Ah, the middle school experience.
I thought I was done with it. I was pretty sure I'd done my time. Those two years at WAMS should have been the end of my sentence.
Rite of Passage: check.
Then I took a job working with an afterschool program at the local middle school. And I find myself in a position to watch other kids go through that right of passage.
I've only
mentioned the job once, but it actually makes up a large part of my
day-to-day. It's definitely an experience. I get to see kids at the beginnings of their selves. I get to watch them make decisions about the people they want to be. I get to see them think things through and grow in maturity. And I also get to see them in the moments where what's left of their innocence shines through in some of great ways.
Of course, it's not always great. Some days they make me crazy. Some days the behavior can be overwhelming and confusing. Some days we have to laugh because it's the only way to deal. You'll hear about those, trust me. Because even if I have to change names, I plan to document some of my experiences here. Because some of my stories are absolute gems of the "you can't make this stuff up" variety.
So I'm starting that today. But instead of jumping into the challenging stuff, I'm gonna talk about the good from today. There were a few hiccups with the kids, but the good was stronger than the bad, and I laughed more than I sighed.
Today I found myself really impressed by one of the boys.
We went outside so the kids could play soccer. One team was arguing over who was going to play goalie because no one wanted to. Finally I asked the other teacher to think of a number between 1 and 6 (the number of players we had on the team) and I counted off the kids. The kid whose number matched the one the other teacher was thinking of did not want to be goalie. He complained about not wanting to "just stand there."
Then I heard another kid say, "Hey Matt, I'll be goalie. It's cool." I was skeptical. Some of the kids get lazy and don't like to participate. I asked him, "Why? Because you want to "just stand there"?
And he said, "No, because Matt's mom wants to watch him play."
I was taken aback in the best way. I had forgotten that Matt's mother was standing nearby to watch the game, but Juan saw that she was there. He understood how much it would mean not only for Matt's mom to get to watch her son play, but also for Matt to play for his mom.
I hate to say it, but I don't always see that kind of thing. That kind of consideration and caring, and yes, self-sacrifice, because that's kind of a big deal for a bunch of kids who had just spent 5 minutes arguing about who was going to play that position. It made me happy. It was one of those things that makes you forget all of the bad stuff. And since then I've been bragging about him to anyone who would listen.
___________________________________
And just as a bonus, a cute interaction:
Jose: Ow. My head hurts.
Me: Did you hit the soccer ball with your head?
Jose: Yes.
Me: Dennis did that earlier, he didn't hurt his head. Does Dennis have a harder head than you?
Jose: I don't know.
Me: Hey Dennis, do you have a harder head than Jose?
Dennis
(who has a really cute, Spanish accent that makes "yes" sound more like
"jes"): Um, yes, it got stronger because my mom dropped me twice.
I don't know if that's very cute to you, but I think it's absolutely adorable. I dunno, maybe I'm just a little bias and a little attached. Some of these kids I just can't help but like.
Friday, October 18, 2013
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Phobias and Superstitions (aka hang-ups)
I learned a long time ago that we are only born with two fears: the fear of falling from high places, and the fear of loud noises. Every other fear we have is learned.
I'm not afraid of those two things. In fact, while I'm sure I did fear those things at one point in time, I have no recollection of it. I did, however, pick up some phobias somewhere along the way.
I use the term "phobia" because by definition, it suits my issues best.
pho·bi·a n.
I don't take them seriously, but I definitely observe them. Isn't that weird? To "observe" fears? Honestly, I more so feel that I just have a bunch of neurosis. By defintion, I have phobias, but that word tends to carry a lot more weight. I like to call them "hang-ups."
I thought I'd share.
1. I don't like having my feet exposed to whatever may be lurking under the bed even though I know there's nothing there. If I have to turn off all the lights before I'm in bed, I have a very small window of time to cross the room before slight panic and the adrenaline that enables me to harness all the power of an Olympic jumper kicks in. Oh, and my feet can't hang over the bed in the dark, either.
2. I knock on wood. ALL THE TIME. Whether I say something that I don't want to happen, or just think it. I feel the need to fix it by knocking on wood. This helps to keep all kinds of bad things from happening. Like if someone says, "Is so-and-so still alive?" and they are, you KNOCK ON WOOD. It will save their life. Then you yell at whoever just tried to kill them for being so insensitive.
3. I don't step on cracks in the sidewalk for fear or affecting my mother's back. And I've never been quite sure whether that applies to just the cracks that form in the sidewalk over time, or also the cracks that separate one cement block from the next, so I avoid both. And if I accidentally step on one, I knock on wood.
4. I don't look at mirrors in the dark. In fact, I hurry out of rooms with large mirrors (like the bathroom) as quickly as I can as soon as I turn off the light. Bloody Mary? No, thanks. I also don't keep exposed mirrors in my bedroom and always make sure my hand mirror is turned down before I sleep. There's a lot of lore that comes with mirrors that I don't really believe in, but am still aware of. Seriously, a while back I stayed with my friend's in-laws for about a minute and there was a HUGE mirror in the room. Very pretty in the day, I'm sure, but I needed a nap. I chose to ignore it. I was really tired.
