Free to be...you and me...but who am I anyway?!

We have lived a different life as young girls than the women who came before us. We were told to not be nurses and teachers- that we were too smart for those jobs, those occupations were not good enough for us. We were told to be doctors and astronauts, hell, we could be President if we really wanted to. It was instilled in us that we should strive for something higher. I embraced that “Free to be you and me” stuff whole-heartedly; I don’t regret it either, because it helped forge my strong independent spirit and helped enable me to believe I could do whatever I put my mind to. (See Marlo Thomas, Free to Be You and Me online for details if you don't know what I am talking about!) I wonder if the ‘women’s lib’ movement is really behind it, or were our well-meaning mentors just trying to make sure we had it in us to shoot high. I don’t know. I know that we didn’t want to let anyone down…we wanted to make sure that whatever sacrifices were made in the name of women’s equality, were protected, that those were not done in vain. I guess it’s kind of like how it would have been disrespectful to the suffragettes to not vote, after they tried so hard to get women the right to vote. And yet, similarly, it was the ‘right’ to vote, not the edict to vote, but somehow we didn’t want to diminish those strong efforts of those who came before us, by not voting. In some ways, our generation didn’t want to let those women libbers down- we wanted to make sure we actualized what they had wanted for us. Problem is, it may have been a world of ‘you can have it all’, when in fact, you really can’t. I remember when I wanted to stay home after I had my kids and thinking that I was ‘wasting’ my education. I recall thinking that it was unfair somehow to have worked so hard in college and in my job to walk away from it to stay home and wipe noses and bums, and play with play-doh and go to the park. (I don’t regret that choice either; I am just trying to figure out what the hell to do now!) I think I now realize that the women’s lib movement wasn’t to push me into a certain ideal- in my mind it was to make those choices available to me- to enable me to choose to work in whichever vocation I would ultimately select. It was to allow the door to be there for me to open- should I choose to do so. It wasn’t necessarily about having it all, it was about being able to make the same choices and have the same access to the world that men had. I was free to choose my own path- which was much broader as a result of their efforts.

Which leads us to the current day issue of myself and my 40-something girlfriends. A good friend said to me about being this age, “You never wish for these years. You don’t spend your childhood pretending to be 45. You dream about being a young bride, about being a mother, maybe even about working and perhaps, retirement, but you never play ’40 somethings’ when you are young.”  It’s like you just are supposed to slip over or through this timeframe, jumping from younger more setout years to the so-called golden years of older age. I guess you also hit that mid-life thing head on at this age. Chances are, as a woman, you are finished having children, which brings many mixed emotions. Perhaps it was because we had been infertile, but I never saw myself as the woman who would be feverishly shouting from the rooftops, “I’m done! I’m done! No more babies for us! Wahoo,” although you do reach a point where you realize it probably either isn’t a good idea anymore, or it isn’t likely to happen-which is ok, in that you see it as the start of a new chapter.  In my case, I had told myself that if I didn’t become pregnant again by the time I was 40, then I would be ‘finished’ child-bearing. I would have taken on another pregnancy if that was what we both wanted, but I understood that my window was closing. I can’t say I am upset (anymore) about this fact, it just eventually kind of happens. At this age, you do start to realize that there are things on your ‘list’ that you will just never do. For example; I will never be an astronaut, I will (probably) never be the President of the United States, and I will most likely never jump out of an airplane. I don’t know that these items are necessarily things that were on my list, or if so  even high on it, but I suppose you start to realize that you aren’t just an open book with the world in front of you anymore- that you understand the mere reality that you just won’t do everything you might have thought you would or could. Again, it comes back to the ‘option’ to do these things- I made other choices in my life-it’s not about regret so much as just more of a realization that my life went down a different path that didn’t include those things. I guess that is the middle age thing- you don’t have to love the idea of limits, but it’s much easier to accept at least some of them as your own reality. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think that at middle age you should just sit back and wait to die…I think there is plenty more to do and experience- and I will certainly plan to be in the driver’s seat of that train, but you come to accept that some of your really open-ended dreams will probably never happen. I think I am cool with this concept. What I am not cool with, however, is my seeming loss of confidence or ooommppf to ‘take on the world’. Somewhere in here, I lost something that made me just push and plow and go after whatever I wanted in an unabashed nothing can stop me manner. I wonder if it’s similar to a long love; it starts out fast and furious-you can’t get enough of it-and then as time goes on, it remains constant and is stronger in other ways, but not as frantic. I don’t know, maybe that’s what has happened to my fervor for my professional life. I am very passionate and driven, but to not have that direction for the first time in my entire life is unnerving. Perhaps knowing my kids and my family are a part of the big picture is also part of it. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mean it like oh I want to ditch my family and join the Peace Corps- screw them- it’s not like that. I guess it’s just that I am not 18 or 25 anymore- but now I have other things to consider, as well as now I have other privileges that I didn’t have then as well. I do know that I have made significant strides in my life- and have skills that are useful and important. I guess it’s just the not knowing piece that is unsettling. Not sure if I am just waiting for the next big thing to come along that I will attach myself to and set the world on fire, or if I will have to invent it myself. My therapist has told me that I am a ‘starter’- I am someone who sees a problem or issue and decides to do something about it, then I set a plan into action and tackle it. I think not having that at the moment has made me unsure about what I am doing. I realize that my kids need clean clothes, and it’s important that I am here for them in so many ways, but I just feel like I should be doing something else too. I just can’t quite figure out what it is or how it fits into everything else in my life. I don’t want to look back in 5 or 10 years and go Holy crap what was I doing? I should have ________ (gone to grad school, or written that book, or whatever…) what WAS I doing with all that time?? So the process to figure it out continues. Those who know me know that patience (especially with myself!) is not one of my strong suits, so I guess I just have to keep trying and hopefully, in time, I will figure it out. I am trying to be patient and kind with myself.

