Concussed and Other Altered States

It begins with an industrial-sized bottle of laundry detergent.

I'm not sure who put it on top of the clothes washer; I know I didn't. But it matters not. The fact remains that some one put it there.

The reason we don't put things on top of the clothes washer is because stuff "walks" when the washer goes into spin cycle.

So Wednesday night, I ran a load of whites, and the industrial-sized bottle of detergent took a walk--straight off the edge of the washer onto the floor and split, spilling copious amounts of clear fluid onto the kitchen floor.

How slick is this stuff? Slick enough to send an adult woman's feet where her head was only a split second previously and send her head, neck and shoulders slamming to the floor in less time than it took to think "Holy s----."

The boys came running in and laughed at their upended mom, who never lost consciousness but did briefly see stars. Older son is directed downstairs to get a bucket while mom tries to process a dozen different  directives.....and is surprised that she literally can't think.

Hubby, finding confused mom on her knees when he arrives from work, sends her upstairs to clean up and wants to send her to the ER. She refuses.

Sleep comes easily and normally. For me. But the ride to work next morning ("I'm fine, hon, really.") becomes a white-knuckled affair. Traffic on the turnpike seems less predictable than usual. I opt for the longer route through Valley Forge from the turnpike to collect myself.

And I feel fine. Until I was required to do my usual multi-tasking in meeting. And that was much, much harder than I could have imagined. Stuff got done, but a few times my anxiety and panic that things were somehow harder than usual for me nearly got the better of me. I text my co-worker that I need to leave after I'm done the meeting. I feel terrible. It's hard for me to admit this.

As the meeting wraps up and everyone talks among themselves, he's at my side asking "What can I do?"

At that point, I am gritting my teeth. "I'm good," I lie. "Almost done" Not a lie. "Let me finish up."

"Go home."

I nod. He vanishes.

I finish up. Call my husband, who insists on taking me himself to the ER. And wait.

Long story short, I have a concussion, which I already knew by that point, but the good news was that I didn't have anything worse. Miraculous, considering my head and neck took the force of my weight when I landed.

So, I'm in the process of healing. And taking things slow. And easy. And I don't handle this well.

"I'm not a baby." I respond repeatedly to varying admonishments to stop or slow down.

"The opposite," agrees hubby. "But you need to stop."

Taking my younger son to the labyrinth yesterday, I find myself asking a whole new string of questions. And I'm somewhat confused by the answers. And I wonder if my confusion lies in the fact that I am asking the wrong questions.

I think back to Friday when I had a lengthy conversation with one of Nic's team.  She called me at home and we rehashed his summer so far, my concerns, and we re-wrote parts of his IEP over the phone. Clean slate for September. And I was able to do this despite my temporary disability. I can still think quickly and reason things out, but it feels as I am doing it through layers of insulation.

But, my emotions are just as strong and incisive and distracting as ever, and I wish the insulation extended to cover the sharp edges of my own feelings. Kindness tends to throw me. And I'm thrown, in more ways than one. Another thing to recover, more to think about, ponder in my heart, and all that good stuff. Why do I have to make so much of small things? So much better to simply pay things forward and not think so much.

Ask me not to think, however? You may as well ask me not to breathe.

But for the sake of those who love me, I'll stop for a while. 

 

Leveling Up

The latest, in no particular order:

• Nic survived his first year of middle school
• Gabriel enjoyed his week of tae kwon do camp--new actitvity? We'll see
• Nic is playing township basketball in our neighboring township--and enjoying it
• Hubby has volunteered to coach CYO soccer
• Gabriel played his first piano recital
• Mom ran her first Warrior Dash
• Mom's also trying her hand at something new professionally
  
  We've been a little busy. Nic also went over the township pool on his own last week and made a new friend. Sounds like a minor thing, but in my world, all these signs of emerging competence and independence are huge.
  
  I celebrate my birthday this year by celebrating all the milestones that, 10 years ago, I never thought I'd see. And as my kids discover new skills and abilities, I, too, am finding ways that I need to grow and develop. That we are learning and growing together and individually in tandem with one another is a beautiful thing.
  
  I haven't figured it all out--I probably never will--but there is a growing peace within me as I recognize a bit more readily what I can control and what I can't.  And understanding that there is very little I can actually control has been very liberating, indeed.
   

