Tena's Therapy

One problem down, just 854 more to go

tena — Thu, 22 Jul 2010 02:51:32 +0000

If you’ve read me for a while, you may know my struggle with my kid’s schooling. There is a resolution. It’s been such a long road…

They have only attended Catholic school. It started as a necessity since we lived in a less than stellar school district.

Then we moved.

We moved to a great school district, but part of us felt this obligation to keep them in the Catholic school system. We are not overtly Catholic and this particular parish was, so from the get go, we were the black sheep. Once the kids were in, our feeling of obligation grew, and was exacerbated by a concern of uprooting everything they knew and putting them into, yet, a different school. So we didn’t.

We had problems at that school. Lots. The class sizes were very large. My kids were nameless numbers. We were unhappy. The school’s cost kept rising and our ability to pay it kept dropping.

Last year, my son moved onto high school and was our guinea pig public school tester. He loved it. We loved it. The simplicity of it amazed us. They weren’t constantly asking for money, there was a BUS, activities were free, they weren’t judgy about our church going habits or how spiritual we chose to be and I was not needed to volunteer 10 times a month. Why did I not know about this and why did it take me so long to take advantage of it???

So registration rolled around and I got stage fright. I worried about the change- for them and for me. Worried about our level of comfort and security being gone. I registered them back into the Catholic school. I payed the registration fee and had immediate regret and remorse. Had I done the right thing? Is this benefiting our family as a whole- being financially strapped for a school that we don’t love and don’t feel part of the community?

I had one starting Kindergarten and one going into 6th grade. If there was an ideal transitional year, this was it.

I swallowed my pride. It was time to make a change for the better and what we had been doing wasn’t working. I worked up the courage. My nerves a wreck, I made the call. I told the principal that, financially, we just couldn’t do it anymore.

She responded in a way that I didn’t expect. She said she wanted to help us out and that they don’t like people leaving for financial reasons (I didn’t mention our issues with the school.) At first, I felt relieved. That she seemed so open, caring and willing to help. I was glad that we didn’t have to make changes. That everything would be able to stay the same. That we all wouldn’t have to go through the first day, new school anxieties again.

Then it stewed in my brain for a while and in the pit of my stomach, I knew I was making a huge mistake by accepting her offer. The fact was that NO ONE was happy- financial or otherwise. It WAS the perfect time to make the change. I should have stood my ground and gone with my gut. Regret was eating me alive.

Months came and went. Summer break was well under way. In the back of my mind, I kept thinking how I should have followed my instincts.

Then, Monday, without any notice at all, a $600 tuition payment was withdrawn from my bank account. An account that, well, did NOT have $600 in it. I panicked. I scrambled. I was angry. I was afraid. I was told that the payment was supposed to be $800 and this was the help they gave.

This was the sign. Oddly enough, the sign that sent me away from the Catholic school. I could no longer do this. Whether they fixed it or not, this was the message that I needed- loud and clear. It was time to make the change.

For the last 3 days, I have been registering kids in a school that started 4 days earlier- not only would they be the new kids- they’d be the new kids 4 days late- all by themselves! I was ridden with guilt about moving them, springing it on them in such a compulsive, last minute manner. Trying to convince my 11 year old drama queen (the only one that wanted to stay) that her life is not ending. Hoping I’m making the right decision- a decision that I’ve contemplated for 5 years, but ultimately expedited in a matter of 24 hours of madness, tears, and hope.

Today, two of the kids started. I walked them in with bags of supplies in my hands and a lump in my throat.

My 9 year old was shy, but in great spirits. Nonetheless, it pained me to drop her off in a new place with everyone around her socializing. When I went to pick her up, she was sitting by herself- a sight that immediately sent my stomach turning and my eyes watering. Please Dear God, let her have had a great day! When I asked her what she didn’t like about the school, she said, “nothing, I really liked it all.”

The relief I felt was summed up by my Kindergartner’s synopsis of her first day of school… “It was the bestest day EVER!”

Not a feel good post

tena — Mon, 19 Jul 2010 03:19:39 +0000

My apologies. I’m not crazy busy, as many would assume. I spend most of my days sitting around watching TV- on the verge of that day’s breakdown. My recent inability to cope is not something I’m proud of.

