People always comment on how different my two girls look.  One is fair, blonde, blue eyed - the other is olive skinned, dark hair, brown eyes.  Their personalities are often as different as their hair color.  Lily tends to be more easy-going and has a sweet nature about her.  She’s also prone to over-sensitivity and the need to always be right (even when she’s wrong).  Arden is hilarious and energetic; she’s the life of the party and is also prone to wild mood swings and difficulty adjusting to even the smallest obstacles (imagined or real). 

Way back when Mike and I were splitting up, both girls went to counseling.  It was a great experience for the both of them.  Lily’s counselor was fine, but I really loved Arden’s.  She had just enough of an edge to her that Arden knew she couldn’t get away with anything, but tempered her edge with a nurturing and kind side.  In a way, I got more out of Arden’s counseling than she did.  I tried to emulate her therapists finely-honed skills - being both the disciplinarian and the person you’d most like to hug you.  She showed me the two didn’t have to be mutually exclusive.

The biggest thing I learned from her was that I needed to stop holding onto my emotions.  Children can be ungodly frustrating, and Arden definitely knows how to push my buttons.  There are so many times she’d whip me into a frenzy, and the more I lost control, the more she reacted and pushed.  Sometimes I almost felt like she was trying to push me over an edge, just to see if I’d really come back every time.  Honestly, there were times I didn’t want to come back.  I felt like I didn’t deserve what was being dished out.  It was too much with everything else.  Her therapist spent a lot of time with me explaining that I got the brunt of it because Arden felt the most comfortable with me - she could let it out and know that I still loved her.

While that was great to hear, I still had to learn to deal with her tempests.  The problem was, when Arden would throw a fit or defy me, I’d get angry.  I could pretend I wasn’t, but she saw right through it.  Not only did I get angry, I’d hold onto it for an hour or two.  I just didn’t feel like she deserved forgiveness so quickly.  But her therapist demonstrated, over and over again, that you could allow your child to get out “the uglies” without getting personally involved with it.  Making noise in a restaurant or being awful during a playdate?  Calmly remove her from the situation and let her kick and scream somewhere away from others.  Wait it out, even if it takes a while.  When it’s over, enforce whatever is enforceable and LET GO of the emotions. 

I practiced, a lot.  I tried to ignore people who told me I was letting her “get away” with whatever “it” was.  Slowly, her tantrums slipped away and I felt closer to her than I had in a year or more. 

We’ve been back sliding a bit lately. I don’t know why, but maybe it’s because I’ve stopped being consistent.  Maybe it’s because I’m tired when I get home at night and I don’t have a lot of patience or interest in being patient with her bad mood as she transitions from after-school care to my care.  I forget that she too is adjusting to me being at work all day, and that this may be her way of letting me know she misses me too.  I’d much prefer a hug and a sentence like “I miss you, Mommy,” but this is how she expresses it right now.

Today was kind of awful.  After half hour of being her normal cheerful self, she slipped into one of her dark moods.  She was rude, belligerent, and when Windsor came over for lunch, Arden refused to eat and speak to anyone.  I stayed calm, had her food packed up, and took both girls home.  I sent Arden to her room to recover from whatever she was mad about (because she won’t use words to tell me when she’s in that kind of mood).  I stuck her food in the refrigerator and hung out with Lily.  After about 20 minutes, I went into Arden’s room. 

She was playing on her bed, but as soon as she saw me she frowned and turned away.  I knew better than to think she’d talk to me, but I told her that her behavior was unacceptable and rude and that Windsor’s feelings had been hurt (probably not - Windsor gets Arden like no one else in the universe, but it was nice being able to point out that a non-superhero like Windsor might have had hurt feelings).  I hugged her and told her I loved her and she could come out and join the rest of the human race when she felt better.

About 20 minutes later, a paper airplane flew into my room:

I heard Arden giggling, so I opened it up:

She had finally admitted she was hungry, and drawn me a picture to illustrate she was ready to eat. 

