It’s finally here! The animals are back at the zoo. Mothers everywhere have been watching buses pull away with their little darlings, then dancing back up their driveways (after perhaps shedding an obligatory tear or two for the new Kindergarteners) singing *Hallelujah!*. January 1st? Please. The first day of school is the day that should start with fireworks. Can I get an AMEN?! For this mama, amidst the bliss of fall freedom lurks a nagging little cloud of anxiety. Not because my youngest is a lunatic who is likely to drive his teacher crazy, hey, that’s her problem. She’s the one who went into teaching. Life is full of challenges. Meet Charlie. Good luck! Nope, the countdown has been with mixed feelings this year because this mom is going back to school too. I don’t talk about my day job much here because people get awfully twitchy about nurses publicly discussing their work. People like bosses, whom I don’t want firing me. But I’m pretty sure it’s okay to discuss the field of nursing which is a tricky thing. For one, I am an RN. There are also CNAs, LPNs, CRNAs, NPs, CNMs, DNPs... Currently, there are (at least) three paths to gain enough education to allow you to sit for the nursing boards. You can get a bachelor’s degree, an associate’s degree, or a nursing diploma from a hospital based program. Regardless which path you choose, if you pass the test at the end, you become an RN. As you might imagine, the bachelor’s degree (BSN) is preferred by most of the larger, more academic hospitals. Me, I have a diploma. To be honest, I kind of fell into nursing. I went to college right out of high school, acquired a rather useless (but for the expansion of my mind, of course) liberal arts degree and proceeded to not really use it at all in a completely unrelated field. Time passed. A child was born. Then, one day, my husband posed the question, “Would you rather go back to work or to school?” Which, in retrospect, is kind of like asking a child if he wants a bath or a shower; there seem to be choices, but remaining on the couch watching t.v. is not one of them. It just so happened, the hospital where my husband worked at the time offered a “Future of Caring” scholarship for relatives of the employee which, if you received it, paid IN FULL for their nursing school. All I had to do was show up. Well, and, you know, learn how to be a nurse. Did I mention it cost me nothing? That diploma opened the door for one of the best part-time careers there is for a young mother. (I could still call myself young seven years ago... young-ish, anyway, I was still older than most of my classmates.) The catch has always been that while my free diploma has gotten me into a great job, it’s done all it can do. While advancement in this field is possible without more education, the way I want to advance is not. So, with my last excuse heading out to school, it seemed time to make a plan. I’m not going to lie. It was kind of a painful decision. All of my children are finally in school. I have been waiting YEARS for this moment. I want to be free, not tied down with papers… in APA format. Plus, I always thought nursing would be a temporary thing. I was never "called" to be a nurse. It just seemed like a good idea while I raised my kids. My deepest desire, way down in my heart is to be a… I don't know... something else. Also, like naming a child, everyone has an opinion on your decision and have no qualms telling you it's wrong: “You should do an RN to MSN bridge program if you already have a bachelor’s.” “You should do it online.” "I heard that program isn't very good." “Why bother, it’s not like you're going to make enough money to make it worth it.” It’s hard enough working up the gumption to go back to school; hearing that you might be going about it the wrong way is enough to freeze a person’s momentum by stirring up their ample supply of self-doubt. (Which isn't very nice.) “People take different roads seeking fulfillment and happiness. Just because they're not on your road doesn't mean they've gotten lost” Of course, much as I like to complain about the people in my life being full of unsolicited advice (as I often am), most of them love me and have been crazy supportive. (Even if I do end up obsessively Googling nursing programs after talking to them.) Honestly, if it weren't for my people, I probably never would have applied. I had completely talked myself out of more schooling, deciding instead to wait for my dream job (whatever that might be) to magically appear on my doorstep. Then, I was sitting on a friend's couch late one night, talking about life, and told her, "I know I should, but I just don't want to go back to school." (There may have been some serious whining in my voice.) To which she replied, "You are a grownup. Sometimes you have to do things you don't want to do." SLAP! Golly. She might be right. In my experience, regrets tend to hover around inaction like a cloud of gnats. So rather than waiting to be inspired with the perfect plan, I’ve decided to be a grownup, go with this good enough plan, and hope for the best. “All The Woulda-Coulda-Shouldas And who knows, I might learn a thing or two. After all, isn't that why we are sending our children back to school?
