Thank heaven for small favors

How am I supposed to compete with the third floor women in perfectly pressed designer pantsuits and kicky shoes when I can barely pull on a mostly-ironed linen sundress I bought at Old Navy in 2002 and there are bunches of chewed up Nutri-Grain bar in my hair? TELL ME HOW! 

At least chewed-up Nutri-Grain bars are mostly the same color as my hair.

self-searching

Do you ever google yourself? 

I google myself regularly. In a former life, I was the social services reporter at a mid-size daily newspaper and as such attended one of those Internet safety forums sponsored by a local domestic violence shelter. As a survivor of domestic violence and the recipient of a recent (at that time) phone call from the perpetrator (two years after the final break up and from 500 miles away), I thought I should pay particular attention to the Internet stalking part. That’s where I learned that I should google myself often so I am always aware what other people can find out about me. 

Some things I can’t change – I was a newspaper reporter and those articles are out there forever. Now, I work for a nonprofit’s publication, and those articles are out there too. I’m not too hard to find. My maiden name is… unique. Of the 300+ entries that come up in google, I am probably 295 of them.  

But four years ago, someone with my first name must have married into my dad’s family. So now there are two of us. She has worked as the head of the chamber of commerce in the county adjacent to the one in which my parents grew up, so we must be related somehow. She’s now the director of development at the hospital where my dad was born. That’s crazy. 

Of course, I have a different last name now, but I still use my maiden name professionally. I didn’t even take my husband’s last name at first, and it was hard for me when I did. Some women think I’m crazy for that. 

This is all to say that if you don’t already, I think you should google yourself today. You never know…

April showers bring May weddings

So because I am masochistic, I volunteered to throw a shower for aforementioned Bridezilla. The shower is this weekend, in her city of residence, which happens to be three hours from my city of residence. Which wouldn’t be a problem because I have a husband to care for my toddler while I do party-stuff, right? 

Well, husband decided this would be a good weekend to visit a buddy who moved to Arizona FOUR YEARS AGO and whom he hasn’t seen in TWO YEARS. So, I will be doing the party-stuff and long-distance driving with toddler (and two beagles because the kennel had no space) in tow. Hopefully Angel Face is in an angelic mood. 

I went to go purchase a gift for Brother and Bridezilla, and the only place they are registered is Crate and Barrel and it’s all kitchen stuff, including a margarita set and martini glasses. They don’t drink. Another odd note – she registered for three flatwear settings (!!$30 each!!!). Three seems an odd number. Seriously, who registers for only three? Are they just having one person over for dinner EVER? It seems very odd.  On principle, I wanted to buy something that my brother would use, so the flatware quickly became my only option. Somebody else already bought the chip and dip. It just seems odd that there were only three. But that’s all they wanted, so that’s all they’re getting, I guess.

I’m just people watchin’

I think we’ve officially entered the realm of the walking. 

Angel Face, born with a dislocated hip that kept her lower body in one contraption or another for the first six months of her life, has always been a little behind with the physical-development stuff. She sat up right on schedule (she worked her stomach muscles lifting and lowering her lower torso while it was encased in plastic), but she didn’t roll over until nine months and crawling didn’t come until she was past ten months. 

We weren’t in any hurry to see her walk. But now that she can get more than half a dozen steps without falling down, there’s no stopping her. We took her to a baseball game this weekend to see our local minor league team, and she did very little sitting down. We mostly walked around the concourse, with Angel Face decked out in her Chicago Cubs jersey and a hot pink baseball hat (Momma loves the Cubs to Daddy’s chagrin – he’s a Cardinal’s fan!). Every few steps she’d stop, look up at passers-by, wave and say, “Hi!” as if she meant to say “Look at me! I’m walking just like you!” 

Sunday afternoon at the ball park was the best. We ran into my boss, who tossed a baseball back and forth with Angel Face – (she can throw forward already!) and the pediatrician, who is about six weeks away from giving birth to her own little one. Angel Face played with another little boy, ate French fries and ice cream, and when she got tired, pulled her blanket out of the stroller, spread it in the shade and laid down for a nap.  

