I have recently embarked on a mission to find a maternity swim suit. I am during non-pregnancy times what one would consider "well endowed", so you can imagine what the girls look like as they prepare to enter the third trimester.
Seeing as though my only saving grace this summer is the zero gravity feeling a pool provides, my plan is to spend as much time in one as possible. At first I was thinking of just heading to my nearest fabric store and purchasing enough spandex to cover my car and then just wrapping it around myself.
Since then, I've decided that perhaps purchasing an actual maternity bathing suit is the way to go.
I have only a few requirements.
First and foremost is that all naughty bits must be adequately covered. In addition to the obvious, you can add belly to this category. (Which, as a 35 year old woman, is quite obvious to me, but apparently there are a lot of pregnant women who don't share this thought.)
I would like some sort of structure...I want the body parts that belong towards the north part of my body to remain north and not sag so low they look like they are resting on my stomach.
I would also prefer the bottom of the suit to include some sort of skirt or shorts.
BLACK. BLACK. BLACK. BLACK. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD MAKE IT BLACK.
No horizontal stripes. The fact that I have to include this pisses me off to no end. I don't wear horizontal stripes in my non-pregnant, thinnest days, so why in the land of all that is good and holy do maternity manufacturers produce clothing with horizontal stripes? It's like their mocking us.
That's it. I'll keep you posted.
Showing posts with label Things That I Don't Like. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Things That I Don't Like. Show all posts
5/23/12
5/18/12
Happy?
I'm not sure how I feel about being home. I am happy that I don't have to get up at the crack every morning and leave my house sometimes before my daughter even wakes up, but it's taking me some time to be okay with that. Believe me, not working is way better than working. But for someone who's worked consistently for 14 years, save for 10 weeks around Leah's birth, it's strange that I'm not working.
1-I feel lazy. I guess because I am such a big proponent for working. I see people complaining about not having money or not feeling important, and I'm like, Duh, then get a job. Problem solved. I don't know why I judge value by whether one works or not, but for some reason I feel like I'm lazy or less of a person right now because I'm not working. And not actively looking for work. And have pretty much made up my mind that I won't be working again until November.
2-I have no idea what I'm supposed to be doing. Clearly I shouldn't have free time, right? I should pack my days with laundry, dusting, and vacuuming, and then I should pack my afternoons with bike rides, park visits, and playdates, and I should know what I'm making for dinner at 9 a.m. so that the meat can defrost, and I should always be in a good mood because hey, the stress of working is now gone, and, well, is this right? Am I on the right track here? Because if so, then staying home is sorta just as stressful as not staying home. Clearly, I've missed something...huh?
3-I am very concerned about us paying our bills for the next five months. We've never lived without my salary, and I'm pretty much putting our near future in Greg's hands and I am an enormous control freak. So, this is very hard. When I am bringing home the money, I know how much is coming in and when and where it's going to go. And now there's significantly less than that, and I am nervous.
4-If there is not enough money to pay the bills, we are pretty much SOL since there's a very good chance that I couldn't even get a job if I wanted one since I'm 6.5 months pregnant. So, there's that.
Ok, so other than that, I think I like being home. I already feel a lot more laid back and I can already see a difference in my relationship with Leah. I am looking forward to the summer and the time we'll be together.
And I'm feeling a lot more grateful towards Greg. I know not every woman has this opportunity, and I would like to really take advantage of it.
So, for now, I'm using May to get the baby's room ready, declutter my house, and clean every nook and cranny, since Leah's still in school full time.
And as for the rest of the summer? Who knows...
1-I feel lazy. I guess because I am such a big proponent for working. I see people complaining about not having money or not feeling important, and I'm like, Duh, then get a job. Problem solved. I don't know why I judge value by whether one works or not, but for some reason I feel like I'm lazy or less of a person right now because I'm not working. And not actively looking for work. And have pretty much made up my mind that I won't be working again until November.