As I got up to reheat her lunch, I got hit in the back of the head with another airplane:

(to translate:  she wanted to cuddle like I had been with Lily)

On the back of the airplane, she’d drawn this:

We sat together while she ate her very-delayed lunch and she smiled at me.  I realized that I hadn’t held onto my emotions, and when she made the effort to draw me a picture - and say sorry in her strange little way, I was in a place where I could hear it and move on.  She still received her punishment from lunch (no ds for the afternoon) but she was good-natured about it.  Tomorrow she says she’s going to call Windsor and apologize.  For me, those paper airplanes were a big step in the right direction. 

My eldest daughter is unfortunately taking after me in some ways.  For example, she’d rather read a book than play outside, even though I’m mean and I force her, kicking and screaming, out into the humid Virginia hotness.  This pays off sometimes, especially now, before reading will become a placard proclaiming “NERD!” in the middle and high school years. 

The Accelerated Reader (AR) program is a computerized reading incentive program that assigns a reading level and point value for each book in its program, depending on the book’s difficulty.  In non-educational terms, kids read books, take tests on a computer, and receive points for the tests.  Lily was especially motivated by the free Chik-Fil-A kids meal if she doubled her AR goal.  Turns out the cows got her first place in her classroom for AR points and in the top 10 for the second grade. 

She didn’t know she’d won until the assembly this morning.  Her cheering section was there and in the form and me and my parents, and her dad.  I got that intense mom-pride when she was called up on stage and while making fun of myself for my irrational pride (really, it was the Chik-Fil-A incentive that got her to win), I was still goofy and happy for her. 

The best picture a short girl sitting in the far back could get: 

Arden’s also starting to read on her own, so hopefully the idea of a free kids meal will get her plowing through the books next year.  Whatever it takes, folks.  Whatever it takes. 

It’s been an interesting month. After climbing hand over fist out of a big dark hole that consumed me in December, I’ve been enjoying life and the bright spots.  I’ve been able to do this even though my finances are in the worst shape they’ve been since I was 24, which is saying quite a bit. 

Please don’t tell me to get a job or other brilliant and cliched pieces of advice.  I’m working on it as best I can.  I’m working on it as fast as I can.  Talking about the job search over dinner, Arden reaches over and holds my hand.  Looking deeply into my eyes, she says, “Mommy, I don’t want you to go to work.  You already DO work.  We are your work and you need to be home with us.  Is this so you’ll have money for Disney?  Cuz I can give you my piggy bank money . . . ”  Man, when Arden pulls out the sweet side of her personality, it slays me.  Her ability to articulate (when she wants to, which is never when she’s mad about something, and just growls and grunts like a cave-child) blows my mind. 

Thankfully most of my hobbies these days don’t cost much.  All the running makes me burn through shoes at an uncomfortably quick rate, but other than that, all my races through July have been paid for and all I have to do is keep training without getting injured and all will be good.  Training is free (except for the shoes) and it makes my brain think better.  Writing is free.  Reading is cheap as well, especially now that most of mine is done on the Kindle. 

This weekend, I crawled out of a warm and exceptionally comfortable bed in order to attend the kick off training session of the Sportsbackers Intermediate 10K training team.  I’ve never been so cold in my life, and yes, I AM from Michigan.  I was under-dressed and since it was “only” 2 miles I couldn’t get warm.  I don’t think I was warm by the time my Sunday race came around, aptly named the Frostbite 15k.  Thankfully the sun was out and I was perfectly fine for the majority of the run.  By mile 7 I was stripping off my running jacket, and the sweat on my face had frozen to a cheery white residue. 

My stressful start to the race bears discussion.  It goes back to a longstanding issue with me:  I hate asking for help.  I don’t know many people who love to ask for help, but I loathe it.  I feel weak and needy when I do.  However, I’d booked Windsor to come babysit for this race a while in advance, and Windsor never lets me down.  I was running the race with my friend Sarah and it was only going to be the two of us running together at our pace.  Not showing up to the race would mean Sarah’d be running alone and that’s not something I like to do to people, nor have done to me. 

Anyway, Windsor was supposed to be here at 7.30.  When she hadn’t arrived by 7.45 I knew something was up.  She wasn’t answering her phone or text messages.  I was getting desperate.  The race started at 9.  In a moment of panic, I called my neighbor and she was thankfully awake. She came down and watched the girls until I could beg my dad to come up and take over, in the hopes that Windsor would show up eventually.  It was very difficult turning off my phone and running that race, not knowing what was going on, trying not to feel guilty, trying not to think about how hard this single parenting gig can be.  Windsor showed, my dad went back home, and everything was fine in the end (she took some cold medicine that knocked her out, literally).  Without my family and my friends, I am not going to say I couldn’t do this, but it would definitely be even more challenging than it already is. 

