Imposter

In my head, I am never good enough.

One recent Thursday, I got home from work around 5pm. Alyssa and Tom had been there all day, just hanging out. Olivia was with my mom and wouldn’t be home until at least 7pm.

I’d planned to put on my new roller skates as soon as I got home and work on breaking them in.

Instead, I plopped down on the couch next to Alyssa for an hour.

Tom mentioned pizza for dinner.

He and Alyssa bickered over who was going to make it. He ended up going in to the kitchen and I heard him chopping onions. At that point, I assumed he was getting ready to put the pizza in the oven.

At 7:00, Alyssa went into the kitchen and exclaimed, “Dad! I thought you were making the pizza!”

He declared that no, he wasn’t making it. He’d chopped the onions but it was her job to put the pizzas together and get them in the oven.

I felt so defeated by this whole thing. By the time the stupid oven heated and the pizza cooked, it wouldn’t be done until at least 7:30. I decided then and there I was NOT eating that late.

I know. I’m only punishing myself. But it was so frustrating. If I’d known he was doing some kind of power play with Alyssa, I’d have gone out and put the stupid pizzas in the oven myself.

I went up and laid in my bed with a fan blowing on me. It would have been lovely if only I hadn’t been feeling sorry for myself. I was hungry and yet…I knew I wasn’t going to eat.

Olivia called me from town to let me know she and Gram had just dropped the boys off at their house and they’d be home in about a half hour.

I went back downstairs and put a can of soup in my bag for lunch at work the next day. I couldn’t bring myself to cut up a cucumber or make a salad. It frustrates me so much that I am so self-defeating.

Olivia got home, we all welcomed her as if she’d been gone for weeks instead of 36 hours.

The pizza got done just as she was getting home so she was just in time to eat a couple of pieces even though she’d had McD’s an hour before.

While I sat at the table with the girls as they ate their pizza, Tom brought three pieces of pizza to the table for me.

I glared at the pizza and asked him, “Where’s yours?”

See, let’s back up a bit. He’s been eating salad for dinner every night for a week. NO WAY IN HELL was I going to sit there and eat THREE pieces of pizza while he stuffed lettuce in his face. Nope.

I let the pizza sit there while O finished eating her own. Tom did end up getting one piece of pizza for himself. While he ate it, I got up and put the leftover pizza away, including the three pieces he’d set out for me. Full disclosure: I ate several mushrooms off one of the pieces he’d give me. So I didn’t completely abstain from dinner that night.

As I was putting everything away, he came over and started washing the dishes.

I could tell he was pissed. When I asked him why he was mad he said, “You didn’t eat, there’s no need for you to have to do the dishes.”

And okay, that’s very nice. But…damn it, it made me feel terrible.

Why?

Why does it matter to him if I eat pizza or not? I’m FAT. I’m gross. I can skip a meal or twenty and not be anywhere near starvation.

I often feel like nothing I do is good enough. I can’t skip enough meals to be thin enough. I can’t be gentle enough to be a good mother.

I don’t exercise enough. I don’t model good choices for my girls. I don’t keep our house clean enough.

Let’s be clear that this is all me. No one in my house says anything to make me feel this way. It’s all my own issues and my own sense of not being nearly good enough. Everyone THINKS I’m good enough but that’s because I’m faking it just enough to make it in their eyes.

When I tucked O into bed that night she said, “Was it better while I was gone?”

Oh. Oh no, not even close. I told her I didn’t sleep well the night before because she wasn’t there. I told her life is NEVER better when she’s not there.

Now, let me be clear, I do not think that my husband’s and children’s lives would be better without me. As bitchy as I sometimes get, as awful as I often am, I never imagine that they’d be better off without me.

They love me. They love me despite that fact that I can’t seem to love myself. So Imma stick around even though I often don’t feel like I deserve any of them.

Literally Olivia

Remember that exercise where you have to describe how to do something and the person following the directions is really obnoxious about it?

We did it during RA training back at IU a hundred and twelve years ago. We, the RA trainees, had to tell our trainers (the ACs – aka Assistant Coordinators) how to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

But we had to be REALLY detailed because they acted like they didn’t know how to open a stupid jar of jelly or what to use to spread the peanut butter.

Yeah.

So.

That’s kind of what it’s like to raise a child like Olivia.

She can be so sweet and so funny and these days she’s REALLY loving.