It’s tough. Life’s struggles are getting me down. I worry every second of every day about what’s on the horizon. I take it day by day and consider waking up in the next morning a success. That’s pretty much all the positivity that I can muster.

There are still a lot of tears and a constant lump in my throat (not to be confused by the acid reflux that I’m certain is a sign that I’m morphing into a fire breathing dragon.)

The value of medication and its benefits are glaring at this point. They are missed greatly.

I avoid things and people as best I can.

I pray.

I hope for things to get better- for me- for our life.

I feel lucky to have distractions. The pregnancy, planning my reunion, my kids- they all help the hours go by till I wake up with another, hopefully, better day ahead.

Reliving the past- anxieties and all

tena — Wed, 30 Jun 2010 17:56:00 +0000

High school was a lackluster time for me. I had many acquaintances, but not close friendships. My boyfriends were always from other schools and I didn’t really fit in with many of the cliques. I believe I was friendly with most everyone, but not great friends with any. I was a cheerleader, I did drama, I was a straight “A” student, but I didn’t feel like I fit in with any one group in particular. I just never really made the right connection with people- probably due to the walls that I had up.

My husband is very confused how I could have been so involved and not been “popular”. At my insistence to him, I was the opposite of popular.

I graduated 20 years ago. I have taken on planning my high school reunion. This baffles people as to why I chose to do this.

I went to my husband’s 20 year reunion. He was a self-proclaimed nerd and slacker who barely graduated. I had to twist his arm to go because the anxiety he had of going and no one remembering who he was, was a huge hurdle to cross. He has often regretted his time in high school- not having applied himself in his studies, not making good enough grades to play in the sports to display the athlete he INSISTED he was. I wanted him to get over this regret- to be able to have some kind of closure, move on and realize that it was a life experience that taught him things that brought him to where he is today- whether it’s the way he would have scripted it or not.

He went. People remembered him. “Popular” people talked to him. Then jocks had gotten fat and bullies had gone bald, but cliques had dismantled and everyone was in a different place. It was a healing experience for him. He was invigorated. He realized that he wasn’t invisible, as he thought he was. He realized that success in high school didn’t necessarily mean success in life. He let go of some of the regret and made peace with a bit of his past.

I, too, have regrets from those days. Regrets that I didn’t put myself out there. I didn’t take the chance to let down my barriers and let people in. I was guarded- too guarded. I missed out on making bonds.

Watching my husband release a little of that regret was refreshing. I wanted the same. I wanted to take the chance and reach out- something I never did before. I wanted people to know that I wasn’t a weirdo or a bitch, just a regular person protecting herself from rejection.

I decided to reach out to my classmates in the only way I felt comfortable doing so- by using my strength of organizational planning with a touch of OCD- and planning the reunion. Ideally, I would have liked to show up looking like the day I graduated. Being pregnant has made that an impossibility. Sun spots on my face from a reaction to my blood sugar medicine has given me another reason to be insecure.

I’m 2 months out and having nightmares. Nightmares of people crashing the party. Nightmares of people not showing up at all. Nightmares of my dress falling off. Nightmares of a Liz Lemmon reunion. I’m wrapped up in the details of the event. I work on it night and day.

I’m beginning to second guess myself. What was I thinking again?

I had a bad day

tena — Mon, 21 Jun 2010 13:45:38 +0000

I have tried to put on a good face. I try to carry the weight of things and not let them get to me- too bad. It’s usually superficial little crap, but sometimes those little things add up and create big things. Take this weekend…

Saturday morning, I naively walked outside to check how wet the grass was to see if we would have my daughter’s ballgame.

Imagine my surprise when my gutters and fascia are lying in my yard- storm damage from a storm that I didn’t know we had. The house was still standing, it was only a small portion that had fallen and it was not damaged so could probably just be put back up.

My husband had just gotten off work a couple hours earlier, so I tried to remain strong and deal with the issue myself by calling my insurance agent (who wasn’t in the office, OF COURSE) to see if it was worth a claim.

