I'm really glad I didn't hit send on the post that's been lingering here in the drafts for the last few weeks. I'm looking at it now and meh, it's just me sleep-deprived and bitching. There's no need to bitch. It's all good.
I'm back to work. Week one is down. Sure, it was a three-day work week, but still. Did it. Done.
Now it's week two. There are no holidays to save me. And even with my awesome MIL offering an extra day of coverage, I still need M to take some hours off work to watch D since my office scheduled a last minute meeting for me to chair this Friday.
Because child care grows on trees and is really, really easy to coordinate.
I can't complain too loudly. The transition back hasn't been as bad as it could be. I still have a job. People are happy to see me. And I'm starting with a clean slate - if you still need me to do something from three months ago, you're gonna need it bad enough to ask me again. I've erased most of my email and task lists.
A clean slate, and a new attitude. Nothing in the office is earth-shattering. Nothing is life or death. There is nothing contained in those walls that matter more than my time with D. and M. When I'm on the clock, I'm on. And focused and giving 100%. I promise. When I'm off, leave a message. There are other things on my mind.
Like childcare for D. We're patching it together now with help from family and a little bit of flex in our work schedules. But I'm wondering how long that can last. My office has already (completely predictably) shown its disregard for my calendar. How often can I expect that to happen before I need to bring a paid component into the mix?
It really does take a village, doesn't it? Especially since the United States has its head up its ass when it comes to maternity/paternity leave, or creating and
sustaining any kind of policies to allow families to have babies AND participate
in the workforce/economy in meaningful ways.
Focus on the family my ass.
Ok see, I'm getting cranky again. I should sign off. And really, my ire towards the politics and working conditions in this alleged first world nation deserves its own post, with some supplemental material. Links, research, annat. I've been reading some great books I need to tell you about. Alas, no time for that this morning. My conference call is ending and now I need to multitask a few different things.
Like finding some coffee.
How are you? If you're stateside, did you survive the long weekend of explosives? We had four days of it. You? Honestly, does any country enjoy pyrotechnics more than the U.S.? I have to think we'd feel very differently if rockets' red glares were a common part of our evening skies, like they are in other parts of the world right now.
Just sayin'.
Do you miss Google Reader? Did you make the transition gradually or was
it a last minute, oh shit, what's that other app called again, kind of
jump? Where are you reading me now? You are still reading, right? :-)
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Monday, July 8, 2013
Friday, December 9, 2011
So Much for "For the People, By the People..."
I'm in serious need of a pep talk.
Shit is getting me down, people. Not so much Life, I can manage that. It's the work part. Not my work as in office, office mates, tasks, etc, It's the usual brand of well-meaning loony there and I can easily handle that. It's - how do I explain this - it's the realization that you are coming up against people in power that are saying pretty bluntly, "oh, you're concerned? Oh ok. Hmm, you're worried that this and this will create irreparable harm to that and these people? Oh, that's interesting and all but WE DON'T REALLY GIVE A SHIT. This is our plan and we're sticking to it. And by the way this is all for your own good. I would say this hurts me more than it hurts you, but I'd be wrong [insert maniacal laugh here]"
And this sentiment appears to be endorsed at the highest levels. Except for the maniacal laugh. I added that.
I've been in several meetings this week that have made me feel helpless, useless, ineffectual, victimized, close to tears. And I was not alone. I looked around the rooms and saw my feelings echoed in faces representing other interests, other people in need. And we looked at each other and our eyes said, "Fucked. We are all totally fucked."
I keep waiting for one of my colleagues to talk me down off the ledge. To tell me, "dude, you are overreacting and being dramatic. Knock it off." But no. They are telling me to scooch over and make some room for them.
And I'm not used to this. In my profession, there is always a push and pull, a give an take. Sometimes you succeed; many times you don't. For the most part, there is at least a little, if even the tiniest, place for reason. Rational thought. Logical arguments. And when those fail, appeals to humanity.
I am finding myself in a place where it feels like there is no fucking humanity and I am feeling too angry and hurt to be effectual. Too stunned to react. I'm not used to being this much of an underdog.
Oh, except in that one other arena:
Our friend and volunteer potential maybe hopeful GC requested her medical records and we're waiting around for that process. Meanwhile, that other iron in the fire has gone cold.
I checked in with our agency this week thinking that our last conversation would have opened up all kinds of options for us. Turns out, no. they can think of NO ONE who might want to be our baby mama.
And now I am at the point where I'm like, you know what? I'm pretty sure it's not me. It's you.
I'm not going to break into a Morrissey croon here, because I know that I am NOT unlovable so you can just stop trying to tell me. If we were, why would three women that know us well have already tried to sign up for this gig? if we were so flipping incompatible with other humans, one would guess the whole damn world would want to walk wide circles around us. But they don't. So....
On to the next one.
Some of you who have used surrogates and gestational carriers have shared your agencies and recommendations with us. Thank you. We will be setting up some exploratory conversations with one or two of these. I jokingly brought up the suggestion to head to Canada to M last night and he was ready to pack our bags. I'm guessing international surrogacy brings about a whole different batch of issues, but I'm not opposed to learning more. So, holla at us any one reading who has crossed national borders in your baby making journey. I would love to know your story.
We joked about creating a FB or webpage last night. Only it's not funny. It's sounding kind of like not that horrible of an idea. I know at least one or two of you have (successfully) taken this route for adoption. Would you be willing to share your experiences with us? Legal ramifications? Not necessarily here if you don't want to, but via email or even (gasp) offline?
And meanwhile, we're finding time to sit down and talk with our friend and hopeful GC to put some meat on the bones of that plan. That is our #1 choice, but we just want to be ready if it seems as if it's not going to work out.
I'm not mad at our agency. It's been a learning experience. And I'm hoping we can take what we've learned and move forward towards a family. At least until some batshit crazy senator decides that third party reproduction should be restricted....
Oh you think that can't happen? Go take a look at your elected officials, friends. Things are getting very, very strange out there.
See? Bitter. I'm getting bitter. Pep talk needed in aisle three! Stat!
Shit is getting me down, people. Not so much Life, I can manage that. It's the work part. Not my work as in office, office mates, tasks, etc, It's the usual brand of well-meaning loony there and I can easily handle that. It's - how do I explain this - it's the realization that you are coming up against people in power that are saying pretty bluntly, "oh, you're concerned? Oh ok. Hmm, you're worried that this and this will create irreparable harm to that and these people? Oh, that's interesting and all but WE DON'T REALLY GIVE A SHIT. This is our plan and we're sticking to it. And by the way this is all for your own good. I would say this hurts me more than it hurts you, but I'd be wrong [insert maniacal laugh here]"
And this sentiment appears to be endorsed at the highest levels. Except for the maniacal laugh. I added that.
I've been in several meetings this week that have made me feel helpless, useless, ineffectual, victimized, close to tears. And I was not alone. I looked around the rooms and saw my feelings echoed in faces representing other interests, other people in need. And we looked at each other and our eyes said, "Fucked. We are all totally fucked."
I keep waiting for one of my colleagues to talk me down off the ledge. To tell me, "dude, you are overreacting and being dramatic. Knock it off." But no. They are telling me to scooch over and make some room for them.
And I'm not used to this. In my profession, there is always a push and pull, a give an take. Sometimes you succeed; many times you don't. For the most part, there is at least a little, if even the tiniest, place for reason. Rational thought. Logical arguments. And when those fail, appeals to humanity.
I am finding myself in a place where it feels like there is no fucking humanity and I am feeling too angry and hurt to be effectual. Too stunned to react. I'm not used to being this much of an underdog.
Oh, except in that one other arena:
Our friend and volunteer potential maybe hopeful GC requested her medical records and we're waiting around for that process. Meanwhile, that other iron in the fire has gone cold.
I checked in with our agency this week thinking that our last conversation would have opened up all kinds of options for us. Turns out, no. they can think of NO ONE who might want to be our baby mama.
And now I am at the point where I'm like, you know what? I'm pretty sure it's not me. It's you.
I'm not going to break into a Morrissey croon here, because I know that I am NOT unlovable so you can just stop trying to tell me. If we were, why would three women that know us well have already tried to sign up for this gig? if we were so flipping incompatible with other humans, one would guess the whole damn world would want to walk wide circles around us. But they don't. So....
On to the next one.
Some of you who have used surrogates and gestational carriers have shared your agencies and recommendations with us. Thank you. We will be setting up some exploratory conversations with one or two of these. I jokingly brought up the suggestion to head to Canada to M last night and he was ready to pack our bags. I'm guessing international surrogacy brings about a whole different batch of issues, but I'm not opposed to learning more. So, holla at us any one reading who has crossed national borders in your baby making journey. I would love to know your story.
We joked about creating a FB or webpage last night. Only it's not funny. It's sounding kind of like not that horrible of an idea. I know at least one or two of you have (successfully) taken this route for adoption. Would you be willing to share your experiences with us? Legal ramifications? Not necessarily here if you don't want to, but via email or even (gasp) offline?
And meanwhile, we're finding time to sit down and talk with our friend and hopeful GC to put some meat on the bones of that plan. That is our #1 choice, but we just want to be ready if it seems as if it's not going to work out.
I'm not mad at our agency. It's been a learning experience. And I'm hoping we can take what we've learned and move forward towards a family. At least until some batshit crazy senator decides that third party reproduction should be restricted....
Oh you think that can't happen? Go take a look at your elected officials, friends. Things are getting very, very strange out there.
See? Bitter. I'm getting bitter. Pep talk needed in aisle three! Stat!
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Shaking Off the Crazy
Ok. One night back in my own bed with M. by my side has washed away a little of the crazy that has been consuming me this week. I'm feeling much, much better this morning. Sort of. More like resigned. But that'll work.
Now that I'm home its easy to remember that my association life is not the same as the one that I experienced out there in the Midwest. We are not a world of corporate sponsors and people throwing money at us (understatement). We are not about the hoopla. We are mission-based. What I do is real. I was right, that world isn't my world. It really isn't.
Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not dissing or getting all high and mighty. I'm just saying that at this point in my life, I was just not up for the shmoozing. Or maybe after 4 days I was just completely and totally over one particular person who had latched on to me early on in the conference and I just kept running into again and again and again. I made the mistake of talking him through a mini-crisis he was having on the first night (ailing family member, he as frustrated caregiver, feeling guilty about being frustrated, unfortunately, a common story in my profession and one I was able to speak to) and he decided we were soul mates. And from that point on it felt like I just couldn't shake him. Or his posse. Or all that came with it. So I found myself caught up in trying to avoid this guy as opposed to trying to lock into the sessions I needed to hear or the other contacts I felt I was supposed to be trying to make.