Thanks for reading!

This blog comes as a bit of a surprise. I caught up with a close friend today and we were chatting about our trials and tribulations as parents. We talked about my son who evidently needs a different ADHD medicine and how I just feel so lost sometimes as a mom. She assured me that I am not alone, and remarked about how its so odd that one day you look at your kids and think, Wow this is really great- I feel so good about what we are doing, and the next day (like a change in the wind) you can feel so utterly lost, like you have no idea what you are doing, or how you got where you are. This fact brings me to this blog. I realized tonight that part of being a mom is learning from your own mistakes. Its not about just making sure your kids are happy-or even the path of least resistence- its sometimes about learning right along with your kids. I want to give my kids the tools they need to make their own choices, to learn, to try and sometimes, to fail. This is my job; to prepare them to go out into the world and exceed their own expectations, to go further than they thought they could. Its not about me-its about me helping them find their own greatness and being there to make sure they don't miss it.

What follows here is an actual email I sent to my oldest daughter's teacher tonight. I realize that she will probably be really pissed at me for posting this- but I hope that someday she can see beyond the obvious and get over herself enough to really embrace how much I truly believe in her and know that she is absolutely bound for greatness. Her own greatness.

Dear ****,

I am writing to request that a change be made to Ellie’s math facts log. I am requesting that for the time being, we suspend the log- that we do not have her record the times and use the log that has been provided. I would like her to continue doing the math fact pages, as quickly as she can, but I’d like to try not recording them for the time being. This request comes after several long conversations and lots of crying. It is my hope that Ellie and I can work together to get her over this hurdle, and have her come out of this successful in knowing her math facts. Pull up a chair…let me explain…

About two weeks ago, Ellie was given an assignment by her piano teacher to teach herself, “The Entertainer.” She thought it was hard, and was annoyed that she ‘couldn’t get it.’ So she got really mad and complained about how it’s in the so-called ‘easy’ book, but yet she couldn’t seem to get it. She stomped around a lot and said she didn’t know how she was supposed to get this difficult song. She was really angry and wasted A LOT of time and energy being mad about it. I told her that it is one of my ALL-TIME favorite songs (is truly in my top 50 favorite songs ever!) and that maybe she could learn it and play it for me as a Mother’s Day gift. I left her alone to be mad. She continued being angry and then one day just decided she was going to do it. Without a lot of fanfare, she went into the music room and started. At first she stumbled…she had to keep trying…she tried the left hand…made mistakes…pounded the piano a few times…got frustrated…shouted a lot…and eventually it came together. She had to repeat it and repeat it and repeat it. All of the sudden, after several hours (not all at once) it sounded amazingly like the ‘actual song.’ It was beautiful. This success gave her the energy and confidence to perfect it- she listened to the CD of the song and has now even learned to play the song with lots of emotion. She is very proud of this accomplishment- and she should be- because she attacked it with fervor- even though she didn’t think she could. Success is sweet.

So tonight we were sitting at the kitchen table and she was working on a math fact page. She became frustrated quickly, watching the stop watch app go dark on the iphone, knowing she was ‘over’ time, but not nearly finished. She stumbled, she flipped her hair and became very, very agitated. She got mad and flopped her head on the table in disgust. “I can’t do this, I just can’t do this,” she exclaimed, tears welling up behind her gigantic blue eyes. I could feel her frustration and pain. As a parent, I want to alleviate her suffering, but I also need to make sure I don’t simply remove her obstacles, as she needs to learn how to surmount them. I think we needed a new way to tackle this, or at the very least, a new way of thinking about it.

