Inner Yoda vs Wounded Animal

The Noodle started Kindergarten this week, and I had a deadline that I found to be incredibly stressful.  For some reason, this has made me feel like a wounded animal.  This maybe wouldn’t have been such an issue, except that I have also acted very much like a wounded animal.  I have alternately fallen into fits of weepiness and testiness.  I have spit “Stop it!”, “you clearly don’t understand at all”, and “leave me alone!” at those with the best of intentions.  I have never felt so isolated and alone, but have no right to complain about it because I don’t want to talk about it, I avoid people, and then there’s the whole “leave me alone!” thing as I slam doors to things like the microwave.  (It does make a really satisfying sound, though, when I’m on edge.)    And as if that isn’t enough, I also lately have been breaking out like a teenager, and am unable to function very well (ok – at all) when I’m in one of my “not really holding in the tears so well, but I’m really trying to” moments.

For example: it’s the first day of school & none of the other parents seemed to be shedding one single tear, and I’m crying every other second.  During one of my moments when I was actually able to pull it together – still with my sunglasses on inside the school building – my husband was trying to introduce me to someone & I evidently turned my back on him.  I had no idea I had done this.  I had very little sense of what was going on around me except for The Muffin tugging on my dress, The Noodle sitting next to a little girl who looked terrified to be in school, and that little girl’s mom – who very kindly told me that she had cried all week & not to worry about it (being a basket case, that is).  I really & truly had no idea what was going on outside of this.  It took every ounce of strength I had to not flat out ball my eyes out the entire time.  I felt like I could barely maintain awareness of standing upright- or breathing normally & not in sobs.  I felt terrible later when Jeff told me what I had done…  Even still, I feel I should mention that when I think of that little girl in her yellow dress and her little box of plastic frogs & such that she had brought from home, I still can’t keep it together.  I cry every time.  I can’t help it.  –and then, when I replay The Noodle’s conversation with her in my mind, I’m a ridiculous mess.


“What’s your name?”

“Lisa*.”  Silence.  “What’s your name?”



“These are my frogs.”

“Oh.  Great.”  Silence.   “Do you like Legos?”

Nods head “yes”.
“You do?!”

I know.  I’m ridiculous.  And the thing that really gets me is that I don’t understand it.  My brain is not sad at all.  I am actually really excited about The Noodle starting school.  Elementary school is so much fun.  I am completely excited to help with homework, and science fair projects.  I look forward to packing lunches in lunchboxes, and hearing about his day.  I love this stuff.  I was very excited for his first day, and there I was crying my eyes out.  I’ve been crying my eyes out about this since the day he was born.  I’m not kidding.  I cry and cry and am totally confused by it.  And it makes me so disappointed because I want to be Yoda.  Well … I don’t want to be a small green alien with big ears, but I do want very much to be like Yoda.  Someone who is wise and at peace with the universe, who has achieved balance, and who people come to when they need advice and direction and comfort.  Unfortunately, try though I might, I cry over little girls with plastic frogs and first days of school; and I don’t communicate except to hiss “leave me alone” or to marvel aloud about how I am” so stressed out” & “I’ve never been this stressed over probably anything ever in my life ever” and then yell “stop it!” when I get a response I don’t like.  I want to be Yoda … but I’m actually more like an untamed wounded animal.  Oh well, at least no one can accuse me of being unemotional or apathetic….right?

*note: names have been changed to protect the innocent


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Filed under kids, Life Death & Random Musings, Uncategorized

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