5. I always throw salt over my left shoulder if I spill the salt. Even if I'm picking up the shaker because someone else knocked it over and neglected to pick it up. Because there's a chance that I could have spilled some of the salt while picking it up. Then I'm pretty sure that would be on me.
6. Hollywood ghost children scare me. I love scary movies and I would even love someday to go on a ghost tour in the South, but ghost children in movies and shows freak me out. I love "Doctor Who", but there's a two-part episode that I have a love/hate relationship with simply because it has a scary ghost child. One of those AYAOTD? episodes that freaks me out? Ghost child. 'Nuff said.
So those are my hang ups. I mean, I still don't walk under ladders or open umbrellas in the house, and I'm not saying I've never felt uneasy in certain real-world situations, but those are the only "big" phobias and superstitions I'm really aware of and observe.
The funny thing is that I'm actually one of those people who tends to think that nothing bad can happen to them. It's not the best way to be, but I always feel kind of stubbornly secure. I'll do certain things and go certain places and take certain risks without thinking twice. But even as I'm typing this now, I have this urge to knock on wood and I will knock on wood because I feel like I'm tempting fate or God or something even though I know that's not the way things work.
I just have these things that stop me up for a minute.
We all have them, even if ours aren't the same. And if you can't relate to mine, then you could at least laugh at mine. And then imagine that maybe someone could laugh at yours. And if you have a fear that's laughable, then that's not really something you need to worry about, is it?
I'm not afraid of those two things. In fact, while I'm sure I did fear those things at one point in time, I have no recollection of it. I did, however, pick up some phobias somewhere along the way.
I use the term "phobia" because by definition, it suits my issues best.
pho·bi·a n.
1.
A persistent, abnormal, and irrational fear of a specific thing or
situation that compels one to avoid it, despite the awareness and
reassurance that it is not dangerous.
Key words higlighted.
I know better! I really do. I know how stupid some of my fears are, but I'm inclined to believe that there are some childhood scares you never fully get over. Years later and the memory alone of a few particular episodes of "Are You Afraid of the Dark?" can give me the heebie jeebies. Seriously, chills run up my spine. And I know I can't be the only one!
So you have these childhood fears you can never quite shake and they follow you into adulthood to mix with a special batch of inhibitions developed a little later on in life. This usually leaves you with a decent amount of irrationalities. Nothing crippling, nothing you actually couldn't beat, just stuff that sneaks up on you every now and then.
Which would be an okay place to be. And is where I imagine most people are. And it's pretty much where I am. Except that I also have this nice little collection of superstitious beliefs that I observe that are either rooted in or exacerbated by my obsessive compulsive tendencies. I think that might make things worse.
I don't take them seriously, but I definitely observe them. Isn't that weird? To "observe" fears? Honestly, I more so feel that I just have a bunch of neurosis. By defintion, I have phobias, but that word tends to carry a lot more weight. I like to call them "hang-ups."
I thought I'd share.
1. I don't like having my feet exposed to whatever may be lurking under the bed even though I know there's nothing there. If I have to turn off all the lights before I'm in bed, I have a very small window of time to cross the room before slight panic and the adrenaline that enables me to harness all the power of an Olympic jumper kicks in. Oh, and my feet can't hang over the bed in the dark, either.
2. I knock on wood. ALL THE TIME. Whether I say something that I don't want to happen, or just think it. I feel the need to fix it by knocking on wood. This helps to keep all kinds of bad things from happening. Like if someone says, "Is so-and-so still alive?" and they are, you KNOCK ON WOOD. It will save their life. Then you yell at whoever just tried to kill them for being so insensitive.
3. I don't step on cracks in the sidewalk for fear or affecting my mother's back. And I've never been quite sure whether that applies to just the cracks that form in the sidewalk over time, or also the cracks that separate one cement block from the next, so I avoid both. And if I accidentally step on one, I knock on wood.
4. I don't look at mirrors in the dark. In fact, I hurry out of rooms with large mirrors (like the bathroom) as quickly as I can as soon as I turn off the light. Bloody Mary? No, thanks. I also don't keep exposed mirrors in my bedroom and always make sure my hand mirror is turned down before I sleep. There's a lot of lore that comes with mirrors that I don't really believe in, but am still aware of. Seriously, a while back I stayed with my friend's in-laws for about a minute and there was a HUGE mirror in the room. Very pretty in the day, I'm sure, but I needed a nap. I chose to ignore it. I was really tired.
5. I always throw salt over my left shoulder if I spill the salt. Even if I'm picking up the shaker because someone else knocked it over and neglected to pick it up. Because there's a chance that I could have spilled some of the salt while picking it up. Then I'm pretty sure that would be on me.