Blessed

A few months ago, I had dinner with a dear friend, and the subject of volunteerism came up. She remarked that she was amazed that I took on as much as I have (and this was before track picked up and took over my life for the last two months).

I sighed. "Hubby says I have volunteeritis and that I need to learn to keep my hand down. But here's the thing; if I am running the show--whatever show it is--NOBODY can tell me that my kid can't participate. On the other hand," I sighed again. "Damn, this is exhausting."

My bright-eyed friend grinned at me from across the table. "You are so blessed, and you don't even realize it."

I frowned. She waved me down.

"No, no, I KNOW you know you are blessed THAT way. But did you ever think of how lucky you are to be so involved in your kids' lives?" I guess I still looked confused, because she went on. "How often do parents drop off their kids at your activities? And you stay in, stay involved, and not only do you get the benefit of the time with your kids, you get to hang out with a lot of other cool kids. And how great is that? To have that kind of impact on all these kids' lives?"

This conversation popped up in my head on Sunday at the Area meet. We advanced one of our 11 to the finals. Still, I was struck time and time again over the course of our season what camraderie, what teamwork, what sportsmanship each and every one of my kids displayed. Our little team was a TEAM, in every possible sense of the word.

And because we have such a great little team, I want to make it the best possible experience for all of them as I think about next year. I discovered over the last few weeks that I may not know that much about track and field, but a lot of what I need to know about being a positive adult role model, I've already been doing. And our coaching (my partner knows what he's doing, thanks God) and their teamwork has made this season a good time for us all.

And, I'm finding that what I've learned here can be generalized in all my other volunteer activities--as well as all my adult interactions.

So, as I come back to that conversation over dinner with my friend, I realize that not only was she referring to everything I've already done, but all the fun and adventure that lies ahead.

And yes, I am THAT blessed. And doubly grateful.

Smells Like Competitive Spirit

My life as my son's track coach calls my relative virtue into question.

Never have I been more conflicted, given more pause, or otherwise perturbed by the sheer level of competitiveness I feel like I am biting back at every turn. Hubby, however, laughs at me.

"You? You are one of the most competitive people I've ever met."

I don't see myself in this light, but I trust his assessment. He sees everything. And I often ignore anything that's not right in front of me.

I can't ignore the competitive thing right now, though. I took on track responsibilities to ensure that our kids had their own team. And yes, I wanted Nic to be a part of this team--for many reasons. And the right reasons--after all, he's learned more about teamwork and friendship these last 6 weeks than he has in the last 6 years. He's had fantastic modeling from his peers, who regard him with bemusement much of the time.

My reaction to Nic relegated to alternate status for the Penn Relays bugged me--after all, it was supposed to be all about the friendship, right? But here I was, annoyed that Nic wouldn't be able to run the relays again. Never mind he ran last year and was lucky to do it. And never mind that he was FINE being an alternate. And as luck would have it, the fourth slot opened up, and he ran again this year. And you would think that would be enough for me, right?

(You know what's coming....)

So, as I created the rosters for the upcoming champs, I looked at everyone's best times and assigned events accordingly. And I filled out Nic's events, with a small amount of regret, knowing that his season would end decisively on Sunday.

That is, until I saw the preliminary roster.

The top six slots in individual events advance to areas. And there were only 6 runners in Nic's age bracket for the 1600.

I could scarcely believe it. I had motivation for Nic to run. AND, he'd get a medal--a small payoff for the work I subjected him to, but hey, 6th place? Cool.

Although, in the back of my mind, I knew another school would see the opening. After all, Nic is legend for his lack of speed.

Thus, I shouldn't have been surprised when there was a seventh name behind Nic's in the final event program--a kid frequently called in to run whenever Nic is running because he can beat Nic.

So, I sat there before my computer screen, seething. Wondering why this coach couldn't allow my kid a scrap of recognition. And knowing that if I were in his shoes, I probably would have done exactly the same thing.

I have to ask myself the question--do I make Nic run an event he doesn't want to run, anyway? And why would my answer change over the enrollment of one kid? He should run it just because.

"I don't like running," he told me a few times this season. "but I do like my team."

