Struggles of a Perfectionist Mother

On my drive to work today, I could not hold back my tears. I am failing my daughters, the eldest two in particular. 

These feelings began earlier this quarter, but seeing their current grades solidified my beliefs. The eldest is smart, sweet, sarcastic, and pretty studious. That said, she failed a geometry take-home test.

With a mathematics professor sitting on the sofa every evening. 

With a mother that did not force the issue. 

The second daughter, also in middle school, is brilliant, bright, sunshiny, and also snappy. She has a D in english, along with a low C in prealegra. 

With a mathematics professor sitting on the sofa every evening. 

With a mother that is trying to let her learn lessons the hard way. 

Their academics are falling through the cracks of my teaching job and clarinet studio. I am not sitting with them after school, looking over their lessons for the day, asking comprehension questions, and teaching them how to study instead of just doing homework. 

The weight of my responsibilities to my girls as a mom and as a teacher are weighing on me. I know I am working so that they can have braces and dance classes and basketball and music lessons and english tutoring (thank you, Anna!), but I feel like my work is keeping me from being that picture of the perfect mom I have in my mind; the mom I want to be for my girls. 

I am not sure what the perfect solution is to our situation, but I do know that I need to cut back my working hours a bit next semester and make a point of sitting with each of my four girls after school and looking through their work with them on the days I am home early enough to do so this semester. I have to.

They need me. 

And where does this thought lead me every time? I need my father, my Heavenly Father. Without the love, mercy, and grace of God, I cannot accomplish my goals for myself and my family. 

While considering my need for God this morning, He spoke to me through WGTS, the DC Christian music station on the radio. Up first was "Cornerstone," which could not have been more appropriate to my thoughts and prayers at that moment. Following "Cornerstone" was "Revelation Song," singing the words, "Holy, holy, holy; Is the Lord God Almighty, who was and is and is to come." What a true example of God working through my prayers and reassuring me that He hears me and can handle any plea I place before Him. Praise be to God!

Note: when I have the chance to edit this post from something other than my phone, I will include links to these beautiful and uplifting songs. 

Frustration

I have heard so many wax poetic that the obesity epidemic in the world today is directly related to a lack of physical activity. Others claim the cause is poor nutrition and lack of self-control. If either, or both, are correct, what is wrong with me and those like me?

Let me paint a picture of my week:

• I do one hour of intense Zumba Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.
• My husband and I take at least a 2-mile walk 5-7 days per week.
• I drink over 100 ounces of water daily.
• I drink a soy milk and green superfoods drink every morning.
• I eat a primarily vegan diet with the occasional chicken breast or hamburger added to the mix. 
• Our home is dairy-free and, mostly, gluten-free, thanks to Celiac Disease in my husband and second daughter.
• I spend Tuesdays and Thursdays on my feet 10:00 am until 4:00 pm, teaching college mathematics.
• In addition to teaching math, I also teach clarinet and flute lessons on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays.
• When I teach all day, I drink a vegan meal-replacement shake and eat a Clif Bar for lunch.
• I have four daughters, a husband, an orange furbaby, and a home to tend.
• I play in a woodwind trio, woodwind quintet, and orchestra.
• I am planning a solo clarinet/chamber music recital.
• I practice one hour or more daily.

My point? I am far from lazy, I do not overeat, and I eat pretty healthy food.

Why, then, am I gaining weight instead of losing? I suspect a few culprits:

1. A healthy body requires at least eight hours of sleep per night, and I am averaging just under seven right now.
2. Weight training is missing from my routine.
3. My stress levels have soared this semester.
4. Although I eat heathy foods, and not too much of anything, I do still have a bit of a sweet tooth.
5. Hormonal fluctuations that are not being adequately subdued by my current medication.
6. Asthma that is not as under control as it used to be.

My plan is to start with the first item on my problem list and work my way through them until I discover what is stopping my weight loss. I have lost it all before, and I can again.

I Did It

I gave in and read The Giver by Lois Lowery.

