There IS a light at the end of the tunnel

For the first time in years, I see the light at the end of the tunnel.

So many times I thought there was no light. I always acted as though there was a light, but I wasn’t convinced.

And this is how I have lived for the past decade. I have worked, fought, pushed, and struggled toward an end that in my heart I suspected I could never really reach.

It didn’t matter. I was going to work toward it anyway. And I have.

I fought back from horrible sickness to the hope of a better life (though in many ways I am a mere shadow of my former self).

I struggled to get my brain to work again after being nearly destroyed by neurological Lyme disease.

I fought for independence, equality and personhood by getting out of a horrible, toxic marriage.

I learned to establish boundaries and call people on their bullshit. Oh, this is a big one.

And yet, no matter how awful things got, I had this driving instinct to survive.

Guess where I learned this behavior? From my mom.

She sacrificed everything to provide for my siblings and myself after my father left us. She re-entered the workforce, supported us, and put aside her own life (including love) so that she could provide us with a stable home.

I love her for this. And yet I feel guilty. Where in all of that was she caring for herself, pursuing her dreams, and finding someone who would value and love her the way she deserved?

She didn’t.

Then I became a parent (at a young age). My marriage didn’t last, and I found myself a single parent. My mom was there for me. She continued to model sacrificial motherhood. I worked, I cared for my son, and I did little else. My mom worked, cared for our home, her adult children and helped with her grandson.

At one point, when my son was 5 years old, I started taking one class at a time at Austin Community College.

I worked all day, came home, made dinner, stressed over whether the babysitter would show up, and headed to class two nights a week.

I felt torn and guilty.

And now for one of the two biggest regrets of my life: I felt so guilty being away from my son in the evenings after being gone all day long that I quit school. I decided that my son deserved my time and attention those two nights a week. I thought my presence was more important than a life higher education could provide. I was wrong.

I spent the next two decades engaged in self-learning activities. I remarried and educated my son and the children that came along at home.

I poured myself into my children. I nurtured, educated, and exposed them to the wonders of the world. I almost completely neglected myself. I pushed myself beyond what should be expected of any mother. I rarely got a break (this was due in part to my abusive marriage).

The only thing I did for me was continue to engage with technology through web and graphic design, learning software applications and simple business experiments.

I built on what I learned working (when I was a single mom) for lawyers, consultants and real estate developers.

Fast forward to 2006, when I became very sick with Lyme disease and didn’t recover with traditional treatment, I thought my life was over.

Then my marriage fell apart. Hmm, strangely enough, as traumatic as this was, it empowered me.

I cannot express how important it is to get out of toxic relationships, especially abusive ones. I had made a decision and the bottom line was that I was not going to continue in my marriage as it was. If dramatic change did not take place, the marriage was over.

Nothing has changed, so it is over. While that made me cry a few years ago, it brings me a sense of pride now. I made that decision because it was good for ME.

It was good for everyone else, too, though they didn’t know it.

In 2007, I started the college process again, but had a bad relapse and had to put it off. Over five years later, after long-term antibiotics, physical therapy, and lots of work to recover my ability to read and write, I finally started classes in January 2013. I took three at a time, knowing my limitations. And the first year was really exhausting for me (single motherhood, health issues, and classes).

I lived in constant fear that I would not be able to remember what I was learning. That part WAS hard. The hours I had to put in to do well were many. My professors expressed concern that I was working TOO hard. I feared failure because it would signal to me that I had no future at all. Failure would mean that my life really WAS over, that I would have to live on disability for the rest of my life.

(I don’t want go on disability. I want to earn my way.)

I don’t think anyone understood what drove me, and continues to drive me. If I can’t do this (finish college), then I have no future.

On Monday after class I went to Student Services and made an appointment to see my advisor prior to registering for fall classes. I knew I was getting close to earning a degree, but wasn’t sure exactly where I stood.

When I arrived for my appointment yesterday, my advisor had my graduation worksheet completed for a “General Studies” degree which has been my declared major since my second semester.