*wink, wink* Sure it is. It is almost summer. We’ve made it. As I’ve mentioned, winter here is long. And cold. And long. Invariably, people who can afford to, escape for a week or two to someplace tropical. They come back all brown and relaxed and remind the rest of us how cold and poor we are. So, we like them a little less for a while. Summer is the great vacation equalizer. You don’t need to have disposable income to luxuriate in the sun. All you have to do is go outside. Everywhere is vacation. Without the oppression of unforgiving coldness, with leaves on the trees and flowers sprinkled everywhere, the WHY AM I TRAPPED HERE?! hysteria that winter drives me to each year, gets replaced with geez, I’m so lucky. Even if you don’t have time off work, summer is still more vacation-y. At the end of your day you go out to your car, put on your sunglasses, roll down the windows and turn up the music. And there you are, enjoying your sunny commute. Ahhhh. Life is good. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself because I haven’t planned any big vacations for my family this year. The thing is, like most Americans, we have debt. Not all of it is the good kind (if there is such a thing). I see our debt as a large, soul-sucking monster perched on my shoulders, digging its talons into my skin and breathing down my neck. I want it gone. Feeding the beast with a high-priced beach trip seems counterproductive. Still, the idea of not going anywhere during vacation season kind of had me bummed until I visited a Marylander friend of mine, recently. For breakfast, she took me to a restaurant called Miss Shirley’s Café. (I still think about that meal, by the way, weeks later.) She said it was the place she recommended to friends visiting the Baltimore area, her stomping ground. She then took me to a nearby community that had a huge, resident-funded tulip garden. It occurred to me on the drive home that I have no idea where I would tell people to go when visiting my area. We moved into our house when my daughter was three months old. I’ve spent the last ten years going to Target and the bookstore. As my children got older and I was able to steal time for myself, I added Starbucks and my forest to the list of places I go. The problem isn’t that I didn’t want to explore my own stomping ground, the problem is small children make going pretty much anywhere not fun. It’s the ugly truth. When three members of your party are perpetually hot, hungry, and tired of walking, whining happens. Whining that could make your ears bleed. A trip that should be leisurely and relaxing becomes a PLEASE MAKE IT STOP! living hell. When my youngest was not quite two, I took my children on a beach trip with my extended family. Having no fear of getting lost or stolen, little Charlie would run full throttle down the beach without ever looking back. I spent the entire trip chasing him. Which is to say, I spent the entire trip running in hot sand. Yelling. In my bathing suit. In public. And, I’m not skinny. Can you say spectacle? In the meantime, I had to depend on the rest of my family to make sure my older two children didn’t drown. I can’t even begin to explain how not relaxing that trip was. But, now that my little angels are older, the fact that we live in an American tourist destination mecca is suddenly more valuable to me. We can take day trips to four major US cities*. We can take a day trip to the ocean and to the mountains. (Not big mountains, but still.) I no longer have to fight with strollers and diapers and drippy cups and nap time and HELP ME FIND YOUR BROTHER! Suddenly, the world around me has opened up again. It’s no wonder every day feels like a vacation as long as it’s warm. Without really noticing, a weight, much heavier than the debt monster, has been lifting. It occurred to me when Charlie learned how to make himself a peanut butter sandwich that there should be some sort of parenting badge for that. Come to think of it, each step toward preparing your child for independence, starting with the mack daddy of parenting hurdles: toilet training, should garner at least a gold star, if not an embroidered patch. I guess the real reward is one more task I can sit out. Or, when it comes to vacationing, one more moment I have to relax. (And, yeah, yeah child development.)
This summer, I’m making it my mission to find my favorite (inexpensive) local spots. If I only make it as far as my deck, well, at least the sunshine is free. I can be brown and relaxed, too. *If you were curious, the four major U.S. cities I can day trip to are Philadelphia, Baltimore, Washington D.C., and New York. I've never actually day tripped to New York, but I know other people around here who have. So, it's possible. I have never considered myself a creative person. My evidence: doodling. I have been drawing the same things for forever. Daisies (or string of daisies). Sun. Swarm of bees/gnats. Weirdo man with eyes that are too big and a nose that looks like he’s been in a terrible accident. That’s it. That’s my repertoire. When I started selling pottery, people would refer to my work as art and me as an artist. I laughed at these foolish people. They were so easily snowed by what is obviously a craft not an art. My first pottery instructor, who has a Masters in Fine Arts degree, who has been featured in magazines and museums, and who does workshops in Italy for crying out loud, would not be laughing with me. She is an artist. By comparison, I am not. Some people just seem to have so much more natural talent. My husband can draw all kinds of things like cars and dinosaurs. My daughter can draw birds and angst ridden girls. I have a cousin who sprawled on the living room floor with my kids during a family function one evening, and while sharing a coffee can of markers, drew an alligator. What I’m saying is: I can’t draw alligators. I therefore have logically deduced: I’m not a creative person. I’m wondering how many other people are as boneheaded as I am. Nobody would look at a child and say, “boy, you better stick with math because you are not creative at all.” Well, I might say that to be funny, but then I would regret it because four-year-olds suck at grasping sarcasm. The point is, we are born creative. It is part of being human. The market isn’t cornered by people who can draw things besides daisies. Unless there is a neurological impairment, we can all imagine something then make it exist. It’s our superpower in the animal kingdom. My mother retired a couple of years ago. As a former government employee who is a CPA with a Master of Science in Taxation degree, artist isn't the first thing that would come to anyone's mind while reading her resumé. Well, we can’t all be summed up in one or two pages, can we? She knits and does watercolor paintings and pastels now. Because she's old. Kidding! Because she has the time. That’s right, folks, creativity takes time. There it is. The rub. The catch. And I can already hear all the, ”Heather, I just can't because: lots of important sounding excuses.” I get it. Tapping into creativity sometimes means learning a skill that takes years to develop. Yup. Years. When life is so crammed with obligations that we can barely breathe, being creative becomes something we just don’t have time for... like exercise, or eating healthy, or spending time with people we care about... I don’t know a crazy amount of people, but, amidst those I do know, there are people who sew, photographers, painters, guitarists, knitters, cooks/bakers, scrapbookers, singers, gardeners, and graphic designers. I’m willing to bet hard cash that NONE of these people consider the time they’ve spent learning their craft/tapping into their creativity was wasted. On the contrary, most people I know light up when showing off their work and it is a source of their greatest pride. They make the time because it’s worth it. Sure, it’s great to have a good job and pay the bills, but, when you dig deep inside, unless you are Hugh MacLeod, the core of who you are will not fit on a business card. It would be a real shame for all the creativity that’s locked inside your brains to stay there because you didn’t take the time to wrestle it out with hours of practice and determination. Think of how dreadfully boring the world would be if no one made time for artistic expression. My name is Heather Shuker, and I can't draw worth a damn, but I am creative. So are you. Do us all a favor. Show us.