6. Hollywood ghost children scare me. I love scary movies and I would even love someday to go on a ghost tour in the South, but ghost children in movies and shows freak me out. I love "Doctor Who", but there's a two-part episode that I have a love/hate relationship with simply because it has a scary ghost child. One of those AYAOTD? episodes that freaks me out? Ghost child. 'Nuff said.
So those are my hang ups. I mean, I still don't walk under ladders or open umbrellas in the house, and I'm not saying I've never felt uneasy in certain real-world situations, but those are the only "big" phobias and superstitions I'm really aware of and observe.
The funny thing is that I'm actually one of those people who tends to think that nothing bad can happen to them. It's not the best way to be, but I always feel kind of stubbornly secure. I'll do certain things and go certain places and take certain risks without thinking twice. But even as I'm typing this now, I have this urge to knock on wood and I will knock on wood because I feel like I'm tempting fate or God or something even though I know that's not the way things work.
I just have these things that stop me up for a minute.
We all have them, even if ours aren't the same. And if you can't relate to mine, then you could at least laugh at mine. And then imagine that maybe someone could laugh at yours. And if you have a fear that's laughable, then that's not really something you need to worry about, is it?
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
Ants/Sycorax - Tomato/Tamahto
I went on an ant killing spree a little while ago. They invaded my home. To those I let live, I give [almost] the same warning The Doctor gave the Sycorax on Christmas Day.
"By the ancient rights of combat, I forbid you to scavenge here for the rest of time. And when you go back to the stars (outdoors) and tell others of this planet (house), when you tell them of its riches, its people, its potential, when you talk of the Earth (my residence), then make sure that you tell them this...
...it is defended!"
[Note: No, I don't think I got too carried away with this. They were biting me, y'all.]
"By the ancient rights of combat, I forbid you to scavenge here for the rest of time. And when you go back to the stars (outdoors) and tell others of this planet (house), when you tell them of its riches, its people, its potential, when you talk of the Earth (my residence), then make sure that you tell them this...
...it is defended!"
[Note: No, I don't think I got too carried away with this. They were biting me, y'all.]
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
School was not out forever. Alice Cooper lied.
I don't ever really talk about my job on here. I may have mentioned the kids I work with once or twice - maybe, but that's about it. I think the few times that I've tried to the words just didn't string together properly so I just gave up.
I wonder if that says something about me.
Huh.
Basically, I work for an after school program at our local middle school. That means that I not only get a summer, but also the end of summer blues (happening just a tiny bit now). But with a new year and new kids come all kinds of new possibilities that I've got to admit I'm at least a little bit excited about. Our program is geared towards 6th, 7th, and 8th graders and free to anyone who wants in. It can be tough at times, but has it's rewarding moments. We put together activities that have something of an educational basis (even if we have to stretch that a bit), play sports, offer tutoring and homework help, give the kids a snack, and try to make a difference in the lives of the kids who need it.
Middle school has got to be the hardest age group to work with ever. Not only did I know that going in, but nearly everyone I met felt the need to tell me so. Apparently middle school burns people out quick, and our particular group of kids does nothing to help diminish that fact. Even without the overwhelming sense of entitlement and almost full-blown apathy we have to deal with most of the time, 11, 12, and 13 are very much crossroad ages. These guys don't really know if they're coming or going. They're torn between being a kid and becoming teenagers. They don't know where they stand. They battle tons of negative outside influences every day, they've got all these hormones running around, and peer pressure has probably never been so terrible. I know it because I've seen it. Kids who are just absolute delights on their own can turn into terrors caught in the pack mentality that is middle school. Toss into the mix the learning difficulties and home issues some of these kids have and life can be a pretty scary place.
My heart constantly goes out to them, yet at the same time I often find myself wondering when I've ever been so frustrated. These kids test me on a daily basis. Before this, I never knew that I could be the disciplinarian, but now I will never doubt that ability again. I'm tough when I have to be because I know they need it, but despite my efforts and those of the educators around me, there are some I still have a hard time imagining a bright future for without some huge and probably terrible life event forcing them down the straight and narrow.
But I still hope, and I still try. For the chance to help however and whenever and wherever I can. Sometimes the smallest and strangest things can have a positive influence on someone, so you never know. You just gotta hang on for your moment. With these kids you have to keep an open mind and an open heart; know when to stand your ground, and when to be flexible and adapt. You have hope that things go your way, but be willing to blast some Chumbawamba and try again if they don't. And with tomorrow being my first day back that's exactly what I intend to do, and I'm excited.
I wonder if that says something about me.
Huh.
Basically, I work for an after school program at our local middle school. That means that I not only get a summer, but also the end of summer blues (happening just a tiny bit now). But with a new year and new kids come all kinds of new possibilities that I've got to admit I'm at least a little bit excited about. Our program is geared towards 6th, 7th, and 8th graders and free to anyone who wants in. It can be tough at times, but has it's rewarding moments. We put together activities that have something of an educational basis (even if we have to stretch that a bit), play sports, offer tutoring and homework help, give the kids a snack, and try to make a difference in the lives of the kids who need it.