2-I have no idea what I'm supposed to be doing. Clearly I shouldn't have free time, right? I should pack my days with laundry, dusting, and vacuuming, and then I should pack my afternoons with bike rides, park visits, and playdates, and I should know what I'm making for dinner at 9 a.m. so that the meat can defrost, and I should always be in a good mood because hey, the stress of working is now gone, and, well, is this right? Am I on the right track here? Because if so, then staying home is sorta just as stressful as not staying home. Clearly, I've missed something...huh?
3-I am very concerned about us paying our bills for the next five months. We've never lived without my salary, and I'm pretty much putting our near future in Greg's hands and I am an enormous control freak. So, this is very hard. When I am bringing home the money, I know how much is coming in and when and where it's going to go. And now there's significantly less than that, and I am nervous.
4-If there is not enough money to pay the bills, we are pretty much SOL since there's a very good chance that I couldn't even get a job if I wanted one since I'm 6.5 months pregnant. So, there's that.
Ok, so other than that, I think I like being home. I already feel a lot more laid back and I can already see a difference in my relationship with Leah. I am looking forward to the summer and the time we'll be together.
And I'm feeling a lot more grateful towards Greg. I know not every woman has this opportunity, and I would like to really take advantage of it.
So, for now, I'm using May to get the baby's room ready, declutter my house, and clean every nook and cranny, since Leah's still in school full time.
And as for the rest of the summer? Who knows...
8/8/11
Age of Non-Innocence
Dear Age Three,
You are cordially invited to kiss my ass.
I cannot believe how freaking crazy you are turning out to be; how I want to kiss you with tongue one minute and taser you the next.
You now know my name is not just Mommy; you heard people calling me Dana, and you figured it out. So now YOU call me Dana.
You ask me if I'm kidding you (no), if I'm serious (yes), if I'm for real (yes), and if you can have candy (no).
You don't push my buttons, you rip each and every one out of my body with your cold sharp nails and then you stomp on them, beat them with a stick, set them on fire and then smoke the ashes. My buttons are shot.
You know everything, and it bothers you that I don't always agree. {Editor's note: This one might be my fault. I have a psych degree with a self imposed focus on child psychology. Back in the 90s we were taught to treat the child like a real person, rife with choices. Allowing your child to decide which shirt she was going to wear to pre-school would help her to say no to drugs as a teenager. (?? whatevs) As a result, Leah's grown up thinking she's an equal part in this family--someone who has the same say in all family decisions. Au contraire, Carol Ann, this ismy mine and your father's house and we follow my our rules, and I am we are in charge and I we make the decisions.}
Oh, Age Three, you are a sexy beast. With your funny little conversations and your cute little faces. And your propensity to throw your backpack at me and hit me when the mood strikes. You are wonderful with kids that are younger than you, acting like an old grandmother who plops you on her lap and pinches your cheeks. And you love to hang with the older cool kids, leaning up against the garage smoking and cussing.
You are pushing your boundaries right off the map and I am constantly re-etching the line in the sand. I fight back and I lose. I let you walk over me and I lose. I attempt to stand up to you and we are two chaps from the wild west at a showdown in the Alamo. Oh, and I always lose.
You are a steamroller in a tutu--a Zamboni in lip gloss. I grow four grays each time your teachers tell me you're an angel. Most days I can't wait to get home to see you and most Mondays I skip to work whistling a tune.
Age Three, you drive me to drink. And I am trying to drink you in. I am told that you're the toughest, until she's a tween, which has been likened to age three with hormones.
I was told that parenthood was hard, and it would be the toughest road I've ever traveled. And I arrogantly nodded my head and rolled my eyes and thought there is no way that something that is a half my height and like a sixth of my weight will even be a blip on my life-radar, let alone uproot my life and leave me a confused, befuddled, frustrated shell of my former life.
And yet, here I am. Eating some humble pie. Baffled at just how difficult parenthood is. How the one thing that drives me up the wall and out of my skull is the one thing I'd give my life for without a second thought in a hot flat second.