A few days ago I jokingly bought flash cards at Target on clearance for $.28. She was really angry about it. She loathes flash cards. I didn’t say much, and as tempting as it was, I did not put them in her Easter basket. We sat at the table tonight and I pulled out the 7s and the 8s, the ones she said she just doesn’t know. We went over them several times. She started to cry. “Why can’t I do this? Why am I such a dumb- ***?” (she didn’t actually say the expletive, but told me she wanted to). I told her that she is not stupid and she can’t refer to herself that way. She said she is embarrassed by this. She looks at the chart and she just hates that it makes her feel so dumb. Why can’t I just do this?, she asked. We talked about the piano piece. I asked her why she did that- why did she tackle it even though it was hard? She said, “Well, Mom, I care about THAT.” So then it clicked. She has to care about these math facts. Through her sobs she explained how she hates these ‘stupid math facts’ and how all the other kids knew this stuff in 2^nd grade, and she just hates that she has to do it. I took the math binder and threw it on the floor. I said, “Ok, that’s it. You’re done. No more logs.” She was stunned. I asked her how she memorized all the bones in the body in 1^st grade, but yet math facts are escaping her in 7^th grade. She told me that she cared about the bones- “...that was interesting,” she told me. I told her that if there were no more logs- no more chastising- no more bad words in her head- could she care about it enough to just open up her mind and JUST memorize them? I asked her to think about how you look at a painting, and you can’t really see it…so you squint…but you still can’t quite get it…so you back up…you ‘loosen’ your mind and let it flow. Suddenly, it becomes much more clear. I asked her to try that with the math facts. She cried about how much time she has wasted. That she looks at the many minutes listed in the columns of the logs and how much of her life she has ‘lost’ by doing this, but STILL not getting them. I told her to let it go. I said that I wanted her to just loosen up her brain and let herself memorize them. Stop trying to think it through, you KNOW that 6 times 7 is 42… just trust that you don’t have to calculate them…you know that they are correct. Forget trying to rationalize them- just allow yourself to remember them. You don’t need to add 6 more to 6 times 6 which is 36 to get 42… just accept it. Plain and simple- just repeat them. We spent about 50 minutes going over the 8s. She nailed them. She is finally confident. She amazed herself. I told her that we would devote an hour, or whatever amount of time was needed to doing this for each one. No logs, no timers, none of that stress. Let’s just repeat them until they come out cleanly. I told her that she still has to take the math facts sheets, and she still needs to be patient with herself, but she needs to loosen her brain to allow the facts to just permeate her memory. She tasted a small bit of success tonight. She told me that she likes math- she doesn’t want to miss out on the ‘smarter’ math and science in high school because she can’t get these. She wants to do the higher level math. I do think she is capable of that as well.  I reiterated that she needs to just memorize these. I reminded her that many of her mistakes in her algebra and also in the fractions unit were arithmetic- that she needs to remove that as a factor so she can just concentrate on the ‘good stuff’.

I told her a story that I don’t know I had ever shared with her in such detail. I explained how I had to take remedial math- arithmetic in college. I told her the story of how I had failed that class twice- I had to take it a total of three times. I hated myself. I hated every math teacher I ever had. I hated my parents. I hated the graduate assistant who was collecting a paycheck just by giving me the weekly test- not teaching me a damn thing. I hated everyone, but mostly myself. I remember failing the class and going back to my dorm room and crying into the pillow. I remember feeling like I was going to quit. I couldn’t do it. I simply couldn’t do it. I could write fantastic papers, I could speak French, I could win scholarships in regional and statewide debates, I could do all of those things, but I couldn’t do this math. I had no other option than to quit. As I sat up on my bed, I remember thinking, “Huh? What? I am going to quit college because of a stupid arithmetic class? Uh, NO.” I had to do this. I didn’t have to like it. I didn’t have to want to do it, but I HAD TO DO IT. And I did. It wasn’t easy, but I did it. Not for the grad student, not for my parents, but for me. When it was all said and done, I did it. FOR ME.

So tonight began a new way of thinking. I reminded her of the P!nk song, “F’in Perfect.” She loves the song and the video. The first time we both saw the video together it made us both cry. How could someone hurt herself – how could someone hate herself so much? How dreadfully sad. In the song, she talks ‘about changing the voices in your head- make them like you instead.’ I made her promise me that she would try REALLY hard to let go of all the angst that this has caused and start anew. Forget the ‘lost time’ and all the tried attempts, just start again. Tonight. I explained to her that I expect her to do this- I am not getting her ‘out of it.’ She has to want it, and for the first time ever, I think she really does. So it began. She went to bed knowing the 8s- really knowing them. She said she was afraid that she’d forget them overnight. I said well, if you do, we’ll do them again tomorrow. It’s ok. You’ll get it. Just like the piano song. I am so proud of her, I KNOW she can do it, and for the first time, I think she finally thinks she can too. That will make all the difference.

Sorry this is so long, but after all she has been through with these math facts; the bribery, the flash cards, the threatening, the math sheets, the computer programs, the silly math song CD that she hated, all the conferences that it has been discussed, I think I needed to explain. I hope this will be ok in the classroom. Please let me know what you think. Thanks so much for your patience and understanding. We appreciate you greatly. Take care, Carol Hilty

My personal time capsule revealed

It’s been a long time since I have had a blog entry. When I started this venture, I assumed I would continue writing regularly. That was my intention. After taking off to study and take the LSAT, I am writing again, and there is probably enough for a book, but more on that later. Come along with me on my latest discovery… You won’t believe this one!

On New Year’s Day, I found a box containing some pretty pertinent ‘old’ documents. I uncovered an actual time capsule!  This discovery, a few fill-in-the-blanks books that I completed when I was 7 and another when I was about 9-10 years old, revealed my thoughts and feelings at the time. Remember those?  These had blanks with prompts like, “If I had a magic ring, I would…,” and, “One thing I like about myself is…” It was, after all the 70s, and I guess we were all trying to get in touch with our feelings or something. At any rate, I was both amused and enlightened to read some of my entries. I won’t bore you with all of the gory details (although some are really funny!), but the general gist is that I was a happy child who was facing and squaring up a tremendous burden of loss; the fallout  from my parent’s divorce, which happened when I was only 4 years old. I cannot remember a time that I wanted my parents to get remarried, or live together, but these pages document (in my own little handwriting) that I did, in fact wish that they would do so. My therapist says that maybe there was a time in my life where I realized that either, a) this would never happen, or b) if it did, it wouldn’t really be a good thing, so I turned it around and stopped wishing for it, and maybe even tried to convince myself that their separateness was actually for the best. I was, and probably still am, an optimist at heart. I have always seen the good in people and have searched to expose the best in myself. I trust and I put myself ‘out there’ in a passionate and sometimes very vulnerable way. I yearn for the good and the just, but know that there is injustice and suffering as well, a fact I knew even at that tender young age.