But last semester I decided I didn’t like the sound of that degree. It didn’t reflect my scholastic focus at all. I met with a professor who walked me through the different kinds of associates degrees offered and what would be required to earn them. I considered Communications, General Studies (which I was right on track for), and the Liberal Arts & Sciences – Humanities track.

When I transfer to a 4-year university, I am thinking about majoring in English (and possibly pre-law). I needed to have a transcript that was appealing to good schools, so my course choices the past year have reflected this.

I also wanted a degree that would help me with employment, should I find an opportunity along the way. I have taken communication and business software courses as electives (as well as required computer and public speaking courses) to increase my marketable skills.

So yesterday after I was told that I needed four electives to earn my General Studies degree I asked my advisor to work up the graduation checklist for the Liberal Arts & Sciences – Humanities track degree. I watched her fill it in, I asked her to double check that certain courses fulfilled the requirements (she was not sure), and then I saw it:

I need two required courses and two electives, and I will have fulfilled the requirements for an associate’s degree in Liberal Arts & Sciences – Humanities track.

I couldn’t believe it. One more semester. Four classes. I am almost there.

I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.

For the first time in my life, I will have quantifiable proof of my abilities and be ready to transfer as a junior to a 4-year college or university.

I had put aside pursuing a college education because I thought it meant I was a better mom. I realize now that had I gotten that college degree back in the 80s, I might have been financially independent, and been able to give my son and myself a much better life.

Money is not the root of all evil. Money empowers women. Money provides choices, freedom and contributes to self-determination. I have lived the extreme poverty but not doing anything to get out of it (by getting an education) scenario and it is not good, and now nearly three years into college (for a 2-year degree) I am still in poverty. At least with getting an education I feel as though I am doing something to improve my situation (and so far no student loans).

A couple of days ago I tweeted about an article in Forbes by Emma Johnson entitled, “Study Proves Moms Spend Too Much Time with Their Kids, Liberates Working Moms Everywhere.” While the headline is a bit overreaching (science, especially social science, doesn’t prove anything; it merely presents the most widely-accepted scientific knowledge and conclusions at any given time), the general premise of the article is very important for moms everywhere.

Mothers do not need to sacrifice their very beings for their children. It is okay to work, and – prepare yourselves – it is okay to enjoy it. It is okay to be away from your children as long as their needs are met and they know you are there for them overall.

I love (and sometimes dread) my coursework. It can be extremely demanding and exhausting especially when I am dealing with the stresses of trying to live in a cold climate, feed, care for, and provide a home for my minor and adult children.

But I am not torn anymore. Not at all.

When I started classes I told my children that my coursework comes first (youngest was a teen at the time). Yep, I said that. I don’t feel guilty. I don’t feel like a bad mom. Why? Because I did it the other way: I put my kids first in every way and I ended up an unemployed, sick, single woman who had given her best years to people who moved away (or will someday) and have their own lives. Where, when and how did I nurture myself, my own interests and dreams?

Mothers are people first, and then they are parents. Or they should be. Mothers are women who are human beings with hopes, dreams, desires, passions, wishes and goals. They should feel free (and be free) to pursue those dreams.

There IS a light, and I can see it. I am walking toward that light with a smile on my face.

Holiday Whimsy: Thanksgiving Adventures

The holiday season began last month with my declaration: “I’m not cooking this year. If you guys want Thanksgiving dinner, you need to cook!”

Interestingly enough, my sons’ eyes lit up and they jumped at the chance to learn the magic of cooking a Thanksgiving dinner. It is magic, you know: taking a fridge and pantry full of strange ingredients and making the house smell so good with a final meal being a symphony of sights, smells and flavors.

And they did it:

I provided homemade pie crusts (thanks to my lovely and talented baker/knitter/horse whisperer friend, Charlotte) and my sons made two pumpkin pies from scratch from fresh roasted pumpkin that they roasted in the toaster oven one half at a time while the turkey was in the oven.

Last year’s pies made from home grown organic pumpkin made into pumpkin pies. The photographer took the day off, so no photos of this year’s dinner exist.

The turkey was carefully attended by my 21-year-old son who loves to cook. He also made the stuffing with just a little bit of assistance from me.