Up Yours,
Dana
.
You are cordially invited to kiss my ass.
I cannot believe how freaking crazy you are turning out to be; how I want to kiss you with tongue one minute and taser you the next.
You now know my name is not just Mommy; you heard people calling me Dana, and you figured it out. So now YOU call me Dana.
You ask me if I'm kidding you (no), if I'm serious (yes), if I'm for real (yes), and if you can have candy (no).
You don't push my buttons, you rip each and every one out of my body with your cold sharp nails and then you stomp on them, beat them with a stick, set them on fire and then smoke the ashes. My buttons are shot.
You know everything, and it bothers you that I don't always agree. {Editor's note: This one might be my fault. I have a psych degree with a self imposed focus on child psychology. Back in the 90s we were taught to treat the child like a real person, rife with choices. Allowing your child to decide which shirt she was going to wear to pre-school would help her to say no to drugs as a teenager. (?? whatevs) As a result, Leah's grown up thinking she's an equal part in this family--someone who has the same say in all family decisions. Au contraire, Carol Ann, this is
Oh, Age Three, you are a sexy beast. With your funny little conversations and your cute little faces. And your propensity to throw your backpack at me and hit me when the mood strikes. You are wonderful with kids that are younger than you, acting like an old grandmother who plops you on her lap and pinches your cheeks. And you love to hang with the older cool kids, leaning up against the garage smoking and cussing.
You are pushing your boundaries right off the map and I am constantly re-etching the line in the sand. I fight back and I lose. I let you walk over me and I lose. I attempt to stand up to you and we are two chaps from the wild west at a showdown in the Alamo. Oh, and I always lose.
You are a steamroller in a tutu--a Zamboni in lip gloss. I grow four grays each time your teachers tell me you're an angel. Most days I can't wait to get home to see you and most Mondays I skip to work whistling a tune.
Age Three, you drive me to drink. And I am trying to drink you in. I am told that you're the toughest, until she's a tween, which has been likened to age three with hormones.
I was told that parenthood was hard, and it would be the toughest road I've ever traveled. And I arrogantly nodded my head and rolled my eyes and thought there is no way that something that is a half my height and like a sixth of my weight will even be a blip on my life-radar, let alone uproot my life and leave me a confused, befuddled, frustrated shell of my former life.
And yet, here I am. Eating some humble pie. Baffled at just how difficult parenthood is. How the one thing that drives me up the wall and out of my skull is the one thing I'd give my life for without a second thought in a hot flat second.
Up Yours,
Dana
.
6/29/11
Listen
Please listen to me, you need to listen to me.
No whining, no throwing, no crying,
I'm tired and I have a migraine,
and you need to listen the hell to me.
When I ask you to clean up your room,
or to come and set the table.
All I want you to do, is to eventually stop what you're doing,
and just listen the hell to me.
Your father and I have a feeling,
you might be an alien.
You scream for no reason and freak out all the time.
Oh, and you never listen the hell to me.
I like that you make your bed,
and it's great that you can dress yourself.
Now stop hitting the dog with your shoe,
and just listen the hell to me.
.
6/7/11
No Reason
Things are good. So good. Yet I am still not right.
There are milestones and careers and success stories and new schools.
There are open windows and open doors.
There are anticipations, excitements, and things to look forward to. But I have started reaching for the phone to call her again.
I began running again. Running makes me think of my mom. Dieting, eating well, being healthy, being unhealthy, seeing grandmas, reading about people dying in their 50s, pregnant women, shopping, cleaning, lipstick, the vacuum, and the Gin Blossoms. Everything. It’s disgusting, really.
My anxiety is out of control. I can’t stop thinking about how Leah is probably dying every time I’m not with her.
Songs that have nothing to do with moms that have died make me think of my mom that died. I mean, songs that are clearly about other things I think were written with me in mind.
