College Memories

"Failure. Anyone working toward meaningful change will taste it often. When that happens, the frustration we feel turns inward, and suffocates. Self-loathing and a toxic sludge of shame can follow.

If frustration is the fuel for the engine of change, then grace is coolant that keeps the thing from exploding. When we fail on the path to New, extending grace to ourselves is vital. It is only with grace that we can stand back up and keep walking, smiling and laughing at how we fell."  -"Science" Mike McHargue

Commencement May 2002

I have an uneasy relationship to my alma mater.  I am a college graduate, which makes me proud, but I don't use my degree, which makes me feel bad.  I am an alumni, but not one who is able to make generous financial contributions.  And because I don't have a "job", I don't really need to network or make connections through mixers and alumni events.  But I still read the magazine that comes in the mail and check the emails.  It's how I got this lovely computer that I am typing on.  With that positive experience in the recent past, I decided to accept an invitation to bring my family up to Kent for the annual "Tray Fest" aka sledding down the hilly Front Campus.  This sounded fun.  And since I didn't do social activities when I was actually a student, it would give me the opportunity to create memories with my kids.

But the yucky feelings began as we loaded up the car with gloves and sleds and extra clothes.  I got on the familiar road that I traveled so many times alone, this time with my whole family.  And I felt a sense of dread.  It has been almost 13 years since I graduated, and at least 10 since I've been on the campus.  College was easily the worst few years of my life.  It was a time when I was the least healthy version of myself, when I was chasing all the wrong things and dissatisfied with what resulted.  I lost myself in the crush of brick buildings and well-dressed girls and heavy books and emptiness inside.

Apple Hall girls

Why was my reticence so linked to this place?  I mean, it's not the location that caused my depression or deprived me of friendship.  It's not like anyone actively sought to destroy my happiness and peace of mind.  It was merely the setting, the backdrop of my misery.  I ran through the usual list of regrets, all the things I should have done differently.

Upon arriving, there was a jarring sense of worlds colliding: thirty-something me with kids in tow revisiting where young adult me used to walk.  My irresponsible and immature past overshadowed by the people who depend on me everyday.  And, inexplicably, a fear that no one would talk to me or even say something mean.

Daredevils January 2015

Then my kids worked their magic.  They eagerly climbed aboard their sleds and shrieked and laughed and hollered as they rocketed down a very slippery and very steep hill.  We took turns riding down with them and helping them mount their plastic chariots.  People talked to us, mostly to comment how much fun was being had and how determined and brave the boys were. (They really are. Wow. So proud of these kids.)  By the time our fingers and toes and noses were red and stiff with cold, I was enjoying myself.  I was filled with a sense of nostalgia, remembering the classes I took in the buildings around us.  I found myself wondering if the boys would come back here someday as young men.  I pointed out the places I used to go as we drove around the campus.  I showed them the library and the parking lot that I was only lucky enough to use about four times, as it filled quickly each morning.  We passed the massive gym, "the Rec", and they begged to go inside.  Chris told them they would have to grow older and become students for that to happen.  It didn't fill me with fear for their tender hearts.  I think these kids are going to be okay.  Sure, they will struggle and fail at times, but their struggles and failures will be their own; they won't be mine.

We drove home with french fries and laughter, and I felt my memories reset.  Yes, I could have done things differently...but I know that now, only because of the pain I experienced to learn about myself. Is it fun to be lonely?  NO.  But it helps point me in the direction of healthy relationships.  Is it exciting to feel your mind sink into despair and lose sight of the future?  NO.  But I am grateful for each day since then that has dawned and the life that continues to grow and evolve out of that desperate place.  Is it pleasant to grasp at the pieces of yourself as they disappear and realize that you are left with nothing?  NO.  But sometimes we need to empty ourselves for better thoughts and ideas to take root and grow.  My years in college were miserable, but my college didn't make me miserable.  I was suffering the pains of growing and becoming something new.  And you guys, I love who I have become.  I am so glad to be the woman sledding down the hill with her wonderful boys and laughing with her husband.  I love the friends who surround me and encourage me and redeem all the hurt from toxic relationships in the past.  I'm glad for the distance from who I used to be, and the promise of who I am becoming.

Future student? January 2015

Let me end with a quote from Mikey, who is very eager to plan his future and experience EVERYTHING:  "When my teeth fall out, I get big, and I grow tall, then I can go to the gym and be student at college."

Calamity Days

I could blog about each hour of each day that I have spent trapped in a 1200 square foot house with four children who are only able to get along with each other for a finite amount of time, one of whom is always unhappy with what we are currently doing, one of whom will be displeased with what we are about to do, who can't even be unanimous when selecting a movie to watch (but the popcorn that accompanies it...that they can all get on board with)....and most of what I write would be negative, sure-fire birth control for the childless few who read my words.  But that's not why I blog.  (That all gets recorded in my journal.  And while we're on this topic, can someone volunteer to come over and burn them when I die?  So that my kids don't read all the angry, frustrated words I write about them every day?)  When I come to this space, I want to share how I am learning, being transformed, and I hope to always find a positive note.  It took six days of no school, sub zero temperatures, head splitting migraines to get there.

Today, we ventured out into the warming (8 degrees!) world outside our house, because we just had to not be in each others' faces for a while.  We headed to Playland, because its free, and they were finally open.  I brought a book, because, unlike at home, the kids are pretty much out of my face once we walk through the doors, and I find that when I am reading, other moms and dads are less likely to talk to me, which suits me just fine.  There we were, spread out, the kids running and climbing and yelling, me nose deep in my novel.  It lasted about 20 minutes.  Then the boys came over to me, giving me hugs, Michael kissing my leg (mostly, I think, because its right at his level, but also so he didn't have to jostle with the big boys to get to my face).  Winston said, "Now its your turn Mommy!"  Uhhh, my turn for what?  "Mommy, take off yours shoes and come down the slide with me!"  Okay, so here I am at a mommy cross roads.  On the one hand, this is my attempt at solitude and quiet (in the midst of screaming children, yes).  This is my one chance to read my book and be still, because eventually Playland will close, and we will go back to our dungeon house for several more hours of whining and fighting and general grumpiness, mostly directed at me.  Also, getting up to the top of the slide is no easy thing for a grown woman.  Especially on a busy day like today, I would have to crawl around other kids, go through tunnels of plastic that are very hard on my aging knees, all for the end result of 10 seconds crammed in a slide, getting charged up with enough static electricity to start a car.  On the other hand, my son is asking me to play with him.  My sweet four year old boy wants to amplify his fun by going down the slide with Mommy.  So I marked my place in my book, slipped off my shoes, clarified that this was only going to happen once (my aging knees, people!), and followed an extremely delighted boy up, up, up.  But that's not even the best part, making Winston's day.  When James and Michael saw me going up (or maybe they had worked this out ahead of time, letting Winston be the spokesman for the group), they came with us, so that at the top of the slide, my lap held not just one, but three boys, grinning from ear to ear, and down we went, squeals of delight (them) and groans (me).  I delivered kisses all around, then headed back to my seat.  "Again?" James asked, and as much as it kills me to say no to him EVER, I had to beg off, but thanked him for inviting me to go.

Because what I regret about the past six days is all the times I lost my temper, all the times I was short or tired or puking, and they were not my priority.  I don't regret sitting down with a pile of books and kids sprawled on every available square inch of me.  I don't regret making room under the blanket for a little body with freezing toes.  I don't regret crawling through Playland (especially when I saw another mom up there, doing the same thing).  I was struck today, swinging on the pendulum of indecision, at how short this time truly is.  I mean, how much longer will my kids actually WANT me to play with them?  How many more opportunities to I have to be their best friend?  How well can I love them today, so that future events won't make them doubt it?  And in this season of so much doubt of myself, my choices and my abilities, its nice to end the day knowing that I did something right.  And hopefully the kids remember this more than all the times I shouted, "STOP asking for more candy!  There's NO MORE CANDY!"