all the kids

all the kids

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Pipe Down, Crazy Voice

I was dreading going to meet with Nathan's teachers today - for some reason I always think something bad is going to happen. Even though I asked for the conference, to see how I can help him do better in school. It might have just been that it was during my 2 hours off - I don't like to give up that time.

I got to the school and because some idiot part of me refuses to carry a bag, my hands are clutching my phone, keys, wallet and this fat envelope of money because I don't want to leave it in the car. It's $400 in cash from the elementary school, to buy stuff for our Santa's Workshop. As I'm going in, I'm thinking, what am I nervous about? I have a BAG of money. I just casually leave the bills sticking out the side on their desks, and suggest that this money looks like A material. Oh my God, he's only in 6th grade. I shouldn't be buying grades until at least 10th.

I met with the teachers, one who looked just fat enough to be uncomfortable yet still attractive, and the other one looked like a TJ Maxx version of Mary Louise Parker. (I love Mary Louise Parker.) Anyway, the meeting went well except for my frazzled brain which kept yelling things like Does my hair look okay? Are you looking at my hair? Cause I'm looking at your hair. Yours looks great. And I kept wanting to rip the grade book from her hand that she casually leafed through, so I could say how's he doing really, where does he fall in the class, is this the stupid class? I know he's a daydreamer, does he have problems? They seemed so relaxed about everything. Maybe because they weren't at Costco with him last night while he was throwing pizza cheese onto Emma's upper arms. I should return him, shouldn't I, before I ruin him?

I guess middle school is such a huge jump, and there's all these bad influences, kids lying, kids stealing other kids' lunches, and Nathan is so prone to influence, I worry that he'll take a turn and end up living at my dead grandmother's house drinking and playing video games. I just want things to go UP for him. Even if he wants to be a truck driver. I want him to be smart, strong, sweet, loving.

I came home with a new resolve to stop telling Nathan all the things he's doing wrong, and start supporting him. I see him come in from the bus, and he's long and big and the wind is blowing his hair around and I tell him his teachers love him, that he's doing great and they're glad to have him in class. Which is true. I tell him I'm proud of him. I leave out all my mom worries. I just let him hear what he needs to build a strong next level Nathan. I hear that the voice in your head is the one you heard growing up - what people told you about yourself. You might as well have love.

And pipe down, crazy voice. When I sit still in a chair in a quiet room and have to talk to grown ups that hold grade books, I'm served with a nice fat anxiety attack, and crazy voice kicks in. I start shrinking into myself, sinking like Jack did after the Titanic sunk - and crazy voice is throwing all these word ropes up to try and save us, except they're stupid, fear-ridden things like these teachers think Nathan is stupid, I have no idea what I'm doing, how can you look so relaxed with the planet spinning so fast, I'm getting older way too fast, can you see my face? life has me by the balls, how can you be so comfortable, give me that grade book.

Pipe down. Crazy voice should be recognized as crazy and celebrated as my inner humor coming out as raging anxiety. I am so grateful that the voice stays INSIDE my chest and has not yet passed the crazy barrier and begun spurting out of my mouth.

Except for here.

Nathan is fine. He's 11. He's totally simple. He ate a ton of Kentucky Fried Chicken. It's my goal to never cook again. There's a girl who's "like a boy" he says, in his class. She plays rough with all the boys, and they like her because she's like a boy. Yep. Ellen. Rosie.

I could learn alot from Nathan. Hey I think Pipe Down Crazy Voice will be my Indian name.