I often wonder if I’m projecting or really picking up on vibes from certain people.  These vibes lead me to believe that I am being selfish for making running such a priority in my life.  To this I answer, it’s the one thing I consistently do for myself and no one else.  It’s part of my overall health, both mentally and physically, and I think having something that is one’s own is a beautiful thing.  I do it for me.  Secondly, I think it sets a good example for my own children.  I put health as a priority and they know it.  They want to run the Disney Fun Run before the half marathon when we’re there.  Both signed up for an extra program to run 26 miles over the next 3 months; in exchange for tracking their progress, Sportsbackers gives them cups and badges to commemorate each 5 mile milestone.  Who knows if they will like running in the long term.  I just know that growing up, physical activity or sports were NOT important or stressed to me.  I already have two geeks in training - they are both smart and they have plenty of mental calisthenics to keep their brains strong.  I just wish that I had started my own physical challenges earlier (much earlier).  I listen to my friends who have been running for years talk about their glory days.  It’s funny that my glory days include breaking a 10 minute mile or running 13.1 miles without having a stroke.  My glory days are right now, as I’m about to hit 40. 

All this being said, if it’s selfish, it’s selfish.  Everyone has their crutch.  For some it’s a glass of wine every night.  For me, it used to be food.  I prefer my newest crutch.  It’s a lot more rewarding. 

December was a cold, hard month.  I still feel somewhat frozen from everything that happened, and the thawing process has been slow.  I’m getting there, though.  I smile a lot more now.  I laugh about stupid things.  I am starting to find fart jokes hilarious again, always a good sign, and I can sit quietly in a room by myself without feeling like my heart is going to pull an Alien move and burst out of my chest, just to run around the room looking for the next victim.  In one week, I’ve seen two people I’ve been avoiding because they know me too well and could see through any smokescreen I put up.  I wanted to be able to tell the truth, to be able to say, “I’m doing well” and mean every word of it. 

And I AM doing well.  I’ll go out on a limb and say this:  I’m pretty content these days.  I like my life.  I’ve found a way to dislike my situation but still be happy with where I am.  Do I love this rental house that is sucking all the money out of my bank account and costing me dearly because no one has ever bothered to insulate it properly?  Nope.  Do I love being broke all the time?  No.  Do I love having no idea what to do with my businesses if I do break down and go back to work for The Man?  Definitely not.  But when I look around, everything I see is mine and it feels genuine without any artifice or pretense.  The journey seems worth it today, especially when I look in Lily’s eyes and see that she is coming back around, out of her own dark place.  I hope Arden’s healing is not far behind, but in the meantime we band together in weird ways and offer comfort as we can.  Arden holds my hand and offers her piggy bank; Lily gives me her DS-i and tells me that I can play the hardest level on Mario Brothers.  I make them pancakes for dinner and sing stupid songs in a falsetto voice, which surely annoys the neighbors and makes Thora shake in fear.  We’re doing our best and you know what?  It feels pretty good. 

(Cameron, me and Sarah at Frostbite . . . soon to all be running the Disney Princess Half!)

Mom:  “How are you going to have enough money to go to Disney with the girls?”

Me:  “I don’t know.  I’m going to wing it.  First step is to register.  That might get me motivated.”

Mom: “Well, save money.”

Lily:  “Live Better.”

Arden:  “Walmart.”

(insert rash of giggling and more repetition at the Church Of Walmart’s slogan altar)

In Michigan, it took a blizzard of epic proportions to keep kids out of school.  I clearly remember my dad fishtailing his way up the giant hill to Junior High cheerfully blasting NPR and giving me a hearty “Have a great day, Sweetheart!” at the top of his lungs while I considered the repercussions of flipping him, and the school system, the bird. 