And, on top of that, as I've mentioned, I just didn't want to be there. Jumping straight into the grid after 3 glorious weeks out without time to process and savor and relish those moments was just too much.
But after a good night's sleep next to someone I love I understand that I have to be there. We must be there. Because we still want a child. And there is no way to do that without the assistance of several parties. All of which will cost a lot of money. So, if a baby is in the future, alas, our space on the grid is locked in. That is just how it has to be.
And as if that realization isn't hard enough, as if that leap isn't a massive mind fuck in the best of situations, along comes a nightmare scenario, one to confirm all of the whispering and doubts that play out in people's minds, or at least make surrogacy synonymous with sketch for a lot of people for a little while longer.
Dammit.
And here is where I borrow some words from Mel, because she nails it. Beyond the shock of a story as sucky as this one, beyond the anger and angst you feel on behalf of the people affected, at the heart of it all is this:
Let me tell you where we are with all of that.
I may have mentioned before that we have a family member that is a very willing gestational carrier (GC) for us. That in itself is wonderful, but the timing isn't. Its just not the right time right now. So, while this is our #1 best case scenario, it's not one that can play out for another year or so.
In the meantime, M and I decided to look into an agency to see if we could find a gestational carrier through this route. We found an agency that seemed trustworthy, had worked with our doctors and clinic before, and is more affordable than other places folks had recommended. After spending a full Saturday painstakingly filling out an Intended Parent (IP) questionnaire, we started to receive profiles of potential GCs. The first two were prefaced with an "I think you'll really like them!" by the head of the agency.
We looked at each of the documents and were overwhelmingly underwhelmed. To the point of tears. Responses to questions we had spent time agonizing over were replaced by excessive exclamation points and smiley faces and all caps. I LOVE babies!!!!! (squeeeeee)
Ok, the squee was mine, but at first glance M and I fell back down into our pit of despair.
One of my buddies is exasperated with me. She can't see why any of that matters if there is someone ready and healthy and willing to help us get the child we want. Yes, dude. For a fee. For a substantial fee. And sorry, if I'm paying that substantial fee, I feel I have more than a little skin in the game. I feel I have a right to be a little picky.
And I don't see this as a nine-month proposition. This is someone who will be connected to your life and the life of your child indefinitely. Whether there is constant communication or not. Whether there is a good relationship or not. This person would always be the person that birthed our baby. So I don't want my first impression of that person to be, "hmmm, meh. I guess she'll do." I want it to be, "wow! I cannot wait to meet this person. I hope she likes me too."
I'm wondering if we need to re-evaluate our expectations. And here is where I would LOVE any of you who have already been through this to tell me to a.) stick to my guns or b.) get my head out of my ass.
And while I'm soliciting reader feedback, what do you think about this:
We are thinking about sending out a mass email to friends and family giving them an update on our situation and asking them if anyone knows anyone that would be interested in being a gestational carrier for us. The email would make it clear that there is no need for a response to this - just throwing it out there before we continue down the road with an agency, because obviously, we would so much rather build our family around people that we know and love.
How would you feel if you got an email like that? Is it too much? Pushy? Presumptuous? Would you think we were desperate and out of our minds? M.'s preferred method is a FB status update asking if anyone wants to be our baby mama. I think that's a bit much. But maybe it isn't?
**
BTW, for those waiting for Australia highlights and photos, swear to goddess its on a To Do list. Need to dig myself out of emails and phone messages and all that first. Short answer: It was incredible. You should go.
Now that I'm home its easy to remember that my association life is not the same as the one that I experienced out there in the Midwest. We are not a world of corporate sponsors and people throwing money at us (understatement). We are not about the hoopla. We are mission-based. What I do is real. I was right, that world isn't my world. It really isn't.
Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not dissing or getting all high and mighty. I'm just saying that at this point in my life, I was just not up for the shmoozing. Or maybe after 4 days I was just completely and totally over one particular person who had latched on to me early on in the conference and I just kept running into again and again and again. I made the mistake of talking him through a mini-crisis he was having on the first night (ailing family member, he as frustrated caregiver, feeling guilty about being frustrated, unfortunately, a common story in my profession and one I was able to speak to) and he decided we were soul mates. And from that point on it felt like I just couldn't shake him. Or his posse. Or all that came with it. So I found myself caught up in trying to avoid this guy as opposed to trying to lock into the sessions I needed to hear or the other contacts I felt I was supposed to be trying to make.
And, on top of that, as I've mentioned, I just didn't want to be there. Jumping straight into the grid after 3 glorious weeks out without time to process and savor and relish those moments was just too much.
But after a good night's sleep next to someone I love I understand that I have to be there. We must be there. Because we still want a child. And there is no way to do that without the assistance of several parties. All of which will cost a lot of money. So, if a baby is in the future, alas, our space on the grid is locked in. That is just how it has to be.
And as if that realization isn't hard enough, as if that leap isn't a massive mind fuck in the best of situations, along comes a nightmare scenario, one to confirm all of the whispering and doubts that play out in people's minds, or at least make surrogacy synonymous with sketch for a lot of people for a little while longer.
Dammit.
And here is where I borrow some words from Mel, because she nails it. Beyond the shock of a story as sucky as this one, beyond the anger and angst you feel on behalf of the people affected, at the heart of it all is this:
I am so fucking angry that I can’t build my family without assistance and because I need to depend on other people in order to form my family. And I am so fucking angry that the majority of people in this world don’t have to navigate the ethical concerns that come with assisted family building. They want a child, they have sex, and they raise said child. And I am so fucking angry that I have to depend on others.But that's the way it is. So you give yourself a moment to be angry and outraged and indignant and yes a little self-pitying. And then you wipe your tears and get back to your To Do list of all that needs to take place if you want to be a parent.
Let me tell you where we are with all of that.
I may have mentioned before that we have a family member that is a very willing gestational carrier (GC) for us. That in itself is wonderful, but the timing isn't. Its just not the right time right now. So, while this is our #1 best case scenario, it's not one that can play out for another year or so.
In the meantime, M and I decided to look into an agency to see if we could find a gestational carrier through this route. We found an agency that seemed trustworthy, had worked with our doctors and clinic before, and is more affordable than other places folks had recommended. After spending a full Saturday painstakingly filling out an Intended Parent (IP) questionnaire, we started to receive profiles of potential GCs. The first two were prefaced with an "I think you'll really like them!" by the head of the agency.
We looked at each of the documents and were overwhelmingly underwhelmed. To the point of tears. Responses to questions we had spent time agonizing over were replaced by excessive exclamation points and smiley faces and all caps. I LOVE babies!!!!! (squeeeeee)
Ok, the squee was mine, but at first glance M and I fell back down into our pit of despair.
One of my buddies is exasperated with me. She can't see why any of that matters if there is someone ready and healthy and willing to help us get the child we want. Yes, dude. For a fee. For a substantial fee. And sorry, if I'm paying that substantial fee, I feel I have more than a little skin in the game. I feel I have a right to be a little picky.
And I don't see this as a nine-month proposition. This is someone who will be connected to your life and the life of your child indefinitely. Whether there is constant communication or not. Whether there is a good relationship or not. This person would always be the person that birthed our baby. So I don't want my first impression of that person to be, "hmmm, meh. I guess she'll do." I want it to be, "wow! I cannot wait to meet this person. I hope she likes me too."
I'm wondering if we need to re-evaluate our expectations. And here is where I would LOVE any of you who have already been through this to tell me to a.) stick to my guns or b.) get my head out of my ass.
And while I'm soliciting reader feedback, what do you think about this:
We are thinking about sending out a mass email to friends and family giving them an update on our situation and asking them if anyone knows anyone that would be interested in being a gestational carrier for us. The email would make it clear that there is no need for a response to this - just throwing it out there before we continue down the road with an agency, because obviously, we would so much rather build our family around people that we know and love.
How would you feel if you got an email like that? Is it too much? Pushy? Presumptuous? Would you think we were desperate and out of our minds? M.'s preferred method is a FB status update asking if anyone wants to be our baby mama. I think that's a bit much. But maybe it isn't?
**
BTW, for those waiting for Australia highlights and photos, swear to goddess its on a To Do list. Need to dig myself out of emails and phone messages and all that first. Short answer: It was incredible. You should go.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Hobbits, Lobbyists & My New Hobby - Working on My EQ
I've been trying to up my EQ. You know, Emotional Intelligence. Apparently, its all the rage.
What is she talking about? you ask. Or maybe you don't. But I shall tell you.
Emotional intelligence is basically (at least according to this fancy webinar I saw last week) having a grip on how and why you react to situations and understanding how and why others react to you. There are four components: self-awareness, self-management, social awareness and relationship management. Its been said that there's not much you can do to improve your IQ - your EQ, however, is another story.
One of the ways to be self-aware is to recognize what people/things trigger an emotional reaction in you. You know, what gets your knickers in a twist.
Up until last week, I had pretty clearly defined my triggers: 1.) my boss's voice. 2.) my parent's phone number on my caller ID. 3.) any email emanating from a particular co-worker. 4.) a particular tone of voice my husband uses when he thinks he's being rational and sensitive in making a request and I think he's being whiny, clingy and needy. There. 1. 2. 3. 4. Easy enough.
That was until I had a whole new entity enter my life.
Right now, its budget season. That point in the year where politicians present their ideas of how life should be and who should pay for it and at what amounts. Lobbyists, advocates and concerned citizens scramble, rally, hoot and holler to see who can effectively (or at least loudly) make their case for whatever their case may be.
There is one particular piece of the budget that relates to what I do that has several folks' knickers in a twist. You can't really see it unless you look pretty hard. It's not obvious when you pore through those pages and pages of spreadsheets. But it's there. Tucked away as a "program integrity" measure. And some feel it has the potential to dismantle an entire service delivery system for some pretty vulnerable people.
The point is, it's so serious, we've called in every single member of our association that is remotely connected to or has once upon a time hired a lobbyist and tried to get them all into one room. Tried to hand them papers to get them to all speak from the same page. Tried to get mega MEGA type A personalities, who, BTW, are all competitors and don't particularly care for each other, to get along and, gasp, perhaps even collaborate. All for this higher good.
