Hostages

I am an extrovert. I love to talk to people, I love to be around people, I love to meet new people, I love being out of my house among people. If I am tired before doing any of these things, I am energized afterward. If I am gloomy or depressed or overwhelmed, doing any of these things will temporarily lift my mood and set me on a better path. If I have anxiety or am nervous, doing any of these things will help ease that out of my being.

As a mom of three small kids, though, I am not able to get out to do these things on my own. I am fortunate to have a husband who understands me. He is great about letting me out of the house to go for a run, meet a friend for coffee or attend a meeting with my moms group. However, he is only home for a couple of hours a day. He works quite a distance from our home and his commute is quite long.

Meanwhile, if I want to be among other adult people I have to take my small people along with me. I have been on countless play dates to different locations. I always enjoy meeting a friend and her kids at a park and chatting while the kids play.

The fly in the ointment has always been Jeremy. I have discussed at length how his diagnosis and symptoms can seem anti-social, even aggressive. I have witnessed them first-hand. We were at a friend's house a few years ago and he threw a train at one of his friends. In Jeremy's mind it was justifiable. I obviously corrected the behavior but the damage was done. A few months after that, while at his other friend's birthday party, he scratched his friend's face. We didn't know about this incident until later so we were unable to correct the behavior immediately. This was, according to Jeremy, one of his best friends.

Over the past couple of years, we have explained to Jeremy time and again that his behavior was going to lead to him not being invited places. This is something he couldn't understand, something I couldn't convince him of.

I, on the other hand, have seen the invitations to play dates all but dry up. I'm Jeremy's mom. He is my flesh and blood. It absolutely breaks my heart that we are not invited to people's houses as frequently anymore. My feelings absolutely get hurt because I know he's not being invited to parties. I absolutely want to knock on people's doors and beg for another chance, beg for them to see past his behaviors.

But I don't. And I can't. And that breaks my heart even more. I love these friends of his and their families. I have spent time with their children and have affection for them. If my son was having a train chucked at him, I wouldn't rush to invite that friend over again. I would avoid any attempt to cultivate future play dates. It would break my heart to have to explain that, for my son's safety, I can't allow him to play with your child.

There is a part of me that wishes Jeremy could correlate the consequences of the lack of play dates with his negative behavior. In the past week, he has gotten two notes sent home because of extremely negative behavior. Today the note explained that he pushed his friends. When I asked him which friend, he mentioned the name of a girl who has been very kind to him both at school and AWANA. I was outraged! I admonished him for what he did, I sent him to his room (away from me and Bekah, which is where he always wants to be) and I had to stop myself from digging out the e-mail address of the girl's mom, to apologize to her for Jeremy's behavior.

I can't learn that lesson for him, though. It's going to be one he'll hopefully figure out on his own. It's unfortunate that he's already burned so many bridges because he's only in kindergarten. My hope is that as he continues to receive help, he will be able to change his behavior and seek to mend relationships.

Meanwhile, I have had an epiphany. It's tough to be Jeremy's mom in this situation. I am 35 and I understand, sometimes slowly, when I am getting the brush-off. This is not about how other moms have treated me--this post is speaking to the realization that Jeremy's behavior is robbing me of opportunities to be social. I see now that it must be difficult to tell a friend that you can't allow your child to be around their child. It's easier to just avoid eye contact, make bland excuses, to be cordial but detached.

It's because the time we spend alone, just as moms, is so brief that makes this situation difficult for someone like me. If I want to spend more time with another mom, more than likely I'm going to spend time with a mom whose kids are compatible with mine. Time spent out after hours, if you will, with other moms is going to grow out of the time you spend with those same moms.

Anyone who talks to me knows I'm insanely scheduled. I am a part of the McHenry Chapter of Mothers & More, attend MOPS, attend church and am part of another fellowship. I am connected in every possible way. There are few nights, if any, in a week when I am not busy. I do this because it gives me more opportunities to meet other moms, to get out of the house, to do the things that energize, calm and focus me. Now that Jeremy is in school all day, I figure it's more likely that I can fellowship with other moms. It's still a tough thing because Bekah attends preschool 5 days a week, but it gives me more chances to get out of the house and at interacting with other adults.

This is not meant to be a morose post. I am just starting to understand that while the consequences of Jeremy's behavior effect me, they are not caused by me. I am not Jeremy's puppetmaster. I can't control him or his behavior. I am seeing this more clearly than I ever have before.

