I’ve Run Out of Spoons

One of the things I was looking forward to most about my daughter starting preschool was the opportunity for ME to meet new friends. I was really hoping to find a really cool group of women who have the same kinds of values with different backgrounds, and that we would all hit it off amazingly well and have coffee together and talk about the trials of Mommyhood. And guess what… it happened! I have met the neatest people at this preschool. I really like them, and I really like their children.

Now, when I say that it happened, I mean the first part happened. But it’s just amazing how, no matter how hard we try, we just can’t seem to find the time to get together for a cup of coffee, or sometimes even for a 5 minute chat after drop off. So when there was a flier in my daughter’s cubby for a Tuesday morning group called Moms Supporting Moms, I was all over it. We’ve started reading a book by Lysa TerKeurst called “The Best Yes,” which is about learning to say no, and learning to say yes to the best option for you and your family.

The other day, our conversation turned to the fact that many times, we all just feel overwhelmed. The other ladies in the group and I are all in different situations: a mom who works full-time, a mom with a child in grade school and a preschooler, me, the mom with a two-year-old and a four-year-old. I said to the other ladies that sometimes I feel ridiculous saying that I feel overwhelmed. I stay at home with my girls, who are still little, so we don’t have a million activities to do or practices to attend. We have family and friends that are close by who are always willing to help out. And yet, especially for the last couple of weeks, at the end of every day I sit down and realize that I didn’t get half of the things done that I wanted to, and yet, I can’t really put my finger on one thing that we did do.

One of my new friends in the group, Becky, said that she read an analogy recently in which a woman said to imagine at the beginning of the day, you have a handful of spoons, like a handful from the cafeteria line. And every task that you need to do takes a spoon. Make breakfast? There’s a spoon. Get yourself and the kids dressed? Another spoon. Grocery shopping? Spoon. But where it gets tricky is when extra things pop up that take an extra spoon. Breakfast takes one of your spoons, but what about when the two-year-old keeps playing with her cereal milk, even after you’ve told her not to, and just when you get up to get another cup of coffee, the bowl ends up on the floor? That takes up one of your spoons. A tantrum at the grocery store? That takes up two spoons, on top of your already allotted grocery spoon. Sometimes at the end of the day, you reach in your pocket for another spoon and there are no spoons.

Let me tell you, lately, I’m out of spoons by, like, dinner. Violet is shaking off her nap, which means that she needs to nap, but has realized that Mazie and I do stuff while she sleeps, and she’s missing out. So by about 4:30 on days that she doesn’t sleep, she is losing her mind. And Mazie is at the age where she super wants to help with everything: mopping, washing the dishes, making homemade bread, cleaning the toilets, folding the clothes. It’s really sweet, but those of you who have a four-year-old know that when they “help” it isn’t really help, and the task itself then takes minimum twice as long. Throw in teaching SAT tutoring classes, blogging, hosting essential oils classes, and a ton of other things that I want to do, and I’m all out of spoons. There was a day last week that I woke up and reached for my spoons for the day, only to find that my stash had not been replenished. Perfect.

And honestly, I just hate when I get low on spoons. I feel my patience slipping away and it seems like my kids just can’t do anything right. In my worst moments, I feel like they must just see an angry face in mine all of the time and it breaks my heart. Because I have great kids, and they are so enjoyable. I look around the house and I see the things that I just didn’t get to. My floors need mopping, I forgot milk at the store, and I haven’t replanted my vegetable garden. My friends are noticing that I’m out of spoons. Jen called me on it last week, which is how I know she’s really my friend. She didn’t let me off the hook when I said, “I’m ok, just a little overwhelmed.”