I took the time to teach them how to simmer the giblets while the turkey was roasting and how to use the liquid in the stuffing and gravy, then how to make delicious gravy just like my Gram Wood taught me the one Thanksgiving I spent with my grandparents as a young adult.

My 18-year-old made the most amazing mashed potatoes (they rival his sister’s scratch mashed potatoes — sorry Katie).

And dinner was served, monochrome except for those pies. It might have been all white and beige, but it didn’t taste white and beige. It was delicious. Being teenage and young adult males, they did not take the time for green foods. No one really complained. We all stuffed ourselves until we were sated. That was a most delicious meal.

The next day we all craved green vegetables and by Saturday we just wanted to eat green beans and broccoli and salad (I made a marinated salad).

That was our whimsical and interesting Thanksgiving. Whimsical because the boys, my sons, woke up whenever they liked, started cooking whenever, and produced a meal of their favorite parts of the Thanksgiving dinner. They did whatever they wanted, and enjoyed it immensely.

Thanksgiving dinner, even though cooked by novices, was a huge success.

[I must confess that I was nearly hyperventilating by 1 p.m. because the pies hadn’t even been started yet, and it looked like dinner would be ready around 9 p.m. I am a planner, coordinator, and, though I like no schedule for myself, I seem to need to know when and where when dealing with others. I had to emotionally disconnect for the rest of the day until gravy time arrived. By that time I had relaxed enough to enjoy the final moments of meal preparation along with the meal itself. Yep, I discovered something about myself. I sure did. It is really difficult for me to take the day off. It is very difficult for this single mother, even one of older sons, to relax during the holidays.]

Trauma and the need for care

I fell and injured my elbow on Labor Day. Bone chip and laceration. No big deal, right?

Not so. I was in the student services offices yesterday on campus making an appointment with the disabilities counselor. I have lost the full use of my dominant arm. It is a big deal. It is affecting every area of my life. It is affecting my brain.

I mentioned that I was struggling even more than normal with memory, and the woman who schedules appointments for the counselors mentioned that it makes sense: losing the use of an arm is going to confuse the brain. Right? I hadn’t thought about that.

Every time I go to reach for a piece of mail or my coffee mug, I have to stop and switch to my left hand (or forget and experience pain). Every time I brush my teeth or wash my hair, I have to allow my left hand to dominate the process. I have numbness in my left arm from chronic Lyme disease, so this is not an easy task.

I am a single mom. I have one minor and two adult children living with me. I have the only car. I attend class twice a week and have other online classes. I am the responsible one around here.

I have endured a trauma (another trauma — the long list over the past few years means this is just one more in a long line of traumas). I need care. I need someone to help me.

I can ask my sons to do this or do that, bring me this or bring me that. But that is not care. That is following orders.

What happens when the primary caregiver in a family needs care? Real care?

Since the time I was first infected with Lyme disease, I have not received real care. I’m not feeling sorry for myself here. I am realizing something important, a failure in my parenting.

I am going to sit my sons down and explain what is going on with me and what I need from them. Their dad never taught them to care for a woman because he never cared for me (I mean meeting physical and emotional needs, not the emotion). He would push me into our bedroom, close the door and mostly ignore me, but never truly cared for me when I was sick. My sons need to learn differently.

This is very important. As a parent, we need to teach our children to care for others. I mean the action word: care. Not the emotion.

My house is a huge mess, and I can’t do anything about it. I do my school work and then collapse in exhaustion. I am taking public transportation because it is not easy for me to drive and my son’s work schedule has been conflicting with my class schedule. Being gone for 8 hours is exhausting. My sons need to learn to care for someone who is sick or injured. And it is my job to teach them.

It is my job to teach my children to care for others.

Sharing knowledge with our kids and vice versa

My early morning time was invaded by my youngest son today. I was up before 5 a.m., something that just occurs naturally for me most days. The big surprise was that my 14 year old sat down beside me while I was doing homework this morning around 6 a.m. I was watching Ted Talks for my mass communication class, and my son was interested.