It’s just a minor setback, and I’m sure I’ll come out of it, but it takes a lot out of me and it wears me down.
God, I hope I lose weight tonight at Weight Watchers.*
*My priorities are warped.
.
There are milestones and careers and success stories and new schools.
There are open windows and open doors.
There are anticipations, excitements, and things to look forward to. But I have started reaching for the phone to call her again.
I began running again. Running makes me think of my mom. Dieting, eating well, being healthy, being unhealthy, seeing grandmas, reading about people dying in their 50s, pregnant women, shopping, cleaning, lipstick, the vacuum, and the Gin Blossoms. Everything. It’s disgusting, really.
My anxiety is out of control. I can’t stop thinking about how Leah is probably dying every time I’m not with her.
Songs that have nothing to do with moms that have died make me think of my mom that died. I mean, songs that are clearly about other things I think were written with me in mind.
Never mind, I’ll find someone like you
I wish nothing but the best for you too
Don’t forget me I beg, I remember you said,
Sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead.
~Adele
God, I hope I lose weight tonight at Weight Watchers.*
*My priorities are warped.
.
5/18/11
Quick Update
~Greg got a new job. His last day at his old job was Sunday, and he took this week off to do yard work in preparation for Leah's birthday party next week. It's rained every single day. No yard work has gotten done.
~Leah starts her new school on Monday (provided that I actually sign her up for school. What? I'm busy!) While I am excited for her to be in an honest to goodness school, I want to cry because we are sending her to an honest to goodness school. With big kids and teachers and lessons and stuff. She's only a little (3 year old, sassy, smartpants, fiesty) baby!
~Leah third and final birthday party for this year is on the 29th. There is a LOT to do and not a LOT of time. I will be freaking out from now until then. Probably a lot on this blog.
~I joined Weight Watchers. My sweaters were tight, my rings were tight, my shoes were tight. Something had to give and it wasn't going to be my pants.
~I'm going to miss wine. It's no fun if I have to account for it and stuff.
.
~Leah starts her new school on Monday (provided that I actually sign her up for school. What? I'm busy!) While I am excited for her to be in an honest to goodness school, I want to cry because we are sending her to an honest to goodness school. With big kids and teachers and lessons and stuff. She's only a little (3 year old, sassy, smartpants, fiesty) baby!
~Leah third and final birthday party for this year is on the 29th. There is a LOT to do and not a LOT of time. I will be freaking out from now until then. Probably a lot on this blog.
~I joined Weight Watchers. My sweaters were tight, my rings were tight, my shoes were tight. Something had to give and it wasn't going to be my pants.
~I'm going to miss wine. It's no fun if I have to account for it and stuff.
.
4/19/11
I Have A Dream
The other night I had a dream that I was picking my mom up from the airport. She had been on vacation for 3.5 years. She came out of the terminal with a straw hat on, so I guess she was in the Caribbean.
When I got to the airport I texted her to let her know I was there. And then, when she was coming out of Customs, she texted me that she was almost there.
When we finally met up, I kissed her on the cheek and asked her about the trip. Then I nonchalantly told her about everything she had missed since she had been gone: the birth of Leah, Marco's marriage, Bella. She asked questions about the events and we laughed over what she would have done if she were there.
And then I woke up. Because my damn alarm clock goes off at 5 freaking a.m. Instead of shooting the sh*t with my mom after she went on a three and a stinkin half year vacation, I had to wake up and brush my teeth. Whatever.
**Happy Birthday Marco!! Hope you have a wonderful day!
.
When I got to the airport I texted her to let her know I was there. And then, when she was coming out of Customs, she texted me that she was almost there.
When we finally met up, I kissed her on the cheek and asked her about the trip. Then I nonchalantly told her about everything she had missed since she had been gone: the birth of Leah, Marco's marriage, Bella. She asked questions about the events and we laughed over what she would have done if she were there.