There was a moment when I looked around me, at my wonderful husband and my fantastic daughter, and thought how great my life is. It was one of those cheesy, Hallmark moments that I’ve suddenly started to have all the time. So Angel Face, I have you to thank. You’ve made me whole.

Lessons learned

I really have a great life. I think I don’t acknowledge enough – to myself or to the people around me that make it so great. 

So, thanks, Husband, for putting up with my occasional pettiness and craziness. Thanks for bringing me strawberries and making me a turkey sandwich and for creating the mini-gator-chomp that makes our Angel Face giggle. Thanks for blowing bubbles on the front porch and for handling all the confrontational things that I’m too scared to deal with. I love you. 

Thanks, Boss, for giving me professional development opportunities even when I don’t recognize that’s what they are. Thanks for giving me the chance to lead and for pushing me out on my own even when it makes me nervous. Thanks for telling me when I do a good job. Thanks for telling me when I don’t. I appreciate you. 

Thanks, Co-workers, for keeping this a fun place to work. Thanks for working as a team, for the mutual respect and the laughs. Thanks for all the glasses of water after bouts of morning sickness. Thanks for the support. 

Thanks, Sister, for letting me vent and for listening to hours of Angel Face bragging. Thanks for being the one person I can turn to who knows me better – and longer – than anyone else. Thanks for laughing with me. Thanks for laughing at me. Thanks for calling me on the bullshit and agreeing with me even when I’m clearly nuts. 

Thanks, Parents, for giving me a great childhood and a great value system that I hope to pass on to my own kids. Thanks for loving us kids even after you stopped loving each other. Thanks for having the respect for each other to not ruin important events in our lives. Thanks for everything you ever gave up for us.  

Thanks, Brother, for teaching me that my way is not always the only way. Thanks for showing me that you can accomplish more than you thought you could. Thanks for demonstrating that what looks like a raw deal in life can be turned into, if not a positive, at least not a liability. Thanks for showing me that true happiness looks different to different people. 

Most of all, thanks, Angel Face, for the myriad of things I have learned from you. You are a miracle. Thanks also, for the snuggles and the kisses and the cries for me. Thanks for needing me. Thanks for showing me that the world is larger than myself. Thanks for your growing independence and how you’ve taught me that being the best at everything isn’t always what’s right. You have taught me so much, more than all my degrees and all my work experience and all the mentors I’ve had combined could teach me. I look forward to your lessons over the years. You are the best teacher of all.

Sing a new song unto the Lord…

We had our first church tantrum this morning. It didn’t really help that when I went through our offering envelopes I discovered that we hadn’t been to services since FEBRUARY. Everyone gave us the stink eye when Angel Face decided she couldn’t take it anymore and through herself, wailing, on the ground between the pews. 

Hubby hissed at me just to leave her. So I did. Thankfully it was during the closing song. And of course it didn’t stop everyone from saying how ADORABLE she is and so WELL-BEHAVED when we were trying to beat it out of there. Angel Face ate it up, passing out smiles like they grew on trees (trust me, they don’t) and saying “hi!” in her sweet-and-cuddly almost-a-whisper voice. 

That’s one problem I have with organized religion – everyone seems so fake. I mean OBVIOUSLY Angel Face was not well-behaved. She shouted “Baby” every time one of the other two youngsters her age came into site and she shrieked throughout the sermon. 

When I was growing up in the Catholic church, I remember sitting in what was called the “Cry Room” for every Mass until my younger brother was about four. In fact, my mother was astonished when I told her they had no such thing at the (non-Catholic) church we attend. The pastor told us something about making a joyful noise unto the Lord, I told Mom. 

Well, Angel Face’s noises are decidedly un-joyful. And while I appreciate the welcoming verbiage, I’d appreciate it more if it weren’t accompanied by the evil stares of most of our fellow congregants (who of course tell us how wonderful Angel Face is after service). 

I can take comfort in the fact that we are no longer the only parents of a young child. There were TWO other (girl!) children Angel Face’s age or younger, whose parents also had difficulty reigning in the exuberance of their youngsters.  

Hopefully, there will be safety in numbers.