I walked around to the backyard to look for any more damage. My favorite part of my yard- my wrought iron arbor with lovely wisteria flowing all over it- was on the ground- with the roots of the wisteria plant broken. Deep breaths.

Nothing I could do about it right now- so just relax- that’s what I kept telling myself, but myself wasn’t listening.

That afternoon, I noticed that my once beautifully green, manicured lawn was turning BROWN. I am a lawn Nazi. I spend lots of time working on my lawn and in my garden- making it look perfect so I can enjoy it. Until recently, I did all the treatments and fertilizing myself (control freak), but considering I was brewing a baby, I thought it best to hire someone to deal with the chemicals and poisons for a while. BAD IDEA, apparently. Clearly they killed my grass, BUT they were closed on the weekend- OF COURSE THEY WERE!

I had birthday parties and ballgames all day to keep my mind off of my house falling apart- it didn’t work- it’s all I thought about all day.

After a full day of worrying, I came home and picked up my mail. There was a bill for some blood work I had done last month- not covered by insurance for some reason- to the tune of $394.

That was it. I lost it. I couldn’t take anymore bad news for one day. I had myself a good cry. I don’t know if it was the hormones or the fact that all these places were closed on the weekend and I couldn’t get any answers or the fact that every time something else happened all I saw were dollar signs, but whatever it was, the crying was necessary.

And the next day wasn’t nearly as bad.

Tears of a big fat pregnant clown

tena — Mon, 14 Jun 2010 16:13:34 +0000

I’ve been a total downer. I get that. I’ve sounded all introspective, depressing, and conflicted. Then, because of that, I feel guilty. So, I’m done.

I’m trying to move on. Bear with me.

I’m slowly getting the energy to hold my head up again. However, the hormones are still racing and I have no control over them. It’s actually kind of funny. Lots of tears- for no apparent reason.

Unless you count finding a black sock in my white clothes hamper as a legitimate reason for crying.

Or searching for a formal maternity dress for my class reunion- which is, surprisingly, not as fun as it sounds.

I cried while reading a story about Josie Duggar in People magazine at the gym on the elliptical.

I cry during most TV shows, including CNN’s coverage of the oil spill, America’s Got Talent, and iCarly. Yes, I did.

I cried during the Real Housewives of New York Reunion when Bethanny stood up and showed off her post baby body (less than a week!) and she was about the size of my 11 year old daughter!

Pregnancy is fun.

It’s a boy!

tena — Thu, 03 Jun 2010 19:45:00 +0000

Sugar and spice and everything nice.

I was raised one of 5 girls.

For 11 years, I have mothered girls- 3 of them. I’ve been able to play dress up with them. I’ve braided their hair and painted many nails. I’ve negotiated appropriate ages to get ears pierced and am currently bargaining for the right time to shave legs and wear make-up. I’ve dealt with hormonal ups and downs and tantrums that can only be fueled by estrogen.

It’s not that I preferred a girl, but it’s my comfort zone.

My comfort zone was shattered with a pregnancy at 38, so why should the fact the I’m having a boy be any different.

Yes, I do have a son. He will be 16 just after this baby is born. That was a long time ago. When I had him, my life was so different than when I raised my girls. Looking back, a boy suited me at that time in my life. He was a low maintenance, agreeable, easy going baby and kid. He was my starter child and he warmed me up to the idea of being a mom- my daughters really should thank him.

This time around, I guess I’m at that familiar place I was when I was about to become a 23 year old single mother.

Unplanned. Shocked. Nervous.

Still trying to accept that my life is going in a totally different direction than I had anticipated.

Trials

tena — Wed, 26 May 2010 13:50:50 +0000

Life throws you things that you don’t expect.

Deal with it. Cope. Do what it takes to get through to the next day. And survive.

Take a deep breath and pray for resolve. Hopeful for the light at the end of the tunnel, only to find a dark detour.

Choke down the tears and fears. Fight back. Have hope.

Try to stay positive and be grateful for what works, but how long before a good attitude tires and expires? How much can one person take?

They say God only gives you what he thinks you can handle.