TED Talk – Mikko Hypponen: Three types of online attack

I unplugged the headphones I was using, turned the speaker volume up and moved the Ted Talk video to the other monitor so that my son could watch and listen with me. I found myself pausing the first video a lot to explain why there was an East Germany in the 1980s, why they required registration of typewriters, why this was significant to the suppression of dissension, and how the very nature of registration hindered free expression among East Germans (and totalitarian governments everywhere).

I was able to define, create context, and help my son understand the issues that were at the core of each of the videos that I was watching for my class. We discussed censorship, copyrights, and the common practice among the younger generations to ignore copyrights altogether. We learned about how U.S. companies are selling hacking software to totalitarian governments so that they can spy on their own people. (I love that my sons are benefiting from my online college classes. My 21-year-old son even took my communication textbook in the car with him so he could read it while I drove him to work one day last week.)

My youngest son then wanted to check out his YouTube channel. Yes, he has his own channel; he creates videos based on games that he plays with his friends — they can be pretty silly, but my very quiet, shy son is putting himself out there and using language (speech). These videos take place during “recording sessions” where everyone in our house is instructed to be quiet but where I often forget — occasionally you can hear me being a mom in the background.

My 18-year-old son’s studio microphone and pop filter that my two youngest sons use to record at home (and my favorite headphones)

While we were looking at his YouTube channel, he wanted to choose a simple Pivot video to upload. I looked at one that he wanted to upload but it contained what I considered objectionable violence. I explained why, and he decided that I was probably right. So he chose a different video.

My son had joined my world for a time, allowing me to share with him what I knew and was learning. This relationship reversed when we began looking at his channel. I realized that I knew nothing about using YouTube even though I had a handful of videos on my own channel. We switched accounts and looked at my channel which was not even set up. We explored the settings together, he showed me what I can do to personalize my channel, how to set privacy, hide what I like and subscribe to from visitors (just not their business IMO), and begin to consider how I want my channel organized.

Next, my son wanted to show me his favorite YouTube channel: Spacerip. He wants to be an aerospace engineer, so he loves anything related to space. When we went to the Spacerip channel, I asked my son if he knows who produces those videos. I then asked him if he checks the information against reputable sources to ensure that what is included in that video content is not fictional or full of misinformation. He admitted that he didn’t. I explained a little bit about media literacy, and he understood that he needs to be checking what he sees in the Spacerip videos against other sources of knowledge.

Finally, it was time for me to head outside to check on my gardens. I asked my son to go with me so that I could tell him what is going on in the garden right now because I will expect him to help maintain it while I am in Texas next month. He protested a bit explaining that he doesn’t learn well with lectures, me pointing to something and telling him about it (I still think he struggles with auditory processing, and I taught him about learning styles so he can communicate with his teachers about his own educational needs). He said he prefers reading about gardening to me trying to teach him. I understood. I am the same way. I explained that I wanted him to know what was growing where, which were the weeds, and some basics about garden care. I told him that he might need to grow his own food someday.

He agreed that it made sense and began to show a little more interest. I explained what “bolting” was, some issues I have been having with deer, which weeds are edible, and what a cover crop is (and how it nourishes the soil). We opened a couple of immature buckwheat seeds and saw the flour-like substance inside. I told him we could make pancakes from that substance when it is fully mature and dried. I think he began to understand how cool gardens could be and how they connected to his life. I told him that this year he will participate in canning pickles and how wild grape leaves containing tannins will ensure that the pickles are crisp and not mushy. He showed a little more interest when I mentioned pickles.

I will probably remember today as one of those wonderful days where I truly connected with my youngest son. I didn’t even tell you about how he explained what he believes regarding the start of the universe. I listened a lot because, to be honest, he knows more than I about science, at least pertaining to space, planets, and the Big Bang Theory. I know more about biology which he dislikes immensely (yes, he told me emphatically that he detests the subject of biology). He listened to me, I listened to him, and we exchanged knowledge like reasonable, logical human beings.

What a wonderful morning.

