Just out of curiousity this evening, I was digging around in my nightstand, reading through my old journals. The oldest entries that I've found were from 1993, but I'm guessing I'd find more if I kept digging. I've got something like ten notebooks that are just full of this or that, and as I was reading, I noticed that most of them are similar to what I've been doing almost exclusively in this blog - writing about my faith. So the question that comes to mind is "Why have I not gotten it all figured it out by now?"
I whine a lot; why is that? I tend to focus exclusively on my shortcomings. I notice that I rarely, if ever, talk about the things that have gone well or smoothly. As a perfectionist, I suppose that the shortcomings are the nuisances in life that must be addressed - the imperfections that are now a new project. Usually, these projects are not quite successes, not quite failures.
One such project that I've been addressing since 1993 (I read my entry about when I first discovered I was pregnant with Nick) is parenthood. Even back then, I worried about the kind of parent I would be. In November of 1993, I was awash with worry about whether or not to take the full-time position after Bill Rubis retired in January. I was concerned about others "raising" my child since he would be in day care more. Pfft. If only I could have slapped my newly-pregnant self and said, "Shut up, girl. The worst is yet to come."
Yeah, this parenting gig sucks. Not gonna lie. It's freakin' hard work with nothing to show. Let me give you an example. Last week was not a pleasant parent week anyway, and by Thursday, the tension between me and Child #1 was wire-thin. We had gone to a meeting, and after the meeting, he torqued me further by (what I thought was rudely) asking for money to pay off his ski trip balance. He claimed that he had texted me the previous evening, which may or may not have been true, but he knew full-well that I had given up my cell phone for the three day fast. That set the detonator in motion.
Mike and I got home to see that Nick's car tire and the spring thaw had connected rather violently, resulting in a deep gouge in the lawn with a six foot spray of black mud on the camper. He had tried, rather unsuccessfully, to amend the situation by whiping the mud off with a. . .white. . .towel that had been carelessly flung on the garage floor. Had he bothered to mention it at the meeting? Why, no, no he didn't.
Therefore, when he and Erika got home, the bomb blew, and I mean, it blew. I won't describe all the details, but suffice it to say that I acted in a way of which I am not proud, and I stormed out of the house for an impromptu drive around the lake to cool off.
It didn't work.
When I got home, there were more fireworks, and Nick took off for a walk. When he got home, we had a come-to-Jesus meeting in which both of us put all our cards on the table. It was raw, emotional, and heart-breaking, but important things were said. Things were good for about two days. . .and now, we're back at square one.
My main beef is being treated so disrespectfully. I guess I don't mind him (or her) speaking his (their) mind because I'd rather have all the cards on the table vs. working with some sort of subterfuge, but still. I hate finding out about their lives from other people, particularly friends' parents. I hate the fact that they feel as though any quesions I may ask are intrusive. Nick even said, "Why do you have to ask so many questions? I'll tell you what you need to know." Why is it so bad for a mom to want to talk to her kids?
I guess what I was getting at originally was the concept of ruts. When things are going well, obviously, it is stupid to continue to do things the same since nothing will ever change. There is no doubt I keep falling into various ruts over and over. . .there's one for my career; there's one for church; there's one for marriage, and of course, the most aggravating one of all is the rut of parenting.
When I am in the rut, it's a miserable place to be. It's dark, so naturally, the only person I see, and the only perspective I can consider it my own, or me. Likewise, the walls of the rut are so insurmountable. All I see around me are tall, dark, sticky, mud-covered barriers blocking my path toward progress. I can't get out, I can't see a way out, and I'm too beaten down to even want to apply any energy to try. Worse, I feel lonely, and as it has been proven with my life, loneliness breeds self-involvement.
Then, suddenly, I see a crack in the wall, and I get a foothold (such as the come-to-Jesus that Nick and I had on Thursday night). Little by little and with great mental exertion, I find a way out of the rut.
As I stand above ground, I move away from the pit. I don't even want to look back into the abyss because it's just been too painful in that rut. Yup, I know the pain was for a reason, but I'm not stupid. I certainly don't want to revisit it. I take a deep gulp of fresh air while above ground, taking in a renewing breath, ever hopeful that this time is it; I will never fall back into that hole again. I can move forward.
As I take a step forward, just inching my toes (taking a long stride would just be too arrogant), I try to move in the direction I must go. Then, suddenly, those few, calculating inches have been a mistake. I was too close to another rut, and over the edge I topple into a new one, only to start the whole process over again.
So here's the dilemma. I know that in order to move forward and progress and change, a person cannot keep doing what she's been doing. According to Bill J, that's insanity (it's one of his favorite phrases, by the way). What happens if you can never leave a rut? Just about the time, you leave one, you fall into a new one, and if that's the case, how will you ever find the road to change if you can never get out of the rut?
Here's the deal. I love my kids. They piss me off beyond all belief. They aggravate me to no end, and they are disrespectful. They are slobs, they are inconsiderate (of me and their dad), and they are unbelievably selfish. . but I love them. From what I understand, they are fairly decent and respectful to everybody else. . .except us. They don't do drugs, they don't drink, they don't curse (at least, not in front of us), they go to church (willingly), they go to church events (willingly), and they are trying to live out their faiths.
So, what's my issue? Rejection is an awful thing. I have struggled with it my whole life. When I was rejected by my church, I was stung and wounded, but I can distance myself from them as needed. When I'm rejected at school, it stings, but I find comfort in knowing that I'm doing the best I can under the circumstances given to me. When I'm rejected by family, I know that I can control that just like church. I cannot tolerate being rejected by my kids. "Rejected" is such a harsh word; unappreciated is probably more accurate. I do not like the feeling of being so distance and dispensable in their lives.
Everyone assures me that things will change. Someday it will all come full-circle, and they will appreciate me and all I've done for them. We'll see. . .it's gonna be a while before I can comment on that for sure.
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