I am unsure if anything is any "higher" than the egos in a room full of lobbyists. JFC give me strength.
In my role with this group, I am treading a very delicate line - we do not pay these folks, our members do. So I can't directly manage any of these people, these personalities, their relationships or what they do with them. I can attempt to facilitate and coordinate. But I am trying to do so as a peer, not as a staffer, not as some kind of administrative assistant. At the same time, any time I get too deferential, I can hear my boss hiss in my ear (because she's subtle like that, "don't ask permission! we should be in charge here.") Ok. Fine. But we're NOT. Not unless you, dear boss, want to write several large checks to several high powered lobbying firms who are still trying to figure out who the hell we are and what WE are doing here and why they are doing all of this extra work for what they believe is free.
This could be the most extreme test of my emotional intelligence ever.
I am finding myself simultaneously stroking, asserting, nudging, navigating, placating, juggling and coquettishly batting my eyelids trying to get my way. This might as well be a porno.
Or better yet, some totally nerdy fantasy film.
When I think of this motley bunch, the urgency of the mission, the larger than life personalities, somehow one visual keeps popping up in my head.
I've definitely identified my dwarf.
I am trying so hard not to be Sam Gamgee.
Whenever I have a quiet moment with anyone from the brotherhood (a few sisters in there. not many), they inevitably use it as an opportunity to bemoan the lack of cooperation from any other member of the fold. I'm all about collaboration, too bad xxx doesn't work well with others....
The hilarious part about that is, cut and paste any one member of this here fellowship with the other. They all say the same things about each other. Yes, hilarious. And tiresome.
So, several more triggers have been added to my EQ monitor, as have chances to improve how I deal with them. I can't help thinking if I get my EQ together some very real opportunities could emerge from this venture. Hopefully for me, and for the people we're working to protect.
What is she talking about? you ask. Or maybe you don't. But I shall tell you.
Emotional intelligence is basically (at least according to this fancy webinar I saw last week) having a grip on how and why you react to situations and understanding how and why others react to you. There are four components: self-awareness, self-management, social awareness and relationship management. Its been said that there's not much you can do to improve your IQ - your EQ, however, is another story.
One of the ways to be self-aware is to recognize what people/things trigger an emotional reaction in you. You know, what gets your knickers in a twist.
Up until last week, I had pretty clearly defined my triggers: 1.) my boss's voice. 2.) my parent's phone number on my caller ID. 3.) any email emanating from a particular co-worker. 4.) a particular tone of voice my husband uses when he thinks he's being rational and sensitive in making a request and I think he's being whiny, clingy and needy. There. 1. 2. 3. 4. Easy enough.
That was until I had a whole new entity enter my life.
Right now, its budget season. That point in the year where politicians present their ideas of how life should be and who should pay for it and at what amounts. Lobbyists, advocates and concerned citizens scramble, rally, hoot and holler to see who can effectively (or at least loudly) make their case for whatever their case may be.
There is one particular piece of the budget that relates to what I do that has several folks' knickers in a twist. You can't really see it unless you look pretty hard. It's not obvious when you pore through those pages and pages of spreadsheets. But it's there. Tucked away as a "program integrity" measure. And some feel it has the potential to dismantle an entire service delivery system for some pretty vulnerable people.
The point is, it's so serious, we've called in every single member of our association that is remotely connected to or has once upon a time hired a lobbyist and tried to get them all into one room. Tried to hand them papers to get them to all speak from the same page. Tried to get mega MEGA type A personalities, who, BTW, are all competitors and don't particularly care for each other, to get along and, gasp, perhaps even collaborate. All for this higher good.
I am unsure if anything is any "higher" than the egos in a room full of lobbyists. JFC give me strength.
In my role with this group, I am treading a very delicate line - we do not pay these folks, our members do. So I can't directly manage any of these people, these personalities, their relationships or what they do with them. I can attempt to facilitate and coordinate. But I am trying to do so as a peer, not as a staffer, not as some kind of administrative assistant. At the same time, any time I get too deferential, I can hear my boss hiss in my ear (because she's subtle like that, "don't ask permission! we should be in charge here.") Ok. Fine. But we're NOT. Not unless you, dear boss, want to write several large checks to several high powered lobbying firms who are still trying to figure out who the hell we are and what WE are doing here and why they are doing all of this extra work for what they believe is free.
This could be the most extreme test of my emotional intelligence ever.
I am finding myself simultaneously stroking, asserting, nudging, navigating, placating, juggling and coquettishly batting my eyelids trying to get my way. This might as well be a porno.
Or better yet, some totally nerdy fantasy film.
When I think of this motley bunch, the urgency of the mission, the larger than life personalities, somehow one visual keeps popping up in my head.
I've definitely identified my dwarf.
I am trying so hard not to be Sam Gamgee.
Whenever I have a quiet moment with anyone from the brotherhood (a few sisters in there. not many), they inevitably use it as an opportunity to bemoan the lack of cooperation from any other member of the fold. I'm all about collaboration, too bad xxx doesn't work well with others....
The hilarious part about that is, cut and paste any one member of this here fellowship with the other. They all say the same things about each other. Yes, hilarious. And tiresome.
So, several more triggers have been added to my EQ monitor, as have chances to improve how I deal with them. I can't help thinking if I get my EQ together some very real opportunities could emerge from this venture. Hopefully for me, and for the people we're working to protect.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
What's Wrong with This Conversation?
Besides the fact that it happened at 6:30 am?
6:30 am. Phone rings.
me: um, yeah? (because I have caller ID you see and I can see its my boss and I want to make it terribly clear I am none too happy I am standing naked in my hallway where the phone is charging at 6:30 a. to the bleeping m.)
her: (unfazed) hi m. I guess you didn't get my message? I sent you an email. I really need your help on these 3 priority communications that NEED to get out right now. I was hoping we could start work on them at 6 am.
me: when, exactly (oh crazy one) did you send that email?
her: 3 am.
me: (long pause. just to see if any of the crazy is sinking in. no? none?) Um, I'm naked. I need a minute.
her: ok. great. call me back when you're ready. thanks.
**
So....if anyone knows of a communications, govt relations or public relations gig, or any openings for an exec director or deputy director in a non-profit association in or around PA, I've got a lovely well-crafted resume I'd love to send your way.
For reals.
6:30 am. Phone rings.
me: um, yeah? (because I have caller ID you see and I can see its my boss and I want to make it terribly clear I am none too happy I am standing naked in my hallway where the phone is charging at 6:30 a. to the bleeping m.)
her: (unfazed) hi m. I guess you didn't get my message? I sent you an email. I really need your help on these 3 priority communications that NEED to get out right now. I was hoping we could start work on them at 6 am.
me: when, exactly (oh crazy one) did you send that email?
her: 3 am.
me: (long pause. just to see if any of the crazy is sinking in. no? none?) Um, I'm naked. I need a minute.
her: ok. great. call me back when you're ready. thanks.
**
So....if anyone knows of a communications, govt relations or public relations gig, or any openings for an exec director or deputy director in a non-profit association in or around PA, I've got a lovely well-crafted resume I'd love to send your way.
For reals.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Aw Hey
Life's not so bad. Really it isn't.
Of course we went to happy hour.
And of course right at the depths of his "whatamIdoinghere?" angst about work, some things happened over the course of the day that made M. realize its not all bad. And that his young and ambitious (and sometimes a little bossy) boss has the exact same thoughts he does. And she IS all about the corporate track. And maybe it is time to start looking around for something else. But in the meantime, while M's hard, hard work may not reflect in his paycheck, damn, those health insurance benefits, some of which we never ever had before, have been so necessary this year. I'm not sure what we would have done without them.
But we'll make a plan. We always do. Fine tune it over a Bell's or a Dogfish Head. And then try to make something happen.
Me? Oh hey, I'm just handling the reprecussions of my own resolutions. My crises are completely of my own making. And they're not baaaad, they're just, well, hard.
I asked for more autonomy and authority at work. And shit. I got it. And shit. It's not easy. Especially when I feel pretty strongly about having down time during my week. Keeping things to 40 hours is unrealistic, but I get incredibly cranky and resentful when things push past 50. So, there's that.
And I told myself I would make more time to say yes to friends and family and that takes, well, time.
And I am trying to be a better partner. Someone who is able to hold up and support M in his deepest hours as well as he does that for me.
So, I'm just trying to make all this happen, and hang on to the hope of a family, and stay sane.
and kick some dodge ball ass.
Of course we went to happy hour.
And of course right at the depths of his "whatamIdoinghere?" angst about work, some things happened over the course of the day that made M. realize its not all bad. And that his young and ambitious (and sometimes a little bossy) boss has the exact same thoughts he does. And she IS all about the corporate track. And maybe it is time to start looking around for something else. But in the meantime, while M's hard, hard work may not reflect in his paycheck, damn, those health insurance benefits, some of which we never ever had before, have been so necessary this year. I'm not sure what we would have done without them.
But we'll make a plan. We always do. Fine tune it over a Bell's or a Dogfish Head. And then try to make something happen.
Me? Oh hey, I'm just handling the reprecussions of my own resolutions. My crises are completely of my own making. And they're not baaaad, they're just, well, hard.
I asked for more autonomy and authority at work. And shit. I got it. And shit. It's not easy. Especially when I feel pretty strongly about having down time during my week. Keeping things to 40 hours is unrealistic, but I get incredibly cranky and resentful when things push past 50. So, there's that.
And I told myself I would make more time to say yes to friends and family and that takes, well, time.
And I am trying to be a better partner. Someone who is able to hold up and support M in his deepest hours as well as he does that for me.
So, I'm just trying to make all this happen, and hang on to the hope of a family, and stay sane.
and kick some dodge ball ass.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Just a Bit
So, BlogHer tells me my blog's been dormant for another two weeks.
Sorry.
So, um, whadyawannaknow?
Some things are creeping slowly forward. Other things feel hopelessly stalled (but then I realize I'm being all dramatic. they're not. they just FEEL it). We're playing dodgeball and wouldn't you like to know about that?! Maybe later. Another post. It definitely deserves its own post. Work is kicking my ass. Work is bringing M down, down, down....
Into a state that turns a LOST episode filled with resurrections and time travel into a tenuous and sad precursor of a night with no sleep. Or at least no good dreams. A night of if only's....
Sigh. This babies grieving is hard.