And then I woke up. Because my damn alarm clock goes off at 5 freaking a.m. Instead of shooting the sh*t with my mom after she went on a three and a stinkin half year vacation, I had to wake up and brush my teeth. Whatever.
**Happy Birthday Marco!! Hope you have a wonderful day!
.
4/14/11
Running On Empty
By Thursday, I'm pretty much running on fumes. I'm exhausted, no matter how much sleep I get. I am rushing to get everything done at work before the weekend. (Seriously, "end of week reports" are lame and whoever thought it would make sense to make people complete them is stupid.) I am looking forward to the weekend, but not always looking forward to the many outings and events I have planned. I am losing my last nerve with my daughter, yes--sweet, innocent Leah, since at this point, I haven't seen Greg since Monday, due our ridic work schedules. So, suffice to say, by Thursday I'm not my usual cheery, fresh faced self and could probably use a glass of wine. And a facial. And some botox. Perhaps a Xanax.
But, I'll tell you who never gets tired. Who is never on top of her game. Who is always go go go, and knows that slowing down is for the weak and believes that she'll rest when she's dead! The world is her oyster and her city never sleeps, because PLAY WITH ME, PLAY WITH ME, LET'S GO OUTSIDE, I NEED LEGOS, HERE YOU PUT THESE POTATO HEAD GLASSES ON, I NEED A SNACK, I NEED JUICE, WHY ARE YOU SITTING, GET UP, GET GOING, GET TO IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
1) Hope the title of this entry didn't make you think that I was running again. I will be, but just not yet.
2) Sorry for all the black and white photos of late; Greg got a new phone and he's attempting to be artistic with his photography.
.
But, I'll tell you who never gets tired. Who is never on top of her game. Who is always go go go, and knows that slowing down is for the weak and believes that she'll rest when she's dead! The world is her oyster and her city never sleeps, because PLAY WITH ME, PLAY WITH ME, LET'S GO OUTSIDE, I NEED LEGOS, HERE YOU PUT THESE POTATO HEAD GLASSES ON, I NEED A SNACK, I NEED JUICE, WHY ARE YOU SITTING, GET UP, GET GOING, GET TO IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
1) Hope the title of this entry didn't make you think that I was running again. I will be, but just not yet.
2) Sorry for all the black and white photos of late; Greg got a new phone and he's attempting to be artistic with his photography.
.
4/6/11
Today,
she would have been 58.
she would have known her two granddaughters.
she would have been helping Adriana get ready for the purchase of her first home.
she would have witnessed Marco marry.
she would have been dancing to her heart's content.
she would have been able to prove to this girl how wonderful she was, rather than just have me tell her.
.
she would have known her two granddaughters.
she would have been helping Adriana get ready for the purchase of her first home.
she would have witnessed Marco marry.
she would have been dancing to her heart's content.
she would have been able to prove to this girl how wonderful she was, rather than just have me tell her.
Today would have been a good day.
.
4/1/11
Taking Life For Granted
One of the things that I learned from my last job was to take advantage of the time that I was not at work.
I would stare at the clock on Friday afternoons, willing it to move quickly to 5 p.m., and then run out of there and haul my booty home, excited for the two full days in front of me where I didn't have to be at work.
I would forget about my job the second I walked out the office door and not think about it again until Sunday night, when the pending week would loom on my mind.
I would pack our weekends full of family activities and functions, taking advantage of every second that I was with people that I loved, doing things that I enjoyed. I learned to not take happiness and good times for granted, because I knew what the opposite felt like.
I learned to love my commute, because it was valuable time that I got to spend with myself, reflecting on my life, relishing in the fact that I was NOT at work at that particular moment, and listening to inspirational music*. (Ed. note: When I say "inspirational music" I mean music that inspires me, like a song about a girl who quits her job the day before a lice breakout. Not, you know, Inspirational Music.)