I will not, however, let Jeremy's behavior take me completely hostage. I treasure the friendships I've made over the past couple of years. I appreciate that not everyone is going to be a confidante. I have taken even more advantage of the moms programs offered locally. I get out at night whenever I can.

Tonight was a great example. Jeremy came home with this note about his behavior. He was acting surly and brooding and I felt really overwhelmed. I talked to Brian about it for a while. I brooded about it for a while. Then, I was fortunate enough to have to attend a budget meeting for one of my mom's groups. I was afraid I wasn't going to be able to maintain my composure. I don't have answers about Jeremy's behavior and I feel powerless and weak.

The reality was I never mentioned Jeremy while at this meeting. I was happy to have a distraction, to have two other adult women with whom to interact. I was grateful I didn't have to put my own kids to bed. I was grateful to see my friend and her husband struggle (a bit) to get their kids to bed. I was able to have a conversations that wasn't punctuated with screams and fighting for which I was responsible to quell.

It was a little slice of heaven, honestly. I am already counting the hours until Friday night when I will join other moms to play Bunco. Hopefully I'll have my voice back by then (my real voice, not my sultry French-cafe singing voice). I will continue to pray fervently that Jeremy can make a connection between his behavior and it's consequences. I will pray that God will bring someone into his life who can help him. I will pray that God will give his educators and Brian and me wisdom about how to deal with him.

Meanwhile, I will spend as much time as possible with other moms not talking about him. I will go out and not worry about how bedtime goes. I will enjoy my friends' company and not apologize for the umpteenth time for my son's behavior. When I do have the chance to take him on a playdate, I will pray for peace. I will do what I can to help mitigate Jeremy's behavior but otherwise I will let him be and I will chat.

It's taken me a long time to articulate all of this. I've come to some peace about it but that doesn't entirely remove the sting of Jeremy being rejected. I guess I'll have to pray about that as well.

I'll Be Brief...

So very exhausted from a full day. I am feeling overwhelmed and anxious about so many things. I want to collapse into bed but I think I'll write a bit, just to keep the rhythm going.

Every day is not packed to the gills with activity. However, I have an issue with time management and scheduling. Therefore, the days that are packed are really, really packed. Today was such a day. Had another tough drop-off with Jeremy at school. It's become the new pattern. He's fine all the way to school, gives me, Bekah and Doug hugs and kisses, goes in the cafeteria to put his backpack and lunchbox down. I start walking away and he races out ahead of me, stops in front of the stroller and crosses his arms that he doesn't want me to leave.

It started last Monday and was, at the time, an isolated occurrence. My dad intervened that day and I walked away to the sound of Jeremy saying, "mommy....bekah...mommy...come back." Good times. It got better the next day and was better for the week. It started again this Monday and I thought maybe it was just about it being Monday. Unfortunately it's not but fortunately the school has great staff who have started intervening for me. It still is awful to walk away from him but now I'm not worried about his safety.

We raced home from that to go to preschool for Bekah, then back home for speech with Doug. I have decided to give up BSF (Bible Study Fellowship) this year so that Doug can have a morning appointment with his speech therapist. It got too difficult to amuse Bekah for the hour that Kathleen, his speech therapist, was there. We tried various approaches with Bekah and none worked well. It seems less painless for everyone to have speech when Bekah is in school and Doug is fresh.

I am incredibly bummed to give up BSF, but I figure it's just for this year and then I will have three kids in school on a regular basis. I still attend MOPS and church and for right now that's quite enough for me.

Meanwhile, we are still struggling a bit. My mom always told me I would either have money or time (usually not both). I am working at teaching people how to incorporate whole grains (not breakfast cereal whole grains but actual, real live whole grains) into their family's diet. I had hoped it would be a quick way to make money but it's turning out to take some time building my business, which is fine. Meanwhile, I make all of our bread and bread products. (Time, not money in this case.)

I've been bartering with my bread and also trying to figure out how to use the bread as a ministry. I really feel led by God to use it in a way that can bless people. I finally got plugged into a ministry where it will be put to good use, so I committed to making 10 loaves of bread. This is on top of our family's normal 5-loaf bread batch. That's 15 loaves of bread! Crazy business but again time, not money.

But this is where my time management and my ambition usually collide. I learned today that in the future it will be better if I make some bread on Tuesday and some on Wednesday. Trying to make essentially three batches of bread on an already crowded day was perhaps a bit nuts.

Meanwhile, I had to drop off the loaves at a friend's house, then take Jeremy to his occupational therapy appointment and then take Jeremy and Bekah to AWANA.