The books revealed me saying that I wanted to be a ‘lwyer’ when I grow up (obviously my spelling prowess developed later!) and that I ‘wished I could buy a new car for my Mom.’  Some of you may remember the gold colored, chrome emblazoned 1963 Rambler.  This car was later dubbed, “The Welshmobile,” which was embarrassing in many ways, but did (usually) get us where we needed to go. This goofy car seemed so much older than anyone else’s I knew. I don’t mean older, as in cool classic, vintage car way, I mean just old. It was more primitive than you can imagine-particularly by today’s standards- no radio, one bench seat and lots and lots of shiny chrome. The interior of that car was probably downright dangerous in the sweltering summer heat. The Rambler was older than me- I was born five years after its model year, so I guess that may have contributed to why it seemed like a relic to me. It was just so damn different from everyone else’s car, a fact that I just hated.

As tempting as it is, I will not put my dream of becoming a lwyer on my lw school applications, no matter how cute it appears, because how reliable is a 6 year old in knowing what she wants to be when she grows up? Not very. It is cute, however, and I guess I wanted to find the right thing to help people. Helping people was a big theme throughout all of the books. I thought of myself as a friendly person who never wanted to hurt anyone-still true.  I did want to be a lawyer from as far back as I can remember. In second grade, I wrote that I wanted to be the Attorney General of the United States. When asked what that was, I told people ‘that I would prosecute federal cases.’  Hmmm. I think it makes some sense, as we did read the newspaper, and they were tumultuous times in the wake of Watergate, etc. I probably thought a high profile job looking for the good and the just for something as seemingly screwed up as the government was a great fit for me.

One odd question was, “If I had very long legs, I would…” and I wrote, “Make fun of other people.” This is pretty weird, but understandable, as being as short as I am, I was always teased about it. I hated that with a passion.  I guess I had aggression in that I thought if I were tall I would do it right back at the perpetrators. Nice. Lots of people did make fun of me, even adults, but it was the 70s when the term ‘politically correct’ hadn’t even been coined yet. I’d like to think it made me a ‘stronger’ person, but it didn’t. It might have made me try harder in sports, or maybe even make my voice louder, but knowing my personality, I may have developed those characteristics without being chastised for something I couldn’t control. (Wow, I may still harbor some frustration there…stupid as that may seem.)

These were all interesting and enlightening discoveries, and as I scanned my new-found cursive handwriting, I remembered filling in these books as a young person the age of my children.  It gave me a sense of myself and maybe in a small way helped me define myself, at least at that time. I bet it was cathartic. I am, however, most surprised by the ‘crown jewel’ of the box… the book that won me the 5^th grade Young Author’s Contest.  This book is entitled, (Get this!) “Coping with the Divorce.” Yeah, I know, no way, did I really write a book in 5^th grade at age 10 about how to cope with my parent’s divorce? Yes, I did. Frankly, it’s pretty amazing now, all these years later how poignant is remains. I remember wanting desperately to win the Young Authors contest. It was an honor, as they picked one book per grade. The winner’s book was typed (by the school secretary on a typewriter!), and then it was bound and put in the library for other kids to check out. You also had the distinct pleasure of attending an all day seminar with the winners from each elementary school in the entire district. It was SO cool. I was elated. It was truly one of the proudest moments of my life. I remember sitting at my little 5^th grade desk grasping the manila inter-office envelope that contained my manuscript. This was for ME! I carefully slid it out and my eyes skimmed the newly type-written text (in true ‘courier’ print- you should see it)! I was cautious to not to get fingerprints on it. My name adorned the first page, “Carol Welsh, 5^th grade, April 11, 1979.” I was an AUTHOR. These were MY WORDS. I was so thrilled. I also remember that we had to read this to the other authors at the seminar, and I believe, to the entire elementary school in a school-wide assembly. I would pay money to go back in time and be a fly on the wall to see the teacher and staff reactions to this book- what were they thinking? My therapist said that she bets I made a number of people uncomfortable. But there was someone at Warwick Elementary School who saw this and thought it was worthwhile. Someone was progressive thinking enough to realize that here was a kid with something to share and she actually had the courage to articulate it. Wow, how cool is that? The other piece that is contextually different from today, is that I was the ONLY child I knew (other than my siblings of course) who experienced divorce first-hand. I did not know a single other family who had gone through a divorce. I was referred to as “the broken family,” which, while I understand that it was the 70s and people didn’t know any differently, was extremely painful to me. I remember thinking we weren’t broken, we were just different, and beyond that I was frustrated to be labeled as broken, through no fault or doing of my own.

The cover is fantastic flowers in goofy 70s colors… throughout the book, I used colored pencil to draw FLOWERS- you remember the daisies with the round centers and the half-heart shaped leaves?… My therapist loved this fact, as here was this deep, emotional, adult subject on the pages, but illustrated with happy and almost smiley flowers. The contrast is amazing, and oh so ME- the “Eternal Optimist”.)

