Author: Lily

Burn Out

I think I have finally reached the point of total and complete burnout as far as my job is concerned. After months of struggling with a sense of purpose in what I’m doing and some frustration with the monotony of it, I’ve finally reached a point where even the weekends aren’t enough recuperation and nothing seems to encourage me. While I genuinely do love the kids I am with, I am tired all of the time and I am bored out of my mind. I am completely out of patience and feel that I cannot answer one more question. Except for naptime in the afternoon, I spend 7-8 hours a day entertaining and verbally responding to a preschooler and a toddler and half of that is correcting, cajoling, convincing, rebuking, or coming up with creative and interesting things for them to do. I’m worn out. I’m committed to this job until the end of May. Intellectually, I know that’s not forever. But right now, it feels like forever. And every morning when my alarm goes off everything in me screams, “NO!”

Jonathan and I continue to wait for good news from the schools he’s applied to, but so far there hasn’t been any. We’ve begun to discuss where we’ll go and what we’ll do if school isn’t on the table for next year. It’s somewhat exciting to think about moving somewhere new based on nothing more than an interest in the location, but it can also be overwhelming and frightening. Mostly though I am frustrated and feel defeated. I am so tremendously proud of my husband for applying to these programs that are highly selective and are evaluating your creative work which is often so deeply personal. I think he is so brave for pursuing something like this and it took a lot for him to even allow himself to pursue it simply because he felt it was impractical. I am frustrated with God because I don’t understand why he would have given him this dream and given him the courage to pursue it if it isn’t even going to work out.  And I feel completely at a loss as to how to encourage him in the midst of this. I don’t know how to make him believe that whatever the outcome, he is tremendously talented and gifted and that I respect and admire what he’s done so much. Just saying the words doesn’t seem to be enough.

I also had a tremendously selfish conversation with my husband in the midst of all of this where I whined about not being seen as a writer or taken seriously for my writing. It was juvenile and pathetic and the truth remains that I have not produced anything new creatively in almost a year. This is my own fault. No one sees me as a writer because, well, I don’t write.

So friends, this isn’t a witty, endearing, or uplifting blog post, but it is an honest post. I feel like I am failing. I am failing as a nanny. I am failing at being an encouraging, supportive wife. I am failing as a writer. I feel empty. Like I have nothing left to give. But this one promise keeps echoing through my mind. A voice that says, “My grace is sufficient for you. My strength is made perfect in your weakness.”

Weight Watching

Last Tuesday I joined Weight Watchers. Things have gotten out of hand (and by “things” I mean, me). Just promising myself I’d eat better wasn’t cutting it. Throwing in some exercise wasn’t cutting it. I needed a plan and I needed to be held accountable. I’ll admit, I felt very self-conscious when I walked through the door. I was thinking to myself, ” People who go to weight watchers are in their 50’s and are obese. I am going to feel so out of place.” I felt pretty uncomfortable doing it, but I opened the door and went in and launched myself into a new lifestyle.

I know I set this up to sound like I was completely wrong about Weight Watchers being the hangout of women of a certain age and a certain build. Actually, I was pretty spot-on. I attended my first meeting and of the more than 50 women present I was one of about 10 who looked younger than 40 and one of about 4 who looked younger than 30.  What did surprise me was how much I enjoyed the meeting in spite of that. It was such a non-judgmental environment. No one cared that I’ve gone up three pants sizes in the last 8 months, not did anyone look at me and say, “Oh, you’re so young and skinny, you don’t need to be here!” (which sounds like a nice thing to say, but can be very frustrating when your good enough at excusing yourself without someone else’s help.) They accepted that I was one of them, a woman seeking to take care of her body and live and healthy lifestyle, and for that I was embraced.

I am a week into this journey and have done well so far, largely due to a book I read over the past week. It’s called Made to Crave and deals with developing and sustaining the godly desire to be healthy and to keep food in it’s proper place in our lives. The author talks about using the apostle Paul’s words, “Everything is permissable for me, but not everything is beneficial,” as a guide and I can honestly say that I find it very helpful. I am often tempted (about food or anything else I know I shouldn’t do)  to feel that it’s just not fair that I can’t just have or do what I want, but this verse really changes my perspective. No one’s restricting me. I’m allowed to eat whatever I want. I am just making a choice that’s more beneficial. I think my mother would say that is called maturity. Ha.