And yet…she is so literal. You have to watch every single word that comes out of your mouth because if you misspeak even one word in a sentence of eleventy hundred, she’ll latch on to that one word you messed up and won’t let it go.

And sometimes, I swear to Rob Thomas, she deliberately mishears something just so she can argue with you.

It’s beyond frustrating and into infuriating.

There have been times when I have to step out of the room before I lose my freaking mind.

Yes, I am mother of the century over here.

I know. I know. I AM grateful that she speaks so well and often so eloquently. I am grateful that she can be so deep as to pick up on nuances and inflection.

But the literal stance she takes on your word choices is insane.

She also had to make sure everyone hears and acknowledges everything she says. She has a lot of good ideas. I love that she’s so imaginative. She’s clever and smart and is always thinking.

But she often thinks out loud and she wants EVERYONE to hear her thoughts.

Even if we’re all in the same room, she’ll say something and if I’m the only one to reply to her comment, she’ll go stand in front of Tom and repeat herself and then she’ll go stand beside Alyssa and repeat it AGAIN, just to be sure everyone in the room can appreciate her brilliance.

And wait, one more bit of… grievance? Is that what this is, a bitch session about O’s idiosyncracies? Maybe. Maybe I’m just documenting her personality at 13. Yes. Let’s go with that. I’m not complaining so much as I’m documenting.

Except this next one is a complaint and I’ve told her more times than I can count that it irritates me.

We can be in the middle of a conversation. We’ve had several exchanges where she talks, I talk and then she talks some more but then, all of a sudden, she’ll have to start her next statement with, “Mom?”

And then she waits until I say, “What?” before continuing.

Guys, we were talking…to each other! She doesn’t need to ‘get my attention’ because she already had it. She doesn’t need to make sure I’m still listening because we were conversing. That’s how conversations work, for the love of Meatloaf!

Ahem.

And that’s a little bit of life with 13 year old Liv.

Venturing Out

At this time this was written, I am in the middle of my third week back to work.

How’s it going?

Olivia’s stress level has dropped a little, which is a HUGE relief.

Work is fine. The stress level is fairly low. There are no outside visitors to deal with.

Olivia had an orthodontist appointment, which was non-eventful. The tech who worked on her wore an N-95 mask under a paper mask and all of that was under a face shield. She was well protected as well as protecting Liv. That was nice.

I was able to go into the orthodontist’s office with Olivia. They took our temperature and pointed us in the direction of their wall-mounted hand sanitizer. We were the only two in the waiting room and all the receptionists worse masks.

Back in the room where they do the work, I sat in a chair that was all by itself against a well across from where Liv reclined to have the work done on her teeth. We continued to be the only people in the building other than those who were working there. The orthodontist himself also wore an N-95 mask, a paper mask and a face shield. Everyone also wore gloves.

So…that’s one place in our area that is doing the very best they can to keep us all safe.

Olivia and I both wore masks as well, though, obviously, she had to take hers off during the work on her braces.

We went to Meijer to buy groceries over the weekend. About half the customers work masks. All the workers did.

Our local Walmart has six confirmed cases of Covid-19 among their employees. We’re not going in there any time soon.

Is this our new normal or are we marking time until things get back to the old normal?

Who even knows?

America's Roast Beef, Yes Sir!

I’ve learned a few things from having a teenage daughter who works at a fast food restaurant.

While I did once work at KFC a hundred years ago, I only worked there for six weeks because I HATED it. It was just so seriously awful. I admire Lyss so, so much for sticking it out at Arby’s for as long as she has. Maybe it helps that her first job, in the kitchen at a boy scout camp, was so much worse than what she’s doing now that Arby’s doesn’t seem so bad. Maybe it also helps that she works with several friends and she likes most of her other co-workers as well.

Or maybe, and this is just a shot in the dark, she’s just a better person than I am. I am absolutely not discounting that possibility.

So in her time at Arby’s she’s shared the biggest pet peeves that people working in fast food have.

1. When you’re in the drive-thru and the voice comes over the intercom asking you if they can take your order, don’t chortle and say, “Heheheh, it’s gonna be a big one.” Seriously. Don’t do that. It’s an asshole move and it just serves to irritate every single person listening in on the order.

2. Do order just a beverage through the drive-thru. Everyone is always SO HAPPY when someone comes to the drive-thru and orders just a drink. Even just a shake makes their lives that much easier.