Even though I like my job and generally enjoy life so much more now, I still get very excited for the weekends. Friday nights are reserved for family time, where I get to spend time with Greg and Leah, not worrying about cleaning the house or laundry, just kinda hanging out happy that I get to spend the next two days doing family stuff.
So there. I've found one good thing about that wretched place. ONE.
I would stare at the clock on Friday afternoons, willing it to move quickly to 5 p.m., and then run out of there and haul my booty home, excited for the two full days in front of me where I didn't have to be at work.
I would forget about my job the second I walked out the office door and not think about it again until Sunday night, when the pending week would loom on my mind.
I would pack our weekends full of family activities and functions, taking advantage of every second that I was with people that I loved, doing things that I enjoyed. I learned to not take happiness and good times for granted, because I knew what the opposite felt like.
I learned to love my commute, because it was valuable time that I got to spend with myself, reflecting on my life, relishing in the fact that I was NOT at work at that particular moment, and listening to inspirational music*. (Ed. note: When I say "inspirational music" I mean music that inspires me, like a song about a girl who quits her job the day before a lice breakout. Not, you know, Inspirational Music.)
Even though I like my job and generally enjoy life so much more now, I still get very excited for the weekends. Friday nights are reserved for family time, where I get to spend time with Greg and Leah, not worrying about cleaning the house or laundry, just kinda hanging out happy that I get to spend the next two days doing family stuff.
So there. I've found one good thing about that wretched place. ONE.
*Sometimes I feel like throwing my hands up in the air
I know I can count on you
Sometimes I feel like saying "Lord I just don't care"
But you've got the love I need to see me through
Sometimes it seems that the going is just too rough
And things go wrong no matter what I do
Now and then it seems that life is just too much
But you've got the love I need to see me through
When food is gone you are my daily need
When friends are gone I know my savior's love is real
You know its real
You got the love
You got the love
You got the love
You got the love
You got the love
You got the love
You got the love
Time after time I think "Oh Lord what's the use?"
Time after time I think it's just no good
Sooner or later in life, the things you love you loose
But you got the love I need to see me through
You got the love
You got the love
You got the love
You got the love
You got the love
You got the love
Sometimes I feel like throwing my hands up in the air
I know I can count on you
Sometimes I feel like saying "Lord I just don't care"
But you've got the love I need to see me through
You got the love
You got the love
You got the love
You got the love
You got the love
You got the love
-Florence and The Machine
3/18/11
A Smallish Heart Attack
What is it with children and their need to hide in racks in stores? This is a new thing with Leah. It entertains her to no end and gives me heart palpatations. She's too old and nosey to sit in a stroller. She will follow the, "one hand on the cart" rule for about 35 seconds. But, as soon as I stop to take a look at something, we get this:
.
.
3/7/11
We Are Going To Applebees
You know when you get the feeling that something isn't right, but you can't pinpoint what it is, and, in fact, every other sign is pointing to "completely and totally fine," and because you can't figure out why you feel that it's not right, you just go ahead and do it because if you keep harping on these "just not right" feelings you are going to drive yourself, your family, the lady in front of you in Pathmark, and the 7-11 guy who's ringing up the half and half crazy?
You know that feeling?
Back in August I felt that way about my new job about 3 minutes after I decided to take it. In fact, I felt that way before I even left my new boss' office after he had made the offer and I had accepted. I sat there while he spoke about the position and my start date and my team members and my mind just wandered off into space and I thought, "This is a bad decision, Dana", but I had NO IDEA why I thought that. So I took that thought and threw it in the back of my head, right next to "Join Weight Watchers" and "Stop spending your family's money at Kohls" and it stayed there for the next three weeks while I proceeded to resign from my old job and plan for my new job.