Women modeling intelligence and ability

One of the resources last week for my Introduction to Mass Communication course (which is excellent, by the way) was a TED Talk by Colin Stokes entitled, “How movies teach manhood.” Here it is:

Colin Stokes: “How movies teach manhood” TED Talk

Movies are a powerful media influence on growing boys and girls, and I appreciate the validity in consciously including movies that pass the Bechdel Test; however, there is a force that I think is much more powerful than any outside influence: parental modeling.

My kids have watched me work very hard through my first three semesters of college. They have seen me do my homework before anything else. They have watched my progress and how achievement has helped me see myself in a more positive way.

Sadly, they have watched me struggle with chronic Lyme disease, too. They see me do homework and nothing else some days because that is all that I have to give. I hit the Lyme wall and productivity abruptly halts for the day, and sometimes several days.

They also see me continue to push past my limitations. On those days when I am so tired I don’t think I can walk through the grocery store or Target or Walmart or the warehouse store and I want so badly to just plop down in one of those motorized scooters with the little basket in front, I always ask them what they think. They always protest, I agree they are right, and I push myself a little more, past the pain and exhaustion. It never kills me.

The other day they were able to see something different. My auto mechanic son moved out a few months ago, and sadly we are not really talking. He struggles with untreated bipolar disorder, and for now distance is best for both of us. So when my passenger side window made this awful noise and then slid down into the door of my car, I didn’t panic. I felt a teensy bit panicky because I knew I didn’t have the tools or even the money for parts. But I didn’t allow the panic to show. I reassured my 21-year-old that it wasn’t his fault (it happened while he was trying to roll the window up), dropped him off at work, and said we would fix it. I drove home, grabbed his 18-year-old brother and told him that we were heading to the auto parts store to buy the tools we would need to open the door panel. I had him call ahead to see if they had a 3 or 4 mm hex tool. I learned that it was actually a torx tool that was needed, purchased the tool and drove home.

We learned right away that getting the door panel off on my car is not intuitive. After a quick internet search and one YouTube video, we were back outside. Within 5 minutes the door panel was off and it was obvious what the problem was: broken window regulator rollers. Quick internet check, parts available for less than $10, and I was thrilled. I called my local auto parts store (not a chain) and ordered the parts. I was assured they would be ready for pick-up the next morning. Whew!

The next morning, I purchased the replacement rollers. When I got home, I started the job myself because my sons were busy playing video games and on the computer. Strangely enough they showed up within minutes. I had already removed the window from the door, removed the broken rollers, and cleaned out the tracks. I found a gouge in one of the tracks that needed to be filed and smoothed out. No files. I ended up using a nail file. Yes, women and their nail files rule!!! Within minutes the tracks were ready for a fresh application of graphite lubricant (which I keep in my tool bag). My 21-year-old insisted on doing this job until the rollers had no resistance at all. We had a lot of people working on this simple job, and a teensy bit of jostling for who was going to do what (those boys were suddenly motivated), but the window was soon ready to be reinstalled.

This part definitely benefited from all three sets of hands. I got the window back in the door and my sons guided the regulator into the rollers. I could not have done this part. It took strength to push the rollers into the regulator. Lots of strength. First try we failed to get one side in the vinyl door track properly, so apart it came and we tried again. Finally, the window was installed and working properly. A few more minutes to put the door panel and trim back on and it was as good as new.

I knew when that window stopped working that my sons would be worried. We have one car that we share among the three adults. We don’t have a backup. I knew that I had to model composure, problem-solving skills and resourcefulness. I involved my 18-year-old son because he needs to learn how to deal with auto parts stores, what kinds of tools are needed to work on different cars, and to know that family is there for one another, and that if we work together, we can get the job done.

That repair cost me about $25. That is a record low, to be honest, and I am grateful that it wasn’t more. The lessons my sons learned are priceless.

They learned how to calmly deal with a crisis. They learned that women are good in crises. They learned not to put off auto repairs (especially if you can’t secure your vehicle). They learned that women are smart and capable. They learned that their mom really is mechanically inclined (I love to fix things and have my own power tools). They also learned that family working together, not criticizing one another (which was the norm for a long, long time) is awesome. I knew that teaching my sons to respect the abilities of women was very important, and I deliberately used this experience for that purpose. Occasionally, being a parent isn’t a big struggle. I walked away from this experience with a lot of warmth in my heart for my sons.