And a W2 really should never, ever, be used to quantify one's own self worth. Or question past decisions. Or wonder if a life not on the corporate path was one you really wanted. (well, yes. IMHO, yes)
But it's not me we're talking about. So I'll just keep my mouth shut and keep on hugging.
And hope we're making a trip to happy hour this fine evening. Cause I sure would like a beer.
Sorry.
So, um, whadyawannaknow?
Some things are creeping slowly forward. Other things feel hopelessly stalled (but then I realize I'm being all dramatic. they're not. they just FEEL it). We're playing dodgeball and wouldn't you like to know about that?! Maybe later. Another post. It definitely deserves its own post. Work is kicking my ass. Work is bringing M down, down, down....
Into a state that turns a LOST episode filled with resurrections and time travel into a tenuous and sad precursor of a night with no sleep. Or at least no good dreams. A night of if only's....
Sigh. This babies grieving is hard.
And a W2 really should never, ever, be used to quantify one's own self worth. Or question past decisions. Or wonder if a life not on the corporate path was one you really wanted. (well, yes. IMHO, yes)
But it's not me we're talking about. So I'll just keep my mouth shut and keep on hugging.
And hope we're making a trip to happy hour this fine evening. Cause I sure would like a beer.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Resolute
Two weeks without a post makes me feel like I am avoiding something. Walking around an obvious elephant. So I am going to start typing until me and the pachyderm collide.
I started dismantling the Xmas tree yesterday afternoon and that makes me a little sad. Neither M nor I are "yay! Christmas!" kind of people, but the tree has always been our favorite part, particularly when we started to see it as a visual reminder that "life endures, and longer, warmer, better days are inevitably ahead."
Part of me wants to shed the tree, wipe clean any remnant of 2009 and move forward full on into the new year. Which, by the way, I have already decided is the "Year of m." But part of me seems physically unable to close the lids, pull down the lights and wrap tissue paper around the girls' ornaments.
That part of me realized yesterday that in a parallel world, they would be here, and we would soon be getting ready for their first birthday. Two girls. Two daughters. Soon turning one.
Sigh.
I hate those realizations. The ones that smack you in the head like a loose wet branch as you walk along, one foot in front of the other, face down, instead of looking forward, like you should be. Like I should be.
Because there is so, so much promise in this new year, I can barely stand to talk about it for fear of jinxing a single thing.
My mom asked me "what's new" yesterday afternoon and I filled that conversation with little things, walking around the big things a'brewing. Each for a number of reasons. But even the "filler" (better times at my job, finding a therapist that feels like a good fit for me and M. - and actually going - showing off the scabs on my knuckles from hitting the heavy bag) got her (and then me) excited.
Long story short, I think 2010 is going to be an eventful year. I am willing it so.
But if there is one thing this adventure has taught us, there are things that have nothing to do with will, will power or even desire. There are some things that are completely out of one's control. And for a classic type A, honor student, overachiever, that lesson is a damn hard one to learn.
But there are other things that are completely and totally within my power. So while we wait for other things to come into place, there is time to focus on those resolutions:
M and I have been hitting the gym at least 3 times a week and exercising a little more restraint with the evening beverages. Fried food has been eliminated. Consumption of meat at a minimum and only when we know where it came from (i.e. from our favorite butcher). Ideally 30 lbs. would be shed this year. But that's not really the goal. The goal is to have a body I am proud of.
I've mentioned our therapist a few times now, and while I don't see her being a permanent structure in our life, I do see her as very important for us right now. Our initial visit with her got us through the holiday season and set some big things in motion. So much so that we joked about being slightly apprehensive about the second one - what's going to happen next?? That visit left us thinking hard about relationships outside of our own that we are struggling with. We are still chewing on the conversation. We'll see where we take it. And we will continue to see her. For as long as it takes. Because we want to, we need to, continue the process of healing.
Had I written resolutions a few months ago, "to have a new job" probably would have topped the list. But after exploring some other options, having a "come to Jesus" meeting with my boss, and really thinking through what I want, what I want is to be happy with the thing I do to make money. I want to feel like my skills and education are fully utilized (and appreciated) and that there is motion and momentum in my career. So, to that end, I've decided to try to earn a CAE (certified association executive) this year, and to continue having honest conversations with my employer about things that I think could be different/better/improved. In short, I am going to start acting like the director I know I should be.
Now we get to the hard stuff. The goals that are harder to define, harder to measure, harder to do:
I was recalling my reunion and follow up phone call with my birth father to a friend of ours the other night and he sat quietly for a minute. And then said, "dude, did you say that shit out loud?" Yes. "Don't you think you were a little harsh?" Probably. "Well, what are you going to do next? Is this how it ends?" (crickets) I'm not sure. And I'm not. But it doesn't feel good where things are. So I think I need to think that through a little longer. I can't break into someone's life, fuck with his reality (oh that girl you never thought you would meet, well here she is and p.s. she doesn't really like you) and then disappear into the sunset. Some things need fixed here. Or at least mended. It seems we may have the topic for session #3 lined up.
And while we're there, I might confess what a heavy, heavy weight is on my heart when I think about a person I love that I am avoiding. Allegedly for my own self-preservation. She is pregnant. And joyful. And it is killing me. Like no other pregnancy before. She has never been anything other than supportive to us - in pregnancy, in sorrow, in trying to be joyful again. She loves us. I love her. But the thought of seeing her right now makes me shrivel and want to cry. So I dream of her. And I dream of telling her all the things I want to say in person. I contemplate giving her my maternity clothes, then weep at the thought of seeing her in them. I cannot imagine not having this person in my life, but I cannot cope with the emotions flooding me right now.
And this all feels so stereotypical and dramatic and I bet if I read this in another blog I would be rolling my eyes over it right the hell now. But all I know is this pregnancy is affecting me like no other, perhaps because the doors of any future possibility of my own are sealing so firmly shut. I know I am not being the friend I want to be right now. I know my avoidance is hurting me more than anyone else. I know that she is patiently respecting my absence and will probably not say a word until I initiate contact. But when will that be?
I started dismantling the Xmas tree yesterday afternoon and that makes me a little sad. Neither M nor I are "yay! Christmas!" kind of people, but the tree has always been our favorite part, particularly when we started to see it as a visual reminder that "life endures, and longer, warmer, better days are inevitably ahead."
Part of me wants to shed the tree, wipe clean any remnant of 2009 and move forward full on into the new year. Which, by the way, I have already decided is the "Year of m." But part of me seems physically unable to close the lids, pull down the lights and wrap tissue paper around the girls' ornaments.
That part of me realized yesterday that in a parallel world, they would be here, and we would soon be getting ready for their first birthday. Two girls. Two daughters. Soon turning one.
Sigh.
I hate those realizations. The ones that smack you in the head like a loose wet branch as you walk along, one foot in front of the other, face down, instead of looking forward, like you should be. Like I should be.
Because there is so, so much promise in this new year, I can barely stand to talk about it for fear of jinxing a single thing.
My mom asked me "what's new" yesterday afternoon and I filled that conversation with little things, walking around the big things a'brewing. Each for a number of reasons. But even the "filler" (better times at my job, finding a therapist that feels like a good fit for me and M. - and actually going - showing off the scabs on my knuckles from hitting the heavy bag) got her (and then me) excited.
Long story short, I think 2010 is going to be an eventful year. I am willing it so.
But if there is one thing this adventure has taught us, there are things that have nothing to do with will, will power or even desire. There are some things that are completely out of one's control. And for a classic type A, honor student, overachiever, that lesson is a damn hard one to learn.
But there are other things that are completely and totally within my power. So while we wait for other things to come into place, there is time to focus on those resolutions:
M and I have been hitting the gym at least 3 times a week and exercising a little more restraint with the evening beverages. Fried food has been eliminated. Consumption of meat at a minimum and only when we know where it came from (i.e. from our favorite butcher). Ideally 30 lbs. would be shed this year. But that's not really the goal. The goal is to have a body I am proud of.
I've mentioned our therapist a few times now, and while I don't see her being a permanent structure in our life, I do see her as very important for us right now. Our initial visit with her got us through the holiday season and set some big things in motion. So much so that we joked about being slightly apprehensive about the second one - what's going to happen next?? That visit left us thinking hard about relationships outside of our own that we are struggling with. We are still chewing on the conversation. We'll see where we take it. And we will continue to see her. For as long as it takes. Because we want to, we need to, continue the process of healing.
Had I written resolutions a few months ago, "to have a new job" probably would have topped the list. But after exploring some other options, having a "come to Jesus" meeting with my boss, and really thinking through what I want, what I want is to be happy with the thing I do to make money. I want to feel like my skills and education are fully utilized (and appreciated) and that there is motion and momentum in my career. So, to that end, I've decided to try to earn a CAE (certified association executive) this year, and to continue having honest conversations with my employer about things that I think could be different/better/improved. In short, I am going to start acting like the director I know I should be.
Now we get to the hard stuff. The goals that are harder to define, harder to measure, harder to do:
- to show more patience and compassion - to hear the words that were meant, not necessarily the ones that were said.
- to pay attention to friends and their needs, not just how they respond to mine.
- to minimize envy.
I was recalling my reunion and follow up phone call with my birth father to a friend of ours the other night and he sat quietly for a minute. And then said, "dude, did you say that shit out loud?" Yes. "Don't you think you were a little harsh?" Probably. "Well, what are you going to do next? Is this how it ends?" (crickets) I'm not sure. And I'm not. But it doesn't feel good where things are. So I think I need to think that through a little longer. I can't break into someone's life, fuck with his reality (oh that girl you never thought you would meet, well here she is and p.s. she doesn't really like you) and then disappear into the sunset. Some things need fixed here. Or at least mended. It seems we may have the topic for session #3 lined up.
And while we're there, I might confess what a heavy, heavy weight is on my heart when I think about a person I love that I am avoiding. Allegedly for my own self-preservation. She is pregnant. And joyful. And it is killing me. Like no other pregnancy before. She has never been anything other than supportive to us - in pregnancy, in sorrow, in trying to be joyful again. She loves us. I love her. But the thought of seeing her right now makes me shrivel and want to cry. So I dream of her. And I dream of telling her all the things I want to say in person. I contemplate giving her my maternity clothes, then weep at the thought of seeing her in them. I cannot imagine not having this person in my life, but I cannot cope with the emotions flooding me right now.