Unfortunately, I don’t really have the answer at the end of this blog post. But I will say that it helps to talk about it; it helps to know that it isn’t just me who is drowning out there in Mommyhood. There just might not be an “answer.” In “The Best Yes,” TerKeurst writes that we often fly the flags of things that we have overcome in our past, but that we rarely talk about the shortcomings that we are struggling with in our present. So here I am. I’m waving the white flag of the Overwhelmed Mama, hoping that you will see it and take solace that you aren’t alone. I asked Grandma Betty once how she survived being a single mom of two little kids who were only 15 months apart and she looked at me and said, “Some days I didn’t.” While that seems a little bleak, it was also very comforting. It means that I’m not some horrible failure as a mother, as a woman, or as a person. It means that we all go through valleys where the struggle is real. It also means, though, that we will come out on the other side having survived after all.

Just Do Your Job

Sometimes the day in, day out is a grind, especially when you’ve been at your job for years. And when that job is teaching, when you’ve been going in day after day, usually teaching kids who don’t give a damn about their education, it’s even harder. I know. I’ve been there.

A couple of months ago, I decided that I would start substitute teaching one day a week to help contribute to our household income. My husband doesn’t work on Fridays, so he is able to stay home with our daughters while I work. My former school district hired me, and I’ve spent the last month and a half at the high school that I taught at for 8 years. It’s great because I know all of the secretaries and most of the teachers and I eat lunch with a bunch of my friends. It really has been fun to be back.

This last Friday, I subbed for a teacher in the special education department who teaches only one period a day of math support and spends the rest of his day as a collaborative teacher in main stream “regular” classes. He has a caseload of students who need individualized attention, which comes with a lot of paperwork and parent meetings to make sure that the students’ educational goals and needs are being met. I walked up to his classroom for his second period class and got the usual, “Are you the sub?” as I opened the door with my key. I walked over to the desk, only to find that there were no lesson plans. As the kids sat down I told them I would take roll, then try to find out what we were supposed to do for the day. Their answer was not uncommon, “We should just watch a movie!” I told them we would NOT be watching a movie, but not to worry, I’d find something for them to do. “We always have Movie Fridays,” said another student. “Sure you do,’” I answered, and started calling around to other teachers for ideas. In my calls, I find out that this teacher never leaves lesson plans for subs. As a substitute teacher, this is my worst nightmare, because now I’ve got up to 40 students in a class with nothing to do. For an hour. Awesome.

After about 5 minutes of me floundering and the students texting, the class collaborative teacher came into the room. I told her that I was grateful she was there because there were no lesson plans, and to my surprise, she told me, “We always have Movie Fridays.” She proceeded to pull up Netflix on the classroom computer and pick a movie for the students to watch during class time. The movie she chose was Three Days to Kill with Kevin Costner.

Let me pause for a moment here to tell you that I have NO problem showing movies during class time. In fact, I think that they can be excellent tools to support classroom instruction. I have movies that the kids hated and movies that the kids loved. I’ve shown all sorts of films, from a documentary about Benjamin Franklin (hated) to Their Eyes Were Watching God with Halle Berry (loved). I have film adaptations of short stories that we read every year that I could pull out and use if I needed an extra day to grade essays, and I have the interview that Oprah Winfrey did with Ellie Wiesel, an author and holocaust survivor who wrote about his time in Auschwitz. I even have an entire unit that examines literary devices that cross over into screen direction in Edward Scissorhands. It’s genius, really.

But here’s the thing: Movie Fridays? Um, no. This collaborative teacher went on to explain to me that having Movie Fridays every week gives the teacher a chance to catch up on his paperwork, and the kids love it. Honestly, I was astounded. My mind drifted back to my teaching days, with 40 kids in a class for 5 periods a day. We tested every 6 weeks. Every 6 weeks they wrote essays. If you’re keeping track, that’s 200 essays to read every 6 weeks. It was awful. So I understand needing to catch up. But every week? And the movie that she chose… for those of you who haven’t seen it, in the first 5 minutes, a woman is recognized as a spy, beaten until she is a bloody mess, dragged across a hotel hallway, then her assailant pushes the elevator call button, pries open the elevator door, and when the elevator comes down to their floor, it decapitates her. Mouth literally agape, I turned to the other teacher who said to me, “Oooh, well, it’s PG-13. I hope I don’t get in trouble.” I sat through the rest of the class period watching shootouts, people getting pistol-whipped, and a near rape of a teen-aged girl.