I have come to realize that one of the reasons I’ve been struggling so much in this area over the past few months has to do with my adjustment to marriage. I have an overwhelming desire to be an amazing wife. I don’t just want to be good and loving, I want my husband to feel love oozing out of every piece of housework I do and every meal I cook. I deeply desire for my husband to think I am the best cook, the best homemaker, the best lover, the best friend, etc he could ever have imagined. The truth is…I am just me…and my husband already thinks all of these things are true. But that doesn’t stop me from feeling like I have to earn them sometimes. Consequently, I put a lot of pressure on myself most nights to create either elaborate meals, or at least meals that I know my husband really enjoys. The problem is, my husband’s favorite foods are delicious, but also tend to be pretty unhealthy. Even though I know intellectually it is better for both of us if I don’t make fettucine alfredo and stuffed potato skins every night, I so crave his praise that I had been unable to make a change.

One afternoon last week as I left work Sami called after me, “Goodbye, Lily! And you be good to Jonathan!” She cracks me up. I thought, “Of course I’ll be good to Jonathan. Goofball. I try all the time to be good to Jonathan.” Today I am thinking, maybe actually being good to Jonathan means not always doing the thing that will earn me the most praise. Maybe it means doing the thing that will truly be best for him and for myself, even if it doesn’t make him jump for joy. It amazes me how often I do things out of selfishness, even when I think my motives are completely other-centered.

So…here’s a new chapter in my life. A journey towards a healthier life, for my body and for my spirit.

Wake-up Call

One of our kittens, Bart,  is developing a very nasty habit of sitting outside our bedroom door at 6 am and howling while clawing the carpet to bits in an attempt to get us to wake up and come out or at least let him into the bedroom. The first time he did this was last Saturday morning, our greatly-anticipated chance to sleep in. Not only was he loud and obnoxious, but I obviously didn’t want him tearing up the carpet, so my husband got up and put him into the bathroom and closed the door. Our apartment is very small and the bathroom door is directly across a narrow hallway from our bedroom door. Bart then began to hurl his body repeatedly against the bathroom door, making more noise than he had been before. After a few minutes of that we had to let him out of the bathroom where he became so emotionally distraught that he threw up on the carpet.  Needless to say, we did not get to sleep in. In fact, Bart’s ridiculous behavior inexplicably launched me into a complete emotional meltdown.

I found myself lying in bed, sobbing in frustration at this stupid little kitten who just wouldn’t shut up and let me sleep. And after I started crying, I found that I couldn’t stop. As I sobbed my way through the morning, I thought, “Why am I being so emotional? Am I going crazy?” followed quickly by, “Am I pregnant?!” which launched me into further, gut-wrenching sobs–If the cat waking me up caused this kind of trauma, imagine my response to a baby doing it every night for like 6 months straight!

I kept trying to figure out what the problem was…clearly I was not really that emotionally distraught over the cat. Annoyed and frustrated, yes, but not overwhelmed with emotion. I came up with a few things that I had been upset about over the past week or so, but really none of them mattered that much to me. I kept trying and trying to verbalize something I didn’t even understand. My sweet husband sat with me, let me cry, and tried to encourage me until I had finally worn myself out, still not really knowing what the problem was.

It took me until yesterday, 4 days later, to figure it out. Last Friday (the day before my meltdown) we had heard a rumor that Ohio State would be notifying the applicants who were accepted into their MFA program that evening. Both my husband and I are beyond ready to find out where he will be accepted and where we might end up next year. The Ohio State program was the first one to notify and if he were accepted into it we would be able to relax a little knowing we had at least one option. As Friday passed we both grew more and more anxious. By Friday evening we were both so restless we decided to go out. We went to dinner and then a movie and didn’t hear anything. By the time we went to bed we were both feeling a bit of a letdown from all of the expectation.

I was frustrated. I was frustrated that we didn’t hear anything and disappointed that the rumors had apparently been false. If I’m going to be honest though, I was more frustrated that I couldn’t control it. There was not a single thing I could do that would change the situation. I couldn’t make any of those schools make the decision I wanted. I couldn’t control how soon they made the decision or when they told us about it. We have to wait and no matter how much I hate that, I can’t do anything about it. And Saturday morning when Bart was intent on waking us up at 6 I hated it, and yet was powerless to stop him. And I couldn’t stand the feeling anymore. I exploded.

