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It’s been a rough two weeks . A very rough two weeks. So, I have been mostly off the grid — not even able to update Facebook! I have come to the blog several times with ideas about what to write about, but nothing seems to really flow right now. It’s not writer’s block, it’s just that the wind has been knocked out of me and I am not sure how to get the sails up.
Two weeks ago Dave lost his swim coaching job.
Now, I know this is not THAT big of deal in the scheme of things. I do. I really do. I have friends right now that are facing much much worse. But it has just sorta been awful dealing with it anyway.
So the last two weeks have amounted to an emotional roller coaster with a dash of personal betrayal thrown in to make the ride even more stomach clenching. And what we have at the end of it is one more person that we can scratch right out of our wedding pictures (if you are wondering, the scratch count is now at 4…). And one less job.
I would love to go into more detail, but that would be a firmly planted footstep traveling down the LOW road and I am trying to stay if not on the HIGH road, than at least hovering somewhere around “middle road” or “trying-to-avoid-feelings-of utter-vengence” road.
Dave losing this job has taken its toll on us. It wasn’t enough to watch the athletes left behind sob their eyes out or to feel Dave’s passion for swimming fall on unappreciative-boss ears. But now we are left with that emptiness that follows an upheaval. That question of “where do we go from here”? And none of the answers feel that great.
And, I am not good with limbo… with the unknown… with the “what nows?” In fact, I would venture to say that I am very very bad at handling those things. So, a lot of my OOMPH is gone. I know I will come around. I always do. But this is one of those fall-down-scrape-your-knees-and-get-dusty experiences where you just sorta lie in the dirt for a bit, then ya sit up, then you cry, then you crawl over to the grass, then you call your family on the cell phone, and THEN you finally get up, limp home, put the bandaids on, and drink yourself into s stupor before trying again.
But we will try again. Soon, I hope.
I am loving all this Spring weather around here. Bring on the Global Warming, if it means more sun! All this sun — even in patches — has gotten me in the mood for a vacation. So, my question for you all today is: What is your dream vacation? or if that is too much to wrap your mind around, how about this: Where would you just love to go for Spring break?
For me, I will take anywhere that is not my house. I’m thinking like down the street in someone else’s house while they are away would probably re-charge me. But, to be true to my own question, I will say that my dream vacation is a toss up between Italy and Greece. I’ve never been to either, but I have wanted to go to Greece ever since a college buddy told me about his adventures in Greece one of which involved another friend winding up in the back of some local’s truck and driving off into the darkness after … well… indulging in the local greek beers a tad too much. Of course, that isn’t why I want to go there. He also described the beaches and the food. And Italy… oh please just get me to Florence where I can feed he English -Teacher-Nerd-Esque part of me by walking where Dante walked. That and the gelato. And the art. And the countryside. I will stop now.
How about you?
My kids are in band.
My husband was the DRUM-MAJOR at his high school… so, yeah… my kids were doomed to be band-geeks. I was on drill team in high school, so I got to parade around in short little skirt and swivel my hips while said band nerds played “Tequila” at football games. I am not sure what this dooms my kids to be… I won’t go there.
But in all fairness the band at the local junior high is full of the cool kids. Largely in part to an amazing band director who wins, like, POPULARITY contests for being the coolest teacher in the whole wide world. Nobody stands a chance against this guy. So…. back to what I was saying… my kids (and everyone else’s) are in band.
So, last week I went to the band concert. They call it a “gig” which, to me, is more like a cool dude with a guitar in a coffee shop, but I’ll go with it for now. So, I went to the band gig. Izzy was playing in the 6th grade band (trumpet) and Jade was playing in the 8th grade band (clarinet). I left the two littlies at home with Dave, but took Lily (who plans on joining next year and playing the flute) with me.
We arrive at the junior high, head to the gym, and climb to the top of the bleachers. We cuddle in with a bunch of peeps from the hood (I know that I live in a suburb, but every so often I like to speak the speak, ya know?) I end up sitting next to Lily and 3 of her buddies from 4th grade. Which is possibly THE MOST embarrassing thing that has ever happened to Lily. I mean… can you even stand it? Her Aunt sat NEXT to her in public?
But back to me…
As I am sitting there listening to “Go Tell Aunt Rhodie” and “Old MacDondald Had a Farm” for the third year in a row, the numbers started to calculate in my head. And then I realized that because of the way my kids were spaced out, I had 15 MORE YEARS of band concerts in front of me. Oh yes… 15 more years. Then the images began to flash.
The people around me would change, but I would be the one constant at all the concerts for the next 15 years. There was like this time-lapse photography thing going on in my head of me sitting in the same place on the bleachers while the people around me changed – most of whom will be younger than me. I would keep getting older and my eyes would glaze over just a bit more each year. The rest of the parents would come and go and I would still be there… in 15 years.
15
I wonder if I will be wearing the same jeans and Old Navy t-shirt, with my hair up in a pony tail. Will they refer to me as “that old crazy woman with all the band kids.” Will my husband continue to run marathons, but me… my braggin’ rights will be endless band concerts on rock hard bleachers listening to wobbly renditions of “Aura Lee.”
But I guess this is what I signed up for. I look across the gym and see Izzy waving at me from opposite bleachers where the 6th graders are waiting to perform. I wave back with a big smile and lots of kiss-blowing. I swell with joy as I watch a collection of little girls that Izzy met in 3rd grade who are now not-so-little perform flute solos, flute duets and trios, and a saxophone solo. These beautiful girls whose mothers I love and who were Izzy’s very first friends. I couldn’t help but bob my head a bit as they played. When they finished, they bend their heads to receive medals for their bravery and I snap pictures because they are soooo brave. So beautiful. I see Jade hanging out with her friends that she met in band — good, no, great kids who love music and Jesus and each other. I see the cute boy that knocked on our door to pick Jade up for youth group perform in a trombone trio and although I know Jade and he are just friends (really), I am glad that she knows him and that there are boys of his caliber in her life. And when the 8th grade band performs a overture from “The Music Man”, they are actually good. And fun to listen to. And I was proud of them all.
So, after the concert I went down to take the required pictures, which I now realize will be in every family photo album for the next (wait for it) 15 years.
My Band Kids
Which is very, very cool.
Please tell me that I am not the only one out there who tilts their head and says “huh?” when their husband does something the “wrong” way.
I mean, okay, I will stipulate that I need to chill sometimes. Micromanagement is a genetic disorder in my family (yes, mom, you have it, too…).
But sometimes I am simply stunned into silence (well, not really…) at the things that Dave does.
While making lunch: ”You did NOT just put syrup on the kids’ peanut butter sandwiches?!”
While helping with the baby: “Are you actually going to change the baby’s poopie diaper while she is STANDING UP?”
While sorting laundry: “How did you confuse my t-shirt (or stranger still, my underwear…) with Jade’s?”
I am very lucky to have a husband who helps, but sometimes… no, no… most of the time, I just don’t get it.
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