I know that I was not the perfect model of a teacher when I was there full time. I know. There were days that I got side tracked. There were days that I was just too tired, too sick, or too pregnant to be effective. I know this. But there are ways that you can still make students work and learn while you take a little break. Instructional minutes are so valuable and it seemed that at the end of a grading period I just never had enough time to really teach what I needed to teach.

I’ll admit it. I was seduced by Dead Poets Society into thinking that my teaching career was going to be full of inspiring students to stand up on desks for me, that I was going to teach them more than the class content, and that I was going to use literature to change their lives. But I wasn’t teaching the students of Welton Academy. And Mr. Keating I am not. My students needed to learn to write a sentence. And read at grade level. I didn’t even have the freedom to choose my own curriculum, like Ms. Johnson in Dangerous Minds. So on we trudged, through texts like William Bradford’s ship log from his journey on the Mayflower, written in 1620. Are you kidding me? I don’t even care about that. We read Patrick Henry’s “Speech to the Virginia Convention” and when I asked who the audience was, the students couldn’t tell me. Perhaps, the Virginia Convention?

And while I met some really neat kids along the way (who are probably reading this article), there were also the bad apples: the boy who threw an eraser at my head, the girl who called me a fucking bitch to my face, the boy who said if he had been on a slave ship, he would have “tapped” as many women as possible, the student who stole an ipod off my desk, the boy who made one of the most disgusting sexual comments that I have ever heard about me and my husband, and the student who told me that now that I was pregnant, I could be a MILF.

Teaching is hard. And there are so many who go in every day and do it well. I couldn’t anymore. So I got out. And here’s the thing, if you can’t do it anymore, if you have Movie Fridays every week, EVERY WEEK, then it’s time for you to get out, too. As I went on about my day last Friday, I got angrier and angrier. I got angry because there are so many teachers, my own friends, who are rad teachers. And they fight against the crappy kids and the prescribed curriculum and they TEACH. But then there are the few, and believe me, they are few, that have given up, that have Movie Fridays, and Study Hall Mondays, and Free-Time Wednesdays, and they are the teachers that we hear about on the news. They are the ones who are held up as the mascot of all teachers on talk radio. They are the ones that the public holds up as the example and scream about inflated teacher salaries and incompetent classroom management. And you know what, they’re right. The public is right to scream about those burned-out, uninspired, dried-up teachers. But those teachers are not the norm. And they’re giving the rest of us a really bad name.

This is harsh, I know. But if you’re going to continue teaching, you gotta pick up your game. You gotta pull up your britches and DO YOUR JOB! You don’t have to be Mr. Keating or Ms. Johnson. But you have to do your job. Teaching is hard; it is. But you know what, lots of jobs are hard. Lots of people get up every day and go into a job that they dislike. If you were just a pencil pusher in a cubicle that hated your job, I wouldn’t care how you did it. But you aren’t. Your slacking and burn-out is directly affecting the lives of students who desperately need an education. They can’t do basic math. They can’t write a sentence. They don’t have good examples of responsible adults at home. And when they see you giving up on your job, they see you giving up on them. They may not verbalize that. In fact, they’ll probably love Movie Friday. But deep down inside, they’ll know.

Teachers, let me give you this poem, in the spirit of LouAnn Johnson from Dangerous Minds:

“Do not go gentle into that good night”

Dylan Thomas, 1914 – 1953

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Women Who Come Running When

I bought these as favors for Anne's baby shower. There have never been sisters in my family before, and I wanted to let the important women in my life know that I learned about sisterhood from them. This is who we try to be. — I bought these as favors for Anne’s baby shower. There have never been sisters in my family before, and I wanted to let the important women in my life know that I learned about sisterhood from them. This is who we try to be.