Middle school has got to be the hardest age group to work with ever. Not only did I know that going in, but nearly everyone I met felt the need to tell me so. Apparently middle school burns people out quick, and our particular group of kids does nothing to help diminish that fact. Even without the overwhelming sense of entitlement and almost full-blown apathy we have to deal with most of the time, 11, 12, and 13 are very much crossroad ages. These guys don't really know if they're coming or going. They're torn between being a kid and becoming teenagers. They don't know where they stand. They battle tons of negative outside influences every day, they've got all these hormones running around, and peer pressure has probably never been so terrible. I know it because I've seen it. Kids who are just absolute delights on their own can turn into terrors caught in the pack mentality that is middle school. Toss into the mix the learning difficulties and home issues some of these kids have and life can be a pretty scary place.
My heart constantly goes out to them, yet at the same time I often find myself wondering when I've ever been so frustrated. These kids test me on a daily basis. Before this, I never knew that I could be the disciplinarian, but now I will never doubt that ability again. I'm tough when I have to be because I know they need it, but despite my efforts and those of the educators around me, there are some I still have a hard time imagining a bright future for without some huge and probably terrible life event forcing them down the straight and narrow.
But I still hope, and I still try. For the chance to help however and whenever and wherever I can. Sometimes the smallest and strangest things can have a positive influence on someone, so you never know. You just gotta hang on for your moment. With these kids you have to keep an open mind and an open heart; know when to stand your ground, and when to be flexible and adapt. You have hope that things go your way, but be willing to blast some Chumbawamba and try again if they don't. And with tomorrow being my first day back that's exactly what I intend to do, and I'm excited.
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Baby Love
My friend Ashley and I used to talk about me having to keep her from getting pregnant after she got married. Admittedly a weird job to have, it was a task half jokingly set before me and I believe a few others in order to help support this semblance of a plan that my very futuristic thinker friend had in mind. I was just supposed to remind her of the reasons [she thought] she wanted X-amount of time post-wedding before starting a family.
Almost a year ago during a weekend visit, as we sat on the couch having one of the do-nothing days we're famous for, that "responsibility" came up. Somewhere between the trash tv sessions and catch up conversation we just happened to stumble upon that subject matter. I made the usual quip about my duties, but instead of laughter, it was met with a slight hesitation. There had been a change of plans.
Take in my inexplicable elation and fast forward to Christmastime 2012. Everything we had been hoping and praying for was coming true. There was a little Long baby on the way. I held my tongue until I could spread the word that this happiness was upon us, which luckily, was not too long a time to wait. I don't have a hard time keeping secrets, I just wanted to share the joy. I remember telling my family the news and then pretty much anyone who would listen. I was on an absolute baby high.
Suddenly so much of life seemed to be about this baby. I reveled in every pregnancy update. Talks of baby names, parenting decisions, sonograms and growing baby belly pictures made my day. Perusing her baby registry became a guilty pleasure, and the weekly fruit comparisons and details of how she was cooking kept me going. I remember when Ashley told me what she felt about the gender of her baby, and I remember when those feelings were confirmed - when we found out that a beautiful baby girl would be making her way into our lives.
By some strange phenomenon the months flew by until I found myself at her baby shower at the beginning of August. Closing in on her due date. Taking in the little pink explosions that had shown up around her house. It was a full and fast weekend, and while there I just could not get over how round she was - how perfectly pregnant. And then was the first time I felt the baby move. I didn't think I would, but I found myself crying before I realized I was doing it. It was such an indescribable joy. I never before knew that there could be such varying degrees of reality before that moment. Because it had always been real, but suddenly it was more than that. And my heart was so happy.
The weeks after that found me anxiously awaiting the arrival of this little blessing. Soon with the news of a likely early arrival, my habits changed. I was trying to go to sleep earlier and napping more often to be well rested for the drive. My car was gassed up and a bag was packed. I researched the hospital and looked up directions, and I made plans to stay with another friend's parents. I told my boss that I wouldn't be coming in to work if Ashley went into labor, and my family knew that as soon as I got the baby call I'd be on the road.
Radio silence from my friend and her husband made me nervous at times, but with the way the pregnancy was going, we did have some indication of when go-time could be. A little after noon on Thursday I got the news that we wouldn't for sure be getting baby by means of induction, but there was still a chance she would come on her own. A few hours later it was time. A "most likely" verdict was enough for me. I threw my bags in the trunk and topped off the gas in the car before heading out. Three plus hours later, despite some awful detours that did not aid my barely average sense of direction, I arrived at the hospital.
I was ushered into Ashley's hospital room sometime before the epidural for a short visit and then back to the waiting room conquered in the names of Galloway and Long to grab a quick bite to eat. Somewhere in between my two chicken strips a decision was made to go out for a drink, so before I knew it, two of Ashley's siblings and two more best friends piled in my car and we found our way to a lovely little dive bar across the street. Three margaritas, a vodka something, and six now very memorable fireball whiskey shots later (none of which were mine), we were on our way back to the hospital to wait with only one quick stop at a convenience store to load up on essentials, i.e., water, Dr. Pepper, and junk food.