The reasons for leaving my old job were all there. I know that leaving my old job was a good choice. My new job offered more money, more affordable benefits, and was closer to my home, and those were the reasons why I left. Those three things still exist. So, during my last two weeks at my old job--the strange period where you've given notice, yet you still work there, yet your loyalty is now to your new job, but you haven't started yet--when this strange feeling kept popping in my head that this was a bad decision, I would just mentally go over my list for leaving, and check off that each and every item was still being addressed. And then I would tell that stupid thought to just STFU and let me be proud that I was able to leave my comfort zone of idling in a workplace that was never going to let me move up, and that I was taking a leap to a new place where I knew no one and was making better for me and my family.
I started my new job at 8:00 a.m. on September 13, 2010, and at 10:26 a.m. I texted my husband and said, "I don't think this job is going to work out."
Truer words have never been texted before.
I'm not going to go into details, and I don't want to bad-mouth a place in which some of you know the name of, but let me just say that the people who run the place were not keen on treating women equally, and, as if that's not enough, the morals and values and general attitude of those people towards all of their employees is an abomination to human kind. The middle class is not meant to be treated as pawns in a chess game of life being pushed, prodded, manipulated and taken advantage of because we need to work in order to take care of our family.
Shortly after beginning employment there, Greg and I launched what can only be referred to as An Epic Job Search in which he would search for open positions all day long while he was home and then I would apply to them all night long while he was at work. For MONTHS I heard nothing from these places as I dutifully trudged daily to my job, daydreaming about when I would be granted an interview. I would sit at my desk thinking about how it would feel to quit and get the chance to work again at a place where the people were friendly. I would write this blog post in my head, figuring how much information I would let out, and what I should keep private. Day in and day out, as my depression grew, my hope weaned, because no one was calling me back.
And then, I got a phone call! And another! And soon the interviews followed. And in four months I took part in THIRTEEN interviews. I went on five interviews for one position. I was speaking to H.R. Reps, and Hiring Managers, and CEOs, and COOs, and CWTFOs--whoever, as they moved me forward in the process. It was brutal. I was told that it would take a few weeks for a decision to be made, sometimes a few months, or, my favorite, "We've decided to hold off on filling the position indefinitely". I thought it proposterous how a place that found it necessary for me to interview FIVE TIMES with FIVE DIFFERENT PEOPLE could not be sure that the position was necessary in the FIRST PLACE.
A month after starting at my new job a man named Tom began who's desk was near mine. I watched him during his first days when his enthusiasm was high, and how it chipped away as the onion peels of our workplace opened up. By day four we were giving each other looks every time more was revealed about the place. By the beginning of his second week, shared eye rolls were in full effect. A day or two later he told me that he had given notice, being offered a position at another company. I was happy (and jealous) that he was getting out, and longingly stared at my monitor thinking, "Your time will come, Dana". Two days into his two week notice, he was asked to leave and had a few minutes to clear his desk and go. I listened as he picked up the phone, dialed his wife and said, "We are going to Applebees!"
On that last day his whole demeanor was changed. His mood, his attitude, as well. He was a different guy.
He was a person who had a cruddy job at a cruddy place and had found a new job at a promising place and he was going to have some time off and take his spouse out to Applebees!
So it's with great pride and happiness that I inform you that today my demeanor is different, as is my mood and my attitude. Interview number 13 was very lucky indeed.
Tonight, WE ARE GOING TO APPLEBEES.
.
You know that feeling?
Back in August I felt that way about my new job about 3 minutes after I decided to take it. In fact, I felt that way before I even left my new boss' office after he had made the offer and I had accepted. I sat there while he spoke about the position and my start date and my team members and my mind just wandered off into space and I thought, "This is a bad decision, Dana", but I had NO IDEA why I thought that. So I took that thought and threw it in the back of my head, right next to "Join Weight Watchers" and "Stop spending your family's money at Kohls" and it stayed there for the next three weeks while I proceeded to resign from my old job and plan for my new job.
