Right into the ditch
Up until a few weeks ago, I was working full-time and busy finishing up my master's in mental health counseling. It's break neck speed with no room for error or complications. And when you're a working mom, then your kids work just as hard as you in maintaining a schedule of school and day care.
Then, one day, the car veered into the ditch and that's where it's stayed.
The event that forced the car (me) off the road was my son Danny and his lack of enthusiasm for all-day pre-school.
But as a back story, you all should know it hasn't been just the past few weeks that have been break neck speed, it's been the entire year. My schedule was foisted on me by life circumstances of keeping up with my mother who, until a few months ago, lived in Iowa recovering from a broken femur. This unexpected health issue added a layer of responsibility to my already laden plate of full-time mother, wife, employee, and student--not to mention the dozens of volunteer committees I found myself on.
With the prognosis that my mother couldn't live by herself any longer, my husband and I decided to make changes in our living arrangements to accommodate her moving in with us. So, last summer, we purchased a larger house and spent several weeks in the frantic pace of remodeling it before two mortgage payments became due and payable on a monthly basis. We met the deadline, but it meant early mornings and even later nights to work everything in.
Then, my son's beloved day care provider informed us she was making changes and that meant no more full-time care for Danny.
No problem, I thought to myself. We have several alternatives (but cutting back my schedule was not one of them) and so I enrolled Danny in an all-day preschool with an after-school care program.
As a mental health counseling student, I knew that the score on the Holmes and Rahe stress scale was shooting up rapidly. But as a mental health counseling student I had also convinced myself that I had the tools to cope with it it and that little kids are too resilient to be adversely affected by it.
I was wrong.
Danny was affected by it and he told us in the only way that non-reading, non-writing four year olds can--to the consternation of his teacher he refused to sit in circle time or any other time and on the playground he took to hitting the other kids when he couldn't get their attention any other way.
On the surface of it, this sounds like a mild situation, except for the fact that my anxiety level shot through the roof after his teacher would report to me daily about his behavior. Couple this with an emerging realization that Danny also needed speech therapy for an expressive language delay. This required attending speech therapy and then being bussed to preschool afterwards so I could continue with my work pace--and you see this was a recipe for a meltdown for both myself and Danny but manifested in different ways.
For Danny who couldn't tell me that his schedule was too demanding spoke up by departing from his usually sweet demeanor into a personality who was overstimulated and out of control and I responded by wanting to rip my soul out of my body to get away from the anxiety I felt.
The next thing I knew, I quit. I quit full-time preschool for Danny and I quit full-time work for me. I felt like an abandonded car that had slid into the ditch during a snow blizzard. Other cars whizz by but they don't stop because they know at some point the owner will come back to fetch their vehicle.
So what have we done with ourselves? What a mother of a four-year-old son should have had time doing all along: we have spent our days checking out parks, putting together train tracks, taking trips with my mother to the ice cream shop, and reading a langushing library of books.
My schedule continues to be full, though. I'm still a mother to another son and a wife as well as a student who works at a counseling internship in the evenings and weekends. Much to my unbelieving amazement the money has somehow worked itself out even though up until a few weeks ago I was convinced my paid work was critical to the financial stability of our family. I don't know how long the finances will continue to work out with this current arrangement and, for right now, I am comfortable with surrendering the projection of our personal financial cliff or even if there is one.
Instead, the car is langushing in the ditch and Danny and I are at home with my mother and we are enjoying a snow day's pace of life. It's going to be a long time before spring comes along again and I can tow the car out of the ditch. And that's just fine with me.
Then, one day, the car veered into the ditch and that's where it's stayed.
The event that forced the car (me) off the road was my son Danny and his lack of enthusiasm for all-day pre-school.
But as a back story, you all should know it hasn't been just the past few weeks that have been break neck speed, it's been the entire year. My schedule was foisted on me by life circumstances of keeping up with my mother who, until a few months ago, lived in Iowa recovering from a broken femur. This unexpected health issue added a layer of responsibility to my already laden plate of full-time mother, wife, employee, and student--not to mention the dozens of volunteer committees I found myself on.
With the prognosis that my mother couldn't live by herself any longer, my husband and I decided to make changes in our living arrangements to accommodate her moving in with us. So, last summer, we purchased a larger house and spent several weeks in the frantic pace of remodeling it before two mortgage payments became due and payable on a monthly basis. We met the deadline, but it meant early mornings and even later nights to work everything in.
Then, my son's beloved day care provider informed us she was making changes and that meant no more full-time care for Danny.
No problem, I thought to myself. We have several alternatives (but cutting back my schedule was not one of them) and so I enrolled Danny in an all-day preschool with an after-school care program.
As a mental health counseling student, I knew that the score on the Holmes and Rahe stress scale was shooting up rapidly. But as a mental health counseling student I had also convinced myself that I had the tools to cope with it it and that little kids are too resilient to be adversely affected by it.
I was wrong.
Danny was affected by it and he told us in the only way that non-reading, non-writing four year olds can--to the consternation of his teacher he refused to sit in circle time or any other time and on the playground he took to hitting the other kids when he couldn't get their attention any other way.
On the surface of it, this sounds like a mild situation, except for the fact that my anxiety level shot through the roof after his teacher would report to me daily about his behavior. Couple this with an emerging realization that Danny also needed speech therapy for an expressive language delay. This required attending speech therapy and then being bussed to preschool afterwards so I could continue with my work pace--and you see this was a recipe for a meltdown for both myself and Danny but manifested in different ways.
For Danny who couldn't tell me that his schedule was too demanding spoke up by departing from his usually sweet demeanor into a personality who was overstimulated and out of control and I responded by wanting to rip my soul out of my body to get away from the anxiety I felt.
The next thing I knew, I quit. I quit full-time preschool for Danny and I quit full-time work for me. I felt like an abandonded car that had slid into the ditch during a snow blizzard. Other cars whizz by but they don't stop because they know at some point the owner will come back to fetch their vehicle.
So what have we done with ourselves? What a mother of a four-year-old son should have had time doing all along: we have spent our days checking out parks, putting together train tracks, taking trips with my mother to the ice cream shop, and reading a langushing library of books.
My schedule continues to be full, though. I'm still a mother to another son and a wife as well as a student who works at a counseling internship in the evenings and weekends. Much to my unbelieving amazement the money has somehow worked itself out even though up until a few weeks ago I was convinced my paid work was critical to the financial stability of our family. I don't know how long the finances will continue to work out with this current arrangement and, for right now, I am comfortable with surrendering the projection of our personal financial cliff or even if there is one. Instead, the car is langushing in the ditch and Danny and I are at home with my mother and we are enjoying a snow day's pace of life. It's going to be a long time before spring comes along again and I can tow the car out of the ditch. And that's just fine with me.
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