I wrote an introduction explaining that I “went through a rough time when my parents got divorced,” and, “I hope you enjoy as well as learn from it.” The book was comprised of an introduction, two chapters and a conclusion. The main point of the book was that kids shouldn’t feel like it’s their fault. I explained that my parents got divorced when I was only three, and that it was hard to understand. I wrote, “At the time I didn’t understand what a ‘divorce’ was. All I knew was my dad was not living with us anymore. I didn’t know where he went or why.”  I told the readers that sometimes parents don’t love each other anymore, or maybe they fight too much over ‘stupid little things.” I said that sometimes parents need to see a marriage counselor, but sometimes that doesn’t even help.  I went on to explain my family’s scenario, and that we had visits with my dad, but that he wasn’t living with us anymore. I am struck by my own candor-that even as a little kid I had some poignant thoughts about this very serious-very adult subject.

I described the pain I felt, “Inside I felt like a different person, I really looked the same. The reason that I felt different was because my parents weren’t together anymore.”  Wow. Isn’t that the truth- that when something really awful happens to you, you look the same, but you feel terribly different- or wrong-on the inside? I am surprised by my clarity on this subject. I continued discussing the emotions. I wrote, “I had a really hard time figuring out what was going to happen to me. My emotions were all mixed up.”

Finally, I stated that kids shouldn’t have to take the responsibility of divorce. I told kids that they aren’t being punished by their parents breaking up. They shouldn’t feel responsible. I ended by trying to tell them that this scenario isn’t what we’d choose as kids, but it’s not their fault.  I said, “Kids whose parents are divorced know that their lives are going to change a lot. They have to remember that is will take time to adapt to this big change in their lives. In the long run, things will work out for the best.” I am, after all an eternal optimist, no? The final line of the book reads, “So I hope this book has helped you a little! Think about the things I said!” What a hoot!

I want to publish this book. I think it would be helpful to write an introduction explaining the context, and the fact that it was written by me as a 10 year old. The message for kids is, in my opinion, timeless. Kids can benefit from it.  I think there are audiences for it-there are an awful lot of 40-somethings out there who have lived this scene. We are adults now, some married, some divorced, but every one of us has been affected by divorce in some way.  My kids know the same number of kids whose parents are married, as those with divorced parents. I am not yet sure if it should be a children’s book, or one that is aimed at adults, or some kind of combination of both. If I do publish it, I would like to print it AS IS- in all of its 70s flowered glory. The typewriter font and my happy flowers really set the tone and context.

In retrospect, I think I was searching for meaning. I suspect that while I didn’t know any other children of divorce, I knew there had to be more in the world. I knew that if I could help another kid, then my suffering might give rise to meaning. Just as people share their experiences when suffering from illness, or survivors of tragedy want to help others by recounting their story, I must have wanted to find meaning in my pain. Maybe by expressing it, I would help another child to not feel as alone as I evidently did, and it would give meaning to my pain.  I am now 42 years old, happily married with three wonderful children of my own. I read it to them, explaining the background of why I wrote it. My oldest, 13 cried a little when I read it aloud to them, feeling empathetic to my pain.  My son, 10, (the same age I was when I wrote it!) ‘Thought it was cool’ since I wrote it when I was his age, and said he ‘was surprised that he could understand how I felt since I was his age when I wrote it.’ Martha, the youngest, 7, said, “You know Mommy, I just don’t get it. I am sorry, but I don’t understand it.” I sobbed when I looked into her big inquisitive brown eyes. I hugged her tightly and said, “You know Martha, I hope you never have to understand it.” How completely cool is that?!

It has begun.

So there is no doubt about it...at this point it is full steam ahead with taking the LSAT and applying to law school. Wow. What a decision that has been! Actually, the actual decision was pretty easy-it was the steps leading up to it that were slow and calculated. Where I live, there are only two law school options. I visited both, because I was, afterall, turning over stones, right? I will ultimately apply to both, but I suspect one will be much more difficult to get into. I learned that both schools are getting over 4,000 applicants, accepting around 1,000 (this number could be way off, I really don't remember), and then having about 150-200 actually matriculate. Wow, those numbers are daunting. Its a formidable challenge.

As I guided my minivan into the law school parking lot, I took a deep breath. I was much more nervous than I thought I would be. I didn't think anyone would be judging me, and I wasn't worried about being embarassed or anything, it was just the shear sense of doing something. I was finally doing something - something for me. On top of that, I have been talking about doing this (in various forms) since I was 6 years old. Today was the day! I walked up to the admisions building and tugged on the oversized handles. It seemed like they were HUGE for affect. I pulled open the doors, and as I walked over the threshold, I felt different. I had done it. I had taken the step toward something big. Whether or not I will get in, or even decide to actually attend, are decisions for the future. For now, I had entered. It had begun.

One, a tier three school, is very close to my home and near where my kids go to school. This would involve a five minute commute. No kidding. The class I sat in on was a Contracts class, a first-year-everyone-takes-it kind of class. I had looked up the professor, because that's the kind of chick I am, and found that he had graduated college the year after me. So, I wouldn't necessarily be the oldest person in the room. The best part about sitting in on the class was that I didn't feel like a complete fish out of water. In seeing real students, doing real work, and getting a 'feel' for what the experience might really be like, I could see myself doing it as well. Yes, the instructor used the Socratic method, but it wasn't to humiliate the student. He was casual in his method; using regular discussion techniques, with which I was accustomed. No horror here. I followed along with what they were doing quite well. Whew! Funny, in that he was describing three definitions regarding landlord-tenant relationships, and I had first hand experience with all three. That has to count for something. I was comfortable and relaxed at the school. Don't get me wrong, I am not trying to oversimplify the experience. It will be significantly challenging, no doubt about that, but I had a feeling that they weren't speaking another unknown language. Wow, maybe I can do this afterall, I thought.