In which I stomp my feet at the cosmic injustice

When I got pregnant less than 10 months after starting this job, I wouldn’t exactly characterize my boss’s reaction as excited. In fact, despair might be a better word for it. I’ll cut to the chase: he threw his pen across his office and said, “You’re pregnant, aren’t you?” 

So I wasn’t exactly expecting career advancement to come out of my decision to have a family. And I was perfectly happy with that. I knew I was the youngest person in my unit, and I was content with the likelihood that I would no longer get great assignments. I planned on cutting back on my extensive travel (six trips from the time I told my boss I was pregnant in mid-June until I put my foot down about further travel in mid-October, two months before I gave birth). I assumed this would all mean I would not be nominated for employee of the year anytime soon.   

Then something odd happened. On about the eighth week of my 12-week maternity leave (I took the full 12 weeks, another decision that I thought would be bad for my career), my boss’ boss called me into the office. Not only would I be taking on some of my boss’(!very important to the organization overall!)  responsibilities to free him up for other projects, but I would also become a supervisor. I would supervise the new media position in our unit that would be filled within two to three weeks of my return from leave. 

I sat there for a moment and said, okay, so long as I don’t have to travel as much as I did in 2005. I expected that to squelch a little of their pro-me enthusiasm. Not so. Apparently I am the awesomest and they worked out this deal where I only have to attend certain cross-country meetings IF I THINK IT’S NECESSARY (i.e. NEVER).  So where’s the catch? I didn’t see it. My husband had to point it out to me. I know, stupid, stupid me. I took on all this extra responsibility, which has actually translated into more hours of work and more hours of worry when I’m not at my desk for NO EXTRA CASH and NO INCREASE IN TITLE. Granted, I’ve been given two nice raises at my annual evaluation time. I try to think about that at times like today when I am in big planning meetings and am very conscious of the fact  that I am likely the lowest-paid and lowest-titled person in the room.  

Besides, I don’t have to travel as much. That’s a perk, right? But lately I’ve been trying not to be upset when I see people come in hours after me and leave before me when I KNOW they get paid more than me and have higher titles. I’ve never really been caught up in all that crap before. I always believed that comparisons do nothing constructive, they just make you miserable. So I’m making myself miserable.

I just know that I am VALUED but am not COMPENSATED that way or VIEWED that way outside our unit/department.

I guess I get them back in my own way. For instance, I’m going to post this at work. So there.

we are pretty cool, but really…

Angel Face has suddenly decided that sleep is way overrated and compares extremely unfavorably to spending more time with MahME (emphasis hers) and Dada. If I weren’t so exhausted, I would probably find it sickly heartwarming. It’s adorable, really.  

Her dad and I alternate bathing and putting her to bed every night (only because I think he should experience the PURE JOY that comes from her last smile of the night – and also, I am tired sometimes too), which includes the customary bedtime story. For awhile there, she simply wanted to turn the pages of the books (BY HERSELF, DAMMIT) and point to things so we could identify them. 

I should also mention that we have two beagles that used to be the center of attention and now look at us with thinly-veiled disgust pretty much every waking moment. They like to walk around in the hallway and nudge doors open to see if anything fun (i.e., the consuming of goldfish crackers or other such snacks that will inevitably find their way to the floor) is going on. Seeing no such hijinks, they continue on to the next room, probably to sprawl out on a bed and sleep or maybe to puke on the furniture. Whichever. 

Anyhow, lately, the dog activity has begun to distract Angel Face. At the first movement of her bedroom door, she will squeal out the name of the parent who is not with her in the room. When that parent does not appear (because after all, it’s just a 35 pound beagle with a hankering for some toddler-gummed snacks), she is distraught. Inconsolable.  

She can generally be comforted within a few minutes, but the excitement of the POSSIBILITY of seeing MahME or Dada has just overwhelmed her heavy eyelids, and she will cry and wail when placed in the crib. I love that. 

