Sunday, September 20, 2015

When the Control Freak Loses All Control



I didn't realize until a couple years ago that I was a control freak.
I mean... sure... I've always been one of those people that would rather just do something myself than try to tell someone else how to do it.
And I like things done a certain way, and it sometimes irks me when someone does it differently.
But the biggest clue was in how often I was getting mad or irritated that people were not doing things I asked of them WHEN I told them to.

Yeh...If I ask you to do something, please do it then. Right then. Not "I'll do it afterwhile", or "ok"...and then sit there and continue doing whatever it is you are doing which is clearly not nearly as important as what I am needing you to do when I asked it of you...or I wouldn't have asked you!!

And since this realization, I've been trying to have more patience in this area. Trying not to get angry or aggravated at my loved ones when they don't jump at the my beckoned call. It doesn't always work, but in the words of the immortal Queen Elsa, I'm learning to "let it go." (and usually just do it myself)

But now, there is a new challenge for control of my life.  And it's not over someone not doing something I asked. At least not entirely.

Now it seems that I don't have control over very many areas of my life at all. 

At home, when the kids were little, I pretty much determined what they wore, what they ate, what music or movies/tv they watched, where they went, and who their friends were.
----notsomuch anymore
The kids are mostly grown, making their own decisions about what to wear, and who their friends are, and where they want to go, and want to eat, and even sometimes-how they act or speak to me.

At work, I taught my students. I planned the lessons, I found the extras to go with those lessons. We had fun, we sang songs,  we had time to get to know each other.
----notsomuch anymore
At work (or school if you will), I have no say over what I'm doing in my classroom with my students anymore. Everything is either scripted for us to say, and how to say it, and what page we need to be on each day, and which assessments to give when whether the kids have actually learned the lessons yet or not. There is no time for reading to kids, or singing with kids, or listening to the stories they want to share about themselves and their families. It's do this, and fill out these papers, and be on time for this or that... rush rush rush, test, test, test.. no time for real teaching anymore. And definitely no time for fun. 

With family, everyone was healthy, and took care of themselves (other than the children of course), and I didn't have to worry so much about them.
----notsomuch anymore
And this part is the hardest to accept I think, is the fact that I am now in the sandwich generation. 
I have teens (one who lives with us, one who lives with his dad), a college student, an adult child who still lives off of us, an Alzheimerish MIL who is getting more and more dependent upon us with each passing day, and parents of my own, in another town, whose physical healths are deteriorating faster than I can even imagine. And I work a full time job and 2 part time jobs, take care of my husband and home and pets, along with the girlchild's every need.

I am not in control of anything anymore. And I'm not sure where/how I can get that control back.

I wake up and go to school where I'm told every move to make.

I get home between 6-7pm after one part time job or both, and the grocery shopping or running errands, to make dinner for the family and make sure the MIL has a meal delivered to her. 
The girlchild will fill me in on her day, and invariably something will spark a confrontation with her. I'll find out about how my parents' days went--which ailments are acting up worse than others, what things are happening in their lives 75 miles away, and be grateful that my teen son is there to be with them and help them out because I'm not.

 I'll spend a couple hours with my husband, which is my saving grace although it carries us into the later hours of the night since that is the only time we have together, leaving not much time for sleep.

The only time there is for housecleaning is the weekends which is when I also have to get everything done for the next week at school since there is no time during the week AT school to do that, and spend time with my own kids, and community activities or any of those things that you just can't do during the work week.
So the housecleaning usually gets put off.
I guess there IS one thing I can control... housework.

My life is a routine with fights and hormones and meals to be made, and people to take care of and try to keep happy--Bosses, kids, spouse, and parents-both mine and those of my students. It's not an easy job. It's not the job I signed up for. At least I don't remember signing up for it. Not like this.

I've lost control of me. Of my life.
I'm a robot.
I'm a servant.
And no one even listens to me anyway.
If they'd just listen to me...then life would be so much easier.
WHY WON'T THEY JUST LISTEN TO ME?







Friday, September 11, 2015

A Woman's Home is her....

Well, that's what they say. 
And I guess "they" are right. I mean.. "they" know everything apparently. But sometimes there's no place like the beach, too.

But for me, Home is my refuge. I love being at home.

Not because it's a grand house. There are nicer in my neighborhood.
Not because it's a big house. I've lived in smaller, but again, there are bigger ones around here.
Not because it's clean. CERTAINLY not because it's clean.
It's never clean. 
Not because it's where my family and pets are. (See reference about it never being clean.)