We stopped back into the room to deliver sustenance to the dad-to-be and visit again with both. I felt the need to pray with them and did so before returning to our 10-man set up to wait for baby. Time with those families is always something wonderful, and our all-nighter was easily filled with laughter and quick wit. Eventually, around 4 or so, we were given the okay from mom-to-be to head home for a shower and a nap. We were told we had time, and it was much needed, so we went with it. Of course, a short hour later we were called back for the real go time. Admittedly, those last hours were the toughest as fatigue, grumpiness, hunger, and for me, slight delirium from total lack of sleep, set in. We were just so ready to have some news. We were so ready to meet that baby.
Then we finally heard from the proud new parents. Mom and daughter were doing well. Daddy, too. Elayne Ruth, born at 6:43 in the morning, 5 pounds 15 ounces, and 19 inches long. She was perfect. And we waited for a glimpse of proud parents and precious child. Anything or anyone coming down the hall was obviously the new family. We kept craning our necks to see if the approaching noises were for us, and food carts, trash bins, and empty bassinets had never before been regarded with such disappointment and disdain. When I looked over to finally see her coming, I had to do a double take before a something of a strangled "hey" escaped my lips. In the instant before I made a noise, by brain quickly wondered if she wasn't just a hospital mirage and worried about sounding a false alarm.
After a most agonizing 10 minutes more in which parents and baby were settled into the recovery room, we were finally allowed in to see everyone. Momma was sitting comfortably in bed, and baby was nestled snugly in Daddy's arms. It was a beautiful thing to see. And even though she was offered to us, no one wanted to take her from him, and no one did. The picture was just too perfect. I think we just wanted proof that she existed. We wanted to see her little self. We wanted to see who this person was who had kept us guessing and already had us wrapped around her little finger.
It wasn't until later, after nourishing breakfasts and refreshing naps, that any of us held her in our arms. When I arrived back at the hospital, Ashley's family and a few friends were there. And because everyone else had already had a turn and some were heading out to dinner, I got to keep her the longest. And in holding her, the tears seemed to find their way back to me. It was another moment of increased reality. She was so much more tangible, and it was overwhelming in the most beautiful and amazing way. And I held her to me, just loving the weight of her in my arms, and that I could look down to see her cute little nose and her pretty little lips.
I could have stayed there forever.
Since then I thought that what I was feeling was a kind of baby high, but I've realized that it's more than that. What I feel is about this baby. It's about Elayne. Not just any baby could cause this much happiness. Not just any baby could inspire so much love. It's about how perfect she is and where she comes from. She is a part of people I love more than I could ever accurately express. I can't wait to be a part of her life for a very long time, and I am so beyond blessed for the opportunity. I may not know what my future holds, but this beautiful blessing of a person has for me become a fixed point on my timeline. Immovable and unchanging.
I think about that task Ashley and I used to occasionally joke about. If keeping her from having kids at this point had been a serious endeavor or anything I could have actually had a say in, I'd have been glad to fail. Because this baby is a gift from God. In his time. On his terms. I don't know what tomorrow holds, but I know that Elayne was meant to be. She is something beautiful in just every aspect of the word, and she'll be changing our lives for the better for a long time to come. I just know it.
Almost a year ago during a weekend visit, as we sat on the couch having one of the do-nothing days we're famous for, that "responsibility" came up. Somewhere between the trash tv sessions and catch up conversation we just happened to stumble upon that subject matter. I made the usual quip about my duties, but instead of laughter, it was met with a slight hesitation. There had been a change of plans.
Take in my inexplicable elation and fast forward to Christmastime 2012. Everything we had been hoping and praying for was coming true. There was a little Long baby on the way. I held my tongue until I could spread the word that this happiness was upon us, which luckily, was not too long a time to wait. I don't have a hard time keeping secrets, I just wanted to share the joy. I remember telling my family the news and then pretty much anyone who would listen. I was on an absolute baby high.
Suddenly so much of life seemed to be about this baby. I reveled in every pregnancy update. Talks of baby names, parenting decisions, sonograms and growing baby belly pictures made my day. Perusing her baby registry became a guilty pleasure, and the weekly fruit comparisons and details of how she was cooking kept me going. I remember when Ashley told me what she felt about the gender of her baby, and I remember when those feelings were confirmed - when we found out that a beautiful baby girl would be making her way into our lives.
By some strange phenomenon the months flew by until I found myself at her baby shower at the beginning of August. Closing in on her due date. Taking in the little pink explosions that had shown up around her house. It was a full and fast weekend, and while there I just could not get over how round she was - how perfectly pregnant. And then was the first time I felt the baby move. I didn't think I would, but I found myself crying before I realized I was doing it. It was such an indescribable joy. I never before knew that there could be such varying degrees of reality before that moment. Because it had always been real, but suddenly it was more than that. And my heart was so happy.