When we did have snowstorms of epic proportions, school would be canceled one or two days at the max.  If we got the second day, I can still recall the pure joy burning through my veins - TWO DAYS in a ROW!!!  Later, when I could drive, my diesel Rabbit would be unplugged from the power source that enabled it to start on cold days and my friends would pile in.  Donuts in the high school parking lot (the kind that don’t make you fat), specifically looking for icy roads so we could spin out - it’s no wonder I still remember how to drive in terrible conditions.  Is it possible my parents actually let me drive in that stuff?  They were probably so fed up with me, they would have let me drive the Rabbit across West Bay just to get me out of their hair.  The ice was so thick I could have anyway.  Not that I ever tried it. 

It is true that every 4th vehicle in my hometown of Traverse City, Michigan was either a snowplow, sand truck or a very large 4 x 4 truck with two pieces of triangular metal welded to the front - the makeshift redneck snowplow.  Therefore, it was rare that that the buses couldn’t get anywhere on the days it snowed very hard.  The entire population of hearty corn-fed Michiganders banded together in an ice-fueled festival of “CLEAR THE ROADS!” and got out there, shoveling, snowblowing, welding metal to their cars, and making sure their precious kiddies never missed a day of edu-macation.  I’m sure I’m making this up but I wouldn’t be surprised if Grand Traverse County voted unanimously to outfit all school buses with chains during the winter months of September through May. 

I’m not going to launch into a tirade about Virginia, or Henrico County, or the lack of snowplows and budgets.  It’s rare we get snow like this so okay, I get it, but that doesn’t help the insanity that sets in.  I have to ask:  why is it that the first time in nearly a year, I have a paid contract job and my kids are suddenly home, crazy from cabin fever, and crawling all over me like ants on syrup?  I get that every single solitary freakin’ back road in the entire county has to be cleared before the buses can run because if a single child can’t be bussed in to school, then dammit, no kids will suffer the misery of education! 

I think even the kids are starting to miss school.  And that’s saying a lot. 

Last week was “my” week with the kids.  No school Monday through Wednesday.  Lily went half day on Thursday; anytime there is a half-day Arden’s preschool is cancelled.  Based on the threat of bad weather, schools closed again on Friday.  Yep.  The threat.  Not only does forecasting bad weather send everyone streaming into stores for milk and bread (and according to Nicole and Dan, Rainbow Cookies from Ukrops), it sends the schools into a frenzy of OMG OMG OMG we need to preemptively close schools. 

I know.  Safety first.  But can we mix in a healthy dose of reality?  The rest of the Virginia universe drove around, to work and to Ukrops for more Rainbow Cookies - all week long.  Most were miserable and stressed out, going either 104 mph in their Suburbans and Lexus SUVs.  The rest drove 3 mph and randomly stopped in the middle of the roads.  Oh and by the way?  Did you know that snowplows don’t have to follow basic traffic rules, like stopping for red lights?  Yeah, we were almost creamed by one yesterday.  I even saw a snowplow in a ditch in the middle of 64 over the weekend - that had to be embarrassing. 

We had another wicked snowstorm this weekend.  I’d venture a guess and say it was worse than the one we had last weekend.  If my calculations are correct, this will mean the kids will be out of school for the next week entirely.  And there may be some freezing rain mid-week, the threat of which may cause them to cancel school for a third week in a row.  Did I mention the paid contract due at the end of this month?  Did I mention the ants in syrup reference previously? 

Yesterday the fighting and nitpicking reached a fever pitch.  I clearly recall saying, “I’m going to lock you both in a dark room with soundproofing and feed you through a slot in the door if you don’t knock it off.”  I also lost it entirely when Arden was screaming and crying because she was “cold”.  She was “cold” because I’d let her use my bathtub as a pool and she’d stayed in for nearly 90 minutes.  Why would Arden be cold?  She was running around the house buck naked refusing a towel and screaming at me that she was cold.  It was refusal of towels that caused a psychotic break in me.  We both survived the cold incident, but just barely. 

I have meetings this week that will be canceled.  I’ve already abused my regular babysitter with favors; time to start hitting up the neighbors or just standing on the side of the road with a billboard advertising Two Sometimes Well Behaved Children In Need of Entertainment. 

To those parents like me - hanging onto their sanity by their fingernails - I salute you.  And I actually feel a tiny bit of guilt for the joy I felt when schools closed.  My poor mother.  If it makes you feel any better, mom, I’m paying it back in spades now.