the eldest. Then we crash.
So, maybe I'll be back. Maybe it will be May. But I"m alive.
A hole created by rushing water, Pendernales Falls, Texas. Sort of a metaphor for what I have to push through to get through the collection of things I need to accomplish lately. :-)