And this all feels so stereotypical and dramatic and I bet if I read this in another blog I would be rolling my eyes over it right the hell now. But all I know is this pregnancy is affecting me like no other, perhaps because the doors of any future possibility of my own are sealing so firmly shut. I know I am not being the friend I want to be right now. I know my avoidance is hurting me more than anyone else. I know that she is patiently respecting my absence and will probably not say a word until I initiate contact. But when will that be?
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Two Minute Post
- I'm fine. Souped up on estrogen after the last hysteroscopy, but fine.
- Hysteroscopy findings: little piece of scar tissue up in a corner and my lining (endometrium) was apparently super thin. (No shit, sherlocks. You told me to stay undrugged until the procedure. No drugs = no lining. That's how I do.) So, looks like we're taking a crash course of E. (8 mg a day?!?) to see how thick we can get it. Eyes are buggy. Cooch feels funny, but whatever. Next check: May 21.
- Birthday was good. Any other year, it would have been fantastic, ranking among the top 5, but, well, the whole "go out and have a good time" we still haven't quite mastered yet when we are by ourselves. Note to self: surround ourselves with friends whenever possible.
- DID go have a mojito for Angie AND took a stroll around the Reading Terminal Market, as suggested. Thanks so much for your great advice. We knew exactly where to start our adventures.
- Budget season has begun in PA - working OT to make sure services to children and adults with autism or developmental disabilities aren't gutted. Fine tuning funding requests, honing our arguments, making the rounds, trying to keep our members on alert, but not panicked. Active, but still focused.
- Went to work today without brushing my teeth or making our bed. My fault. Crashed back asleep after M. left for work and didn't wake up until I got a crisis email from my boss. Luckily, I work (literally) across the street.
- If I sound rushed/frazzled/amped on caffeine, its because I am. But that's ok. I'm in a zone. Just don't tell M. about the caffeine part.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
In the Weeds
If I were waiting tables today instead of swimming through policy and legislation and databases and to do lists filled with emails to draft and people to call, I would take a moment, just a moment, and shout:
I'M IN THE WEEDS!
And all of my waitress pals would drop what they were doing or the gossip they were spouting near the soda machine and come to my aid if they could. Help me clear my tables. Run dinners out to my tables before it got cold. Basically, help me get my shit together and let me return to normalcy.
Well, um, at least in theory (and in my still-recurring waitress dreams (really? WTF)) that's what happens. And in some places, it did. In other places, your weeds were the least of the other girls' problems. They had weeds of their own.
Now, you could see being in the weeds a matter of poor time management, general slacker-ness, an inability to handle yo' bidness. And yes, ok, fine. In some instances, that is the case. The weeds would definitely creep up on you faster after an all-nighter, or too much fun or simply too many double shifts attempted in one week (git that money).
But other times, it just happens. Shit happens. An 8-top gets seated the same time your meal for 4 AND your flaming dessert for the couple in the corner is ready to go. The credit card machine busts its gut right as the impatient family wants to leave before their kids start to cry and yes, as soon as another 8-top gets seated.
Being in the weeds isn't necessarily bad. It means you've got a full section and hell, that means odds of you walking home with coin just got that much better. Sometimes, it's actually fun - just how many plates can I balance on this arm without them falling, running into another server or getting yelled at by the boss? How many hours can I deprive myself of sleep and still function on the floor? Just how many bus boys can I piss off by leaving my empty plates out and requiring them to, you know, do their job?
BTW, the sum of the latter will always be higher than the previous two stats combined. Bus boys, for the most part, are bitches.
Being in the weeds isn't bad. But it is always overwhelming.
All of this to say, dudes, I am in the weeeeeeeds.
Work is kicking my ass and depriving me of time to play my (borrowed) bass, blog, comment, you know, give you all of the mundane minutae of my life. I kid. But seriously, it's kind of bumming me out. I want to show you pics of the girls' trees and of my tiny balcony garden and of me kayaking this weekend (ahhhhhh) and tell you about the great day I had with S. and baby C. and most importantly, let you know that after a rocky, rocky week, our weekend was actually very nice. Some tears on Sunday night (damn, you No. # 1 Lady Detective Agency and your baby grave at the end of the show) but they were more like quiet remembrance, not full on freak out.
But I can't because every time I think about uploading things from the camera, or spending some dedicated time telling y'all how much I dig you (because I do) everything else that I should be doing goes rushing through my brain so fast I can't think straight. That's what being in the weeds is like for me now - not a physical, sweat-inducing overload, more like a my head is so full I need to shake it out and start over. I couldn't even give you a table to clear or food to bring out if I wanted to. I can't ask for help because I don't know where to start. (and, in most cases, if I were to ask for help now, my boss would require that I write up a "project scope" and a full set of instructions or worse yet, "Procedures" and fuck, after all that I might as well have just done the damn this myself.
BTW, as you can see, I've recently given myself permission to swear more freely on my blog. And fuck. Yes. It feels good. Kind of like taking your bra off at the end of the day. Ahhhhh. Fuck yeah.
ALL of this to say, I'm here. I'm ok. Much better thanks. But I DO wish I had a kitchen full of bitchy cooks and a dining room full of hungry diners (and tippers) to deal with right now instead of the things that are currently on my plate.
Because if I were waiting tables, my pal S. would have a 40 waiting for me at the apartment for the end of my shift. And we would shed our stinky, crusty old-bay-scented clothes, dump our aprons on the beds, stuff some of the dollars away and stick as many quarters in our pockets as they would hold (ok, maybe just me. I like arcades, ok?), dress in something completely ridiculous (this might have been my layering phase) and run off to the boardwalk and the pier looking for trouble. And we would find it. And the weeds would be forgotten. At least until tomorrow.
I'M IN THE WEEDS!
And all of my waitress pals would drop what they were doing or the gossip they were spouting near the soda machine and come to my aid if they could. Help me clear my tables. Run dinners out to my tables before it got cold. Basically, help me get my shit together and let me return to normalcy.
Well, um, at least in theory (and in my still-recurring waitress dreams (really? WTF)) that's what happens. And in some places, it did. In other places, your weeds were the least of the other girls' problems. They had weeds of their own.
Now, you could see being in the weeds a matter of poor time management, general slacker-ness, an inability to handle yo' bidness. And yes, ok, fine. In some instances, that is the case. The weeds would definitely creep up on you faster after an all-nighter, or too much fun or simply too many double shifts attempted in one week (git that money).
But other times, it just happens. Shit happens. An 8-top gets seated the same time your meal for 4 AND your flaming dessert for the couple in the corner is ready to go. The credit card machine busts its gut right as the impatient family wants to leave before their kids start to cry and yes, as soon as another 8-top gets seated.
Being in the weeds isn't necessarily bad. It means you've got a full section and hell, that means odds of you walking home with coin just got that much better. Sometimes, it's actually fun - just how many plates can I balance on this arm without them falling, running into another server or getting yelled at by the boss? How many hours can I deprive myself of sleep and still function on the floor? Just how many bus boys can I piss off by leaving my empty plates out and requiring them to, you know, do their job?
BTW, the sum of the latter will always be higher than the previous two stats combined. Bus boys, for the most part, are bitches.
Being in the weeds isn't bad. But it is always overwhelming.
All of this to say, dudes, I am in the weeeeeeeds.
Work is kicking my ass and depriving me of time to play my (borrowed) bass, blog, comment, you know, give you all of the mundane minutae of my life. I kid. But seriously, it's kind of bumming me out. I want to show you pics of the girls' trees and of my tiny balcony garden and of me kayaking this weekend (ahhhhhh) and tell you about the great day I had with S. and baby C. and most importantly, let you know that after a rocky, rocky week, our weekend was actually very nice. Some tears on Sunday night (damn, you No. # 1 Lady Detective Agency and your baby grave at the end of the show) but they were more like quiet remembrance, not full on freak out.
But I can't because every time I think about uploading things from the camera, or spending some dedicated time telling y'all how much I dig you (because I do) everything else that I should be doing goes rushing through my brain so fast I can't think straight. That's what being in the weeds is like for me now - not a physical, sweat-inducing overload, more like a my head is so full I need to shake it out and start over. I couldn't even give you a table to clear or food to bring out if I wanted to. I can't ask for help because I don't know where to start. (and, in most cases, if I were to ask for help now, my boss would require that I write up a "project scope" and a full set of instructions or worse yet, "Procedures" and fuck, after all that I might as well have just done the damn this myself.
BTW, as you can see, I've recently given myself permission to swear more freely on my blog. And fuck. Yes. It feels good. Kind of like taking your bra off at the end of the day. Ahhhhh. Fuck yeah.
ALL of this to say, I'm here. I'm ok. Much better thanks. But I DO wish I had a kitchen full of bitchy cooks and a dining room full of hungry diners (and tippers) to deal with right now instead of the things that are currently on my plate.
Because if I were waiting tables, my pal S. would have a 40 waiting for me at the apartment for the end of my shift. And we would shed our stinky, crusty old-bay-scented clothes, dump our aprons on the beds, stuff some of the dollars away and stick as many quarters in our pockets as they would hold (ok, maybe just me. I like arcades, ok?), dress in something completely ridiculous (this might have been my layering phase) and run off to the boardwalk and the pier looking for trouble. And we would find it. And the weeds would be forgotten. At least until tomorrow.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Need Some Help
Me, I'm ok. M...not so much. In fact, I am pretty damn worried about him.
For me, work has reached pre-pregnancy levels of frenzy and activity and honestly doesn't give me much time to think about anything else during those hours. Which is probably good. I am jumping on the train today to go get this balloon pulled out of my uterus and I am guessing I am going to feel even better after that happens. And lostintranslation just informed me that I am the recipient of not one, but 2 blog awards (thank you!) so, I'll get on those ASAP.
But M - he is sad. Sad. Sad. We've talked about this before, these fairly regular bouts of melancholy. This is not that. He has convinced himself that his job (that he loves) is on shaky ground (new editor-in-chief, new ways of doing things which essentially amount to weekly reports of what you have done over the week and a subsequent staff meeting to talk about those tasks - all of this imposed upon an office that has been editor-less for over a year. No. It's not going well.)
That lack of job security is not made any lighter by the daily barrage of news coverage of the recession, human interest stories of people losing everything and that mantra, have you heard it? that seems to be everywhere coming out of every set of lips, I HATE it:
"Well, just be thankful you have a job...."
Sorry. I think this is an awful, awful thing to say. To anyone. Even to yourself. Because it opens the door to so many negative things. What? It's OK that someone or someplace doesn't value you or the work you do? It's OK to be asked to do twice as much in half the time for a portion of the money? And you should say, "well gosh, thank you sir may I have another?" NO! It is not ok. It is what is happening for a lot of people right now.