So the very next day, I visited my other local option. This school is one in which I would not have probably gotten into had I applied 20 years ago. This is a tier two school, one which is trying to boost itself into the 'big 10.' I was enamoured by the pretty campus, the ivy buildings, and the fact that it exists on an undergraduate campus. The building is brand new with technology that will knock your socks off. It was really what you imagine law school to be like. The class I audited, Torts, was larger, and more formal. The students seemed friendly, and in fact, several actually stopped me to talk. During the discussion, the professor was talking about product liability, and when a cost outweighs the ethical need to make a change in a corporate scenario. He placed a memo on the screen from the Ford Motor Company from the late 1970s. I laughed out loud, which seemed really inappropriate. He spoke about the trouble Ford got into with the Pinto. I was giggling to myself as I not only knew about the Pinto, it was my first car! I wondered if anyone in the room (inclusive of all 80 students) had ever even ridden in a Pinto, much less owned one! It struck me again, that maybe some of my life experiences might actually help in learning and ultimately praticing law. The instructor sat with me for almost 15 minutes after the class. I felt comfortable, but a little bit out of range at this school. Attending this school would be more of an academic reach for me, as well as it is 30 minutes from home. I know this distance is doable, but when you subtract the 10 hours a week for driving, it really does stack up- time I won't be able to spend studying.

One thing that struck me about both classes, which I would not have forseen, is that every single student had a laptop. Ok, you are thinking, uh, no kidding, Carol, (I am using one right now). The funny part was that once the professor (in both classes) began speaking, the students were pecking away at their computer pads and therefore not looking at the teacher. This was odd to me, in that usually the instructor gets clues to the discussion, or at the very least uses the students' eye contact or furrowed brows to indicate or change the flow of the lesson. This was a new phenonmenon for me, a change in the classroom dynamic. I used a typewriter in college. Settle down, it was an electric typewriter- sheese I am not THAT old!

So who knows what will come of this? I have enrolled to take the LSAT in December. I began an online live LSAT prep class. Its really hard. I think there is a hole in my brain where the so-called 'logic games' knowledge should be. I hope the course will help me attack these. I rock at the reading comprehension questions, do so-so on the 'regular logic', but suck on the logic games. These are the ones like this: Joe gets on the bus and can't sit next to Sally but has to sit next to Susie and only rides on Wednesdays... ack! I am told there is a method for attacking these, so we'll see. I am already seeing an improvement-its amazing what doing 25 hours of preparation in a week can begin to do for you (yes, did you detect my sarcasm there?) ... so we'll see. I just plan to pour myself into it, and do my very best, whatever that may be.

The online live class is cool. The company sent me texts and headphones. I log into the class, which takes place at a certain time. The instructor talks, we can hear him, and then we use emoticons to answer questions. There is also a chat room (I knew my fast chat room typing skill would come in handy for SOMEthing!) where you can ask and answer questions. Its really cool. After the class, the transcript is available online to review or to sit through if you miss a class. So far its working out great. The instructors keep saying it will get easier, I sure hope they are correct. Right now it takes an unbelievable amount of time to work through the problems. It is very tedious and strenuous. We'll see. I am trying to keep a postitve outlook and know that this is just another step in the process to doing what I want to do. One evening, the instructor said (and yes this is an actual quote), "Once you see the answers, its easy to pick the correct one." I just laughed and laughed, gee thanks Jason, I hope that rubs off on me, and sooner than later, please. Ha ha (By the way, I suspect that he meant that the wrong answers would become much more evident the more experience and practice we have with the exam questions. I just thought it was hilarious. Its like thinking Alex Trebeck is really smart- well, yeah he can READ the answers!)

So while this blog entry isn't full of insights, it illustrates the beginning. I have moved forward and have begun the tasks at hand. It feels liberating, and scary and tiring and exciting all at once. My family is being really cool and helping out alot. That helps tremendously. Oh, silly story... Sam (10 yr old) said to me the other day, "Mom, so if you go to law school, are you going to go to Temple?" To which I replied, "Uh, Sam, where is Temple?," He said, "Philly." I said, "Where do we live?" He said, "Harrisburg." So I said, "Sam, how would that work?" He said, "You could get an apartment and we could visit you." It cracked me up. He went on the say that Dad could take him to school and feed them and take care of the stuff I do. It was incredibly cute. On the one hand, I was like Oh thanks Sam, like I am so replaceable, on the other hand I thought it was cool that he would think that I could/should do something for myself. Maybe in a small way, it was his vote of confidence. We'll see, it will be a long road, whichever one I take.

Thanks for sharing this experience with me.