One of the things I am constantly reminding Sami of when I’m nannying is that she is not in charge. Whether she’s bossing Dylan around or trying to assert her opinion about whether or not it’s time to clean up, she’s needs to be reminded that she is not in charge. It isn’t something she likes being reminded of and sometimes when I ask her, “Sami, who’s in charge?” she will smile mischievously and say, “Me.” But no matter how much she wants it to be true, I am still the one who decides what we are having for lunch and when. I decide when it’s naptime and what activities we are going to do that day. When we go to the library, Sami chooses books and then I read through all of them and decide which ones we’ll take home with us.

It’s so silly to me when Sami tries to assert that she is in charge, contrary to all evidence. And yet, I see a great deal of myself in her. In my own, perhaps more subtle way, I have also been trying to assert control over things that I am simply not in control of and was never meant to be. And I wonder if God looks at me the way I look at Sami–smiling to himself a little at how silly this little girl is being, who thinks she can control things by sheer willpower in spite of the fact that all of her days are held in his hand.

This morning when Bart woke me up at (thank goodness!) 7:30 I was greeted by a stunning visual reminder of a simple, powerful truth. Outside my window were snowdrifts from last night’s blizzard piled up 4 feet high against the glass and I thought, “Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.”

I look marvelous!

This week is an exciting/nervewracking one for us. My husband has applied to 9 grad schools in the hopes of doing an MFA in creative writing beginning Fall 2011. After months and months of research and work, we are finally entering the season where we start to hear back from the schools he applied to. If he gets accepted at Ohio State, we expect to hear sometimes this week/weekend. From there we will hear from the other 8 schools gradually over the next 6-8 weeks. It’s exciting to finally be at this point, but my stomach (and I’m sure his even more so) has just been in knots as we get closer and closer to knowing. I think the thing that makes this so nervewracking (as I am sure anyone who has gone through any kind of application process can testify) is that we have absolutely no control over the outcome, despite my husband having put a tremendous amount of time and energy into it.

This is the point at which I will tell people/myself that I have to just trust God and know that His will will be done, but more and more lately I really wonder what it means or what it would look like to trust God and His will. In a sense I feel like it’s easy to say that you are trusting God because whatever is going to happen is going to happen and then you can just try to content yourself by saying that whatever the result was, it must have been God’s will. But what would it be like to really rest in the knowledge that God is in control of the situation instead of just using “God’s will” as a way to comfort ourselves if things don’t go as we imagined they would?

At the core of this I see the real issue being a matter of contentment in and with whatever situation we are in. This is something I admittedly lack much of the time. I find it very difficult to stop myself from constantly looking forward to the next big thing. In high school I couldn’t wait to go to college. In college I couldn’t wait to graduate and get married and not be in classes anymore. Now I can’t wait to move from this cold, cold place and find a “real” job instead of nannying. At each phase there is always something else to be looking towards. I recognize that this is a never-ending cycle and that there will never really be a point at which I’ve arrived, and yet I have not yet learned to be present in the moments that I am given every day. To be present in the job I am doing, or in the activities I’m involved in, or in my conversations with those around me. I am constantly distracted by what I would like to do later…in a new season of life, next week, or even just later that day. Yet, God sends me reminders every day of the blessings I’ve been given and the need to be fully present and content with where I am and what I am doing. Perhaps contentment with the present is as much a sign of faith as any other.

For Christmas Sami receive a pack of chapsticks that are all different soda flavors/colors. She has root beer, vanilla coke, cherry soda, grape soda, and orange soda and she insists on layering them all one over the other when she wears them. She also never seems to get the chapstick onto her lips, instead spreading it artfully in a large sticky circle all around her mouth. Yesterday morning she bounded downstairs smelling strongly of artificial grape and cherry flavor with a sticky rainbow ring around her mouth. She grinned up at me, “I put on some chapstick,” she said. “I see that,” I told her. “I look marvelous!” she stated. She didn’t even need me to affirm this.