I got overwhelmed with all of it and so was driving madly home (while exercising extreme caution) so that I could put my running clothes on and hit the pavement. I had a pretty good run and still felt anxious and overwhelmed afterwards, but it was diminished. These kind of days dare me to pick something unhealthy up in an attempt to cope. It would be easy to pick up a bottle, fill a bowl up with ice cream or just space out to TV. The relief is temporary and ends up with more problems in the long run.

I've been trying to not do carbs after 2 PM. So far I've not done well but I am more conscious about what I'm putting in my body after 2 PM. To this point in my weight-loss journey, sometimes just having a conscious thought about what's going into my body is what I need to make those tough choices and stop the bad habits.

Okay, enough for today. I'm not sharing my day to brag--I'm sharing it to demonstrate how blessed I am to provide for my family even without working a traditional job. Today I followed Colossians 3:23-24--"whatever you do, work at it with all your heart as working for the Lord, not human masters, since you know you will receive an inheritance." I'm completely exhausted but I feel wonderful knowing I followed God's commandments.

An Open Letter to Me

I was talking about something tonight and it made me think about myself in high school. I've blogged about it before. I am a late bloomer and I'm talking late as in post-high school. I started wondering what, if anything, my current self would say to my former self. Kind of a Big/13 Going on 30 moment. Here's how I think it would go. 

Dear Sue:

I know you hate high school. I see you, when no one else does, eating your feelings. I know you feel misunderstood and left out. I know you hoped that managing the basketball team would make you cooler. It didn't. 

I know you had hoped that one boy would notice you and ask you to the prom. He didn't. Or that the teacher would have caught the boy who bullied you in the act. I know you wanted to have a well-attended Sweet 16 party (or at all attended). 

I know you feel invisible everywhere. There are not the confidantes where you had hoped there would be. Your body is not cooperating with you and I know how frustrating that feels. I've seen you cry in your room when jeans and t-shirts don't hide the multiple folds of fat. 

I know you feel like a geek because you didn't want to break the pasta bridge you made for physics class. You feel wimpy because you go in the hallway when your classmates view graphic slides in history class. The angst you pour into your poetry seems dramatic but I know it feels and is real. 

Your family of origin is fractured and broken. Your parents aren't the people you need them to be. Your church family is scattered, your church life is not what you hoped it would be. 

Friendships are fleeting. Trying to make friends is like trying to grab broken eggshells out of the skillet, elusive and hard to grab. You are popular because you drive and have a car but friendships don't extend courtesy and warmth beyond the end of the car ride. 

I wish I could tell you the moment when the flaws you perceive will turn into assets. It's a little squidgy, honestly. It gets far worse before it starts to improve. You will lose the faith of your only allies, your family. You will alienate what few friends you scrape together. You will end up mostly homeless. 

Just as you feel the subfloor underneath you, cool and hard, God will intervene. You will have cried out to him as your cheeks presses against the concrete. He has been standing by, in the shadows, waiting for you to ask for help. 

Over time, a long time, time that will seem to creep by in days measure by seconds, you will begin to know yourself better. Your body still won't fully cooperate. Don't fret, the muscles you carved during swim practice will help you grow to love running. You will run multiple marathons. Marinate on that. 

The angst that you felt will help you parent a child who struggles to contain his emotions. Remember the juice stain on your wall, where you threw the juice box in a fit of rage? That will help you empathize with a son who almost comes unglued when a friend wants to pop a balloon. 

Your writing will help you process your life. You will not be rich and famous, but to be fair most writers aren't. Poets especially aren't. You will still struggle to make sense of your checkbook. Your car will still make you popular but mostly with the under 5 set. 

You will still be bullied, though not as often. Those in authority still won't see it and the pain will be dull and headache-inducing. 

In exchange for slowly fitting into your skin, you will receive gifts you didn't know to ask for. You will be popular but it won't earn you invites to parties. It will earn you sloppy kisses, bear hugs and all the smiles your heart can hold. 

You will finally learn how to cook and you'll be surprised to find out how good things taste. Your body is soft, this time from giving life to three different people, but your cooking will help change that. 

You will still get low. You will still shy away from gore, violence and ugliness. Your heart will still be tender, but now you have friends and people in your life who appreciate (not exploit) it. 

I guess what I'm trying to say is....hang in there. Your life isn't even a quarter over. Take a deep breath. Don't take yourself too seriously. Don't apologize for who you are--embrace it. That's what people will eventually love the most about you.

