Grace Under Pressure (The Housework's Lament)

May 30, 2006 | Category: In My Life

It's hard to know what I feel comfortable writing about.

I don't want to alienate my husband.

On the other hand... last week CD complained about the amount of housework I've been doing since I stopped working.

I was stunned.

Because he was, like, serious.

I'm going through a life crisis, redefining my understanding of my world, and you're complaining about the laundry?!

First of all, both of us lean more towards Oscar than Felix. And I have always done more housework than CD. Always, even when he was a stay-at-home dad (which I used to complain bitterly about and then I just hired someone to help.)

I was clear when I told him of my plans to stop workig for a while that I wouldn't not be playing Suzy Homemaker. I told him so right infront of a therapist. And he nodded like he understand and respected my need for some time to repair and take care of me.

Clearly, though, the monster that is his expectations would not be denied.

He brings up "those 5 hours a day when you're doing nothing".

Because, you know, these hours between dropping Bear off at school and picking him up - when not frittered away with errands, dishes, part-time work - should be spent ... vacuuming??

And hey, I have been doing more. Organizing long neglected cabinets and drawers. Decorating. Scrubbing. Just not enough by his scorekeeping.

I want to take him by the shoulders and shout into his brain. That we just started working as a team again.

But I am a grown-up. (Sometimes.)

So I breathe deep and point at the Hoover. Honey, if the rug ain't clean enough for you - then you have all the power in the world to change it.

But no....

Instead, I feel myself being inelegantly shoved in the direction of what he expects of a housewife.

And I thought I only had my own neurosis to untangle.

Dude, I really don't think it helped your case...

May 25, 2006 | Category: Not The Nightly News

Murder defendant tries to strangle lawyer in court.

The Core (and unrelated pictures)

| Category: On The Job

Mark Twain said that if you put all your eggs in one basket, then you better watch that basket.

So CD's job has suddenly gone from being someplace he goes every day to being an epicenter. It provides our insurance, our income, our current concept of future.

Which sucks, because his job? ... Sucks.

He works in IT at a financial company. Which means, first of all - he's not core.

Best career planning advice anyone can ever give you is this: If you want to move up, you need to be in the core.

That means, you need to be creating the product that your company is selling.

If you're in IT, then work for an IT Company. If you cook, work at a restaurant. If you're in marketing, work for a marketing firm.

If you're a nurse and you work in the health office of a high school, you may be very happy. But there's no "up" from there.

CD keeps the lights on for the IT infrastructure of a company that provides financial services. Which means that there is limited "up". There will be limited compensation. The technology will always be an afterthought that meets the needs of the company's production.

Which is a big reason we continue to look for something else for him - anywhere, as long as it would challenge him and support us.

And the reason why I get these phone calls now, to listen and support as he bangs his head (metaphorically) against the wall. 'Cuz, sure - it didn't matter much back in the day that he knew he could quit if he had to. Ha. Big changes, I'm telling you.

Meanwhile, we finally dumped all the pictures off the camera's flashcard...

Bear and the ceiling at Union Station during one of Bear and I's day trips into the city. One of the things I love about going anywhere with Bear is that it is never just a trip to Point A. There are trees to inspect and designs to study and ceilings with patterns to look up at.

Clearly, Bear has been having fun. I have no clue which Transformer this is, but it was in a series of MANY pictures. It scares me a little, that he lined up his toys and carefully took portraits of each and CD and I had NO CLUE.

OK, now this I remember. This was one of Bear's recent karate tournaments. No one believes me when I try to explain the level of chaos and cacophony.

The moment it gets warm, this boy runs out and starts dousing himself with the hose. You should SEE our water bill in the summer months. It is insane. Can someone explain to me the compulsion this child has with being wet?

The INFAMOUS FOX EARS. The bunny ones I tried to dye? Yeah, that was a disaster. But I let him tie-dye one of his shirts with "fox colors" and that turned out pretty good. His first tie-dye experience and my first in at least a decade. I mean, the backyard grass is now spotted but the shirt isn't bad. Bear loves it, which is most important I think.

Here are CD and Bear hanging out in front of the school after the show. I may be projecting, but even with our impending fall into utter poverty I really believe that, as a family, we're happier. Or it could be that this is the eye of the storm. Huh.

This is a battle cruiser of Bear's. You wouldn't believe how long it took me to figure that out, because the pictures on the card just after it...

... were of the U-Boat 505 that lives at Chicago's Museum of Science and Industry. Where we went the day after the thing at Bear's school. It is so incredibly huge on the outside and so incredibly tiny inside. And an amazing sight altogether, to turn the corner down a hallway and suddenly be looking down on an entire German submarine that was captured in the Atlantic over 60 years ago.

