This just in, I will be spending the entire month of March in Australia . . . FOR FREE!!!!!! That's right, I applied with the Rotary club for their annual cross-cultural business trip where they have an employee exchange program of sorts. Every year a country is chosen like Denmark, France, Australia, etc and a group comes from their country to ours and gives presentations and learns about us and then we send a group over to do the same. Well friends, I am in that group, along with one of my best friends, and we are going to rock Australia.
We will be based in Sydney and will get to go around all over the SE quadrant of the country. The only problem is that the Great Barrier Reef is in the NE quadrant. Our mission is to find time to sneak away and high-tail it up the coast, dive the reef and race back for our duties. I feel good about accomplishing this.
Also, we are getting matching Australian tattoos.
AUSTRALIA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Showing posts with label quarter-life crisis. Show all posts
Showing posts with label quarter-life crisis. Show all posts
Lemonade
I have found that when life gives you breastmilk, you should make lemonade.
Case in point, I have to take my stupid pumping crap everywhere I go so I can pump the milk rather than explode. This always makes me feel like a bag-lady. It is hard to get dressy and feel sexy when you are hauling around three bags. However, I recently learned at the movies that there is a benefit to all that.
I am sticking to caffine free soda until I am done breastfeeding and movie theaters have a crap selection of drinks for my delicate palate. I have taken to sneaking my own can of caffine free diet coke in whenever I go. However, on these hot, hot days my cans either sweat all over my purse or are hot when the movie starts and there is a loud enough scene for me to open it.
Solution: I simply take out one of my bottles from the little ice chest bag I carry around to keep my milk cold and replace it with my can. If asked what is in the bag (which I am dying for some poor 17 year-old to do) I will simply whip out my breast milk and explain exactly why I have the bag and what it's contents are. Then saunter down the theater aisle to my seat where I then drink my illegal bounty.
Mwahahahahhahahaha.
Case in point, I have to take my stupid pumping crap everywhere I go so I can pump the milk rather than explode. This always makes me feel like a bag-lady. It is hard to get dressy and feel sexy when you are hauling around three bags. However, I recently learned at the movies that there is a benefit to all that.
I am sticking to caffine free soda until I am done breastfeeding and movie theaters have a crap selection of drinks for my delicate palate. I have taken to sneaking my own can of caffine free diet coke in whenever I go. However, on these hot, hot days my cans either sweat all over my purse or are hot when the movie starts and there is a loud enough scene for me to open it.
Solution: I simply take out one of my bottles from the little ice chest bag I carry around to keep my milk cold and replace it with my can. If asked what is in the bag (which I am dying for some poor 17 year-old to do) I will simply whip out my breast milk and explain exactly why I have the bag and what it's contents are. Then saunter down the theater aisle to my seat where I then drink my illegal bounty.
Mwahahahahhahahaha.
Confession
I am sad to admit that I don't know much about the Suffragettes. I know they got women the vote and were pretty cool ladies, but that is about all.
I watched the documentary Gloria last night which is about Gloria Steinem. It was a very good flick, but it shamed me with all the knowledge I don't have about those times. I know there is a quote by Susan B Anthony, "our job is not to make women grateful but to make them ungrateful." So go me there, I am apparently quite ungrateful about the whole thing since I completely take it for granted.
However, the doc gave me chills and brought tears to my eyes when it went through all the things women did to gain equality. All the words, images, and ridicule that were thrown in their faces and how they continued to power through it all. Amazing. I almost weep for being born after that maelstrom since I will never get to be a part of such an amazing, empowering, and painful movement.
I have vowed to educate myself on both movements so that I may honor their hard work and hopefully better appreciate the freedom I have and see the flaws that still exist. I want to make those ladies proud.
I watched the documentary Gloria last night which is about Gloria Steinem. It was a very good flick, but it shamed me with all the knowledge I don't have about those times. I know there is a quote by Susan B Anthony, "our job is not to make women grateful but to make them ungrateful." So go me there, I am apparently quite ungrateful about the whole thing since I completely take it for granted.
However, the doc gave me chills and brought tears to my eyes when it went through all the things women did to gain equality. All the words, images, and ridicule that were thrown in their faces and how they continued to power through it all. Amazing. I almost weep for being born after that maelstrom since I will never get to be a part of such an amazing, empowering, and painful movement.
I have vowed to educate myself on both movements so that I may honor their hard work and hopefully better appreciate the freedom I have and see the flaws that still exist. I want to make those ladies proud.
Fear a day
I just started a book, My Year with Eleanor, a memoir about a woman who loses her job and decides to follow Eleanor Roosevelt's advice about doing one thing you fear a day. The book follows her trying to live that for a whole year. This is right up my alley. I love beating my own fears and pushing myself as far as I can go.
As I began reading something odd occurred to me. I will never be able to not live that way again. Parenthood has changed everything. When I discovered my pregnancy I decided to view the whole process that way. The labor and birth will of course be scary, as will my reaction to my child, but then I will be a parent and that is done.
Not so. Parenthood is one steady stream of fear. Obviously his first few weeks into the world were scary, that is to be expected. But the fear never abates. Every time I leave him with someone else it is a little scary. Potty training scares me. The entire age range of 2-4 really does scare me. His school years scare me with all the possible bullying, pain that can be caused by other children, his own personal failures and school shootings. Him traveling anywhere without me. Sleepovers. Snow skiing, river rafting, doing anything physical where he could possibly die. When he begins riding his bike away from me by himself. Driving. College. Getting to the point when I can't reasonably expect to have him check in once a day so I know he is alive, like around 30 or so.
The fact that he exists fills my life with fear. Therefore doing something each day that scares me is really not too tall of an order. In the book the woman resorts to swimming with sharks and skydiving. I simply need to put my child in his crib at night and then leave him for eight hours straight with SIDS creepy over his shoulder.
Thank you Eleanor for making this process seem healthy and fulfilling. At least I am going to start thinking of it that way instead of the highly neurotic way I currently have.
As I began reading something odd occurred to me. I will never be able to not live that way again. Parenthood has changed everything. When I discovered my pregnancy I decided to view the whole process that way. The labor and birth will of course be scary, as will my reaction to my child, but then I will be a parent and that is done.