I have the schedule. I have my own assignments. Nic has his.

He knows what I expect.

Or he thinks he does. I wonder what I expect, because my own expectations are suspect. I did this for one reason, yet others...let's just say I surprise myself. And not in a good way.

He will run. Or he will choose not to run.

There comes a point where I need to step back. And let him choose.

And I'm here. This time.

Showing up

90% of life is just showing up.
~Woody Allen

Nic ran his second Penn Relays Tuesday night.

I had an email from Jr boy #4's mom last Thursday letting me know that he was too busy for track. Thus, Nic moved from alternate to teammate. On the train ride to the relays, Nic was right there in the crush of teammates (4 to a 3-seater bench, two deep), sharing his Big Nate book and cracking wise with the rest of them.

I was also aware of the subtext; Nic was sitting with the senior boys, who were setting the example for the junior boys, who look askance at Nic. He's physically slow, he's different, and yeah, he's going to slow everyone down, but he's still a member of the team. And guess what--if he didn't run, none of you would be running.

Nic, alas, can't see any of this.

I do my best to reinforce what he can't see.

I strike a deal with Nic; if he surrenders his hat AND doesn't look over his shoulder, he gets money to buy a snack.

He surrenders his hat. He runs with focus.

But he is a good 10 seconds slower than his teammates in the 100s--an eternity, comparatively speaking. Nevertheless, he runs his heart out. And his team runs theirs. And they come in last place, by 1.24 seconds.

I think of the woman who wrote the Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mom and the whole ethos of "If you can't be in first place, why bother?"

I bother because place here is not the point. This is the one area in my son's life where he gets to experience first hand what teamwork looks like. He doesn't always get it, and he often makes loud, tactless comments that warrant correction on the subject. Fortunately, this is a fairly forgiving bunch of kids who are not afraid to correct him when he needs it, especially if I am not there to do it myself. I have modeled for them what correction looks like, and they are all phenomenal mentors for him as a result.

He is learning something I couldn't possibly teach him on my own. Likewise, he is teaching us all things we couldn't possibly learn without him.

We all win.

Where's the off switch?

I'm sitting in the confluence of several events.

In my volunteer life, I made a major deadline by the very skin of my teeth. I forwarded an email that is the equivalent of a bomb. And I answered an email with a smiley face in spite of my desire to spew invective.

In my work life, I answered a challenge with a bald question. And chased that with a balder (is that possible?) statement of fact. The inquisitor folded like a house of cards.

In my mom life, I marvel that my adult life dealing with idiots mirrors my kids' experiences. I am not happy about this. I worry.

Hubby laughs, because he's been telling me so for what, 20+ years? My eureka moments make him laugh. I'm reaching for the dark chocolate and wine. And wonder what I was thinking.

I don't have to wonder; the reality is this. I volunteer as much as I do because the result is that I get village elder status. Nobody can tell me--or my kids--no. And the truth is, I can do this village elder thing.

But the last 48 hours have left a bitter taste in my mouth. My near miss damn nearly cost us a lot; my kids are an afterthought, in more ways than one; and the new alignment in one of my volunteer efforts has me seriously considering tendering my resignation.

I have to ask the question: What's it going to cost?

Meh, it is already. I just have to figure at what point that I need to cut my losses.

Or just say no.

Stay tuned.

Geocaching my life

Geocaching is a real-world outdoor treasure hunting game. Players try to locate hidden containers, called geocaches, using GPS-enabled devices and then share their experiences online. (the offical definition from geocaching,com)

This past weekend, we had a conversation with a couple who have taken up geocaching with their teenage son. Using a GPS, they find a container, leave their name, and a little something behind.

I had an online chat with a friend last night that made me think of our lives as sort of a real-life geocaching adventure. We were talking about our respective challenges and our responses to them. And she commented that I am changing our little area of the world, and she is lucky enough to see it.

Which led me to think--yeah, I've always been one to seek opportunities for both of our kids. And wherever one has not existed, I create. It's just the way I roll.

It's sort of a geocaching for life. We find our moments, we leave our names, our marks, and little pieces of ourselves. And move on.

And others can find their ways in our footsteps, if they need to. And where they strike new paths, we can find our ways within the steps of others, as well.

It's a beautiful thing.