No, it's not that either, because my wi-fi also automatically connects at school and I do NOT want to live there (altho it sometimes feels like I do.)
Well, yeh...there IS that... and that's how I usually am, truthbeknown...

But for me, I love my home because it's where I can breathe.
Usually, I mean.... between girlchild teenage drama and the stress of trying to figure out what we have for supper.

It's where I collapse at the end of the day, usually about 13 hours after it began. It's where I can come in and dump my stuff. All my stuff. My school bag, my talk show notes, my laptop, my flat diet coke from lunch before noon and empty coffee cup that I left the house with that morning.
It's where I can dump my feelings. All my feelings. The "first I've got to get out of these clothes and shoes and then make dinner for the kids and MIL and get it to her and then finish schoolwork and type up tv station stuff and vent to my husband while we play dominoes about all the demands being made on us at school and cry about how I'm not sure I should teach anymore because it's not fun anymore and the only thing that keeps me there most days is my coworkers whom I love and those little children, most of whom I love with a couple that I'd gladly trade to another teacher and I just wish there were another career with the pay and benefits and people I work with out there sometimes, and oh look it's 11:30 I should feed the dogs and think about our own supper so I can be in bed by 1:00am to do this all over again tomorrow" feelings. 

It's where noone cares if I stay in my jammies all day on Saturday and troll the internet and watch Sex & the City on tv all afternoon and order pizza for supper. (Not that I get to do that very often..but noone here cares when I do!)

It's where the walls protect me from the outside demands and I don't HAVE to think about test scores and data and lesson plans and interviews and I CAN sit at the table and play dominoes all night if I want to. (and I'm a kickass domino queen, let me tell you straight up!)

yes... my home, my fortress, my refuge.
Where I can do what I want, when I want...in between taking care of everyone and everything else of course.
But it's my place. And if I don't feel like doing those things, for my loved ones, they understand. 
It's where I go to recoup, to refresh, to remind myself why I do all that other stuff I do outside the doors of my abode.

It's a lot like me... not fancy, not perfect, could use some touch ups, but cozy, comfortable, inviting, safe, secure, and just nice. 

But it could still use a maid.




Sunday, September 6, 2015

All my friends are getting old


Yeh... Haven't posted in awhile. 
School started. Three weeks in and I'm ready for Spring Break!
New principals, new teachers, new literacy program... it's going well, but time-wise it is kicking my butt.

But enough with the excuses. 

So what shall the queen talk about today? 
Oh, I know....  BABIES!
Yes, babies!  No, no... not my own. They are not babies anymore.  (They aren't as grown as they think they are either, but they aren't babies.)

No.. I'm talking about GRANDbabies.
(and no again.. not my own, I don't have any... yet.  And THAT is the point of today's talk.)

It seems that in the past 2 weeks, nearly a dozen of my friends or family members have become grandparents. GRANDparents.
How is that even possible?
How are MY friends and siblings even OLD ENOUGH to be grandparents?  It's just inconceivable to me.  Well, at least until I stop and count up how old I am we are. 
ummm.... ok, yeh... I guess it IS possible. 
But seriously?... GRANDbabies?
Aren't OLD people suppose to be grandmas?
I'm not even 50 yet. 
That's not old!
Sure.. I didn't have my first child until I was 26, and my last one when I was 32...so some of my friends have a jump on me there.  AND, my little sister married a much older man who had teen age kids when they met, so SHE has a valid reason for being a grandmother of many...  but I just can't believe this is the stage of my life I'm entering in to.

Yeh yeh.. I know I'm getting older. 
My kids are all of driving age and older now.
I have to wear glasses to read now.
I creak and snap when I move around.
I moan and groan when rising from the bed every morning.
And yes...those (do I even utter the word?).. Pre-menopause signs are rearing their ugly heads lately..

but I'm still young!
At least in my head! Where it counts.
A few years ago I even toyed with the idea of having another child of my own.... briefly (and shot it down).

But being a grandmother? 
Oh yeh... they say it's the most wonderful thing in the world. Getting to love on and play with precious little ones... and then send them home!
Getting to spoil them rotten much to their parents' chagrin.
Getting to always be the "good guy" to these children.

So I guess there's that... I could see where that WOULD be cool. 
Maybe being a grandparent won't be so bad after all.
As long as I have a cool name. (no "Granny" or "Memaw" for me thanks.)

And as long as my kids are in a good place to be parents... which means college graduated, married to the loves of their lives, secure in their careers...which won't happen for quite a few more years yet.
Yeh.. then I guess it will be ok.

That's not too much to ask is it?