The weeks after that found me anxiously awaiting the arrival of this little blessing. Soon with the news of a likely early arrival, my habits changed. I was trying to go to sleep earlier and napping more often to be well rested for the drive. My car was gassed up and a bag was packed. I researched the hospital and looked up directions, and I made plans to stay with another friend's parents. I told my boss that I wouldn't be coming in to work if Ashley went into labor, and my family knew that as soon as I got the baby call I'd be on the road.
Radio silence from my friend and her husband made me nervous at times, but with the way the pregnancy was going, we did have some indication of when go-time could be. A little after noon on Thursday I got the news that we wouldn't for sure be getting baby by means of induction, but there was still a chance she would come on her own. A few hours later it was time. A "most likely" verdict was enough for me. I threw my bags in the trunk and topped off the gas in the car before heading out. Three plus hours later, despite some awful detours that did not aid my barely average sense of direction, I arrived at the hospital.
I was ushered into Ashley's hospital room sometime before the epidural for a short visit and then back to the waiting room conquered in the names of Galloway and Long to grab a quick bite to eat. Somewhere in between my two chicken strips a decision was made to go out for a drink, so before I knew it, two of Ashley's siblings and two more best friends piled in my car and we found our way to a lovely little dive bar across the street. Three margaritas, a vodka something, and six now very memorable fireball whiskey shots later (none of which were mine), we were on our way back to the hospital to wait with only one quick stop at a convenience store to load up on essentials, i.e., water, Dr. Pepper, and junk food.
We stopped back into the room to deliver sustenance to the dad-to-be and visit again with both. I felt the need to pray with them and did so before returning to our 10-man set up to wait for baby. Time with those families is always something wonderful, and our all-nighter was easily filled with laughter and quick wit. Eventually, around 4 or so, we were given the okay from mom-to-be to head home for a shower and a nap. We were told we had time, and it was much needed, so we went with it. Of course, a short hour later we were called back for the real go time. Admittedly, those last hours were the toughest as fatigue, grumpiness, hunger, and for me, slight delirium from total lack of sleep, set in. We were just so ready to have some news. We were so ready to meet that baby.
Then we finally heard from the proud new parents. Mom and daughter were doing well. Daddy, too. Elayne Ruth, born at 6:43 in the morning, 5 pounds 15 ounces, and 19 inches long. She was perfect. And we waited for a glimpse of proud parents and precious child. Anything or anyone coming down the hall was obviously the new family. We kept craning our necks to see if the approaching noises were for us, and food carts, trash bins, and empty bassinets had never before been regarded with such disappointment and disdain. When I looked over to finally see her coming, I had to do a double take before a something of a strangled "hey" escaped my lips. In the instant before I made a noise, by brain quickly wondered if she wasn't just a hospital mirage and worried about sounding a false alarm.
After a most agonizing 10 minutes more in which parents and baby were settled into the recovery room, we were finally allowed in to see everyone. Momma was sitting comfortably in bed, and baby was nestled snugly in Daddy's arms. It was a beautiful thing to see. And even though she was offered to us, no one wanted to take her from him, and no one did. The picture was just too perfect. I think we just wanted proof that she existed. We wanted to see her little self. We wanted to see who this person was who had kept us guessing and already had us wrapped around her little finger.
It wasn't until later, after nourishing breakfasts and refreshing naps, that any of us held her in our arms. When I arrived back at the hospital, Ashley's family and a few friends were there. And because everyone else had already had a turn and some were heading out to dinner, I got to keep her the longest. And in holding her, the tears seemed to find their way back to me. It was another moment of increased reality. She was so much more tangible, and it was overwhelming in the most beautiful and amazing way. And I held her to me, just loving the weight of her in my arms, and that I could look down to see her cute little nose and her pretty little lips.
I could have stayed there forever.
Since then I thought that what I was feeling was a kind of baby high, but I've realized that it's more than that. What I feel is about this baby. It's about Elayne. Not just any baby could cause this much happiness. Not just any baby could inspire so much love. It's about how perfect she is and where she comes from. She is a part of people I love more than I could ever accurately express. I can't wait to be a part of her life for a very long time, and I am so beyond blessed for the opportunity. I may not know what my future holds, but this beautiful blessing of a person has for me become a fixed point on my timeline. Immovable and unchanging.
I think about that task Ashley and I used to occasionally joke about. If keeping her from having kids at this point had been a serious endeavor or anything I could have actually had a say in, I'd have been glad to fail. Because this baby is a gift from God. In his time. On his terms. I don't know what tomorrow holds, but I know that Elayne was meant to be. She is something beautiful in just every aspect of the word, and she'll be changing our lives for the better for a long time to come. I just know it.