Now I wonder if we can change my oil . . .

Summer is here!

Oh, I know. I am a few days late. But I get a pass because I am recovering from a busy, crazy week previously. I finally completed a grant application (for me) and my 14-year-old had several band obligations and two concerts the last two weeks of school.

Tim waiting for Chamber Cafe to begin

The biggest event was my second-to-last son’s graduation from high school last week after being sick with Lyme encephalopathy his sophomore year and then severe radial neuropathy in his left arm during his junior year. Other than some difficulties with reading comprehension he has completely recovered, made up 10 missing credits in his senior year, and graduated from high school. I fully support his desire to take a year off to just work, save money, and enjoy life, because this son of mine is physically and emotionally exhausted. There is no doubt that he will go to college, as will his older brother, but he needs to be invested in the process before choosing a school, a major, and a new life journey. There is no rush.

Philip graduating

What is our summer looking like? It is precarious in many ways.

I am taking a communication course that ends the first week in August. I am hoping to fly to Texas in the middle of August to see my family there. And I have my vegetable garden.

For my youngest son, the one who starts 8th grade in a couple of months, I am requiring that he practice trombone several times a week. There are reading and writing skills to keep fresh over the summer, too.

Yesterday, after listening to radio reports on what is going on in Iraq on the way to my son’s orthodontist appointment (my son now knows who Secretary of State John Kerry is), I asked him what he thought his life would be like if he had been born a Syrian boy or Iraqi boy, what it would be like for him if he had already been forced to pick up arms and fight with some faction or other. He had a difficult time even considering what that would mean. He finally replied after a couple minutes of thinking about my question: “I would be a different person.” I mused that it would be a great project for someone my son’s age to write a series of short stories based on the lives of teenagers from some of the most politically unstable areas in our world. My son replied, “Sounds like you want to write those stories.” I chuckled and asked him what he would like to write about this summer (he loves to write). He admitted that he would like to work on one of his two novels. I smiled. It’s a plan.

On the way home from that appointment, we stopped at our favorite public library. My son had read all of the books on his bookshelf and he didn’t feel like digging through boxes of books stored downstairs. He was thrilled to visit the library because they have a great collection of Brian Jacques’ Redwall books. He chose The Long Patrol, we chatted with the children’s librarian for a few minutes, and then we headed home. Along with some daily chores, this son’s summer was somewhat structured.

I must share something that my son told me yesterday. We were walking out of the library his book in hand, and my son said that he craved good writing like Jacques after reading several classroom books, popular fiction that his language arts teacher provided for the kids apart from the school library. He said that the quality of writing was so far below Jacques that he was craving some good writing. He said he never had to look up any words from the classroom books, but did when he read books from the Redwall series. We talked about the difference between popular fiction and more classic fiction, and the differences in style and quality. I am proud of my son, that he is able to discern between easy reads, popular works that are like junk food, and more substantial, meaty works that make one think and learn.

Side note: I just read that Brian Jacques started the Redwall series to read aloud to blind students. Apparently, the writing is full of sensory information about what the characters see, hear, feel and even taste. It makes so much sense that these stories would appeal to this son of mine. So much sense.

Melting snowdrifts with grassy knolls poking through made a patchwork of the far east lands as winter surrendered its icy grip of the earth to oncoming spring. Snowdrop, chickweed, and shepherd’s purse nodded gratefully beneath a bright mid-morning sun, which beamed through small islands of breeze-chased clouds. Carrying half-melted icicles along, a tinkling, chuckling stream bounded from rocky cliff ledges, meandering around fir and pine groves toward broad open plains.
– The Long Patrol, Chapter 1 by Brian Jacques

If I was a 14-year-old teenager who loved words, I would enjoy Jacques’ books, too. As a matter of fact, I might just read Redwall myself.

Happy summer!