"C-A-M-P-F-I-R-E", no I am not singing it, just making one

On Friday night we set out to have a campfire on the back porch. It was the first of the brisk evenings to come, as we each needed a sweatshirt to remain comfortable. We snuggled with blankets too, but that was really just for effect. Bob always lights the fires, I suppose it's a guy thing; like the grill firing & taking out the trash. It was an unusual situation, as Bob couldn't get it to catch. Hmmm, that's odd...it always comes easily for him. He left to go pick up Ellie at a friends' house, so I, not wanting to sit idly looking at unlit logs and feeling the newfound chill in the air, decided to try my hand at fire building. I know how to do it, leaving space between the logs, tucking in the kindling, and wadding up what little newspaper I could scrounge up underneath for good measure. The two younger kids were doubting me. Although neither of them verbalized it, they knew this was Dad's business. So a light here, a flicker there and to all of our amazement- it lit! Within minutes, we had a spectacular fire ablaze. I was noticeably pleased with myself. Sam, as if sensing my near smug sentiment, said,"Wow Mom, that's a pretty good fire. You just did something better than Dad!" I will downplay his utter astonishment here, so as not to belabor the point. You get the idea. I was oddly pleased with my accomplishment.

The fire did really well that evening, but you probably figured that I was bound to say that.
　

As I unwrapped my legs from the plush blanket in which they were wrapped, I carefully placed my wine glass on the ledge so as to not waste any of the precious potion it contained. I rose to stoke the fire. I poked and prodded. I shoved it and tossed the warm embers over the part of the log that had to yet to be ignited. Another part of the dingy log crumbled in pieces as it simmered. I carefully placed a fresh log at an unusual angle, calculating the best opportunity for it's position in my new project. It was divine.

At that moment it occurred to me that this fire is like a marriage. It starts out hot and quick. You crowd it, maybe even get too close because you can't soak up enough of it's warmth. You think it's going to blaze like that always. You feel the heat and although it's intoxicating, sometimes you have to step back to feel the cool air again. You know that you need it and it needs you. It's pretty stable and reliable after it settles. The paper and kindling are gone now, and the quick hot flash has stabilized. At this point, it can sustain itself using it's own devices. You begin to relax as you are now accustomed to the even and mesmerizing flame. But if you continue to sit back and you don't stoke it and tend it, the fire will flicker and maybe even extinguish. So you push the deep warm coals which have settled to the bottom a bit and you recognize their importance. If you push them, they will turn reddish and might even have the strength to light a new log that you have carefully positioned on top. After tending the magnificent creation, you return to your seat and bask in it's glory.

I hope to make some time to write about my experiences last week while visiting the two local law schools. Thanks for reading!
　

Law school at my age...? Really?!

Hard to believe that tomorrow I will take a tiny step toward deciding if law school is in fact in my future. I have an appointment to visit a first year class at Widener Law School and then take a tour of the campus. Yikes! Ought to be a short tour, as I think there are only about well, two buildings! That is ok, as I am most looking to get a feel for the class. I need to ask myself if I can actually do this. Is it finally the right time to pursue something I have wanted to do since I was 6 years old? In second grade I wanted to be the Attorney General of the United States. Pretty funny, really, because it was the 70s, so I probably heard that title in the news, with Watergate and all the other government stuff that was happening at the time. I didn't know much back then about the job, other than they "prosecute federal cases," which I suppose is a mouthful for a 7 year old. At any rate, my desire for a legal career waxed and waned over time. I remember my high school debate class with Mrs. Franchois at C.B.West. That class was probably as difficult as any course of my first two years of undergraduate-she was relentless. I did learn so much about debate, how to prepare, how to think on my feet, as well as weird stuff like Roberts Rules of Order, which I never, ever thought would apply to my life. (I was wrong about that, by the way.) What I remember most about that class is the feeling I got in the pit of my stomach when it was my turn, not in a nervous holy crap kind of way, but in a wow its my turn and I am on now kind of way. I enjoyed the challenge of the quick pull out the card I remember a fact on that, and being able to (usually) pull it together to make a rebuttal work. I learned in that class that I could perform under pressure and speak passionately even if the opinion wasn't in alignment with mine, but the facts supported the point. I suppose she is one of those teachers I ought to look up and thank, as that class most definitely shaped my future in many ways.

I can't say I regret not going to law school as a 25 year old, as obviously my life would have turned out differently if I had done it then, and I have a pretty great life now as a 42 year old, as trite as that sounds. I am an intense person who is hard to stop once I become passionate about something, so I feel like if it is finally the right time, (oh and don't forget the minor point of actually getting in!), then I think I can do it. I have to know it is the right time as it will change our family lifestyle if the answer is yes to begin pursuing it. I recognize that a lot of the busy work that I do now will have to end. I think I am cool with most of that, as much of it is stuff I have been trying to ditch for a long time, but either didn't have the heart to, or didn't know how to. I hope that I am not just looking for something more important to say to people when I tell them no... I mean  now I just say, "Uh, no I can't do that." Long pause. Then after they ask again, I repeat, "Nope, not gonna do it." (insert Larry the Cucumber voice here. If you don't know who he is, Google him.)* If I was going to law school, I could say to people, "Nope, not going to do that. I am going to law school." Sounds alot more important than, "I can't help you because I have a date with my dirty laundry...," but don't worry, I know that isn't a good enough reason to go to law school- it has to be for me. I can't do this for anyone else but me. That is a new thing, the just  for me part, as my life decisions have focused nearly entirely on our family for the past 15 or so years. Doing something for me... hmmmm... I like how that sounds.