Thursday, August 15, 2013
These Dreams
I've been having the weirdest dreams lately with the strangest cast of characters. I guess if I think about, I understand their presence. All it takes is one post on my newsfeed, or one little hint of a memory and suddenly they're lodged in my subconscious and come to life in my dreams.
Last night Taylor was in my dream. I was walking through the quad with some people when we saw each other. He hugged me and he was so excited as he told me how happy he was to have Wednesday evenings free so he could attend some kind of meeting with me. And he was beautiful and happy and smiling and I kept hugging him and I held his face and cried, but he didn't notice. He didn't notice that I was crying and I didn't want him to. And I tried to smile and I kept telling him over and over how great that was, because dream me seemed to know something that he didn't. Dream me seemed to know the moment wasn't real and he wasn't real. But I remember still feeling so grateful that I could be with him in that moment, and so desperate to take advantage of every second even though I knew it wasn't really him. I would take whatever I could get.
It wasn't the same as a dream I had about Tony last week. He was in my dream and it felt normal. In the dream I had no idea that it wasn't real. I woke up feeling great, and I was so happy to see him. But I don't feel so great today. I'm just upset. Because all I have now that Taylor is gone are dreams and memories and my dream was ruined. Because I knew.
In these dreams my brain seems to know when something is wrong. Because they're too weird. And I like them less because they tip off my subconscious that some things just don't belong and I have a harder time believing when the elements don't add up.
Days like these I know that ignorance is bliss.
Last night Taylor was in my dream. I was walking through the quad with some people when we saw each other. He hugged me and he was so excited as he told me how happy he was to have Wednesday evenings free so he could attend some kind of meeting with me. And he was beautiful and happy and smiling and I kept hugging him and I held his face and cried, but he didn't notice. He didn't notice that I was crying and I didn't want him to. And I tried to smile and I kept telling him over and over how great that was, because dream me seemed to know something that he didn't. Dream me seemed to know the moment wasn't real and he wasn't real. But I remember still feeling so grateful that I could be with him in that moment, and so desperate to take advantage of every second even though I knew it wasn't really him. I would take whatever I could get.
It wasn't the same as a dream I had about Tony last week. He was in my dream and it felt normal. In the dream I had no idea that it wasn't real. I woke up feeling great, and I was so happy to see him. But I don't feel so great today. I'm just upset. Because all I have now that Taylor is gone are dreams and memories and my dream was ruined. Because I knew.
In these dreams my brain seems to know when something is wrong. Because they're too weird. And I like them less because they tip off my subconscious that some things just don't belong and I have a harder time believing when the elements don't add up.
Days like these I know that ignorance is bliss.
Monday, August 12, 2013
It's all so very Savage Garden, except I can't start singing quite yet.
With the better condition of my heart as of the past week or so, I found myself thinking about a very short and very obscure conversation that happened between my old friend Alfred and I right before lunch at the end of 4th period film studies class junior year of high school. (Because, yes, you did need that much detail about the when.)
Oh, by the way, about the link, yes, that is Alfred. You actually didn't need to see that for any understanding whatsoever, but I thought it was fun. I had nothing to do with the party that was filmed at, but it appeared on my facebook newsfeed one day because sometimes it's not so bad being from a small town where everybody knows everybody.
Now on this particular day, Alfred, who I haven't seen in about 3 years, but have known for about 12 (another important detail that isn't really important), decided to ask me what kind of guy I was looking for. He wasn't hitting on me and it wasn't awkward, Alfred just has a curious mind. If I recall, he asked a couple of other girls in the class for their perspective, too.
I took maybe a second to gather my thoughts and, thinking about how much I love to laugh, started off with telling him that I wanted someone who was funny. At which point Alfred cut me off to complain about my response even though he hadn't heard all of it. Alfred, bless his heart, was moreso looking for an opportunity to rant than a heart-to-heart and my response was obviously his tipping point. So he rambled on and when the bell rang I left for lunch leaving him to complain to whoever would listen.
And as simple and small as that conversation was I've never forgotten it. Partly because of my wierd memory and partly because before then and up til now I have never been asked that question. It's been walked around or answered indirectly somewhat in a few small details, but no one has ever asked me flat out.
And maybe that's a good thing because I've never been entirely sure what I'm looking for. Which probably shouldn't surprise me too much since I'm like that with just about everything. I usually know what I like only when I see it and only feel certain about what I don't want or don't like. Granted, even that has been tested before and I've been somewhat proven wrong.
To this day I honestly don't know how I was going to finish answering Alfred when he asked me what he did. Of course, what we want at 16 and what we want at 24 are probably two very different things, but I kind of wish he had let me finish so I'd have a better clue. But even with all my uncertainty and the oh-so-healthy doses of second-guessing and overthinking that I am prone to, there are times I think I might know. I think I have this much figured out.