Timothy, Daniel and Philip posing for the camera

Timothy, Daniel and Philip hamming it up. Graduation is done and we can all relax.

Kids and real food

I feel so accomplished right now.

I am watching The F—- Word on Hulu (F is for Food), and a commercial for “new and improved” Hot Pockets came on. I looked at my 14-year-old son and said, “We should make some homemade hot pockets.”

He looked at me and said, “Why, when we can make real food?”

I am so proud.

My 21-year-old has been learning about nutrition, probiotics, how the body works, and what foods are truly healthy and which are not. He still likes junk food (though he is trying to quit) but drinks organic herb tea and has a small serving of organic yogurt every day along with cooking and eating real food.

My sons know how to make basic meals using basic ingredients. They know that any food labeled as low fat will have added salt, sugar, MSG or one of its lookalikes, and most likely be high in calories and low in nutritional value. They know the value in eating real, whole food.

I am so proud.

Touched Out – Parenting for Introverts

Introverts recharge and find peace in quiet places away from other people.

It isn’t intentional. It isn’t a choice. Being around other people is stressful and tiring for those of us who live with introversion even though we love being around people. We have no control over this aspect of our personalities.

It all becomes really complicated when we have children. Babies need a lot of touching, holding, contact. I breastfed all of my children, on demand, the last one until he was two years old. Additionally, I carried or wore my babies to help with bonding, sensory and vestibular system development, and building trust.

I am glad that I heard of this term when my youngest came along, because it was comforting to know that other mothers experienced what I did: I would reach a point where I couldn’t stand being touched near the end of the day.

I am not sure it is tied to being an introvert, but it seems logical to connect this phenomena to introversion.

What AM I talking about?

Being touched out.

Little ones requiring constant attention, nursing babies, attending to the needs of toddlers, changing diapers, hugging, holding, rocking, swinging, wearing, sleeping . . . touched out. Hitting sensory overload.

I had to hire a woman to give me a few hours a week away from my children. The tough part was that I really needed quiet time, but I took what I could get. I would take a book with me and go eat lunch in my car in a park or go for a walk. Oftentimes I had to do my shopping which was kind of counterproductive, but, again, I took what I could get.

So ladies, if you are touched out at the end of the day find someone else to take care of the kids, handle bedtime routines or bath times, and give yourself a little quiet time when necessary.

Take care of yourselves.

Parenting Advice: Hindsight Part 2

Oh, if I only knew then what I know now, I would do many things differently.

1. I would be less intense and emphatic with my children, thereby modeling flexibility, sensitivity, and compassion.

2. I would allow myself to get less stressed about the little stuff, thereby imparting a sense of peace to my children in the midst of this crazy world.

3. I would hug my older children more, assuring them that, even as teenagers who don’t want to be touched, I love them and want to be near them because they are awesome!

4. I would listen more, thereby teaching my children that their voices are very important in this world.

5. I would make sure that I got time alone much more often so that I could recharge and be refreshed for when I am with my children.

6. I would have taken control of my life much sooner, modeling self-determination and personal power in a positive atmosphere.

7. I would have worked part-time sooner (before I got sick) so that I could help my children with buying their first cars, taking trips, and exploring the world more, and so that they know that working moms are loving moms (although stay-at-home moms ARE working moms).

8. I would have given them more freedom earlier. I discovered that controlling social interactions isn’t as healthy as I thought.

Older moms, especially moms of adult children, all have regrets. We have tons of guilt. I can only hope that some of my observations after the fact can help younger moms make healthy decisions for their children and for themselves — yes, you are VERY important.

Did I mention that when we are open and honest with our children about our failures, we release them from resentment that might have been hiding deep within, setting them free? What a gift!

Learning to be very real with my children in my old age (53).

Immersion in selfish pursuits

You know, when a man is in college, it isn’t considered a selfish pursuit at all; he is working on building the foundation for a lucrative career that will eventually provide for himself and his current or future family. What I am doing is no different, except the focus for me is on ME becoming a person that I can be proud of and who can support herself.