There is no need to explain why winter is horrible. It is understood that being cold is an uncomfortable situation; much like being hungry, being unfulfilled professionally, or being locked in a dark basement. The point is, nobody likes it. Even the freaks that like to play in the snow don’t actually like feeling cold or being inconvenienced/wounded by the perils of treacherous driving conditions. Why on earth in this large country that has places in it where “winter” means: *long sleeves every once in a while* would people put up with intermittent tundra? Well, because of all the knuckleheads we love who also put up with it. Home is where your people are and my people enjoy suffering. Apparently. Sure there are pesky things like jobs keeping people here, but, people in Florida have jobs. People in southern California and Hawaii have jobs. And when they leave them at the end of the day, they can go to the beach. As this past Christmas season (AKA the only redeeming thing about winter) ended, I decided if I was going to suffer through a mini ice age every year to stay close to my people, I was going to spend more time with my people. I proceeded to fill my calendar. I’ve hostessed people at my house. I’ve gone to breakfasts and coffees and movie dates. I even had a photo shoot date with my photographer friend/cousin. (Which was AWESOME, by the way.) I’d love to say, “It worked! My people are worth it!” Well... Of course they’re worth it. What did you think I was going to say? I love my people. But I can’t muster the enthusiasm or exclamation points. I see no reason why we can’t all move about six states south (or nine states west) cause this whole winter thing is ridiculous. It’s like a huge psychology experiment studying learned helplessness. All the scientists in the warm states are shaking their heads at us pityingly wondering, why don’t they just leave? Cause our people won’t leave with us. The obvious solution is to become a snowbird. Those brilliant souls that enjoy their people all spring and summer and then say, “that's it, I'm out” once the cold weather hits. My dream is to one day rub my loved ones’ noses in how warm I am while they’re shoveling snow. *Sigh* Beautiful, isn't it?
But, right now I have school-aged children. And since they don’t have a while-you’re-away pellet feeder for kids like they do for fish (Hello? Business idea!) looks like I’m stuck with this whole winter thing for a bit longer. Nothing to do but make the best of it with the rest of the crazies. Stay warm fellow sufferers, winter will end eventually. (Probably.) For the last two years, I had the same conversation with my now 9-year-old son about valentines: ME: Do you want to make or buy valentines this year? HIM: I want to make them. I don’t want to have the same ones as everyone else. Oh yeah, I think, smugly, I’m not raising a lemming. He wants to be unique! I then dig out my large tote full of rubber stamps. (For a while, I was expressing my creativity through rubber stamping -- yes, I get the irony.) ME: What do you want on your valentines? HIM: I don’t know. What are they supposed to have? ME: It doesn’t matter. You can use anything! How about a fish? HIM: I don’t think they’re supposed to have fish. That’s when my smugness evaporates. Supposed to? That’s the lemming mantra. I’m a failure! Each year I explain that there are no rules to valentines. When you slap a Kit Kat on the back and give it to your classmate on Valentine’s Day, BAM!, it’s a valentine. My son wants to be unique but not TOO unique. 'Cause then you’re weird. Well, isn’t that tricky? The spectrum between unique and weird changes with each person you meet! To some people, everything that’s unique is weird. Frankly, I don’t think it’s possible to be interesting if at least a few people don’t think you’re a bit weird. Following every cultural rule is a great way to be bland. “Yes! My kid fits in perfectly. I'm so proud of how bland he is.” Who says that? Nobody says that. But, people suck at tolerating weirdness. We want to stand out, but in the right way. Fear of standing out in the wrong way has us not standing out at all. Better to hide in the masses than be singled out as a weirdo. This year, my son again said he'd prefer to make valentines but when it came time to do them, he decided he'd help with his little brother's cards. "I'll just give the Kit Kats, mom, that's all anybody cares about anyway."
Well, that's true, but I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to be that cynical at nine. It took me years to work up to that. (Hooray! He's advanced!) My favorite part of everyone I know is the part that makes them unique, because that's how love works. People capture our attention with their quirks, without them, what's to differentiate any of us? So, today, I'm celebrating all the weirdos in my life. Thank you for being interesting enough for me to notice you! |
Make good choices.Archives
October 2023
|