Hiding in Plain Sight

It's hard not to get annoyed when that boy in my class is literally spinning around on his knees on the carpet while everyone else is sitting quietly and listening to the lesson.  Or when he's still doing his puzzle, even though I've called him to line up four times.  He's in trouble almost every day lately.  He doesn't know why he's acting this way.  I don't really know why, either.  But I do know that his parents split up recently, and that he's coping with it the only way his little four-year-old brain knows how.  He doesn't talk about it, but in his own way, he's screaming that he needs to be heard and understood.

In dealing with this kid's situation, I've been thinking about the people around me and how many of them might not be spinning on their knees during story time but spinning out of control, helpless to stop life's unrelenting circumstances. I wonder how many of them are concealing deep sadness or anger, aching to tell their stories but petrified by the fear that there is no one who will truly "get it."
I've known people to commit suicide before, and typical comments after such instances are, "I just never realized he was that unhappy" or, "She always seemed okay."  People have ways of "hiding in plain sight."  It's easy to think, "I would tell someone if I was that miserable," but would you?  Would I?  The darkest, most ugly parts of ourselves are the ones that we tuck away, cover up, and bury so deeply that no one else can find them.  I'd like to think that I'm pretty honest a majority of the time, but there are still pieces of me that I'm unwilling to share with anyone, even with those who love me the most.  When it comes down to it, I'm afraid that no one will hear me, that someone might judge, that someone else might laugh, and mostly, that no one will care.

While the tendency to hide is undoubtedly part of the human condition, I also wonder how many unheard stories would get told if there were more people who practiced the lost art of just listening.  I find that I'm generally more encouraged by a friend's silence than by a multitude of words which amount to little more than platitudes, quick fixes, or cliches.

I guess I'm writing this because I'm daily realizing that everyone is fighting a hard battle.  I often have a short fuse with people.  To that little boy in my class, I sometimes just want to yell, "Seriously, stop acting like that.  You're driving me crazy."  When talking with the friend who is making destructive decisions because her boyfriend just broke up with her, I have to resist the urge to shake her and say, "You're being a complete fool.  Just stop."  The situation is never as easy as "just stop."  There is always so much more under the surface than people are willing to or feel comfortable with sharing.

So I'm challenging you today, but mostly I'm challenging myself, to have some grace with people.  Smile a little more than you think is necessary.  Say less.  Listen more.  Remember the times when someone has shown you kindness.  Mostly, consider everything about a person before jumping to a hasty conclusion.  The outward signs of a perfect life do not always reflect the inward state of being.

Giving up

About a month ago, I went back to working full-time after taking a leave of absence when Piper was born.  Since August, I had been teaching morning Pre-K and staying home in the afternoons with the little one.

The full-time situation came about very abruptly.  To make a long story short, I interviewed for (what I thought was) a full-time special education position starting in August 2014.  At the end of the interview, which lasted exactly twelve minutes, the assistant principal said that the school hadn't had anyone to fill the position all year and asked if I could start as soon as possible.  Though I felt morally responsible to finish out the year at my current school teaching a.m. Pre-K, I agreed to work afternoons at my new school.  I interviewed on a Wednesday and started the following Monday.  Life is a whirlwind sometimes.

Everyone keeps asking me if my job is going well and if I like working full-time.  It is, and I do.  I feel like I am in the increasingly smaller percentage of people who can say with confidence that they love their job.  There will always be things that are annoying about any line of work, but I find so much fulfillment in being able to help and learn from kids every day.  I never before realized what people meant when they said, "I gave up my career to have kids."  Now I do.

Piper has been a very easy-going baby, so I just assumed that she would adjust well to staying at daycare all day.  Wrong.  Though I realize that no one will care for her quite like I do, I love her teachers at daycare and know that she is in good hands when I leave her.  The fact of the matter is that there are seven other babies in her class, she's been bitten twice in the last three weeks, and she sometimes sleeps a total of fifteen minutes...all day.  Her daycare is highly reputable in Norman, and I wouldn't want to put her anywhere else.  But I dread picking her up after work because I'm afraid of what her teachers will tell me about her day, and because it pains me to see her tired, red eyes when I know that she has no problem sleeping for 2-3 hours at a time at home.

Something's gotta give, and I'm a firm believer that family comes first.  Unless, by some act of God, Piper starts thriving in daycare by the end of the year (which I suppose could happen), I won't be working full-time again next year.  I'm surprised at how saddened I am by that possibility.

When I was little, I used to line up all of my dolls and play "school."  Sure, there were times when I played "house" and "church," but from a very young age, I think I always knew that I was made to be a teacher.  At times, I entertain other options in my mind, but at the end of the day, I can't imagine myself in another profession.  To be honest, I don't find a lot of fulfillment in changing diapers, making bottles, and shaking a rattle in Piper's face- not because I don't love her or love being with her, but because my mind isn't stimulated in doing those things, and I often have a hard time seeing the greater purpose in the little details of motherhood.  

The thing I am realizing more with each passing day is that having children means giving up.  Giving up looks differently for different people.  For me and for other moms and dads who make the choice to stay home or cut back on hours, it might look like forgoing a well-loved career for a time to ensure that our children are happy and well.  For parents who do continue working full-time, giving up might look like forsaking some things that they'd like to do for themselves because there simply isn't time to fit everything in anymore, or giving up control because someone else is making many of the decisions about how to raise their children.  For every parent, there is a loss of freedom, at least to a certain extent.  Though we give those things up willingly because we love our children, it is still giving up, and there are times when living sacrificially is not always fun.

My daughter may never come to me and say, "Thanks, Mom, for giving up your career when I was little so that you could be with me."  And I think it will be okay if she doesn't.  I've had 25 years to make decisions that are best for myself.  Although it is difficult, there is joy in making decisions that are best for someone else.  Sometimes giving up means finding your life again.