Real-Talk Wednesday: First Grade Blues

Tomorrow marks the second first day of school for my son, Harper. First grade: where the time went, I'll never know.

It's the age-old adage: time flies.

I know everyone says it, and I know everyone feels that way most of the time. But there are occasional moments that it really hits home, and I realize just how little time I have to make the most of the small things.

As a single mom, things are...not always fun around my household. Weekday mornings are rushed, evenings are tense and rushed, and the time before bed is usually me sitting paralyzed on the couch trying to figure out the triage of chores and responsibilities.

This is when I have one of those rare moments that everything is clear: Laundry, washing the dishes, and picking up the clutter isn't important. Catching my Monday-night prime-time show, checking my e-mail, or looking things up on the Internet is not important. Checking my Facebook, kicking up my feet, and catching up on my reading is not important.

Each night before I fall asleep, I say I'm going to be better, do more with my kids and be a positive, happy parent. Then it's 7:30 a.m., and I've asked Charley to get dressed three times and Harper to brush his teeth twice. I'm already yelling. I feel terrible but tell myself I will get it together after work.  By the time it's 7:00 p.m. and we still haven't had dinner, I feel like a failure.  We don't have any time for that walk in the park or to play Candy Land. It's been all summer, and we're still not finished with Oz the Great and Powerful, a measly eighteen chapters that should have actually been finished in June or July.

How did I get here? 

It doesn't seem like it was even more than a year ago that I was holding Harp in my arms and just staring at him. He was such a calm, laid-back, and happy baby. I just can't remember much between then and now, and I dread that the next seven years will be the same. I'm terrified to think that when he's fourteen, I will not know how we got there. He's already turning into a little boy who's interested in cars and looking cool. The world is slowly curling its fingers around him, and the innocence and wonder is beginning to melt away.

How can I slow time down and teach him all the things he needs to be a good person?

I'm losing. But I will not lose.

Here's the point where I make myself those same nightly promises, but this time I mean it. I will be better tomorrow. I will be a happy and positive parent. Because what's really, truly important is my kids' happiness, their innocence, the way the perceive human interaction, and how their little hearts grow. What's important is that they learn how to be good parents from my example.  I'm going to be patient for Harper's insecurities and cautious nature, and I'm going to have more energy for Charley's fast-paced stories and enthusiasm. We are going to take that walk in the park and finish Oz the Great and Powerful.

Lately I have been remembering a lesson from my grandmother: if it doesn't hurt them, then let them do it.
Remembering that allowed this to happen:

I'm going to keep my promises I made to myself, but I'm not going to do it on my own. I'm going to rely on the wisdom from those who came before me, Mom and Grandmother, and the only one who can give me strength and hope when I feel like I have nothing left, God.

Tomorrow, for the first day of first grade, I told myself that I will get up early and make Harper his favorite breakfast before school, and by golly, I'm going to do it. Then I'll drive him to school and take tons of pictures and leave myself little notes so I won't forget where the time went.

After the Snap

decisions.

It's 6:30 p.m. on Monday evening. My first Fantasy football draft is an hour and a half away. I have a rough list of mostly quarter backs, running backs, and receivers. I get second pick. All I needed was one back-up for all my first picks. What could go wrong?

Back up. About a week ago, I was talking to my friend Tyler. I'm not sure how it came up, but he mentioned there was a spot left on the Fantasy football team he was on. I thought it would be fun to give it a shot, so I e-mailed the manager. Boom: got me a football league. Mmmhmm. Watch out, boys (and girls). Here comes KEEF. I fully committed my upcoming weekend to learning all I could and devising a strategy and team that would leave people stunned.

Then reality happened: yard work, housework, and Pinterest.

To be fair, on Saturday I did go to my grandmother's house (Read: one of the most knowledgeable sports people I know), and she gave me some tips. Of course, she's an everything-Texas fan, if we don't have it Oklahoma. A couple of times, she wanted me to clarify if it were college or pro.

"It's pro, Grandmother. We can't use college." So she started naming off all her favorite Dallas players: Romo, Murray, and a few others I don't remember. Then she clapped her hands together, in a dusting-my-hands-with-enthusiasm sort of way, and said she would be right back--she had to consult her newspaper that was covering some players to look out for. She came back and rattled off two names, which I cannot recall. Her eyes twinkled.
"One is with the Rangers and the other is with the Angels..."
My head snapped up.
"Grandmother! Are those baseball players!?"
"Oh, well, yes." She giggled and shook her head and told me to call my cousin Debbie.

Of course. Debbie. Why didn't I just do that to begin with? She gave me a really solid list, and I went home thinking I had it in the bag.

I just forgot about it on Sunday, and by the time Monday came around, I was freaking out a little.

Surely I'm missing some positions. All I have is QBs, RBs, and WRs! What about strong and weak tackles! What about a tight end, a cornerback, and linebackers! What about the kicker!?  

I couldn't do much about it. Work is work, and I actually had stuff to do. My cubicle neighbor was of no help. He is actually partially responsible for leading me to believe that I needed all those positions, and he has played before! I was beginning to feel doomed.

I wanted to go straight home and start working on my plan. But I couldn't. It was back-to-school night. If you haven't been to back-to-school night, it's like being in the middle of the Running of the Bulls except with children. It's misery. So with that cramping my plans, I knew dinner was going to have to be compromised: drive-thru.

With everything out of the way and the kids fed, I gave strict and threatening orders to leave me alone until I gave the signal. What that signal was, neither child was brave enough to ask. I was ready to sit down and take a crash course with the intent of finalizing my list, and I prayed the Internet would not go out.

It didn't start out well. I spent a good majority on the wrong league site. I almost let Kyle talk me into using the auto-pick (I knew you were out to get me). And when I couldn't find the auto-pick after I got to the right league page, I almost broke down. I needed some more guidance.