He has far too much confidence in me.

Excuses, Excuses

tena — Thu, 20 May 2010 15:03:17 +0000

I am the opposite of a consistent blogger lately.

I could (and will) give a thousand excuses why. And thought they are, indeed, excuses- they are all 100% true.

I only have about 3 good hours out of each day- usually in the morning. The rest of the day is spent fighting back the urge to puke. You’re welcome.

I am planning my 20 year class reunion. The one that I planned to lose weight for and look smoking hot and have a great time and a few drinks at, and instead, I will be sober as a judge, bloated, puffy and 7 months pregnant, painfully insecure and probably intensely stressed out since I won’t be able to numb the anxiety of things going well.

As much as I despise summer break, I have decided that May is my least favorite month of the year. Why is it that schools try to fit everything into the end of the school year? You had an entire year! Don’t you know that May is also a sweeps month?

My family has openly discovered my blog and the ability to read. JOY. They have all been kind about it, but it’s still hard for me. I don’t know why this is such a paralyzing factor for me, but it is. I feel like I censor myself and worry about what to share and what not to share. Attention family members: pretend you don’t read this when you see me- I prefer to live in denial- thank you.

One word- nesting. Sure, with normal people, nesting doesn’t happen until the later months, but the obsessive compulsion in me has already begun… linen closets, bathroom cabinets, and storage.

I seriously have no place to put another human being. I have begun to attempt to create a room in our unfinished dungeon for my 15 year old (they’re resilient, right?)

It’s a boy/girl!

tena — Wed, 12 May 2010 14:57:55 +0000

I don’t like surprises.

I don’t like to NOT be in control.

This is probably the reason why the only time I have muttered the words “I’m pregnant” in the last 14 weeks was to my husband on my cell phone while sitting on an ER gurney to get my thumb x-rayed, at least I think that’s how it went… I may still be suffering from a slight case of post traumatic stress disorder.

I still don’t feel like I’m in control of this. I am still in shock. I’m still trying to prepare myself for this next journey.

So, when people ask if I’m going to find out if it’s a boy or a girl…

Me? Control freak? Not find out the sex of a baby? It’s laughable, really. Hell YES, I’m going to find out! I’ve had enough surprises.

And I’m not a fan of yellow and green. Or referring to a baby as an “it” or some goofy gender neutral nickname like “noodle” or “pickle”.

I will find out on June 1 whether I will have baby balls to contend with or more estrogen and drama. But that’s just a formality. I know what I’m having and it’s fairly scientific.

I was not sick with my boy pregnancy at all and I was as sick as a dog with my girls- from DAY ONE!

This time, I had NO idea I was pregnant until the ER doctor informed me in my 6th week- NO SICKNESS, whatsoever (boy)… until 2 weeks later. Now, food repulses me- I cannot watch Food Network without really testing my gag reflex. Everyone around me is suddenly wearing too much fragrant lotions and perfumes, or smells like bacon(girl).

So, I think it’s obvious. Hermaphrodite.

A bitchfest- my apologies

tena — Mon, 03 May 2010 20:19:53 +0000

I’ve been missing in action. Or more like missing in inaction. I am feeling the six years that have passed since the last time I was pregnant and not liking it. I honestly didn’t think I was too old for this, but I am rethinking my stance.

I’ve been doing the absolute minimum that needs to be done to get by and feeling guilty about it.

I bribed my son into running a mock practice for my 5 year old when I didn’t feel like I could make it to her practice without throwing up.

My kids have eaten a borderline neglectful amount of peanut butter sandwiches for dinner in the last few weeks.

I’ve been praying for ballgames to be rained out.

I haven’t written a post in 2 weeks and my ads have been pulled.

Tonight- I am allowing my husband to deep fry fried chicken in my kitchen.

My house is a mess and I don’t have the energy to clean it.

I don’t even know who this person is that has taken over my body!

She’s lazy, not hungry, sore, and a bigger bitch than normal. I’m already too uncomfortable to sleep, so add tired to the list of my sunny disposition traits.

The doctor said today that this phase should be over soon. For your sake and my family’s, I hope he’s right!