Not so. Parenthood is one steady stream of fear. Obviously his first few weeks into the world were scary, that is to be expected. But the fear never abates. Every time I leave him with someone else it is a little scary. Potty training scares me. The entire age range of 2-4 really does scare me. His school years scare me with all the possible bullying, pain that can be caused by other children, his own personal failures and school shootings. Him traveling anywhere without me. Sleepovers. Snow skiing, river rafting, doing anything physical where he could possibly die. When he begins riding his bike away from me by himself. Driving. College. Getting to the point when I can't reasonably expect to have him check in once a day so I know he is alive, like around 30 or so.
The fact that he exists fills my life with fear. Therefore doing something each day that scares me is really not too tall of an order. In the book the woman resorts to swimming with sharks and skydiving. I simply need to put my child in his crib at night and then leave him for eight hours straight with SIDS creepy over his shoulder.
Thank you Eleanor for making this process seem healthy and fulfilling. At least I am going to start thinking of it that way instead of the highly neurotic way I currently have.
Renaissance
I am having my own personal Renaissance and it feels wonderful.
I think it stems from a new found freedom from constant mommy duties or it could be something completely different but whatever it is I am loving it.
I have started painting again, three completed pictures and one more in mind for sure. I have started reading actual books again. I have also started writing and thinking and dreaming up new projects again. I find I have a new energy about things. I am constantly humming with new ideas for creation. I think I am driving Mr. Neruda a little crazy actually. He is happy about my personal projects but my inspiration does not stop there, it extends to joint projects and he isn’t exactly in the same place as me at the same time as me so . . .
Anyhoo, I am feeling more fulfilled with my time and self value. Gone are the days of working all day, caring for the baby and then vegging in-front of the TV until I exhaustedly fall into bed. Even if my time is spent in a hot bath it is not wasted time. I read a real book in there. I plan my new projects. I listen to new music that I missed .
My emaciated soul is soaking in this Renaissance with glee. Too long have I let myself go without everything that is interesting about life. I haven’t challenged myself in months. However, now I am challenging myself physically, intellectually and emotionally and I feel whole again.
I think it stems from a new found freedom from constant mommy duties or it could be something completely different but whatever it is I am loving it.
I have started painting again, three completed pictures and one more in mind for sure. I have started reading actual books again. I have also started writing and thinking and dreaming up new projects again. I find I have a new energy about things. I am constantly humming with new ideas for creation. I think I am driving Mr. Neruda a little crazy actually. He is happy about my personal projects but my inspiration does not stop there, it extends to joint projects and he isn’t exactly in the same place as me at the same time as me so . . .
Anyhoo, I am feeling more fulfilled with my time and self value. Gone are the days of working all day, caring for the baby and then vegging in-front of the TV until I exhaustedly fall into bed. Even if my time is spent in a hot bath it is not wasted time. I read a real book in there. I plan my new projects. I listen to new music that I missed .
My emaciated soul is soaking in this Renaissance with glee. Too long have I let myself go without everything that is interesting about life. I haven’t challenged myself in months. However, now I am challenging myself physically, intellectually and emotionally and I feel whole again.
Balance
I think I have finally found a balance in my life. After Little Man was born my life in a vacuum began. It is difficult to get a babysitter, sure, but there is more to it. It is hard to want one or to not feel bad about getting one. Being a working mom it is hard to give up time with Little Man when I see him a whopping two hours a day on weekdays. To give up those two hours for something, anything, is really hard. During the weekends it is a little easier to part with him but scheduling anything during the week is horrible whether it be girls’ night out, exercise, major home projects, movie, shopping, etc. It was especially hard right after I went back to work and he began to forget about me by the time Friday rolled around. I just wasn’t in his life much. He was never rude or cried when I picked him up, he just didn’t seem to care or recognize me more than anyone else. And to compare his response to me with his response to Mr. Neruda, giant grins, squeals, etc, it was heartbreaking (though wonderful that he loves his father).
However, he has started a new schedule and I feel like we have now gotten to know one another well enough for him to understand who I am. He likes me as much as his dad now, sometimes more. But what has made a huge impact on my life is his sleeping schedule. He routinely goes down at 7:30-8:30 and sleeps through the night until 6-7:30. It is wonderful! When I come home I have concentrated Hux time until his bedtime. This includes nursing twice, bath time, play time, singing, dancing, reading books, piano and guitar playing, etc. Then I rock him to sleep (hopefully) once and that is the end of that. We bond, we play, we enjoy one another. And then mommy gets woman time. I am still on call, as I will be for the rest of my life, if he is sick or something is amiss. But mostly I am guaranteed uninterrupted non-baby time. Sure sometimes that time includes laundry and dishes and other crap but it also includes hot baths, painting, reading, husband time, exercise, the list is extensive. And I love it.
I love that I can balance the different aspects of my life now. If I want to meet someone for dinner or run an errand I can guilt-free do at 730 or 8. I can go to the Y and swim with no problem once he is down. I can indulge in hobbies other than pumping and baby care (my two main hobbies currently). I can live.
This has rejuvenated my life in so many ways. And I sigh a calming yoga sigh of relief (I can do that now because I can finally take the class and have learned how!).
However, he has started a new schedule and I feel like we have now gotten to know one another well enough for him to understand who I am. He likes me as much as his dad now, sometimes more. But what has made a huge impact on my life is his sleeping schedule. He routinely goes down at 7:30-8:30 and sleeps through the night until 6-7:30. It is wonderful! When I come home I have concentrated Hux time until his bedtime. This includes nursing twice, bath time, play time, singing, dancing, reading books, piano and guitar playing, etc. Then I rock him to sleep (hopefully) once and that is the end of that. We bond, we play, we enjoy one another. And then mommy gets woman time. I am still on call, as I will be for the rest of my life, if he is sick or something is amiss. But mostly I am guaranteed uninterrupted non-baby time. Sure sometimes that time includes laundry and dishes and other crap but it also includes hot baths, painting, reading, husband time, exercise, the list is extensive. And I love it.