In fact, I just finished reading this award-winning novel a scant twenty minutes ago. When my twelve-year-old daughter asked me, "So, did you like your book?" I simply asked for more time to contemplate my position. 

My initial feelings upon completion are:

-The characterization and descriptive language was spot on, for my liking.

-I was quite taken with the development toward the climax, but I was quite let down by the resolution of said climax.

-The last few chapters seemed to rush into an expected spectacular finale; however, at the end, I was left with a deep feeling of disappointment.

With all this in mind, I am pretty certain that I still enjoyed reading this novel, despite its lackluster ending. In time, and with further reflection, I believe I may even find some deeper meaning in the ending Lowery wrote.

So This Is a Mid-Life Crisis?

I have read stories and heard of men leaving their wives of 10-15 years for a young gal and a fast car. That's a mid-life crisis. 

Or so I thought.

Here I sit at the age of 37, once one of the best high school clarinetists in the world, once considered the only Differential Equations tutor on a campus of 20,000-plus students, once a person sought out for her opinion and expertise, once one of the most successful private clarinet teachers in the entire Twin Cities metropolitan region.

Once.

Now, I am teaching remedial mathematics to adults. I literally teach middle school math to adults during the days. Without a masters degree in mathematics, the community college for whom I teach will not allow me to teach the very same courses I have already tutored or taught at two universities. I was hired to teach, yet I am handed a script for what to say and how to teach. My students attend only 25 minutes of actual lecture time per class, and the remainder is spent in a computer lab. Yes, we are "teaching" students with math anxiety or math phobia by online lessons and computer-based testing. Sure. Because that will work. Imagine me rolling my eyes obnoxiously at this point.

The other, typically primary, source of income and fulfillment for me is my clarinet studio and performance business. The state of my current studio is just sad: I have two students right now. Two. And one is not paying me. Sigh. I teach lessons on alternate weeks, which is a policy I was specifically against when running my very successful studio in Minnesota. I just do not have a choice. I went from nearly thirty students per week plus a wait list in Minnesota to one paying student twice monthly in Maryland. I just did not expect this to be the case.

On the plus side, several band directors have been quite excited about the students I do have, and they want to send me many students. The main problem is that most of these students want to just go to Music & Arts for lessons. I am now considering turning in my résumé to Music & Arts in order to get my studio filled. Another plus: Music & Arts is hiring. Crossing my fingers and praying that this will work. Performance income is non-existent, at this point. I am beginning to sort out to whom I need to become associated in order to get paid playing jobs in the area, but it will take time.

Since my clarinet studio is struggling, I have been researching what it would take to earn a masters degree in Applied Mathematics at one of the local colleges or universities. So far, I have learned that a Masters in Applied and Computational Mathematics from Johns Hopkins University would cost nearly double the same degree from Harvard. HARVARD! After looking into the program at the University of Maryland-Baltimore County, I was informed that I would not qualify for their Applied Mathematics program because of a lack of pure mathematics courses during undergrad. That makes sense. The eye-rolling thing again. 

So, I find myself at a loss as to what God has in store for me and my intended direction or vocation. Music is my passion. My life. Teaching music is the majority of that passion. I feel lost without a full studio. At the same time, I adore teaching math and seeing that realization dawning on the faces of those most challenged in mathematics. It feels wonderful to have a community of coworkers and friends at the community college, too. As a self-employed business of one, I have never really felt that sense of belonging at a work place. Well, I felt mostly that way when I taught at Groth Music in Minnesota, but I did not actually work for the store. 

The most stressful part of not being successful right now is the financial impact my family is feeling. Living in the Baltimore/DC area is ridiculously expensive, so we have made sacrifices: Our idea of vacationing is visiting a place where we can stay with friends or family, eating out is reserved for special occasions only, the kids cannot take music lessons or dance classes yet, sports are limited to those we can work into the budget easily, and more examples than I can count. While I know we are teaching our children financial responsibility by not using credit cards or taking out loans and living within our means, I feel guilty that it is my fault the girls cannot have certain things their friends have. Now, I do not want to spoil my children, either, but it would be great to actually take my kids to the movies instead of waiting for the movie to be available to rent at home, for instance. The girls do not need the newest iPhone on the market, or any iPhone, for that matter, but I would love to give them a single pair of jeans or a shirt that they want when their behavior merits a reward. 