Three generations walking down the sidewalk as we left the museum. My mom, CD, and Bear far off in the lead.

And finally, some sculptures tucked along the side of the Museum, easy to miss unless you had a curious and bright redhead pointing them out.

Little Bullies

May 23, 2006 | Category: Family, It's a Trip

My son has been raised, both at home and at school, under a code of rules. And while he can throw a punch that would land you on your aunt fanny, he adheres to this code and treats people, by and large, respectfully (at least as far as I know).

This has worked for Bear socially as well as morally - his is very popular at school with all his classmates (who attended his birthday party in record numbers) and with the teachers.

But the world isn't just bright and civilized places.

Which is why there is a certain park near our home that I avoid. It is close by and the crowd of kids there is rough. Almost feral.

The kids taunt each other and swear openly. Little kids, as young as 2 or 3, find themselves the targets of fistfuls of gravel and bark tossed from above. Boys hunch at the top of the plastic climbing wall and try and push down the kids who are trying to make it to the top - resulting of falls into the hard bark and gravel from heights of 4 or 5 feet.

And I have no idea where their parents are. There were 7 adults for the 30 or so kids that were there.

Yeah, it's all "Lord of the Flies" at that playground.

It was so beautiful today that I forgot all my reservations and stopped there with Bear after school. Dummy, dummy me.

There was a group of kids who Bear thought looked about his size, so he approached to play with them. They threw bark at him and teased him about his "clown hair".

I found him, arms wrapped around his knees hiding under a plastic shelter. He looked at me with sad and confused blue eyes.

I sighed. "Fight back," I advised.

He nodded seriously, dug up a mound of dirt and gravel, marched up the them and bombs away.

The next thing I knew, they were all the best of friends.

Which was also a problem. Because these kids were bullies.

They were trash-talking the other kids, shoving each other, and taking risks that scared the hell out of me. And then out of a kid who looked about 4 years old, urging another boy to keep up - "C'mon, asshole!"

I threw my purse over my shoulder and marched up to my son and said "Time to go."

Bear ignored me.

Finally, I grabbed his arm. The other kids then began trying to pull him away from me. Shouting at him that they would rescue him from the mean woman. One of the kids pulled his sweat pants practically to Bear's knees as he grabbed his legs off the ground.

My son;s body was in a tug of war with me at one end and 4 little children on the other and he went from laughing to scared but it didn't stop.

Finally, I shouted for them to stop immediately. The 4 looked at me defiantly for a long moment before stepping away. I had a moment of sheer outrage and panic.

Then I took my son's hand and we marched out. My heart thudding a mile a minute.

I need a valium. Seriously.

Welcome to Parenting101

May 19, 2006 | Category: Mother to the First Power

UPDATE:

SO, my neighbor had small bunny ears that I can dye, and I am looking for a feather duster tail... THANK YOU BJ, Suz, and Caltechgirl!

I got an email last night that I saw this morning - for the big end of the year thing at Happy Montessori, the kids in Bear's class are singing a song. Apparently, they can dress up as forest animals. Bear told me that he's going to be a fox.

The thing? Is tomorrow morning.

Anyone know where to find fox ears on the fly? (the children are not supposed to be wearing costumes, according to the note. Just regular clothes in appropriate colors, face paint, and ears or wings).

And then, there's the pedophile across the street

May 16, 2006 | Category: Family, It's a Trip

The day before Easter, I was prepping up the ham while CD and Bear played T-ball in the back yard. A stranger came up the driveway, as I watched from the window. CD spotted him quickly and moved to intercept him while I headed down to the back door to keep an eye on Bear.

He was all "Do you live here?" to CD in a way that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

Yes.

He was....

a reporter.

Investigating yet another "Roman Catholic priest molested children" story, based on a new lawsuit that had been filed.

Except, in this case the ex-priest had already had several cases against him settled by the Church. Although the reporter was vague, he encouraged CD to do a search on the internet.

(Which I began immediately.)

And there he was. (The site has all names and information on priests the Catholic Church has revealed.)

The Guy across the street. The one that lives with his partner in the nicest house on the block. My co-planner in the block parties. A former priest who molested children.

I leaned against the wall, fighting nausea.

He's not in the National Sex Offenders Registry because he's never been convicted.

Dammit.

Don't ask me about innocent until proven guilty.

The next time he waved at me across the street, I wished him dead. It's visceral, gut-level hatred. And it has been with CD and I now for weeks.

We've told Bear that the guys across the street are not safe people any more. Thank God we were able to make the point clear and serious without going into detail. (Is there a right way to do this sort of thing?)