On Halloween we trick or treated with neighbor friends, because that’s how we do. Steffani and Laurie know each other through me. They both have three year old daughters, Clare and Abigail, who decided that they had to trick or treat holding hands. Since Annie refused to get out of her stroller, I kept up with the older kids as they ran from door to door. Pretty soon, Steffani and Laurie were half a block behind us.

We all caught up again at Lara’s home, where as we stood outside with the kids milling around, Laurie gave Steffani her phone number.

Suddenly I was twelve years old again.

Wait, what? Why are they exchanging phone numbers? If they become better friends, what will happen to me?

Now, I know that this is silly.

And I further know that I am the one moving away.

But for one really solid moment, I felt alone.

I am blessed with an abundance of wonderful women friends. They live everywhere, from Maui to Canada and points in between.

But Steffani, Lara, Dana, Laurie, Amy, Jennifer, Angela. These are the women within shouting distance. They are the ones who come running when. And any woman—but especially a mama—knows that you cannot do life well unless you have a solid core of other women who come running when.

From midnight trips to the ER to parenting advice to playdates over muffins and coffee while the babies play, these are the friends who make the daily business of parenting joyful from the simple knowledge that I am not alone and there is always another way to cut the cake or skin the cat, depending.

So I’m sad.

Because these women right here, right now? They will always be my friends, but they won’t be within shouting distance, and for a while I’m going to feel like I lost my safe place to land.

They have taught me: we all need women who come running when. Women who love us and support us and answer the phone at 2 am. Women who laugh with us and at us and don’t see the dirty dishes or the pile of laundry. Women who travel with us and celebrate with us and cry with us when it all goes wrong.

They see us at our best and our worst and they still come running when. They show up for it all.

I want to say thank you to these women for making my life here so beautiful and full of love and joy. I couldn’t have done it without you and I love you.

And here’s to all the women who come running when.

May you know one and may you be one.

In Memory of Mo

This week, one of our own, Pat Haneef, lost her husband. The Haneef family has been such a wonderful part of my life, that I wanted to take a moment to honor Pat, who has been such a great support to me through some difficult times in my life, and to honor Tayyiba Haneef-Park, a beautiful, strong mama who was a teammate of mine at Long Beach State and whom I have loved watching in the Olympics, as they mourn the loss of their larger-than-life husband and father, Mo Haneef.

Tayyiba and I were teammates only for one year at Long Beach. I was a 5th year senior during her redshirt freshman year. Even though their daughter was redshirting, Mo and Pat came to every single match that we played. My career at Long Beach was a short one, as I was a transfer during my junior year, had to redshirt that first year, then was short on units and ineligible to compete my 4th year. My 5th year, I had to fight to earn a spot on the court, then fight to keep that spot. Sometimes I succeeded; sometimes I didn’t. But one constant memory that I have of that year is seeing Mo’s smile after each match. He was always down on the court with us, congratulating us, and giving me words of encouragement. No matter how down I was or how frustrated I was, Mo’s smile was infectious. He encouraged all of us. He was as big of a cheerleader of mine as my own parents were.

When I watched Tayyiba compete in the Olympics (2004, 2008, and 2012, she rocks, you guys), I remember seeing Pat and Mo up in the stands, cheering those ladies on. I remember the pride in his eyes as they won silver medals in both 2008 and 2012. My husband fondly remembers chatting with Mo at the Long Beach State alumni events, which he and Pat faithfully attended, even when Tayyiba couldn’t attend. And even still, all these years later, Mo continued to encourage me as a woman, as a mother, and as a person.

There are so many more aspects to this wonderful man’s life, some that I have only learned about since his passing. He was an amazing Track and Field coach who inspired thousands of young athletes here in Southern California. He was also an accomplished basketball player, playing for Northwestern University, as well as professionally in Italy. But one thing is for sure, he was loved by all who knew him, and will be sorely missed.