I guess my take on the mid-life crisis is feeling like a massive failure. So, for those people wishing for me to fail at something in school, I am failing at nearly everything these days. I got sick and could not exercise for most of the last year, so I have put on weight. Failure. I am teaching remedial math to adults at a community college for a day job, and I have no career growth possible for the future. Failure. My studio is a disaster. Failure. I am moody and standoffish, so I am not being a very good wife. Failure. I have been yelling more at home and finding myself with much less patience as a mom. Failure.

What I am not failing at right now is humility. I have no choice but to humble myself before God and seek His divine plan for my future. I am not failing at loving my husband. I am not failing at loving and supporting my four girls and teaching them important life lessons. I am not failing at being a good friend, I hope. I am not failing at teaching math to the best of my abilities.

I need to focus on my successes and not my failures, but some days I just cannot stop and see the silver linings. Today has been one of those days where I feel like I just keep failing myself, my God, and my family. Instead of dwelling, I am cleaning, organizing, and doing my best to keep my mouth shut and only say positive words to my family. Where do I go from here? I have no idea, but I know it will require hours of prayer and following God's path for my life. He would never leave me feeling hopeless and without purpose in my life. 

Mom's Free Laundry Service

We have six people in our family, so I always have tons of laundry to do. Every single day. What happens when I do not do any laundry for several days? This:

My children are ages 11, 9, nearly-7, and 5, so I believe they should be doing more to help with the laundry. When we moved into this house, I began to make them all put away their own laundry, which has been great. The problem is that they neither bring me the laundry on a regular basis nor appreciate all the work I do in order to get their cute jeans, favorite dresses, and goofy socks back into their drawers and closets. 

I have decided that it is time for some changes in our house. 

Over the past year or so, I have gotten softer on the girls and my husband about the laundry routine, and it is grinding my days off to a halt now. I work three days per week, volunteer at school on one of my off days, and have zero desire to spend my remaining day off on laundry. When the girls and my dear husband return home today, they will find a scene like this:

While this particular room is my own bedroom, I have placed these notices in each of our three bedrooms. What does it say, you ask? Let me show you the new rules for laundry in my house as of today, Tuesday, October 22, 2013:

I am quite hopeful that my days of rounding up piles of clothing from my daughters' bedroom floors, hallways, the entryway, the family room, and the bathrooms are over. There will be some growing pains, I am sure, but I also realize that I am doing a disservice to my offspring and myself by not encouraging them to be even more independent about their laundry. It is not enough to show them one time how to load the washer or fold clothes from the dryer. It is time the girls learned to follow through the entire process.

It may be several more months before I feel comfortable with the two big girls actually running the washing machine and dryer; that is a lot of responsibility. See, there I go babying them again. When each of the girls turns twelve, I will teach her how to do laundry from beginning to end. There. Now, I have to do it. 

Processing Death

And like that, she is gone.

I will miss my grandma in so many more ways than I thought I would. Her kindness, her generosity (I have never met anyone else that offers my girls "Freezey Pops" at any time of day), her sweetness, her stubbornness, her laughter; it will all be missed. 

Death wreaks havoc in many ways, and my response is particularly a multi-emotional one. I tend to have less patience with nit-picky people, grumpy people, rude people, and complainers. I cannot hide my opinion or anger or irritation very well, and I tend to blow up over insignificant things. I cry over the smallest acts of kindness, when my girls tell me they love me, or just when I feel like it. My dear husband is capable of identifying these episodes and handling them well, but others are not.