A huge side benefit is that I hope to be able to provide all of my children, most of whom are adults already, with greater opportunities and more practical support. I am NOT doing this for my children, though. And there is absolutely no guilt or self-condemnation over that declaration.

I have been completely immersed in school this semester. I mentioned in a previous post that I joined the honor society agreeing to serve as an officer, and added two days each week to my on-campus presence due to my involvement in the college newspaper. What little time and energy I had for my family evaporated quickly. I don’t feel the least bit guilty about this.

No, I don’t have an involved parental partner. No, I didn’t hire a nanny (though my kids are way too old for nannies). No, I didn’t abandon my family and move away so that I could do whatever I like whenever I like.

I am still holding everything together by sheer willpower here in Connecticut. I am squeezing my eyes tightly shut and making wishes and saying prayers that somehow this all works out.

I dare to want more and will do what it takes to get more.

It has been a very stressful semester for me because of the added responsibilities. It has been worth every second of anxiety I experienced.

This deeper level of involvement in campus life has brought me into contact with some of the most amazing young people and equally amazing faculty and staff. It has been unimaginably rewarding. My unconscious has concerns, though.

I woke up a few days ago with the lingering effects of an anxiety dream. I had dreamed that I failed to complete and submit my final research paper for Advanced Composition. It was as though my subconscious was considering the consequences of giving up at this stage in my education. Because that is exactly what not turning in that paper would be to me: giving up.

This dream haunted me, even caused some fear, but it wasn’t irrational fear at all. Every day that I get up and drive to school, every moment I spend making my brain read one more “scholarly source” from the college’s databases, every time I force myself to sit at the computer and write or study or learn, I am refusing to give up. This level of intensity exacts a price from my emotional and physical reserves.

This semester has been a wake-up call. I am looking at four-year universities. I am trembling in my boots. I am not just taking classes, I am committed to getting a bachelors degree at the least, and really want to attend graduate school as well.

I have faced many demons this semester. When looking at Austin colleges, I initially rejected the University of Texas because a friend of mine had been murdered there. When I admitted this to one of my English professors, that fear saw the light and I could face it head on. I am now considering UT.

I have a variety of health issues, one of which is a new weakness in my legs and shortness of breath after even the slightest exertion. I worried that I wouldn’t even be able to walk to classes on a larger college campus, so I was looking at small colleges.

Then I realized that I need to pursue getting a handicapped parking permit. See? So much anxiety and so many concerns, none of which are imaginary. My anxiety was caused by real obstacles that I needed to address.

That dream was definitely important to this process. I will not give up. That paper is written, and is a strong paper. I will turn it in on time and, hopefully, get a good grade. I spent eight hours on a single paper yesterday, and revised another paper this morning. Then I transcribed an interview with one of the college’s deans for an article I am writing for the college newspaper.

My body might be getting weaker, by my will is getting stronger. My selfish pursuits are mine. I own them and I validate them.

I am learning the importance of female selfishness, if you want to call it that. After spending my entire adulthood, from age 18 to 51, pouring myself out in service to others, giving up what I wanted for the health and welfare of my family, I am doing what I want (at least in one area of my life). What gall, what daring, what…whatever.

Women have been judged … well, always, whenever they pursued what they wanted to pursue. I am happy that I am a part of the populace that rejects that myth about women (a salute to my Mythology professor), that there is something wrong with those who pursue their dreams.

I am immersed in school. My children (adult and minor alike) are being told they must wait until I am able, have time, can do what they want me to do. I come first right now, and rightly so.

Never for a second think that my minor child’s needs are not being met. I pick him up from school three times a week (or send his older brother to do so) so that he can participate in track club and the school’s jazz band. I make sure that he has healthy food, gets his homework done, does his laundry each week (I have difficulty carrying laundry up and down the stairs, so each of my children does their own laundry — why not?), cleans his room, and feeds the cats. I ask him to accompany me shopping once a week so that he gets undivided attention. I communicate with his teachers, holding them accountable for honoring his 504 Plan. I am involved and responsible. Amazing that I can be a mother and go to school. Amazing how that works out.

Happy Mother’s Day all of you powerful, pursuing, ambitious mothers!