There's a pedophile across the street from our happy home in Pleasantville.

Don't Pull That String

May 15, 2006 | Category: In My Life

I grew up in the era of Fair Isle and monogram sweaters. Fine wool and cotton and even, for special, maybe some cashmere.

Here was the rule: Don't pull the string.

Because, as my mother informed me, the entire sweater would unravel if you did. You'd be left standing there like a cartoon character buck naked from the waist up except for maybe the monogram letters hanging around your training bra and a pile of thread at your feet.

Also? You'd look like Betty Boop.

Meanwhile, back in reality.

The OT Specialist lady whose name means Happy (As Bear likes to say) informed us that he has a mild large-motor sensory integration disorder (still no clue what the means), a possible vision thing (referral to pedaitic opthamoligist here), and? Bear is truly non-dominant. You know, ambidextrous. Texas gold, my friend.

Except? Not.

It means double the work for my kid, whose fine motor on both hands is at about 3 years old instead of his true age of 5.5. Because he's been learning everything on both sides. For that, he will get OT therapy and a lot of it. But it is good news because he will get all the help he needs now instead of later.

But that's not all.

Included with the Ginsu knives and the dashing set of referral sheets (in Blue!) came one for allergies. So today we hiked over to the pediatrician's to check it out.

Man, do I ever suck as a mother.

Turns out that Bear's entire back of the nose-and-throat-and-ear areas are a hive of swollen and detracted and, well, I don't know the fancy term for it all. He's got allergies, right here in River City. He's got stuff to pump up his nose and other stuff to swallow.The pediatrician shook her head and said "You didn't notice?"

"Well, he's more tired than usual lately," I said (feeling like a moron).

But wait - one more thing. There is a fine sprinkling of bumps on his cheeks and hands and legs. Because he's also allergic toour laundry detergent. Tide, if you're wondering.

After she left the room to get more prescription sheets, I picked Bear up and he clung to me like a baby octopus. "Sorry, kiddo," I whispered.

"For what?"

"I didn't know you were sick," I told him, resting my cheek in the hollow of his neck as I rocked him back and forth.

"It's ok," he whispered back. "I didn't know too."

I stood there, my purse fat with referrals and information. And feeling like there must be a pile of string at my feet from a simple tug.

And then I bought him an ice cream cone to make it all better.

Hello, my name is...

May 11, 2006 | Category: In My Life

When I first said that I was leaving my job, someone asked in a comment if I would be shutting down this site or changing the name. At the time, I couldn't imagine either. After all, I am the Corporate Mommy.

Laptop bag over one shoulder, kid on my hip, hair highlighted, cell phone buzzing.

Only... not anymore.

There's a great Princess Bride quote;. "Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die." I've always wondered how Inigo would introduce himself if there had been a sequel, once the guy who murdered his father had died.

How do I introduce myself now? As simply the 'Mommy'? or 'Wife & Mommy'? These two males, are they my identity anchor now?

"What now? Who am I?" have been the questions that would pop into my head over and over as the roller coaster of the past few weeks has ripped me along for the ride.

If I thought life after a full-time job would give me a field of breathing room, I was seriously deluded.

I hosted a bridal shower for my firend Laura. I tackled a mountain of paperwork that came with becoming ex-employee. I discovered from a reporter that the nice neighbor across the street is an ex-Catholic Priest and a pedophile. I had my son tested for ADD.

Painted a bedroom. I returned to the Cathedral for the first time since I resigned, and took Communion. I reconnected with my husband after 5 years of growing apart. Attended a race. A Karate tournament. Visited with my father and stepmother. Made about 70 frillion pipe cleaner animals. I lost my mind. Cried my way through an economy bundle of tissues. Got my hair streaked with magenta. Contemplated a tatoo. Prayed.

Wallowed in self-pity even after I kept thinking I was "over it". Spent some serious sessions with a therapist.

Did a bagazillion errands. A small desktop publishing project. Decorated the bedroom. Cooked. Cleaned. Spent countless hours with my son.

And something I didn't do...

Write.

The longest break I've taken in my journalling since I was 13 years old.

I didn't mean to. There were some technical problems. But mostly, there were spirit problems. As in, the spirit wasn't willing.

I would get up and look at the computer or at the notebook on the desk. And I wouldn't start.

Just... wouldn't start.

"Who" and"What" questions wrestling in my mind. My fingers still.

There's been no sunbeam moment that solved anything.

I hope that I'm forgiven for disappearing.

Now that I found my start.

Hello. My name is Elizabeth Blair York.

I used to be a corporate mommy.

This is my journal.