Because I am a big pushover and CAN NOT BEAR to hear my sweet little Angel Face in ANY KIND OF DISTRESS, I generally give in and she stays up past my bedtime. I am a terrible mother who can not enforce rules or create boundaries and my child will be a self-absorbed, narcissistic brat who can not take “no” for an answer but sure knows how to say it. And possibly be a serial killer. Or someone who uses the phrase “doing God’s work” which really gives me the willies because how do you know you’re doing God’s work? 

But at least she will never feel like I abandoned her, right? 

I know. I’ll let her cry.

The lurking bridezilla

It was bound to happen sometime. I thought I had dodged a bullet. All the bridesmaiding I’ve done over the years, and I never hated the dress. I turned 30, certain that I had avoided all the horror stories of ugly taffeta and tulle. 

I’ve worn tasteful black (from the Chadwick’s catalog! So it was cheap!), deep red, soft lavender (twice. Lavender is my favorite color!), and a beautiful strapless red dress with black lace overlay. That was my favorite. I never even had to purchase new shoes or jewelry because there were no Nazi brides who insisted that we all match. I wouldn’t be friends with girls like that.  I thought I had made it. I was wrong.  I’m not particularly close to my brother. He was an usher at my wedding. When he announced he was getting married, I wasn’t expecting a bridal party invitation. When it came, I was actually shocked. Of course, I was about eight months pregnant at the time, so walking down the aisle again wasn’t really at the forefront of my imagination. 

So I went and got fitted for the dress and the shoes and paid (!! The most I’ve ever paid for a dress with the exception of my own wedding dress which wasn’t that much more expensive !!) for it and waited for it to arrive. 

I picked it up last night. When I put it on with the shoes, my husband actually laughed at me. Then he said, “It’s not that bad. It’s just the color.” Then he said, “The look on your face really isn’t helping.”

I would provide a link to the site with the dress, but it actually looks very pretty on the Web and you all would think I was crazy. 

I said I was refusing to wear pantyhose. I already have to have the same MAKEUP and HAIRSTYLE (no, I will not cut my hair for your wedding, and why can’t you ask me yourself instead of having my timid little brother ask me) as all the other bridesmaids. 

I’m putting my foot down at the pantyhose, people. It’s a southern California wedding and the shoes are wedge sandals. I’m trying not to be a brat, but the Bridezilla really seems to bring out my bratty tendencies. I’m thinking about stashing a flask in my bouquet.

If you love something, set it free

After this weekend, I really am beginning to see my daughter in a whole new light – i.e. as a person separate from myself and my husband. We went to visit my husband’s parents for the holiday, and his sister and her kids were there as well. Angel Face had the time of her life playing with her cousins. She squealed and giggled and chortled and shrieked as they carried her around, tickled her, walked with her, pretended to chase her. As long as she had a sippy cup in one hand and a cousin’s finger in another, she was thrilled. 

Mommy wasn’t needed. 

This is a wonderful thing. It truly is. She is becoming independent and learning how to play with the big kids. But why does my heart hurt just a bit?  I am totally one of those moms I said I would never be. I find it difficult to leave Angel Face for even a few hours. Business trips are a nightmare. I hover. I swoop in at the first hint of a sob. I indulge and I coddle and I spoil. I’m probably turning her into Paris Hilton and we’re not even rich. 

I know a lot of it is my guilt. I had a stay-at-home mom until I was in the third grade. I would love to be that for Angel Face, but the truth of the matter is I can’t just quit. I make a good living, and our household would have to drastically change in so many ways that I think would hurt her more than my being home would help. 

So I over-compensate. I cater to every whim and focus solely on her for the 1.5 hours per day that I see her. On the weekends, I try to make every waking moment fun and exciting. Basically, I’m wearing myself out. I know it can’t continue. I know I’m not doing her any favors. But I was raised Catholic. We know guilt. I think the pope invented it. 

I know there’s hope for me – I didn’t swoop or hover this weekend. She was having fun, albeit without me. Honestly, I was almost grateful for the break (and I feel guilty for even THINKING that). But to hear her giggle fits and see her give snuggles to somebody other than her parents was nice too. 

Someday, I know, she’ll leave me for the Real World. I just hope that I’m strong enough to help her become the independent woman she deserves to be.