We just returned from Grandma's funeral late Monday evening, the girls went back to school on Tuesday morning, and I had a few hours of training for my new job on Wednesday. With all this in mind, my husband's parents decided that these few days out of their multiple-week trip were the ones on which to visit us. I had asked that they not come this week, even before my grandma died, but they were insistent. 

I am still angry at the world. I am angry that my grandparents are dead. I grew up next door to them, and the bulk of my childhood revolves around them. They helped to shape me into the person, wife, and parent that I am. We are inheriting a beautiful armoire and a practically brand new television from Grandma, which is fantastic, but they will not bring her back to me. We will value these things of hers, though, and we will cherish the memories we make with them and think of her fondly. 

I know my in-laws probably expect me to apologize for my behavior while they were here, but I do not have any plans to do so at this time. I am grieving. I am stressed. I needed this time with my husband and my daughters, not house guests. Yes, I poked fun at this tacky, hideous camel-shaped table that looks like it belongs in a 70s drug lord movie that they brought to my husband. Yes, I meant it. No, it will not be displayed in a prominent place in my home. Ever. My husband understands and agreed to put it somewhere more obscure. He gets me. We are on the same page. 

Perhaps I will feel like apologizing for any hurt feelings later.

Or perhaps not.

I pray that God will help me to deal with these feelings and know the wisest course of action in moving forward. I also pray that He helps my girls to heal from all of this. I will also thank Him for blessing us in so many other ways. 

Melancholy

I would like to think that I handle most things in stride. Being a mother of four necessitates such an ability, does it not? What I have come to realize about myself in the past fifteen years or so is that I do take most things in stride, but I have a truly difficult time dealing with bigger issues in a timely manner.

Given the amount of setbacks, disappointments, and family drama in my life before I ever left middle school, one would think that nothing could get to me very easily. When I ended my very intense, romantic, on-again-off-again relationship of three years back in 1999, I sank into a very deep pit of constant sadness. That same summer, when my biological parents that had promised to pay for my fifth year of undergrad changed their minds with less than one month until classes began, I panicked. Luckily for me, my husband (then brand new boyfriend) was there to pick me up and put me back together.

Moving from the east to the Midwest proved to be more than a challenging experience for me. I was enrolled in graduate school in a field that was not my passion, living in an extreme weather environment, living in sin with my husband (then fiancé), and I felt like I was in a foreign country in terms of the people. Sadly, that feeling never went away completely, even after eleven years. I had such a difficult time processing all that change at once that my guy suggested I see a counselor or he would ship me back to my folks. Yes, it was that bad. 

When my wedding dress came in in the wrong size, I worked it out with the seamstress pretty easily and without much stress. When I got pregnant nine days after we got married, I was excited, even though this was not our plan. When it came time to deliver my first child, I just did what had to be done with determination. When I got put on restricted activity with my second pregnancy, it was no big deal.

When the grandfather I grew up with as my next-door neighbor got cancer and died, I got sad and fat. I am an emotional eater. When I nearly lost my third child due to partial placental abruptions and preterm labor, I worried constantly and hid it by knitting. For a year or more after she was born, I cried just thinking about what almost was. When I found out I was pregnant for a fourth time, quite unexpectedly, I was angry and scared until two weeks before she was born. I still carry guilt over this. When my husband had to leave us behind for nine months while he moved to the east coast for a new job, I went into survival mode. I had mild PTSD for nearly one year after we were reunited.

Yes, I can roll with some punches, but others knock me to the ground.  I will manage through faith in Jesus Christ, that I know. In fact, I am more affected by the imminent passing of my grandma than anything else right now. And just like with Grandpa, I know I am eating emotionally and sleeping more and not interacting enough. 

At least I have valued the time I have had left with my dear Grandma, and my girls have grown to adore her just as much as the rest of us. We helped her pick produce in her garden last summer. We baked her zucchini bread from the zucchini we picked in her garden. The girls ate Freezey Pops all summer with her last year. We spent most of the summer in West Virginia, taking in all the time and memories we could with my parents and Grandma. We have visited her. We have called her. We have loved her.

And she has loved us.

We are blessed.