3. Don’t call the young lady handing your food anything that might be an endearment. It’s not charming, it’s not polite; it’s creepy and gross. And yes, saying, “Thanks, Super Model”c ounts as creepy and gross. Yuck.

4. This should probably e 3a. But don’t try and flirt with the person taking your order. OR the person making your order, or the person around the corner trying to cut beef. Leave these kids (and their mom-supervisors) alone. They’re just trying to get through their day. Isn’t it enough that they leave that place smelling like curly fries? Do they also have to pretend to be deaf so they can avoid your obnoxious comments? They are NOT interested in having a flirtatious conversation with someone old enough to be their parent or, God forbid, their GRANDPARENT. Stop. Just…don’t.

5. If you are going to be ordering a lot of food, prefacing it with an apology actually does kind of help. It lets the employees know that you know you’re kind of being a jerk and you’re actually sorry for it. But then again, this might just be me. I mean, I apologize for taking up space so…take #5 with a grain of salt, or maybe a side of ranch.

6. If the place you’re ordering from says their water isn’t working so you can’t order beverages, don’t ask for coffee, then tea and finally a Coke. The WATER WAS CUT BY THE CONSTRUCTIONS WORKERS. Here, have a shake!

7. If you’re pissed off when the poor teenager manning the register tells you that CORPORATE discontinued onion rings, please know that this wasn’t done AT you. And the kid making $11/hour isn’t to blame. Decisions like that are above their pay grade.

We’ve all had crappy jobs, right? It’s too bad we can’t all remember that when we’re out in public treating service workers like crap when things don’t go our way.

What I’m saying is maybe we could all not be dicks to each other when we’re out and about.

And damn it, if you’re in a place where the employees are wearing masks, the least you can do is wear one too! I mean, DAMN!

What I Learned from Celery

I did actually learn a thing or two during the celery challenge.

Well, wait. I think I knew most of the things I ‘learned’ but I was reminded of them while I crunched my way through The Week of Celery.

One – I can do anything for a week. When I know there’s an end in sight, I can do just about anything.

Two – I definitely wouldn’t want to do it for any longer than a week, though. I hate diets. I hate being hungry. I hate feeling sorry for myself.

Three – Eating a stalk of celery a day is not smart. I was so tired that week. SO TIRED. Not enough calories wears me right out.

Four – I sleep better when I’m not consuming caffeine. For what it’s worth, I haven’t taken up the Coke habit in the days following the end of The Week of Celery.

Bread

So the whole celery challenge is over. With its completion, Tom decided he’d give up bread for the time being.

I only mention this so that in case anyone hears of a woman being arrested for murder, you all know that there were extenuating circumstances.

Because, see, if he loses ten pounds in a week from giving up FREAKING BREAD, I will murder him.

Wait, does that seem extreme? Really? Ever so sorry but no.

I ate CELERY for a week. Let’s remember, too, that this was not unlimited celery. I ate a single freaking stalk of celery each day and I did NOT lose ten pounds during that week.

So, if that man is able to eat normally except for the omission of BREAD from his diet and loses weight like I expect he will, I will not be responsible for my actions.

I will be found not guilty for reasons of insanity because damn it, men and weight-loss make me crazy.

Are You There God?

The few days that Olivia was super sad, I started praying with her, asking God to touch her heart and help her find peace.

She latched on to the idea of peace and God like a drowning girl hugging the neck of a life guard.

We found a book for her at Ollie’s about children’s prayers and bible verses that are child-friendly.

She had read it from cover to cover several times.

She asks if Nell is at peace since she’s in heaven. She wonders aloud if God is watching us and how he can keep track of every person on earth.

She asks questions and listens to the answers. She wants to know and she’s actively seeking peace.

I’m learning from my sad thirteen year-old and I’m so grateful for that.

In the past couple of days, she’s been markedly better.

She’s asked about depression and how it differs from mere sadness. I’m trying to answer her with age-appropriate information.

I don’t have all the answers and I admit that to her.

We hug a lot. We pray. We are trying to get outside more and eat better. We go to bed earlier and we’re washing our faces and feet before bed because it relaxes us.

We talk and we listen, with our ears and our hearts.

And we know that God is listening. Jesus is listening. The angels are listening. Our loved ones in heaven are listening. We are not alone and that right there gives us all a lot of comfort.