I called my aunt Myrna, and she put me in contact with my cousin Pat (Deb's bro). He gave me an awesome resource (which is actually what James sent me) and gave me some pointers. This is when I learned what "snake" actually meant.

Plan: shot.

Result: tears, cuss words, confusion, and nearly quitting.

I gather my composure and study the website. I feel more prepared, and I'm starting to calm down.

Six more minutes before it starts. My children are screaming for baths, cookies, movies, and really anything that would impede my success with this. At this point, I was 100 percent sure the Internet would go out mid-click of locking in the best players, and someone would certainly need an ambulance.

It's go time. AD: gone. It's cool. I'll take Calvin Johnson.

Whew, that was easy.  But wait. Everyone else is disappearing quickly. Ohp. There went my whole list, and I got one, ONE person on there. (I actually got four, but ya know.)

The Gchats begin. I get some encouragement, and I feel like I am doing a decent job. I start to lose track of my cheat sheet, and then about halfway through the draft, it happens.

Thirty-six seconds left, and no one I am entering in is available. I start panicking. What do I do? Who do I pick! I try to find my place on the list and keep entering in names to no avail.

Twenty seconds.

Should I just pick someone farther down that no one is picking yet? Beat the rush? Seal a deal?

Fifteen seconds.

I don't know! It seems a little foolish. I mean, if no one else is doing it that way, why should I? 

Five seconds.

Crap! 

Matt Bryant: kicker. First one. Booya!

This is what ensued:

 James:  Mandy, NOOOOOOO! 

I think it was all down hill from there. 

The last straw, when it was time to pick defense, I was screaming and Gchatting everyone: "What positions are defensive? Who do I pick!?" The clock ran out.

I ended up with the Steelers. Thank you, auto-pick.

But now it's over. My heart rate is starting to resume--two hours later.

It's okay. This weekend, I really will dedicate time to learning what the heck I'm doing. 

But now for a fun part: picking my team name. 

In with the New

If you're like me, change isn't on the top-ten list of things you love to do. Also on that list of things I don't love to do is starting a new job. Yeah, it's exciting, and I certainly look forward to work-free evenings and actually getting paid for the work that I do, but I loathe being an idiot for maybe a few months. People judge their new coworkers by their ability to retain a plethora of new information. If you can't remember the simplest thing, you're a moron.

I was a moron at my last job for at least six months. (The training was "top-notch.") But after those six months, I got to be pretty dang bomb at my job, and it just kept getting better. (I actually miss the work that I did.) Eventually, it was just time to find a new job, which is another miserable experience on its own.

Applying for job is the worst part. Resumes: dreadful. Cover letters: kill me now. Interviews... Well, all I can think of afterward is the stupid stuff I said during the process, and I want to hold my head underwater until I pass out or drown.

That's excessive, but you get the point that it's uncomfortable. No doubt you've felt this way, and if you haven't... You're a freak of nature, and I don't think it's safe for us to be friends.

This time, everything was easy-peasy: no job search, smooth-sailing interview, quick call-back. Done, done, and done.

Then came my first day; thus, my first week:

Monday:

• Stare absently into the literal shades of gray in the fibers of my cubical. Severely damage my feet because I haven't worn heels to work in over a year.
• Relearn a Mac, which I've never used consistently. Spend thirty minutes trying to figure out how to authorize my iTunes account because I can't remember the menus are in a place that still doesn't make sense to me. Pandora, my music bible, is blocked. A sadness indeed.
• Lock myself out of my computer and have IT call help desk.

Tuesday:

• After two nights of little to no sleep, I'm rocking the bun and what looks like PJs or workout clothes. The all-black choices leave the getup's purpose vague. But there is good news: tour day! It is during a two-hour ride on a golf cart that I realize I am living a real-life episode of Under the Dome. Okay, not really, but the place is like a little town cut off from the rest of the world.
• Decide I would rather work in the warehouse. There's a chick in there with guns that put GI Joe to shame.
• It finally clicks. I now understand where Monsters Inc. got their material for the door warehouse. 

Wednesday:

• More space vision and feet attack number dos. I did, however, walk two miles while at work. Winning! (Is this term still popular? I don't care, because it is applicable.)
• After work, I decide I need more boyfriend sweaters, so I went to Target. I will have one in every color soon. It's a new obsession.

Thursday:

• I'm pretty sleep deprived so: Bun Day! 
• I was late today. I left my breakfast on the counter at home. And I didn't iron my shirt.
• Another day, another two miles. 
• I got all signed up for the AP Styleguide and learned that gobbledygook is a word, the G in G-string is capitalized, and harelip is named after a rabbit. (I originally thought it was hairlip and didn't understand why. Der.)

Friday:

• Early to work!
• OhmygoshdidIreallymakeitawholeweekofstraightgoingtowork? I believe I did. Gold star on my own personal calendar! 
• Another two miles! Ballin'!
• Watch InDesign tutorials. Fight to stay awake. I didn't learn anything.
• After three trips a day for three days to the decorate-your-desk-with-these-items shelf, I finally find an M--for monster. Der.

All and all, I'd say it was a pretty good first week. It seemed like a really transition--a little too easy, actually--which is why I'm still waiting for a potential disaster.

Since this was a later-than-planned blog post, I'm pretty much done with week two. It's gone about the same with a little more work and a lot more miles. I've got some pretty awesome coworkers, and I'm loving my evenings. I also updated my desk decor. Behold!

Lots of space to fill up here!

   A Few of My Favorites

Ampersand is fancy.

Notes from old friends to remind me that unrestrained hilarity exists.

M for Monster

If you haven't met Maleficent, here's another chance.

My very favorite of all. You know why.