But that does not make it ok.
So, work. That's one major stressor for M. Of course, missing the girls, thinking about the girls, thinking about what could have been with the girls, the pain of the absence of the girls - this lays the foundation for every Sad. Every day. Worry about what happens next. If anything will ever happen next. The idea that we may always and forever be childless - That makes it so much worse. But what really has me quite worried is this new emotion, expressed only last night.
That he is feeling utterly and completely alone.
As in, totally abandoned by friends and family. Completely without anyone to talk to or reach out to. I know this isn't true. YOU know this isn't true. Closer to the truth is that M has always been a very private person, not all that willing to talk about things that affect him most deeply, (you may have even been the recipient of a snarl or a yell if you tried to ask) and people remember that and try to respect that (or at least not get yelled at). But what I heard last night was honestly a cry for help. One that my words cannot soothe, and my rationale puts no dent into.
This is not the M. I know and love. The person who used to frustrate me beyond belief because he always used to believe that things would work out. Now, he is overwhelmed by a cloud of bad luck, which also includes pretty much every electrical appliance or piece of technology he loves and relies on crapping out this week. ("Everything I love is just systematically being taken a away from me.....")
It seems, while I may not want to talk about it, M wants to. Very much so. With anyone who will listen.
That's not to say that he is going to open his heart to you. But he NEEDS to know that people ARE here. Have been here. And want to know how he is. Please, if you know M. in real life, take a minute or two and drop him a line, give him a call, shoot him a text. (Not all today, please, because he will become suspect. And please, please, PLEASE don't mention that you read something on my blog) but sometime this week, next week, next month. Anytime, really. The hurt doesn't go away. We just get better at hiding it.
For me, work has reached pre-pregnancy levels of frenzy and activity and honestly doesn't give me much time to think about anything else during those hours. Which is probably good. I am jumping on the train today to go get this balloon pulled out of my uterus and I am guessing I am going to feel even better after that happens. And lostintranslation just informed me that I am the recipient of not one, but 2 blog awards (thank you!) so, I'll get on those ASAP.
But M - he is sad. Sad. Sad. We've talked about this before, these fairly regular bouts of melancholy. This is not that. He has convinced himself that his job (that he loves) is on shaky ground (new editor-in-chief, new ways of doing things which essentially amount to weekly reports of what you have done over the week and a subsequent staff meeting to talk about those tasks - all of this imposed upon an office that has been editor-less for over a year. No. It's not going well.)
That lack of job security is not made any lighter by the daily barrage of news coverage of the recession, human interest stories of people losing everything and that mantra, have you heard it? that seems to be everywhere coming out of every set of lips, I HATE it:
"Well, just be thankful you have a job...."
Sorry. I think this is an awful, awful thing to say. To anyone. Even to yourself. Because it opens the door to so many negative things. What? It's OK that someone or someplace doesn't value you or the work you do? It's OK to be asked to do twice as much in half the time for a portion of the money? And you should say, "well gosh, thank you sir may I have another?" NO! It is not ok. It is what is happening for a lot of people right now.
But that does not make it ok.
So, work. That's one major stressor for M. Of course, missing the girls, thinking about the girls, thinking about what could have been with the girls, the pain of the absence of the girls - this lays the foundation for every Sad. Every day. Worry about what happens next. If anything will ever happen next. The idea that we may always and forever be childless - That makes it so much worse. But what really has me quite worried is this new emotion, expressed only last night.
That he is feeling utterly and completely alone.
As in, totally abandoned by friends and family. Completely without anyone to talk to or reach out to. I know this isn't true. YOU know this isn't true. Closer to the truth is that M has always been a very private person, not all that willing to talk about things that affect him most deeply, (you may have even been the recipient of a snarl or a yell if you tried to ask) and people remember that and try to respect that (or at least not get yelled at). But what I heard last night was honestly a cry for help. One that my words cannot soothe, and my rationale puts no dent into.
This is not the M. I know and love. The person who used to frustrate me beyond belief because he always used to believe that things would work out. Now, he is overwhelmed by a cloud of bad luck, which also includes pretty much every electrical appliance or piece of technology he loves and relies on crapping out this week. ("Everything I love is just systematically being taken a away from me.....")
It seems, while I may not want to talk about it, M wants to. Very much so. With anyone who will listen.
That's not to say that he is going to open his heart to you. But he NEEDS to know that people ARE here. Have been here. And want to know how he is. Please, if you know M. in real life, take a minute or two and drop him a line, give him a call, shoot him a text. (Not all today, please, because he will become suspect. And please, please, PLEASE don't mention that you read something on my blog) but sometime this week, next week, next month. Anytime, really. The hurt doesn't go away. We just get better at hiding it.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Hair Trigger
Just FYI.
Everything today is making me cry. Ask me how I am = I will cry. Give me a hug because you haven't seen me since before Xmas = Tears. Inquire as to what I am listening to on my mp3 player = yep. sniff. snivel. Really doesn't matter. If I have to open my mouth, my tearducts respond. Sh*t. Keep it together, girl. I really didn't wake up this way. It just happened. It just happens.
And you know what is worse? What can possible be worse than feeling like you want to scream/cry/shout/lash out/throw something? Seeing your partner in the same predicament. This is what breaks my heart.
M is a mess. At least he was this morning. As usual, I couldn't determine if it was work/life/missing girls or a combination. Even before the days of attempted babymaking, M would get a little pocket of frustration/ennui and the like that we would have to deal with every few months or so - I am pretty sure I've talked about this before. So its not a new phenomenon. But it is harder now. Much harder. He often beats himself up because he feels like the job he is in does not coincide with where he should be, or where he thinks people think he should be given his education, opportunities, etc.
He often forgets that neither of us chose a straight career path. We spent the last decade doing pretty much what the f*ck we wanted. We avoided 9-5 jobs. Defiantly so. I happened to fall into my current job. M took a while longer, only currently figuring out a way to get paid for the things he does so well. So, no, neither of us are lighting the world on fire with our career trajectory. We're getting there, but we're a little late. M. is now trying to come to grips with the fact that he is one of the older members of his team (in an industry that skews pretty young, if you ask me). He plagues himself with this idea that he should be more ambitious, should care, should see work as more than something you have to do to get health insurance. He thinks he should be someplace else.
I asked, as I often do, tell me then about this mythical position that you think you should have. Tell me what you think you should be doing.
"I think I should be a father."
And after I caught my breathe I responded. Yes. Yes I do too.
Everything today is making me cry. Ask me how I am = I will cry. Give me a hug because you haven't seen me since before Xmas = Tears. Inquire as to what I am listening to on my mp3 player = yep. sniff. snivel. Really doesn't matter. If I have to open my mouth, my tearducts respond. Sh*t. Keep it together, girl. I really didn't wake up this way. It just happened. It just happens.
And you know what is worse? What can possible be worse than feeling like you want to scream/cry/shout/lash out/throw something? Seeing your partner in the same predicament. This is what breaks my heart.
M is a mess. At least he was this morning. As usual, I couldn't determine if it was work/life/missing girls or a combination. Even before the days of attempted babymaking, M would get a little pocket of frustration/ennui and the like that we would have to deal with every few months or so - I am pretty sure I've talked about this before. So its not a new phenomenon. But it is harder now. Much harder. He often beats himself up because he feels like the job he is in does not coincide with where he should be, or where he thinks people think he should be given his education, opportunities, etc.
He often forgets that neither of us chose a straight career path. We spent the last decade doing pretty much what the f*ck we wanted. We avoided 9-5 jobs. Defiantly so. I happened to fall into my current job. M took a while longer, only currently figuring out a way to get paid for the things he does so well. So, no, neither of us are lighting the world on fire with our career trajectory. We're getting there, but we're a little late. M. is now trying to come to grips with the fact that he is one of the older members of his team (in an industry that skews pretty young, if you ask me). He plagues himself with this idea that he should be more ambitious, should care, should see work as more than something you have to do to get health insurance. He thinks he should be someplace else.
I asked, as I often do, tell me then about this mythical position that you think you should have. Tell me what you think you should be doing.
"I think I should be a father."
And after I caught my breathe I responded. Yes. Yes I do too.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
I Don't *Think* She's Trying to Be Awful But...
[UPDATE: ok, before you get all mad and up in arms about my boss, just know that after a few hours of feeling really bad at my desk, I confronted her with these conversations and she was profusely, PROFUSELY apologetic. She felt awful. And promised to be more aware of things coming out of her mouth in the future. And yes, I do think it was very sincere.]
Honestly, most days, I wish my boss wouldn't talk. At least not talk to me.
I need to back up for a sec. I have a kick ass job. And with very little (ok, one) exception, a stellar set of co-workers. The flexibility and freedom I have here I will not find anyplace else. So, whenever I mumble/grumble about being under appreciated, etc. etc, I just need to keep all of that in mind.
That being said, sometimes my boss says the worst things. Without even knowing it. This is not a function of "oh you're grieving and you're oversensitized" nor is it a new trend. It's not new; It is not specific to me. Survey any member of our office team and each of them could probably give you a good set of jaw-dropping, she-did-not-just-say-that anecdotes. Makes for great lunch conversation. Day to day mental health, not so much.
For instance...
Yesterday we were reviewing some new employees and trying to figure out how best to use their skill sets in the upcoming year. When discussing a newbie who my boss had planned to place up front and center in some legislative things (my area), I balked and said that the support I needed was behind the scenes, you know, the hard, calling members, not fun stuff. Boss says, "Well, we are lucky to have you now that you aren't taking 4-5 months off, but this had been the plan...."
Lucky. She said lucky. And then intimated that me coming back to work (because I'd far rather be here than on maternity leave with healthy children, right?) somehow screwed up how she thought things were going to be this year.
Really sorry I fucked up your plans. Truly, I am.
Today, we were chatting in my office about future gubernatorial elections in our state, the need for transition docs, speculations on who might be the new members of the administration that we'd have to work with and she gives her guesses on who they might be. She intimates it would be far better if we had people in mind to recommend for leadership positions. Intimates that "if I weren't off trying to make babies" she could think of a real recommendation that she would make...
Yes, because I always planned to put my life/career on hold for several years as we struggled to build a family.
Once again, so sorry I fucked up your plans.