You. 

Sincerely,

Sue

Starting Over Again

I have talked at length about my love for running. I talked about how I've run marathons, half-marathons, 10Ks, 5Ks. It is different to be someone who used to run marathons. It's a feeling that looks like a deflated balloon. I have felt good, over the last couple of months, slowly building miles and endurance. It is not the best experience ever every time my shoes hit the pavement.

Last Friday was a perfect example of that.

I typically run at night. Usually, I head out the door for a run as soon as Brian hits the door on his way home. It's the perfect time of day for me. My head hurts thinking about getting up at 4:30 for a run. Any later than 7:00 PM and it starts getting dark. I live in a good neighborhood but I don't like running when I can't see into hidden corners.

There are times, though, that I need to vary my routine. Friday night I was heading out to a friend's house so I couldn't go running when Brian came home. No problem, I figured, I will drop Bekah off at preschool, toss Doug in the jogging stroller and off I go. I have done this one or two times and it's been fine. However, I forgot to take into account that previously I had a lot of walking breaks in my running program. (I'm following the 8-week program on the Running for Weight Loss Pro app. It started out with a lot of run/walking but has morphed into all running.)

Doug weighs almost 30 pounds. The jogging stroller is a few years old so it's not as lightweight as it could be, but it's still better than a typical stroller. Easy peasy, I thought.

Wrong. Apparently, there's a huge difference walking a 30-pound infant in a jogging stroller and jogging with said infant. I do everything I can to edit the run in a way that minimizes hills. I'm just not there yet. Maybe next summer it will be a different story. Even so, there are a few low-grade hills. They are mildly challenging when jogging on my own. Pushing Doug felt like I was trying to hike Everest with no oxygen. I was out of breath and worse yet my quads were screaming at me.

The program uses intervals to increase endurance and boost weight loss. I'm not a sprinter by trade but I like to push myself now and then. I don't run fast (typically a 13:30 min/mile) but am running faster than I was last year (15:30 min/mile). I just heard from a friend that running between a 10:00 min/mile and 12:00 min/mile is optimum. I hope, by next spring, to get close to that.

On a good day, when I have to sprint at 100% of my maximum intensity I have good form, arms pumping by my side, long strides, good breathing. Friday, however, I was lucky to get to 75% of the intensity for either the 80% or 100% portions. It didn't help that the air was heavy, but the heavy air combined with the heavy infant spelled doom.

I have been shooting for 3 running days a week. On the other days, I pop in a Leslie Sansone DVD and sweat in front of my TV. I even rest some days. I was never more grateful to be done with a run than I was on Friday. It's outings like that when I start to doubt my ability as a runner. I start to doubt that I will ever again be Sue Carbajal, marathon finisher.

And then I stop for a minute. The beauty is, I will always be Sue Carbajal, marathon finisher. Just because I'm fighting to get back to finishing a 5K doesn't mean I've been stripped of my previous finishes and accomplishments. After I finished my first Chicago Marathon in 2004, I had my picture, my bib and my medal framed. It hangs over Doug's changing table as a constant reminder to me that I am more than capable.

I have never met any elite runners. To me, anyone who runs faster than a 10:00 min/mile over long distances (greater than 3 miles) is an elite runner. I don't know if I'll ever get there myself and that's okay. Elite runners put their pants on the same as I do--one leg at a time. I'm sure that even they have runs that don't go exactly as planned. It probably frustrates them as much as it frustrates me.

Luckily, the story doesn't end there. I got organized today and had dinner ready for everyone before Brian got home. I had to fight to get out the door, as usual. Jeremy likes to try and sneak out with me. I've learned the hard way that the kids don't run in the traditional sense. They run at continental drift pace while exploring nature and complaining about tired legs. Not my style. I fought my way out and was rewarded with a great run.

The air was crisp and dry, the temperature was cool but not cold and my clothes all stayed in place. (This has become an issue because none of my performance wear fits anymore. The 40-pound weight loss has made me too small for all of it which is great but my lack of funds means that I am struggling to find things to wear while running. Currently it's either a worn-out pair of sweatpants or a worn-out pair of cotton shorts with a rip in the one leg.) My sprints were great, I wasn't huffing and puffing and I finished strong. I got home to find some peace with the kids, sat down to a great meal of pork pad thai (homemade, yum!) and reminded myself that I will always be Sue Carbajal, marathon finisher. In the words of the Gershwin brothers, "they can't take that away from me."