I love that I can balance the different aspects of my life now. If I want to meet someone for dinner or run an errand I can guilt-free do at 730 or 8. I can go to the Y and swim with no problem once he is down. I can indulge in hobbies other than pumping and baby care (my two main hobbies currently). I can live.
This has rejuvenated my life in so many ways. And I sigh a calming yoga sigh of relief (I can do that now because I can finally take the class and have learned how!).
I am woman
My birthday is looming, moving me closer and closer to thirty. This really isn't something that bothers me. I don't really fear age, I only fear not owning my age well. I hope to age gracefully gaining wisdom, experiences, and a lack of wrinkles. I think I feel settled adding a year to my life because I feel 28, in a good way. I have a baby, a husband, a career, a second-glorious home, etc. These are things I think I should have at this age and am proud of them. I sometimes don't feel my age and am shocked that I have all these things, however, when I say the number 28 out loud it makes perfect since that this things have accumalated.
And with this age has come a certain amount of wisdom. When I was a kid I hated the fact that I was a girl. The only way I felt I could be happy and successful was to act as boyish as it was possible and look as not girlish as I could. I felt that since my insides were so fun and active, my outsides couldn't be girly or it would ruin everything.
Then, as I got older I felt that I was selling out to adulthood if I dressed girly-ish and that people wouldn't know the real me inside because the outside me would look so different. However, this year I have had a realization. I have slowly started dressing nicely, wearing real make-up, matching my purse to my outfits, etc. And it has made me feel pretty and poised. Poise and presence are things I aspire to in adulthood.
I have realized that I want to look nice. I want to wear pretty, frilly dresses, business suits, make-up, heels, product in my hair, etc. I want to so I will be respected in my career, because I feel better about myself and more mature and because I weirdly want to be feminine for my son so he will be proud of me. But the real eureka moment came when I realized that this new desire in me in no way takes away from my inner self.
Just because I wear a frilly dress one day does not mean that I quit being a first degree black belt in tae kwon do. Walking around in high heels doesn't mean that I never packed parachutes or went sky diving. In fact, I think I am more kick-ass because I can do both. I am still an awesome world traveler since I know that I should choose tennis shoes while catching a train in France, even though I now choose heels for work or a night out.
With my maturity has come an understanding that to be an awesome, happy woman is to except all of my womanhood. That means that I can strive to be pretty, read literature and make "that's what she said jokes" all at the same time. I can cry at movies now without any regret because I understand that crying while female does not mean I am weak but that I now have so much more to love and lose in my life which allows me to empathize with storylines in a way I never could before.
At the age of almost-28 I can now embrace all the caveates of my womanhood and I wouldn't trade one wrinkle or stretchmark for that knowledge.
And with this age has come a certain amount of wisdom. When I was a kid I hated the fact that I was a girl. The only way I felt I could be happy and successful was to act as boyish as it was possible and look as not girlish as I could. I felt that since my insides were so fun and active, my outsides couldn't be girly or it would ruin everything.
Then, as I got older I felt that I was selling out to adulthood if I dressed girly-ish and that people wouldn't know the real me inside because the outside me would look so different. However, this year I have had a realization. I have slowly started dressing nicely, wearing real make-up, matching my purse to my outfits, etc. And it has made me feel pretty and poised. Poise and presence are things I aspire to in adulthood.
I have realized that I want to look nice. I want to wear pretty, frilly dresses, business suits, make-up, heels, product in my hair, etc. I want to so I will be respected in my career, because I feel better about myself and more mature and because I weirdly want to be feminine for my son so he will be proud of me. But the real eureka moment came when I realized that this new desire in me in no way takes away from my inner self.
Just because I wear a frilly dress one day does not mean that I quit being a first degree black belt in tae kwon do. Walking around in high heels doesn't mean that I never packed parachutes or went sky diving. In fact, I think I am more kick-ass because I can do both. I am still an awesome world traveler since I know that I should choose tennis shoes while catching a train in France, even though I now choose heels for work or a night out.
With my maturity has come an understanding that to be an awesome, happy woman is to except all of my womanhood. That means that I can strive to be pretty, read literature and make "that's what she said jokes" all at the same time. I can cry at movies now without any regret because I understand that crying while female does not mean I am weak but that I now have so much more to love and lose in my life which allows me to empathize with storylines in a way I never could before.
At the age of almost-28 I can now embrace all the caveates of my womanhood and I wouldn't trade one wrinkle or stretchmark for that knowledge.
Decadent evening for one
Mr. Neruda and I decided to sell our house and buy a new one while having an infant. The new house came with quite a few quirks, so many so that we are still working on the place over a month after moving in. I will say that Little Man sure doesn't speed things up much.
One of the reasons we chose this house is because of the magnificent bathtub in the master bathroom. I have a thing for baths. I like them very much. However, the faucet needed fixing on the tub and it has been off limits to me . . . until tonight.
Tonight was the night of decadence. And I did it up right. I did every single thing I could think of to pamper myself. I nursed my baby and put him down for the night. That bought me three hours, which I could push to four before needing to pump, so I actually had a small glass of wine. If you are in the camp of thinking nursing moms shouldn't drink at all, so am I. However, I think we should all be happy that I didn't partake of my drink of choice, scotch, and that I stuck to wine. I had the largest brownie I could cut from the pan without actually taking the whole pan with me. I ran the water hot, added lavendar sea salt, and lit a candle.
I read for an entire 45 minutes straight. That is something that has been unheard-of lately. I rubbed my kioske expensive dead sea salt stuff all over me (I love kioske stuff. You can usually fine great deals and they have cool stuff like neat sheets, and hot irons, and ointments.). I then lathered myself with my fancy lotion and chilled out to some Fleet Foxes.
It was a dream. I haven't felt so care free and fancy in a long time. Eventhough I can never stop being a mom and am always on-call, I took a much needed hiatus from my duties and lived a selfish, decadent moment. Amen.
One of the reasons we chose this house is because of the magnificent bathtub in the master bathroom. I have a thing for baths. I like them very much. However, the faucet needed fixing on the tub and it has been off limits to me . . . until tonight.