I want someone who will sit with me and do Sporcle quizzes. Who will watch random movies on Netflix with me, and help me find out which scary movies are actually scary. Who fits in with my family and is willing to take part in even the strangest and simplest family events. Who can keep a conversation going with my dad and who will kindly laugh at my mother's wacky ways. Who will get in the kitchen with me even if he doesn't think he can cook. Who will watch sports with me and be okay with the fact that I'm more emotionally involved than I am technically aware sometimes. Who loves and maybe even shares some of my endless oddities, quirks, and sentimentalities, and has some fun ones of his own. Who can deal with my neuroses and hangups. Who can be silly and playful, but also passionate. Who shares my faith and talks with me about it. Who will help me be brave and believe in myself a little more than I do sometimes. Who will let me help and take care of him, and who will take care of me. Who loves my friends, and not just because I do, but also because he can recognize and appreciate what makes them so special for me to want them in my life.
I'm sure there are a million things that I'm not thinking of and a million things that people would deem important and a million things that whoever I find will possess that I could have never even dreamed of wanting. But someone who can be those things for me would be wonderful.
I know better than to walk around with a check-list. I wouldn't and I don't. And maybe that's part of my reason for never trying to figure out what it is that I'm looking for. Like somewhere in the back of my head, I've been trying to protect myself from being disappointed or boxing myself in. But I think anyone who really loves me and who I can really love will fit those criteria. I don't think I'm asking for too much.
I don't know where he is, and I don't know who he is, and I don't know when the timing is going to be right for us to be together, but I know that I miss him already. It's all so very Savage Garden, except I can't start singing quite yet. That part comes after he gets here, and I'll be ready when they cue the music.
Oh, by the way, about the link, yes, that is Alfred. You actually didn't need to see that for any understanding whatsoever, but I thought it was fun. I had nothing to do with the party that was filmed at, but it appeared on my facebook newsfeed one day because sometimes it's not so bad being from a small town where everybody knows everybody.
Now on this particular day, Alfred, who I haven't seen in about 3 years, but have known for about 12 (another important detail that isn't really important), decided to ask me what kind of guy I was looking for. He wasn't hitting on me and it wasn't awkward, Alfred just has a curious mind. If I recall, he asked a couple of other girls in the class for their perspective, too.
I took maybe a second to gather my thoughts and, thinking about how much I love to laugh, started off with telling him that I wanted someone who was funny. At which point Alfred cut me off to complain about my response even though he hadn't heard all of it. Alfred, bless his heart, was moreso looking for an opportunity to rant than a heart-to-heart and my response was obviously his tipping point. So he rambled on and when the bell rang I left for lunch leaving him to complain to whoever would listen.
And as simple and small as that conversation was I've never forgotten it. Partly because of my wierd memory and partly because before then and up til now I have never been asked that question. It's been walked around or answered indirectly somewhat in a few small details, but no one has ever asked me flat out.
And maybe that's a good thing because I've never been entirely sure what I'm looking for. Which probably shouldn't surprise me too much since I'm like that with just about everything. I usually know what I like only when I see it and only feel certain about what I don't want or don't like. Granted, even that has been tested before and I've been somewhat proven wrong.
To this day I honestly don't know how I was going to finish answering Alfred when he asked me what he did. Of course, what we want at 16 and what we want at 24 are probably two very different things, but I kind of wish he had let me finish so I'd have a better clue. But even with all my uncertainty and the oh-so-healthy doses of second-guessing and overthinking that I am prone to, there are times I think I might know. I think I have this much figured out.
I want someone who will sit with me and do Sporcle quizzes. Who will watch random movies on Netflix with me, and help me find out which scary movies are actually scary. Who fits in with my family and is willing to take part in even the strangest and simplest family events. Who can keep a conversation going with my dad and who will kindly laugh at my mother's wacky ways. Who will get in the kitchen with me even if he doesn't think he can cook. Who will watch sports with me and be okay with the fact that I'm more emotionally involved than I am technically aware sometimes. Who loves and maybe even shares some of my endless oddities, quirks, and sentimentalities, and has some fun ones of his own. Who can deal with my neuroses and hangups. Who can be silly and playful, but also passionate. Who shares my faith and talks with me about it. Who will help me be brave and believe in myself a little more than I do sometimes. Who will let me help and take care of him, and who will take care of me. Who loves my friends, and not just because I do, but also because he can recognize and appreciate what makes them so special for me to want them in my life.
I'm sure there are a million things that I'm not thinking of and a million things that people would deem important and a million things that whoever I find will possess that I could have never even dreamed of wanting. But someone who can be those things for me would be wonderful.
I know better than to walk around with a check-list. I wouldn't and I don't. And maybe that's part of my reason for never trying to figure out what it is that I'm looking for. Like somewhere in the back of my head, I've been trying to protect myself from being disappointed or boxing myself in. But I think anyone who really loves me and who I can really love will fit those criteria. I don't think I'm asking for too much.
I don't know where he is, and I don't know who he is, and I don't know when the timing is going to be right for us to be together, but I know that I miss him already. It's all so very Savage Garden, except I can't start singing quite yet. That part comes after he gets here, and I'll be ready when they cue the music.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)