How simple. To take such delight in putting on chaptstick and to accept wholeheartedly that doing so made her look marvelous. I too want to remember what it is like to delight in such small things and to feel that something as insignificant as putting on my chapstick has meaning and worth. I too want to look marvelous.

If you’re reading this, stop now and go to Old Navy

Mmmm…a day off! A day off! As far as nanny jobs go, I have a pretty sweet deal. The parents of the kids I watch are both high school teachers so anytime their respective schools are closed, they stay home with their kids and I don’t have to work. It also means my hours are pretty decent (usually 7am-4pm M-F.) They are really involved parents and believe in raising very active kids which means lots of constructive playing and no tv or computer games. All of these are positive things, but what they do mean is that my day is about 9 hours of creatively entertaining a 3-year old and a 20-month old (5 year old is in kindergarten most of the day.) Sure, this is often more fun than any kind of desk job would be and it has tons of perks including good pay, but it’s exhausting in its own way and I always gladly welcome a day off.

Unfortunately, my day started with a trip to the mechanic to replace some valve cover in my car that was leaking oil on the engine. Two hours and $132 later I left feeling the need to cheer myself up a little. My email box claimed Old Navy was having an extra 50% clearance sale. I figured I might as well bum around there for a while since my husband was working and all that was awaiting me at home were two kittens who have lately decided to wreak ultimate havoc on anything nice I own. It was well worth the trip. I got 4 very cute tops for a grand total of $15 AND the best part…while in the checkout line I noticed a variety of less-popular candies stocked along with flavored tubes of chapstick and useless gadgets. Among them was one of my all-time favorite candies, Fun Dip. I love everything about Fun Dip–it’s delicious, it’s fun to eat, you get two candy sticks with it, and your tongue turns that fun blue/green color–but apparently the rest of America does not hold it in such high esteem because I have the hardest time finding them anywhere. Needless to say, I was elated. I added several packets to my purchase and have already consumed my first one. Every bit as delicious as I remember. I was so excited about the Fun Dip I brought one to my husband at work. He even politely pretended like this was an event that warranted my showing up in person while he was working. It also made me feel so happy that I didn’t even want to kill my kitten when I arrived home to find she had eaten the beautiful bouquet of tulips I got yesterday and taken all of the trash out of the trashcan and strewn it decoratively around the bathroom. Instead, I calmly settled down on the couch and ate some delicious colored sugar with an equally delicious candy stick.

In conclusion–go to Old Navy. Very cheap clothes. Very yummy candies.  Very yummy.

Let’s start at the very beginning…

I am actually finding it incredibly intimidating to start this first post. It’s as though I need to establish in the first few sentences a valid and compelling reason that I am writing this at all or I might as well quit now. As I mentally coach myself through this exercise the beginning of the “Do a deer” song from The Sound of Music is echoing in my mind. You know, “Let’s start at the very beginning. A very good place to start.” So…here it goes.

Once upon a time I was a writer. Or I wanted to be and I practiced writing all the time. I worked multiple internships in writing, I was an editor for the college newspaper, I took creative writing classes and submitted to literary journals. But ever since I graduated from college in May I have written absolutely nothing. And not for lack of trying. I just have no ideas right now to write creatively and no reason to write otherwise. So this blog is really a quest for self-discipline. I figure if I make myself post something on it a few times a week, at least I will be writing. It is an attempt to discover whether I will continue to be a writer and in the meantime, hopefully amuse myself and anyone else reading this with my  ridiculous life and the hilarious children I take care of and my quest to make sense of it all.

I leave you with this thought… I am a nanny to three sweet kids ages 5, 3, and 1.  Over the past few weeks, Sami (3) has become increasingly bad about not taking a nap when it is nap time. Not only is this bad for her crankiness, it is bad for my sanity. Several times lately she has “woken up” from her nap after about 20 minutes and I have made her go back to bed and try to sleep some more (which she hates.) A few days ago she came down after about 30 minutes of “napping.” This time she had her story all prepared. In tears she said to me, “I keep trying and trying to sleep, but Kit (her doll)  keeps on talking and talking and she’s keeping me up! I keep telling her, Shh! Stop talking! But she just won’t do it!”

I miss having dolls to blame stuff on.