Tonight was the night of decadence. And I did it up right. I did every single thing I could think of to pamper myself. I nursed my baby and put him down for the night. That bought me three hours, which I could push to four before needing to pump, so I actually had a small glass of wine. If you are in the camp of thinking nursing moms shouldn't drink at all, so am I. However, I think we should all be happy that I didn't partake of my drink of choice, scotch, and that I stuck to wine. I had the largest brownie I could cut from the pan without actually taking the whole pan with me. I ran the water hot, added lavendar sea salt, and lit a candle.
I read for an entire 45 minutes straight. That is something that has been unheard-of lately. I rubbed my kioske expensive dead sea salt stuff all over me (I love kioske stuff. You can usually fine great deals and they have cool stuff like neat sheets, and hot irons, and ointments.). I then lathered myself with my fancy lotion and chilled out to some Fleet Foxes.
It was a dream. I haven't felt so care free and fancy in a long time. Eventhough I can never stop being a mom and am always on-call, I took a much needed hiatus from my duties and lived a selfish, decadent moment. Amen.
Apocalypse soon . . . a plan
For some reason I constantly feel the need to think about and plan for the (must be) coming apocalypse. I have no idea in what form it will take, nuclear, zombie, religious, global warming, something else even worse. Anyways, it will be bad and it will take a plan.
I recently watched Skyline and came to a conclusion for how to survive. I must find the most attractive brunette female with a moral compass, preferably with a love interest and then do whatever she wants and follow her wherever she goes. Most men, especially black, Hispanic, Asian, and Native American should be avoided at all cost, unless they would like to come along and be killed before me by either saving me or by just being in the right place at the right time. I also need to avoid all bitchy, slutty blonde girls. They will last for a while, but won’t make it until the end.
Pretty much, if anything extreme begins to happen I will immediately default to believing I am in a movie and will begin to behave accordingly to be able to make it to the end and survive. I really see no other logical way to approach such a situation.
I recently watched Skyline and came to a conclusion for how to survive. I must find the most attractive brunette female with a moral compass, preferably with a love interest and then do whatever she wants and follow her wherever she goes. Most men, especially black, Hispanic, Asian, and Native American should be avoided at all cost, unless they would like to come along and be killed before me by either saving me or by just being in the right place at the right time. I also need to avoid all bitchy, slutty blonde girls. They will last for a while, but won’t make it until the end.
Pretty much, if anything extreme begins to happen I will immediately default to believing I am in a movie and will begin to behave accordingly to be able to make it to the end and survive. I really see no other logical way to approach such a situation.
Customer Service
So, here’s the thing about my job, I see a lot of people with issues. All kinds of issues: hygienic, rude, intelligence, taste, child-rearing, mental, maturity, etc. My first impulse was to be turned off from these people and get mad at them for behaving the way that they do. However, I then began to notice a trend. Those certain people would come in with their parents, children, siblings, grandparents or spouses and I would notice certain things. Some of the groups had three generations of rude, un-hygienic people. Some children who were hateful and disrespectful would come in a third time with their parents and the parents would treat me worse. I began to see that this had a lot to do with the way people were raised. In my mind, I can’t understand why being poor means you can’t bathe or brush your teeth. I completely understand that wearing nice clothes or clothes that were spotless is out of reach for them, but a toothbrush and toothpaste can be found at the dollar store and lasts for a long time. On the flip side, I don’t understand why being rich means you can’t have manners and treats others respectfully. You would think they would have enough money to feel happy and well-cared for and then turn that on others. However, some things that I value are simply not taught in other homes. Period. When I see three generations of people behaving in the same, unseemly way I begin to wonder if I can really blame the youngest for sure, but really any of them?
It makes me suddenly realize how important my actions and what I teach are. I was raised to never question certain things. We always have hygiene, we say please and thank you, we wear clean clothes, we walk with our shoulders back and smile at others. That isn’t to say that if I am sick on Saturday I may not wake up and brush my teeth or take a shower, I will probably just lay around moaning and demanding service from my husband. But day to day I do these things without question and I assume the majority of others will also.
My goal is to engrain even more things into my child’s head. We never recycled at my house growing up, that is something I learned in college and it is something that I have to constantly think about and get myself to do instead of being lazy. I hope that he sees it constantly and never thinks about it. The same goes for volunteering to help others, gardening, eating healthy and fresh, etc. Mr. Neruda and I have talked about making a list of things we want to make ourselves do religiously so that it will come more naturally for him.
I still find it difficult to deal with those people who ooze with issues. Sometimes the smell of them, or the abusive way they treat me makes it impossible to give them good service and not think ill of them. But I think I need to consider the issue a little more closely and just be thankful I was raised the way I was and consider some of their negative traits as things they don’t try to do, but have just been taught to do.
It makes me suddenly realize how important my actions and what I teach are. I was raised to never question certain things. We always have hygiene, we say please and thank you, we wear clean clothes, we walk with our shoulders back and smile at others. That isn’t to say that if I am sick on Saturday I may not wake up and brush my teeth or take a shower, I will probably just lay around moaning and demanding service from my husband. But day to day I do these things without question and I assume the majority of others will also.
My goal is to engrain even more things into my child’s head. We never recycled at my house growing up, that is something I learned in college and it is something that I have to constantly think about and get myself to do instead of being lazy. I hope that he sees it constantly and never thinks about it. The same goes for volunteering to help others, gardening, eating healthy and fresh, etc. Mr. Neruda and I have talked about making a list of things we want to make ourselves do religiously so that it will come more naturally for him.
I still find it difficult to deal with those people who ooze with issues. Sometimes the smell of them, or the abusive way they treat me makes it impossible to give them good service and not think ill of them. But I think I need to consider the issue a little more closely and just be thankful I was raised the way I was and consider some of their negative traits as things they don’t try to do, but have just been taught to do.
Sexy tots
Here's an article from CNN about how sexy our little girls are getting. I must say I agree with most of what he said. Working in schools and the library I see so many girls dressed inappropriately. Some are with their other inappropriate friends and some are with their inappropriate moms, which explains a lot. But some are with their moms who are dressed like a grandma. Those I really don't understand.
Now that I am a mom, I have started thinking about my dress and where I shop. I am a professional business woman, mom and twenty-something. I have a difficult balance to strike between looking like an idiotic fifty-something out of the 1940s and looking like I belong on a college campus prowling for a lay. Sadly, my size makes it easier to buy the trampy things more than the appropriate things.
I want to look stylish, young and hip, but also appropriate for my business place and to be someone's mom. Though I take care of my body and think it is pretty decent to look at, the fact is that I am not on the prowl for a lay. When I am I put something lacy and indecent on at home and pose seductively until my husband notices (or actually I wear a bathrobe or pjs or something and say, "Hey, you want some?"). So, if I am not prowling, and I would like my son to respect women, then mighten I dress not like a tramp?
I wish a few more moms would take this approach. Or at least tell their 8 year-olds that they are an adult and the dress is different so pick the shorts that go to their knees, the sweats with no writing on the ass, and the shirt that loosely covers their whole torso. I hate feeling like a skeezy person because I glance at an elementary student and see club clothes that scream fuck me.
Now that I am a mom, I have started thinking about my dress and where I shop. I am a professional business woman, mom and twenty-something. I have a difficult balance to strike between looking like an idiotic fifty-something out of the 1940s and looking like I belong on a college campus prowling for a lay. Sadly, my size makes it easier to buy the trampy things more than the appropriate things.
I want to look stylish, young and hip, but also appropriate for my business place and to be someone's mom. Though I take care of my body and think it is pretty decent to look at, the fact is that I am not on the prowl for a lay. When I am I put something lacy and indecent on at home and pose seductively until my husband notices (or actually I wear a bathrobe or pjs or something and say, "Hey, you want some?"). So, if I am not prowling, and I would like my son to respect women, then mighten I dress not like a tramp?
I wish a few more moms would take this approach. Or at least tell their 8 year-olds that they are an adult and the dress is different so pick the shorts that go to their knees, the sweats with no writing on the ass, and the shirt that loosely covers their whole torso. I hate feeling like a skeezy person because I glance at an elementary student and see club clothes that scream fuck me.
Breaking news
This just in: The Neruda's first house just sold. One Neruda is quoted as saying about the sale, "We are just ecstatic. It felt like a long time coming, but now that it is finally here . . . well, surreal is how I would describe it. It is just fabulous. Oh, I think I'm going to cry .. . . (blows nose)."
The closing date is May 25th, the other house is in talks for purchase now, and any friends and family who would like to help them move will be welcomed by the happy family.
The closing date is May 25th, the other house is in talks for purchase now, and any friends and family who would like to help them move will be welcomed by the happy family.
All grown-up
It has finally happened. I am a full-grown, all-the-time adult. For one, I haven't felt young for a while now but I also haven't felt adult-like, just somewhere in the middle at a transitional spot.
But I now feel like I have transitioned. Yesterday I went to my first school visit of the Summer Reading Program season. It was an all day event where I spoke to a group of kids every class period. Therefore, I was faced with a lot of chitchat time with the school media specialists and teachers. That part of the job normally makes me very nervous and is pretty miserable for me. I hate needing to carry conversations with people I don't know. But yesterday I had zero problems.
Topics we spoke about:
* Selling a house
* Buying a house
* Realators in general and whether they are needed
* Home repair
* Shuttling children around to their events
* Breastfeeding
* Babies
* Saving money to travel for family vacations
* Airplane crashes
* Insurance
* Immaturity of Freshman
* Fellow librarians that we all know in our business network
* Job hunting
* Good neighborhoods and schools for children
* Problem with finding a Branch Manager
* Problem with awful co-workers
I know there were more things and I know none of them had anything to do with my love of Buffy the Vampire Slayer or my favorite new band. The weirdest part about this is that I had a lot to contribute to these conversations and actually became quite involved in them. I even gave advise to one of the ladies about pumping at work and which bottles and nipples were best for breastfeeding babies because her daughter had just had a baby and was about to return to work while breastfeeding.
I don't know what has become of me. I don't really mind it though. I really am interested in all these new topics and they all take up a large part of my mind right now.
However, I am still me. I just painted my toenails purple and am finally watching the TV show Battlestar Galatica. Under my professional clothes, spit-up stains, real jewelry, finacial woes, major life choices, etc is still the nugget of me that has been there since birth.
I wonder what Little Man's nugget is like?
But I now feel like I have transitioned. Yesterday I went to my first school visit of the Summer Reading Program season. It was an all day event where I spoke to a group of kids every class period. Therefore, I was faced with a lot of chitchat time with the school media specialists and teachers. That part of the job normally makes me very nervous and is pretty miserable for me. I hate needing to carry conversations with people I don't know. But yesterday I had zero problems.
Topics we spoke about:
* Selling a house
* Buying a house
* Realators in general and whether they are needed
* Home repair
* Shuttling children around to their events
* Breastfeeding
* Babies
* Saving money to travel for family vacations
* Airplane crashes
* Insurance
* Immaturity of Freshman
* Fellow librarians that we all know in our business network
* Job hunting
* Good neighborhoods and schools for children
* Problem with finding a Branch Manager
* Problem with awful co-workers
I know there were more things and I know none of them had anything to do with my love of Buffy the Vampire Slayer or my favorite new band. The weirdest part about this is that I had a lot to contribute to these conversations and actually became quite involved in them. I even gave advise to one of the ladies about pumping at work and which bottles and nipples were best for breastfeeding babies because her daughter had just had a baby and was about to return to work while breastfeeding.
I don't know what has become of me. I don't really mind it though. I really am interested in all these new topics and they all take up a large part of my mind right now.
However, I am still me. I just painted my toenails purple and am finally watching the TV show Battlestar Galatica. Under my professional clothes, spit-up stains, real jewelry, finacial woes, major life choices, etc is still the nugget of me that has been there since birth.
I wonder what Little Man's nugget is like?
1st Race, for real this time
Today marked a very special occasion. One that I am thrilled about and hope is the beginning of something beautiful.
Little Man's first race!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Technically, I ran the Koman Run when I was 6 months pregnant and did count that as his first race, but this time he was breathing oxygen and wearing a bib number and everything so this is probably his first one. I actually made his bib myself because I didn't think it fair for him to not have one in his first race. And because I thought it was hilarious and adorable.
It was beautiful. The weather was great, we were all in good spirits, and I ran into my boss as she was doing the 5K. Little Man could not have been a better sport. We got there, picked up our packets and all, breastfed (on a windy day outside which was a challenge) and then lined up for the race. By the time we were lined up he had fallen asleep. However, it turns out that he is one heck of a trainer. I had to stop twice to walk and every time I did he began to stir and stretch and I wasn't sure how well he would do awake so off I would go running again. Then we end with another awkward feeding session and a blow out diaper. However, through every single thing he was all smiles and contentment. He just let us manipulate him anyway we wanted and just went with the flow. As long as milk was in his tummy he was good to go. I just love him and his laid back nature. He is fabulous!
In my defense to walking, this was my first real running exertion since labor, or actually a few months before that. I have only been allowed to exercise for 3 weeks now and had a c-section, so I feel I did pretty well. I did finish third, which was annoying since I was in the Stroller Derby but the two in front both had 1 and 2 year olds which means they have been running a lot longer than myself.
One highlight of the afternoon was at the end of the run when I was racing uphill and feeling pretty weak. A man ran past me and shouted out, "Way to run, Mom. Good job!" I am not sure why but that made me feel amazing. It was a kind of validation for where I am in my life right now and for how uphill my running regimen really is. This is not the easiest thing to come back from, though it is possible. It is just nice to have other runners acknowledging that I am not this puny because I am weak and pathetic, but because my abs were cut through and I carried a whole nother person inside me for 9 months.
Little Man's first race!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Technically, I ran the Koman Run when I was 6 months pregnant and did count that as his first race, but this time he was breathing oxygen and wearing a bib number and everything so this is probably his first one. I actually made his bib myself because I didn't think it fair for him to not have one in his first race. And because I thought it was hilarious and adorable.
It was beautiful. The weather was great, we were all in good spirits, and I ran into my boss as she was doing the 5K. Little Man could not have been a better sport. We got there, picked up our packets and all, breastfed (on a windy day outside which was a challenge) and then lined up for the race. By the time we were lined up he had fallen asleep. However, it turns out that he is one heck of a trainer. I had to stop twice to walk and every time I did he began to stir and stretch and I wasn't sure how well he would do awake so off I would go running again. Then we end with another awkward feeding session and a blow out diaper. However, through every single thing he was all smiles and contentment. He just let us manipulate him anyway we wanted and just went with the flow. As long as milk was in his tummy he was good to go. I just love him and his laid back nature. He is fabulous!
In my defense to walking, this was my first real running exertion since labor, or actually a few months before that. I have only been allowed to exercise for 3 weeks now and had a c-section, so I feel I did pretty well. I did finish third, which was annoying since I was in the Stroller Derby but the two in front both had 1 and 2 year olds which means they have been running a lot longer than myself.
One highlight of the afternoon was at the end of the run when I was racing uphill and feeling pretty weak. A man ran past me and shouted out, "Way to run, Mom. Good job!" I am not sure why but that made me feel amazing. It was a kind of validation for where I am in my life right now and for how uphill my running regimen really is. This is not the easiest thing to come back from, though it is possible. It is just nice to have other runners acknowledging that I am not this puny because I am weak and pathetic, but because my abs were cut through and I carried a whole nother person inside me for 9 months.
Emotional mommy
I have started reading Kelly Oxford's blog. She has quite a few hilarious things to read. However, I was struck by one of the things she said about crying.
When I was a kid I’d see my Mom crying during a movie and I’d think,
“How embarrassing. She has issues!”
In retrospect, I was simply lacking life experience, so the movie couldn’t draw any emotion out of me.
Example: Salinger and I watched “My Sister’s Keeper”
I went to the bathroom four times to keep her from seeing me crying, but she didn’t cry at all… because she doesn’t understand pain or loss or girls’ movies… yet.
That was absolutely me when I was younger, and is really still me now. However, since I have begun getting so weepy I have started getting terrified of becoming That woman. Ugh. But after reading that blog post I started thinking about it differently. I apparently have A LOT to draw from now.
When I was a kid I’d see my Mom crying during a movie and I’d think,
“How embarrassing. She has issues!”
In retrospect, I was simply lacking life experience, so the movie couldn’t draw any emotion out of me.
Example: Salinger and I watched “My Sister’s Keeper”
I went to the bathroom four times to keep her from seeing me crying, but she didn’t cry at all… because she doesn’t understand pain or loss or girls’ movies… yet.
That was absolutely me when I was younger, and is really still me now. However, since I have begun getting so weepy I have started getting terrified of becoming That woman. Ugh. But after reading that blog post I started thinking about it differently. I apparently have A LOT to draw from now.
Huxley, meet Atwood
Thursday night, the fam and I loaded up in the car and went to Chickasha to see Margaret Atwood speak at USAO. For one thing, Mr. Neruda and I love Atwood a lot. Second, we wanted to start Little Man out early with literature and author visits.
Overall it was fun. She was incredibly monotoned yet still was able to pull off a ton of laughs. I also really enjoyed how she handled the questions at the end. She had no trouble making people feel like morons when they asked stupid questions, which I really enjoyed watching. Because a lot of those questions were REALLY stupid and basically well organized ways of trying to show off.
Little Man didn't enjoy it as much as I had hoped he would. He was a bit fussy and I spent the first part pacing back and forth in the back, patting his back. Then he decided he wanted a meal so I breast fed him in the back. I really don't know what is socially acceptable but I do know that I didn't want to miss her talk after driving all that way just because he was hungry. Oh well.
I wanted to capture the moment since Little Man was in his cute, collegiate cardigan. After the talk, she sat at the front and signed books. There was no way we wanted to be in that big, long line. So instead we ran up front and captured the moment.
If you will notice, she has no idea that we are taking the picture. We ran up front, squatted in front of her quickly and snapped the pic. We were laughed at by many in the audience. Whether it was our ridiculousness or Little Man's adorableness I don't know.
Here is a better look at his cardigan and adorableness.
Overall it was fun. She was incredibly monotoned yet still was able to pull off a ton of laughs. I also really enjoyed how she handled the questions at the end. She had no trouble making people feel like morons when they asked stupid questions, which I really enjoyed watching. Because a lot of those questions were REALLY stupid and basically well organized ways of trying to show off.
Little Man didn't enjoy it as much as I had hoped he would. He was a bit fussy and I spent the first part pacing back and forth in the back, patting his back. Then he decided he wanted a meal so I breast fed him in the back. I really don't know what is socially acceptable but I do know that I didn't want to miss her talk after driving all that way just because he was hungry. Oh well.
I wanted to capture the moment since Little Man was in his cute, collegiate cardigan. After the talk, she sat at the front and signed books. There was no way we wanted to be in that big, long line. So instead we ran up front and captured the moment.
If you will notice, she has no idea that we are taking the picture. We ran up front, squatted in front of her quickly and snapped the pic. We were laughed at by many in the audience. Whether it was our ridiculousness or Little Man's adorableness I don't know.
Here is a better look at his cardigan and adorableness.
Oyi
So, the Brontes are now so big that I can not cross my arms like a normal person. I have to either cross them really high and keep them above the Brontes, which makes me look like a petulant child. Or I can cross them really low under my new enormous ladies where my arms don't actually cross as much as overlap a little, which makes me look like a scared and awkward virgin.
Neither are pleasing which sucks because I use to cross my arms a lot.
The good news is my naming them seems to be working well and made this post a lot more fun to write!
Neither are pleasing which sucks because I use to cross my arms a lot.
The good news is my naming them seems to be working well and made this post a lot more fun to write!
The Brontes
I find myself discussing my breasts a lot these days. Mostly with my son and husband but also with others who wish to know how the breast feeding is going and who wish to commiserate about their own motherhood experiences. It is because of this that I felt they needed names so that it would be more fun to talk about them as well as their being slightly in code when being spoken about in public.
I at first thought Batman and Robin would be fun because I love them and wanted my breasts to be able to fight crime, as alluded to in a previous post. However, I then came to the conclusion that they ought to be female. It just makes since. So then I considered Catwoman and Batgirl or something heroic, but they just don't have the same combo effect that B & R do. Thelma and Louise were top contenders since they are spunky and attractive. However, they seem such an obvious choice for something like this and I didn't want my boobs to be obvious and mundane.
Then it came to me, The Brontes. Emily and Charlotte are a lovely choice. They were spunky, literate, a natural combo and look how attractive. Why shouldn't my boobs be represented by attractive and kind of successful women (meaning during their own time, not in general)?
So there you have it folks, my breasts will hence forth be referred to as The Brontes, respectively.
I at first thought Batman and Robin would be fun because I love them and wanted my breasts to be able to fight crime, as alluded to in a previous post. However, I then came to the conclusion that they ought to be female. It just makes since. So then I considered Catwoman and Batgirl or something heroic, but they just don't have the same combo effect that B & R do. Thelma and Louise were top contenders since they are spunky and attractive. However, they seem such an obvious choice for something like this and I didn't want my boobs to be obvious and mundane.
Then it came to me, The Brontes. Emily and Charlotte are a lovely choice. They were spunky, literate, a natural combo and look how attractive. Why shouldn't my boobs be represented by attractive and kind of successful women (meaning during their own time, not in general)?
So there you have it folks, my breasts will hence forth be referred to as The Brontes, respectively.
Breast feeding adventures
Well, I had my first public breast feeding event. I have fed him outside of the house on multiple occasions before this, we were just always in the car. The car can be awkward enough, especially on the OU campus with college guys walking past the window peeking in, but it was nothing like being in a store.
Some friends of ours, the amazing Fortneys, were playing at Full Circle on Friday night. We decided to make it Little Man's first concert and went. Inevitably, Little Man needed one of his many hobbit meals in the middle of the fun.
There was no way I was taking my child into the 50 Penn Place bathroom to eat. For a hoity-toity establishment their bathroom is the most disgusting thing known to man. I also didn't want to just leave the building so I decided to find a nice, out-of-way spot in the store and just feed him.
Now I remembered there being quite a few chairs really poked into secluded corners in that store. And my memory turned out to be quite faulty. There are some chairs in "corners" but none are that secluded. Then I thought I would just use the chair in the kid's book room because, hey, even if I am a little in the open people who come into that room shouldn't mind my actions. However, that chair is directly in front of the check-out counter and there were two employees just hanging out there. I felt that was awkward.
Now, as I cruised around the store looking for the prime nursing location I hadn't really realized just how many times I had lapped the store. Apparently it was enough to make me seem like a shop lifter because on my third time past one of the store employees started up a weirdly forced yet tenacious conversation. I mostly just wanted to get away from him and quit talking about whatever the hell he was trying to talk to me about since it was weird and I felt pretty awkward about what I was trying to do anyways, but I also didn't want my fleeing to look more questionable. It also didn't help that I had a book shoved into my purse that was a library copy, but the telling bar code was not overly apparent and it probably looked dodgy.
I finally decided on a bench in the back that faced the back wall in the biography and history section. Once we got all settled an older gentleman came walking around the corner angling towards the history area. He took one look at us, or really just me with a bright green blanket draped across me, and stutter stepped back eventually just backing out of the room all together. I wondered about whether I scared him or he just was in the wrong place until he hesitantly peaked around the corner nonchalantly and then disappeared a couple times before just walking back in with his eyes cast downward until he got right in front of the book shelves he wanted. This made me feel a little bad.
Little Man got half done and needed a diaper change. So we loaded our stuff up and went back to the cafe area where the fun was. I had felt pretty left out and a little bad that I had been thought a thief and made a man incredibly uncomfortable. So after Little Man got his pants changed and passed around a little I decided to stay amongst the fun and just nurse him on the floor slightly under a table. Though I did get to listen to music more that way everyone kept their eyes off of me, no one talked with me, and Mr. Neruda actually got up and moved away from me (to film something a table over, but it was still bad timing). I don't blame anyone. It is an extremely awkward thing and it seems a lot of people assume I don't want to be looked at as much as they don't want to look.
It seems that no matter the circumstances, nursing is always going to be a lonely job. It's sad because I don't want to make people uncomfortable but I also don't always like to hide myself in a back room or corner and miss out on all the fun. I mean, I am not out to show off my bosom to everyone or anything. I make sure to completely cover myself. However, the nature of the action is that it makes everyone think about my boobs which is fairly odd.
I am not sure there is a solution to this whole thing. I think I just have a long 10 months ahead of me.
Some friends of ours, the amazing Fortneys, were playing at Full Circle on Friday night. We decided to make it Little Man's first concert and went. Inevitably, Little Man needed one of his many hobbit meals in the middle of the fun.
There was no way I was taking my child into the 50 Penn Place bathroom to eat. For a hoity-toity establishment their bathroom is the most disgusting thing known to man. I also didn't want to just leave the building so I decided to find a nice, out-of-way spot in the store and just feed him.
Now I remembered there being quite a few chairs really poked into secluded corners in that store. And my memory turned out to be quite faulty. There are some chairs in "corners" but none are that secluded. Then I thought I would just use the chair in the kid's book room because, hey, even if I am a little in the open people who come into that room shouldn't mind my actions. However, that chair is directly in front of the check-out counter and there were two employees just hanging out there. I felt that was awkward.
Now, as I cruised around the store looking for the prime nursing location I hadn't really realized just how many times I had lapped the store. Apparently it was enough to make me seem like a shop lifter because on my third time past one of the store employees started up a weirdly forced yet tenacious conversation. I mostly just wanted to get away from him and quit talking about whatever the hell he was trying to talk to me about since it was weird and I felt pretty awkward about what I was trying to do anyways, but I also didn't want my fleeing to look more questionable. It also didn't help that I had a book shoved into my purse that was a library copy, but the telling bar code was not overly apparent and it probably looked dodgy.
I finally decided on a bench in the back that faced the back wall in the biography and history section. Once we got all settled an older gentleman came walking around the corner angling towards the history area. He took one look at us, or really just me with a bright green blanket draped across me, and stutter stepped back eventually just backing out of the room all together. I wondered about whether I scared him or he just was in the wrong place until he hesitantly peaked around the corner nonchalantly and then disappeared a couple times before just walking back in with his eyes cast downward until he got right in front of the book shelves he wanted. This made me feel a little bad.
Little Man got half done and needed a diaper change. So we loaded our stuff up and went back to the cafe area where the fun was. I had felt pretty left out and a little bad that I had been thought a thief and made a man incredibly uncomfortable. So after Little Man got his pants changed and passed around a little I decided to stay amongst the fun and just nurse him on the floor slightly under a table. Though I did get to listen to music more that way everyone kept their eyes off of me, no one talked with me, and Mr. Neruda actually got up and moved away from me (to film something a table over, but it was still bad timing). I don't blame anyone. It is an extremely awkward thing and it seems a lot of people assume I don't want to be looked at as much as they don't want to look.
It seems that no matter the circumstances, nursing is always going to be a lonely job. It's sad because I don't want to make people uncomfortable but I also don't always like to hide myself in a back room or corner and miss out on all the fun. I mean, I am not out to show off my bosom to everyone or anything. I make sure to completely cover myself. However, the nature of the action is that it makes everyone think about my boobs which is fairly odd.
I am not sure there is a solution to this whole thing. I think I just have a long 10 months ahead of me.
Mental Post-partum Me
Wow did I have the oddest reaction to a book recently. I am reading The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks and was quite surprised by the turn it took. I obviously knew it was the background of the woman whose cells live on and on so science can have its way with them. I didn’t know that it would follow the horrible turn her children’s lives took. Frankly, there is A LOT of abuse going on.
Now here is where the weirdness took place. I have read a lot of books that dealt with abuse and violence and all kinds of dodgy stuff. Hell, serial killer books use to be my favorite. That was, apparently, before I had a baby. See, I read and watched things like that while pregnant and it had no effect on me. But when I was reading a scene in this book *spoiler alert* where her daughter is constantly molested and raped by her uncle and one of her sons is abused a la A Child Called It I about went ape shit. I was listening to the audio in my car and about ripped the steering wheel off my dash. I am pretty sure my blood pressure went through the roof and I was shaking. I just kept thinking, just try that on my son I dare you, just try it! I mean, I was so upset for the characters in the story, especially since it is all true, but I also couldn’t stop relating it to my own son.
Now this worries me because I did enjoy on a certain level reading and watching disturbing things like that, especially true stories, before my child arrived. I am now concerned that I will never be able to read or watch them again. I don’t enjoy crying so I don’t want to read and watch them to cry and be an incredibly stereotypical mother, but I also don’t want to turn into a person who ignores all bad in the world because it hurts so much. I truly hope that this is still a hormonal problem with me and that once all that is out of my system, especially after I’m done breast feeding, I will be normal again. However, I fear mental damage was done along with the physical damage and that I will never be Me again, only the shell of Me as Post-partum Me.
Suck.
Now here is where the weirdness took place. I have read a lot of books that dealt with abuse and violence and all kinds of dodgy stuff. Hell, serial killer books use to be my favorite. That was, apparently, before I had a baby. See, I read and watched things like that while pregnant and it had no effect on me. But when I was reading a scene in this book *spoiler alert* where her daughter is constantly molested and raped by her uncle and one of her sons is abused a la A Child Called It I about went ape shit. I was listening to the audio in my car and about ripped the steering wheel off my dash. I am pretty sure my blood pressure went through the roof and I was shaking. I just kept thinking, just try that on my son I dare you, just try it! I mean, I was so upset for the characters in the story, especially since it is all true, but I also couldn’t stop relating it to my own son.
Now this worries me because I did enjoy on a certain level reading and watching disturbing things like that, especially true stories, before my child arrived. I am now concerned that I will never be able to read or watch them again. I don’t enjoy crying so I don’t want to read and watch them to cry and be an incredibly stereotypical mother, but I also don’t want to turn into a person who ignores all bad in the world because it hurts so much. I truly hope that this is still a hormonal problem with me and that once all that is out of my system, especially after I’m done breast feeding, I will be normal again. However, I fear mental damage was done along with the physical damage and that I will never be Me again, only the shell of Me as Post-partum Me.
Suck.
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