Good news too, when I looked over the course descriptions listing for the law school, I was wowed over about 75 % of the classes. The ones I didn't get excited about were taxes, estate planning, wills, and that sort of stuff. I have always gotten excited about Constitutional law, which was one of my most favorite (and most challenging) classes at Temple University as an undergrad. I remember just being enthralled by the decisions and the discussions were the kind I always imagined would take place at college. It was a tremendous amount of reading and writing, but I remember loving it. That's got to be a good thing.

Finally, I need to assess if I want to be a lawyer. Is this a means to an end for me? I am sure there will be value in the learning, but its going to take a lot of perseverance and fortitude to get through it. Do I want the job of being a lawyer, as in do I want to perform the day to day? While certainly a competitive person, I don't see myself at this stage in my life competing with fellow students (read: 20-somethings!) for a high powered corporate attorney position. I see myself in some capacity working essentially for myself. The nine-to-five do what someone tells me to gig would be really hard to go back to at this point. So, the idea of doing this in my way, on my terms, is alluring. I am not sure how realistic that is; I guess I do need more research. If the job I really want is say, a politician (just an example- I know, what a stretch, huh?!), then law school might not be a necessary path to take. I need to make sure I cover those bases before I make the decision of whether or not to go.

One thing is certain: I want to actually make the decision. I don't want to have my inactivity be the decision. I don't want to wake up in 5 years and ask myself why I didn't do this years before. I want to make sure its the right thing at the right time, and I need to know that I turned over the necessary stones to know I actually decided, even if I ultimately decide that its not for me. Tomorrow I will begin the job of turning the first stone.

* Ok, my confession: Those who know me personally know that this is well, sort of bullshit. I rarely say no when asked to do things. I think this is a bit of fantasy on my part- that I would say that if I could. I do like the idea of using Larry's voice to tell people NO. It would certainly divert the attention away from me, since he is a talking cucumber and all. Indulge me a bit on this fantasy thing, it is, afterall, my blog, right?

what is this blog about anyway...?

In trying to figure out how to go about this blog business, I have decided to just have at it. Friends who read blogs told me I should blog, that I would love it and others would love to read my stuff. I continued to hesitate. I wondered (like most people I suppose) who would care about what I have to say or what I think...?  This recently reminded me of a conversation I had several years ago with Patriot News Editor, Nancy Eshelman, who was my instructor at a graduate Journalism class. At the end of the News Writing class, she asked me to become a 'stringer' and write feature pieces for the local newspaper. I was stunned- who would care what I have to say? Why would anyone read my opinion? She replied by saying that all feature columnists start out feeling that way, but after some writing, people start to comment and it just goes from there. She told me that I was an interesting story teller- people liked to listen to me- and that I had a gift for writing. I was flattered and loved the challenge to try something new. I did have one story published, and stopped after that, as I was quite pregnant with my first child and unfortunately, sick. I had forgotten about this conversation until recently. While on the beach reading the book, The Girls from Ames, I realized that I could have written a similar book about the long-standing relationships that have been a part of my life, as well as those which have come and gone. I have learned so much over the past few years using, of all things, Facebook, as I have delved into a whole new culture of friendships that have had a rebirth as a result of that social media. I think I have several chapters of that book mapped in my mind. More on that later.

Why writing? I started writing notes to myself in June of 2009 when it hit me (like the proverbial ton of bricks!) that I was having some personal issues with the direction my life was heading. Only adding to these journalesque writings, I never delete or edit what I have written, as it has served as a slice of how I felt at the time. Much of it written in the stream of consciousness style, to date, I have almost 200 pages in Word, which have only been shared with my therapist. Some others close to me have read certain excerpts, but mainly its quite private. This cathartic experience has documented my feelings over the past year or so, good and bad. Don't worry, I won't be sharing that, and I certainly wouldn't publish it in its current un-edited state. I have learned through this experience, however, that writing is a terrific way for me to work through all kinds of issues. My therapist says I am 'prolific'- I think that might be a nice way of saying long-winded. I think I like writing almost as much as talking...

At any rate, I found myself thinking more about writing a book I have been thinking about for many years. I never really thought I would actually write it, as I thought that non-fiction books had to glean something... there had to be some expert view or something for it to teach others, so I didn't think my ideas fit the bill. In speaking with many people over the past year, however, I have learned that this is not the case, that perhaps the journey and (maybe more importantly) knowing you are not alone on this journey is a worthwhile endeavor to share. Whether or not these thoughts will ever make it into a book format remains to be seen. I hope to expound on these topics in this forum as possible.

So here is kind of an introduction. I currently plan to write about the 'transition' in which I have found myself. This is the jouney that I mentioned above. I have been working through where I am now- my kids no longer need me to stay alive- but need me in other new ways. I have been searching for meaning outside the world I have created in my current network of family and friends. Maybe its a mid-life crisis plain and simple, I don't know for sure. Anyhow, I have been on a journey and hope to shed some light on this as I have found so many others who can relate to these issues as our lives have turned a new corner. This is not just about women either, by the way. Men, as husbands or as Dads are going through transitions in this early 40s stage, although I have read that their midlife crises tend to hit more in the mid 50s... I bet you can benefit from these discussions whether you are a man or a woman. I hope so.

Finally, (I know, no way!) I am new to the whole blog scene. I don't want to filter myself so much that I lose that genuine sense of myself, but I don't want to upset or hurt anyone inadvertantly either. That is not what this is about. I will also try not to swear, which is really hard for me. I write like I talk, so be prepared for that... I hope its enjoyable for us both. Thanks for reading. :)