And here is where I must remind myself that I have never been someone to define myself with my job. My career and what I do during the day does not define who I am or add/detract to my self worth. These things that she is talking about - they DON'T MATTER.
But it still adds more sting to the "what am I doing with my life?" that accompanies the realization of the time spent trying to get to one, simple (for some) goal. Builds on the "can't have your cake and eat it too - well, you can, but it won't taste very good" understanding of trying to juggle a career and baby-making and hopefully baby-having.
Sigh.
At a Conference for Women a few years ago, the keynote speaker said something that struck me as so (sadly) true:
"The trouble is that your biological clock and your career clock are ticking together at the same pace."
As in, oh you're in your 30s and want to have a baby? Guess what? This is probably the one and only phase in your career where you have enough experience to move forward and enough youth and ambition to get it done. Which do you want? You want both? Oh, good luck...
Sucker....
Honestly, most days, I wish my boss wouldn't talk. At least not talk to me.
I need to back up for a sec. I have a kick ass job. And with very little (ok, one) exception, a stellar set of co-workers. The flexibility and freedom I have here I will not find anyplace else. So, whenever I mumble/grumble about being under appreciated, etc. etc, I just need to keep all of that in mind.
That being said, sometimes my boss says the worst things. Without even knowing it. This is not a function of "oh you're grieving and you're oversensitized" nor is it a new trend. It's not new; It is not specific to me. Survey any member of our office team and each of them could probably give you a good set of jaw-dropping, she-did-not-just-say-that anecdotes. Makes for great lunch conversation. Day to day mental health, not so much.
For instance...
Yesterday we were reviewing some new employees and trying to figure out how best to use their skill sets in the upcoming year. When discussing a newbie who my boss had planned to place up front and center in some legislative things (my area), I balked and said that the support I needed was behind the scenes, you know, the hard, calling members, not fun stuff. Boss says, "Well, we are lucky to have you now that you aren't taking 4-5 months off, but this had been the plan...."
Lucky. She said lucky. And then intimated that me coming back to work (because I'd far rather be here than on maternity leave with healthy children, right?) somehow screwed up how she thought things were going to be this year.
Really sorry I fucked up your plans. Truly, I am.
Today, we were chatting in my office about future gubernatorial elections in our state, the need for transition docs, speculations on who might be the new members of the administration that we'd have to work with and she gives her guesses on who they might be. She intimates it would be far better if we had people in mind to recommend for leadership positions. Intimates that "if I weren't off trying to make babies" she could think of a real recommendation that she would make...
Yes, because I always planned to put my life/career on hold for several years as we struggled to build a family.
Once again, so sorry I fucked up your plans.
And here is where I must remind myself that I have never been someone to define myself with my job. My career and what I do during the day does not define who I am or add/detract to my self worth. These things that she is talking about - they DON'T MATTER.
But it still adds more sting to the "what am I doing with my life?" that accompanies the realization of the time spent trying to get to one, simple (for some) goal. Builds on the "can't have your cake and eat it too - well, you can, but it won't taste very good" understanding of trying to juggle a career and baby-making and hopefully baby-having.
Sigh.
At a Conference for Women a few years ago, the keynote speaker said something that struck me as so (sadly) true:
"The trouble is that your biological clock and your career clock are ticking together at the same pace."
As in, oh you're in your 30s and want to have a baby? Guess what? This is probably the one and only phase in your career where you have enough experience to move forward and enough youth and ambition to get it done. Which do you want? You want both? Oh, good luck...
Sucker....
Thursday, January 22, 2009
In the Light of the Projector
"The trouble with doing nothing is that I'm never sure when I'm through."
That was the caption on a cartoon on a PowerPoint that was presented at my Board of Directors' Strategic Planning meeting this week. A meeting that I would usually play an integral role in. A meeting that I wasn't really sure that I would even go to. And then I decided, oh what the hell. I had already excused myself from the agenda. I had no responsibilities for the meeting set up or execution. I would just be a participant. Worse case scenario: if I couldn't handle my first work outing outside of my warm, safe office and office mates I would just leave.
So, I got there after a morning marked by a crappy exchange with a crazy lab tech doing my bone density scan (ah, but this will be the topic of another post...) and was greeted with smiles and even a few hugs. I think my Board Chair attempted to hug me. (He's not very good with personal interactions). And a few tears eked out in conversations with some of my favorites but they dried relatively quickly. And there I was. And I didn't melt. And it didn't feel too awkward. So I stayed. For both days.
And here are the things I realized/remembered/am grateful for:
Lights that I was relieved to see.
That was the caption on a cartoon on a PowerPoint that was presented at my Board of Directors' Strategic Planning meeting this week. A meeting that I would usually play an integral role in. A meeting that I wasn't really sure that I would even go to. And then I decided, oh what the hell. I had already excused myself from the agenda. I had no responsibilities for the meeting set up or execution. I would just be a participant. Worse case scenario: if I couldn't handle my first work outing outside of my warm, safe office and office mates I would just leave.
So, I got there after a morning marked by a crappy exchange with a crazy lab tech doing my bone density scan (ah, but this will be the topic of another post...) and was greeted with smiles and even a few hugs. I think my Board Chair attempted to hug me. (He's not very good with personal interactions). And a few tears eked out in conversations with some of my favorites but they dried relatively quickly. And there I was. And I didn't melt. And it didn't feel too awkward. So I stayed. For both days.
And here are the things I realized/remembered/am grateful for:
- I'm not stupid.
- I didn't completely forget what it was I did or what my job was about (don't laugh. this was a major fear of mine before I went back to work)
- Sometimes I do know what I'm talking about.
- I clean up real nice. (and while it was odd to be in my pre-pregnancy suits, it felt good to get dressed, do my hair, make an appearance)
- My grief can be recognized and I can be seen as not just my grief.
Lights that I was relieved to see.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Slowly, Slowly
Quick post on the fly to let you know I am here. In the office, that is.
The weather forecast worked in my favor. The office is empty. Ice storms (even when they don't happen) make people skittish. The only one here is me. And an electrician trying to fix something. And my crazy boss flitting in and out running errands but she is not really "here."
So far, it's been nice to be here. Communicating with co-workers and members (I work for a non-profit association), whittling away at email that has accumulated...
But now I am at the point where the emails are from Before. From when I was pregnant. From when I was helping to plan my maternity leave. From when everyone was so excited...
So pretty much every email I am trying to tackle now is peppered with at least one mention of me-as-pregnant-lady or of the girls. A joke here. A how-are-you-feeling there. The first few caught me off guard, especially after such a non-eventful morning. But slowly, slowly, I am taking them. Reading them. Remembering not that Iso.bel and Jo.vita are not here (damn I love their names) but that these are all the people that are rooting for us, cheering us on. There were here and they will be here again when it is time to try again.
And that time will be here soon enough.
The weather forecast worked in my favor. The office is empty. Ice storms (even when they don't happen) make people skittish. The only one here is me. And an electrician trying to fix something. And my crazy boss flitting in and out running errands but she is not really "here."
So far, it's been nice to be here. Communicating with co-workers and members (I work for a non-profit association), whittling away at email that has accumulated...
But now I am at the point where the emails are from Before. From when I was pregnant. From when I was helping to plan my maternity leave. From when everyone was so excited...
So pretty much every email I am trying to tackle now is peppered with at least one mention of me-as-pregnant-lady or of the girls. A joke here. A how-are-you-feeling there. The first few caught me off guard, especially after such a non-eventful morning. But slowly, slowly, I am taking them. Reading them. Remembering not that Iso.bel and Jo.vita are not here (damn I love their names) but that these are all the people that are rooting for us, cheering us on. There were here and they will be here again when it is time to try again.
And that time will be here soon enough.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Oh man....
Well, I received exactly the email I expected to receive from my mom in response to this one.
In a nutshell: she never said such a thing. She had been misinterpreted; she is the victim here. I have changed so much over the years that she can't talk to me anymore without fear of offending...her pain and how I have inflicted it was mentioned on at least 3 separate occasions, including a mention about the time that I confronted her about information that I had found on my own adoption.
I hurt her feelings.
Never mind that I found out facts I have never known about my life. Never mind that she added additional information in today's email. And then continued on to say she had never hid anything from me. Contradiction, no?
At any rate, I hit reply and put it all out there. Everything. Well, not everything, I didn't tell her to stick her virgin mary up her .....so I didn't put it all out there...everything but that. I won't reprint it here. It's long and tedious and will probably spark quite a, quite a something, but that was my point. Why are you afraid to talk to me? Why do you measure your words when that doesn't help anyway. So we get mad at each other, so what??? So frigging what? Is that the worst thing that could happen? Do you even understand how hurtful you are NOW? Would things really get worse? Do you know how awful your silence was at the hospital? At Xmas eve? Do you know how mean this email is to me right now? Do you have any frigging clue about how I am feeling? No, because you are wrapped up in how I am making you feel.
It can't get worse.
So let's see if it gets better.
**
I AM working today. Minus this 30 minute break here to either mend or sever relations with my mother. But from my recliner. A long, long walk yesterday aggravated an already sore knee and it now seems that I need the assistance of M's dad's walking stick to move. Damn you, exercise.
At any rate, this seems like a transition that makes sense. It feels good to interact with co-workers, but I am also liking the distance. Feels good to get some tasks addressed, but in my own time.
**
Today doesn't feel as shit brown as yesterday, but that could just be because I am still seeing red.
In a nutshell: she never said such a thing. She had been misinterpreted; she is the victim here. I have changed so much over the years that she can't talk to me anymore without fear of offending...her pain and how I have inflicted it was mentioned on at least 3 separate occasions, including a mention about the time that I confronted her about information that I had found on my own adoption.
I hurt her feelings.
Never mind that I found out facts I have never known about my life. Never mind that she added additional information in today's email. And then continued on to say she had never hid anything from me. Contradiction, no?
At any rate, I hit reply and put it all out there. Everything. Well, not everything, I didn't tell her to stick her virgin mary up her .....so I didn't put it all out there...everything but that. I won't reprint it here. It's long and tedious and will probably spark quite a, quite a something, but that was my point. Why are you afraid to talk to me? Why do you measure your words when that doesn't help anyway. So we get mad at each other, so what??? So frigging what? Is that the worst thing that could happen? Do you even understand how hurtful you are NOW? Would things really get worse? Do you know how awful your silence was at the hospital? At Xmas eve? Do you know how mean this email is to me right now? Do you have any frigging clue about how I am feeling? No, because you are wrapped up in how I am making you feel.