I ask you, again, our faithful readers, to join me in prayers and well-wishes for our sweet Pat, Tayyiba, and Tayyiba’s brother Arshad. While I would never assume to know “exactly” what they’re going through, I know that the days, weeks, and months ahead will be filled with grief and sadness, as well as laughter through tears as they mourn the loss of their husband and father. Pat, Tayyiba, and Arshad, we send out our love to you, and know that our prayers will be with you through the difficult times.

What To Do When You Don’t Know What To Do ~ Dana

A good friend of mine texted me last week to me know that her father passed away. He had been sick for a long time and over the course of his illness, she and I had many conversations about this process of losing a parent to cancer. When I told another friend the news, she said to me, “Oh, she’s lucky to have you. You must have known just what to say.” But the truth is, I didn’t. I don’t.

Having lost my father just over a year ago, I definitely know what NOT to say. I’ll give you the top three: 1. “Don’t worry. It gets better with time.” Here’s the thing: no it doesn’t. I’ll never have a daddy again. There is nothing better about that. Ever. It felt so dismissive when people told me this, as if in just 6 months I would just be over it all. 2. “I know exactly how you feel.” I understand the sentiment behind this one, but truthfully, no one knows exactly how you feel. Everyone’s relationship with their father is very different. Some people are close with their father, some aren’t. Some carry around anger and resentment. Some have tremendous guilt or regrets. I know how I feel, but that doesn’t mean that any one else feels the same way. 3. “Just be happy that you have your daughters.” This one bugs me because it ignores the gray areas in life. The happiness that I have in my daughters is unrelated to the sadness that I still feel about losing my dad. Absolute joy and gut-wrenching grief CAN actually exist together, thank goodness.

But what TO say, then? I don’t know what to say to my sweet friend because I know that there was nothing that anyone could have said to comfort me. Every sentence I thought of saying to her seemed so empty and superficial compared to the hurt that I could hear in her voice. So I hugged her, and told her how sorry I was. And I meant it.

Then I did for her what so many did for me and my family when we were in the midst of hospice and funeral planning: I brought food. During those horrible days, I cannot even remember who brought what, but our friends descended on my parents’ house, bringing homemade cookies, BBQ’ed chicken and hamburgers, chicken salad from Costco, croissants… it was a cornucopia of goodness that made our lives so much easier. There was so much to be done, especially when we brought my dad home, that we absolutely did not have time to cook, and there were only so many meals that we could stomach from the local fast food joint. I remember just crying after one of my mom’s friends from church literally brought us boxes of food. Their gifts of food nourished our bodies and our souls. It was just one less thing that we had to worry about.

The recipe I made for her is a simple, but delicious pasta dish that travels well and can just be microwaved or heated on the stove. I threw in a green salad, some Italian bread from a local bakery, and a bottle of wine, packed it all up in a Trader Joe’s bag, and sat with her in her father’s house. I’m including the recipe here. It’s a staple in our home, especially in the fall and winter. Try it for your family, and try it for a friend in need. Win-win.

Pasta e Fagioli

Ingredients:

3 Tbsp olive oil
1 onion, quartered, then halved
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 15 oz can tomato sauce
1 15 oz can diced tomatoes
2 cups water
3 ½ cups chicken stock – 2 14 oz cans or homemade (click here for our recipe)
1 Tbsp dried parsley
1 ½ tsp dried basil
1 ½ tsp dried oregano
1 tsp salt
1 15 oz can cannelloni beans (or white beans)
1 15 oz can garbanzo beans
½ cup fresh grated Parmesan cheese (plus more for garnish)
½ lb ditalini pasta (or elbow macaroni, cellentani, or other curved pasta)

Directions:

1. In a large pot over medium heat, cook onion in olive oil until translucent. Stir in garlic and cook until tender. Reduce heat, and stir in tomato sauce, diced tomatoes, water, broth, parsley, basil, oregano, salt, beans, and Parmesan. Simmer 40 minutes.

2. Add pasta and continue to simmer for 20 minutes.

3. Serve with extra Parmesan for garnish.

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this: