A few weeks ago, I was consuming legendary mountains of tortilla chips while sitting across from one of my best friends who, tragically, doesn’t live in the same state as me. She began describing another friend of hers, and I stopped her mid-description.
“Wait, when you talk about me, how do you describe me to other people?” I asked.
After thinking for a moment, she told me she had described me to her grandmother a few days prior and this is what she said:
“Christine is one of the most grounded people I know. It’s like gravity works better on her than other people.”
(Or something to that effect. My friend (hi, Ber!) has a much better memory than I do.)
And, honestly? I liked her answer. I love feeling rational and grounded. I don’t like much drama or conspiracy. I tend to be (too) blunt, though I do generally strive for compassion and empathy. If we have a problem, I’d much rather talk about it and move on. I tend to take people at face value, which sometimes makes me a little naive, apparently.
All that said, you know what’s one of my biggest pet peeves?
I want to be able to trust my emotions, y’all. I don’t want to suddenly look around and find myself crying. Or ranting. Or obsessing. My brain always is a step too late in thinking, “Hmm, maybe these emotions aren’t completely valid. Maybe they’re due to an overload of hormones.”
Sometimes I get all name-calling-y and think of them as “whoremones” just to be spiteful (Am I allowed to say that?).
And yes, I’m female, so there are obvious monthly trends with said hormones. Thankfully, I have a very loving and compassionate husband. I just hate being a stereotype. I don’t want to be a woman with out-of-control emotions because her hormones take over. I don’t want a cop out for my reactions, especially something as flimsy as “hormones.”
Take the past week, for instance. I’ve been half-consumed with concerns for George’s educational future. He’s 4 years old and won’t start “real” school until the 2020-2021 school year. But, man, the kid is bright. I consistently have teachers or parents approach me and ask, “What are you going to do with him?”
The answer? I dunno. *shrug* (while internally freaking out a smidge)
I’m taking the current school year to breathe and research our best options. I’ve always wanted to be the classroom mom (or at least the classroom mom’s snarky sidekick who does a third of the actual work). I want to chaperone field trips and bake for bake sales. I’ve been looking forward to a break every day after I shuttle my kids to school. I thought I might join something not mom-related when I had more free time. Shoot, I’ve even considered how clean my house could be if only the small children were somewhere else for a few hours!
But what if homeschooling is our best option? Let me be honest and say George would love it. I’m not sure about Olivia, but George gobbles up every moment I sit down and teach him something. But if we homeschool, how does that change my plan? What if I don’t get a daily break from my kiddos? Can I let that classroom-mom dream die? Is it selfish to be sad as I let go of those dreams?
I guess I’m just writing this post to freeze this moment in time. In two years, when I look back, hopefully I’ll chuckle at how worried I was in August 2019. I’ll see how God had a wonderful plan and led me along just fine. Ah, faith and trust in the Lord. Gotta love character-building seasons. Honestly, I’ll probably forget about this worry and move onto something new next week anyway.
There’s also an international adoption process happening in our lives. It’s meandering its way along. So far, it’s been fairly smooth, but it kind of ebbs and flows. I have this dark feeling that we’ll be heading to China the same week George starts kindergarten next year. I’ll be this insane mess trying to deal with homeschooling and a newly adopted child and jet lag! If y’all don’t hear from me for a bit when all that goes down…just know I’ll try to make it back with hilarious anecdotes at a future date. Or I’ll just continuously post adorable pictures of the very small children wandering around my house.
Sorry about the kinda downer post. I hate when this haze of sadness settles in for a time. My little haze is nothing compared to others’ battles, of that I’m absolutely certain. However, I think it comes with being human, especially a female human. God is faithful. He loves to hear my prayers even when they’re said from a place of emotional mess. This too shall pass. For now, though, I’m doing my best to avoid eating my emotions in the form of sugar, as I’ve recently moved to the Deep South and have to fit into those jeans in the coming months.