It can't get worse.
So let's see if it gets better.
**
I AM working today. Minus this 30 minute break here to either mend or sever relations with my mother. But from my recliner. A long, long walk yesterday aggravated an already sore knee and it now seems that I need the assistance of M's dad's walking stick to move. Damn you, exercise.
At any rate, this seems like a transition that makes sense. It feels good to interact with co-workers, but I am also liking the distance. Feels good to get some tasks addressed, but in my own time.
**
Today doesn't feel as shit brown as yesterday, but that could just be because I am still seeing red.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
My Reaction - Too Much or Not Enough?
Today I got a kind of shocking phone call at work that makes me think my boss (whom I shared information with in confidence) has been a little too free in sharing that confidence with others. Yes, we are a tight knit organization. Yes, I have know most of the members of the assoc. for a decade. But I'm thinking not only did my boss (if she did indeed spill the beans) show a serious lapse in judgment here, but on a personal note, shared medical details of mine that were mine to share.
Anyway, here was my email to her today (she's away on a business trip). Told hubby about the incident and of course he is furious and says I should threaten litigation. Come on now. Don't be daft. I am not going to threaten to sue someone who I know in her heart means well and for a decade now has been pretty d*mn supportive of everything I have wanted to do with my life - even when it made things seriously inconvenient for her. Ok, here's the message:
I really appreciate your enthusiasm and support around my pregnancy. It is wonderful to work in an environment where I feel I and my future family will be valued. But I just received some congratulations from an employee at ____ that was a little more detailed than I would have liked. She mentioned that _____ had shared some of the info you had shared with ____ and then went on to tell me about a family member of her own who had cancer, couldn’t have children, used artificial techniques and went on to have children. It was a heartfelt congratulations from this person, but I was very, very shocked and surprised to hear it in the way that I did.
Anyway, here was my email to her today (she's away on a business trip). Told hubby about the incident and of course he is furious and says I should threaten litigation. Come on now. Don't be daft. I am not going to threaten to sue someone who I know in her heart means well and for a decade now has been pretty d*mn supportive of everything I have wanted to do with my life - even when it made things seriously inconvenient for her. Ok, here's the message:
I really appreciate your enthusiasm and support around my pregnancy. It is wonderful to work in an environment where I feel I and my future family will be valued. But I just received some congratulations from an employee at ____ that was a little more detailed than I would have liked. She mentioned that _____ had shared some of the info you had shared with ____ and then went on to tell me about a family member of her own who had cancer, couldn’t have children, used artificial techniques and went on to have children. It was a heartfelt congratulations from this person, but I was very, very shocked and surprised to hear it in the way that I did.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
What? No Shot?
Are you sure?
Do you mean it?
Do you really mean I don't have to contort myself into unnatural positions propped on pillows to poke my own butt tonight since hubby is at work?
That is frigging awesome.
Calliope said that the first night sans shot is divine. She's right.
So what am I doing with all this free time? Well, first I stuck my saran wrap back in the kitchen where it belongs. how nice to use it for wrapping cheese and other leftovers instead of the numbing cream on my *ss.
Now, I'm having my own private, pregnancy-craving dictated tailgate by myself on my living room floor. Honeycrisp apples (have you had these yet? They are the bomb!), cheddar cheese, and a huge bowl of cold sauerkraut. Oh hells yes. Fight on State!
At halftime, I'll sift through my free goodies bag I got from Motherhood.
You bet. I went there. Technically, I can still fit into most of my clothes. Most of the time, it's less than flattering. But the main impetus for the mall trip was my annual conference that's coming up in the end of October. I know that by then, me being able to wear all of my suits and business attire will be but a memory. I also know that this is probably the last work-free weekend I can count on between now and then. Things get intense. In other words, it was now or never.
The last time I waited until the last minute to pick up a few new things for conference, I ended up dashing to Ann Taylor Loft and pretty much purchasing anything I laid eyes on, threw it in the car and figured I'd figure it out when I got there. Of course, I ended up wearing and keeping 2 items and returning all the rest. I'm not willing to gamble like that with a figure that I am assuming will be less than easy to grab-n-go for.
So, my MIL graciously agreed to meet me at the mall and help me suss out some duds that would be suitable for work. Can I say we both started giggling uncontrollably at the sight of me and the "fake belly" they have in the dressing rooms to make sure the clothes will fit into the next few months? Wow. What a visual.
Do you mean it?
Do you really mean I don't have to contort myself into unnatural positions propped on pillows to poke my own butt tonight since hubby is at work?
That is frigging awesome.
Calliope said that the first night sans shot is divine. She's right.
So what am I doing with all this free time? Well, first I stuck my saran wrap back in the kitchen where it belongs. how nice to use it for wrapping cheese and other leftovers instead of the numbing cream on my *ss.
Now, I'm having my own private, pregnancy-craving dictated tailgate by myself on my living room floor. Honeycrisp apples (have you had these yet? They are the bomb!), cheddar cheese, and a huge bowl of cold sauerkraut. Oh hells yes. Fight on State!
At halftime, I'll sift through my free goodies bag I got from Motherhood.
You bet. I went there. Technically, I can still fit into most of my clothes. Most of the time, it's less than flattering. But the main impetus for the mall trip was my annual conference that's coming up in the end of October. I know that by then, me being able to wear all of my suits and business attire will be but a memory. I also know that this is probably the last work-free weekend I can count on between now and then. Things get intense. In other words, it was now or never.
The last time I waited until the last minute to pick up a few new things for conference, I ended up dashing to Ann Taylor Loft and pretty much purchasing anything I laid eyes on, threw it in the car and figured I'd figure it out when I got there. Of course, I ended up wearing and keeping 2 items and returning all the rest. I'm not willing to gamble like that with a figure that I am assuming will be less than easy to grab-n-go for.
So, my MIL graciously agreed to meet me at the mall and help me suss out some duds that would be suitable for work. Can I say we both started giggling uncontrollably at the sight of me and the "fake belly" they have in the dressing rooms to make sure the clothes will fit into the next few months? Wow. What a visual.
Monday, July 28, 2008
I've Been "Retired."
Not me, but two of the blogs that I write for a certain online media company. D*mn.
I'm telling you because one of them was Fertility Notes, a little project that I was pretty proud of. And while I didn't have the highest number of readers on the channel, my readers were the best. I really don't think that (with a few exceptions) the other blogs had the kind of personal and, sorry advertisers, sometimes painful points of view FN had. We laughed, we cried. We shared free stuff.
But apparently, our wombs and what's (not) in them don't translate to big online ad money.
Which is a little shocking to me. I thought us infertiles were cash cows.
Part of me is a little relieved. While I turn here to cleanse my soul. To rant, to rave, to find you, FN was feeling more and more like a job, and that's really not what I had wanted. Not having that added responsibility gives me a lot more time and mental energy to dedicate to some other things abrewin' right now....
There are still a few more days of limping along. August 11th will be the official last day.
After that, I'm sorry, I think I'm going to have to bug you all here with stuff I would usually post over there (along with the usually b*tching and moaning, of course). I've got it in my system.
Maybe I'll add a special page or something. Can you do that in Blogger?
I'm telling you because one of them was Fertility Notes, a little project that I was pretty proud of. And while I didn't have the highest number of readers on the channel, my readers were the best. I really don't think that (with a few exceptions) the other blogs had the kind of personal and, sorry advertisers, sometimes painful points of view FN had. We laughed, we cried. We shared free stuff.
But apparently, our wombs and what's (not) in them don't translate to big online ad money.
Which is a little shocking to me. I thought us infertiles were cash cows.
Part of me is a little relieved. While I turn here to cleanse my soul. To rant, to rave, to find you, FN was feeling more and more like a job, and that's really not what I had wanted. Not having that added responsibility gives me a lot more time and mental energy to dedicate to some other things abrewin' right now....
There are still a few more days of limping along. August 11th will be the official last day.
After that, I'm sorry, I think I'm going to have to bug you all here with stuff I would usually post over there (along with the usually b*tching and moaning, of course). I've got it in my system.
Maybe I'll add a special page or something. Can you do that in Blogger?
Friday, August 3, 2007
TGIF
Oh friends, its been a long, long week. But ultimately, productive, eventful and dare I say, fun? I was even on TV! Ok, public access but still. It's not every day that a good hair day and new pants are saved for posterity, right?
I had to testify (can I get an AMEN?!) no, no, not that kind. In front of a legislative committee yesterday. I was nervous and that was probably a good thing because I prepared like I was facing some hardcore midterm exams. That was fortuitous because those old white men grilled me. And you know what? I aced it. I really think I nailed every answer in a way that was truthful, not defensive and conveyed the points my organization was trying to make. And I actually looked like I knew what I was talking about. (I've fooled them all! ah hah hah....insert more maniacal laughter here). As you can see, I am still flying high.
In other news, the house that I grew up in is now in the hands of strangers. Closing was Tuesday. My parents are relieved. In fact, could my dad have located his sense of humor and ability to be happy? Those things have been lost for quite a while. Was debt so overwhelming that that was what made him wish for death for the past few years?? My god. I guess we all deal with it differently, don't we?
After a few frantic days of last minute packing and cleaning, we all (me, hubby, brother, his g-friend, mom and dad) went for a celebratory dinner Tuesday night at a place where bro and I served as line cook and waitress respectively. It was awesome. Bro and I amused with tales of steaks and girls gone bad. My mom got totally tipsy on a frozen concoction. I overindulged in a baked sweet potato with cinnamon sugar and other things I don't usually eat. My dad just looked happy.
My dad looked happy. It was a moment.
They still don't have a permanent residence, but hell, if they aren't stressed, I'm not either. They both seem to be basking in the idea that they won't have to panic come the last week of every month or every time a new unpaid hospital bill appears in the mail.
All I can think of is that perhaps it was really, really a blessing that this last cycle didn't follow the original schedule. Sure, I know we all say that when things go wrong/not the way we planned. But seriously, there is NO WAY I could have done the things I've been doing this month with something trying to grow and be nurtured in my belly. I am bruised and sore and my muscles have been working overtime. I've never done so much heavy lifting and cleaning with toxic stuff. My thoughts have been elsewhere. Anywhere but focused on the creation of a happy womb. My time will come. This time is for my parents.
Here's the best part of the story. Today is Friday and my favorite band is playing tonight.
Happy weekend y'all.
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