The reasons for leaving my old job were all there. I know that leaving my old job was a good choice. My new job offered more money, more affordable benefits, and was closer to my home, and those were the reasons why I left. Those three things still exist. So, during my last two weeks at my old job--the strange period where you've given notice, yet you still work there, yet your loyalty is now to your new job, but you haven't started yet--when this strange feeling kept popping in my head that this was a bad decision, I would just mentally go over my list for leaving, and check off that each and every item was still being addressed. And then I would tell that stupid thought to just STFU and let me be proud that I was able to leave my comfort zone of idling in a workplace that was never going to let me move up, and that I was taking a leap to a new place where I knew no one and was making better for me and my family.
I started my new job at 8:00 a.m. on September 13, 2010, and at 10:26 a.m. I texted my husband and said, "I don't think this job is going to work out."
Truer words have never been texted before.
I'm not going to go into details, and I don't want to bad-mouth a place in which some of you know the name of, but let me just say that the people who run the place were not keen on treating women equally, and, as if that's not enough, the morals and values and general attitude of those people towards all of their employees is an abomination to human kind. The middle class is not meant to be treated as pawns in a chess game of life being pushed, prodded, manipulated and taken advantage of because we need to work in order to take care of our family.
Shortly after beginning employment there, Greg and I launched what can only be referred to as An Epic Job Search in which he would search for open positions all day long while he was home and then I would apply to them all night long while he was at work. For MONTHS I heard nothing from these places as I dutifully trudged daily to my job, daydreaming about when I would be granted an interview. I would sit at my desk thinking about how it would feel to quit and get the chance to work again at a place where the people were friendly. I would write this blog post in my head, figuring how much information I would let out, and what I should keep private. Day in and day out, as my depression grew, my hope weaned, because no one was calling me back.
And then, I got a phone call! And another! And soon the interviews followed. And in four months I took part in THIRTEEN interviews. I went on five interviews for one position. I was speaking to H.R. Reps, and Hiring Managers, and CEOs, and COOs, and CWTFOs--whoever, as they moved me forward in the process. It was brutal. I was told that it would take a few weeks for a decision to be made, sometimes a few months, or, my favorite, "We've decided to hold off on filling the position indefinitely". I thought it proposterous how a place that found it necessary for me to interview FIVE TIMES with FIVE DIFFERENT PEOPLE could not be sure that the position was necessary in the FIRST PLACE.
A month after starting at my new job a man named Tom began who's desk was near mine. I watched him during his first days when his enthusiasm was high, and how it chipped away as the onion peels of our workplace opened up. By day four we were giving each other looks every time more was revealed about the place. By the beginning of his second week, shared eye rolls were in full effect. A day or two later he told me that he had given notice, being offered a position at another company. I was happy (and jealous) that he was getting out, and longingly stared at my monitor thinking, "Your time will come, Dana". Two days into his two week notice, he was asked to leave and had a few minutes to clear his desk and go. I listened as he picked up the phone, dialed his wife and said, "We are going to Applebees!"
On that last day his whole demeanor was changed. His mood, his attitude, as well. He was a different guy.
He was a person who had a cruddy job at a cruddy place and had found a new job at a promising place and he was going to have some time off and take his spouse out to Applebees!
So it's with great pride and happiness that I inform you that today my demeanor is different, as is my mood and my attitude. Interview number 13 was very lucky indeed.
Tonight, WE ARE GOING TO APPLEBEES.
.
2/14/11
He Doesn't Look A Thing Like Jesus*
In May of 1994 most of my graduating high school class headed to Wildwood, NJ for Memorial Day weekend. I was not allowed to go, as my parents were horrible strict Nazis whose main goal was to ruin my life.
My friend Melissa invited me to her family's shore house, and, since there would be a chaperone, I was granted a reprieve from my tower. On the ride down we listened to tapes on our walkmen (how lame, right) and I fell in love with an album called August and Everything After by The Counting Crows. I don't remember really loving a band or artist up until that point, save for Madonna, which every girl my age had to love growing up. But here I was, down and dirty with the love, and my affair with The Counting Crows ran deep, and carried through my college years.
Boston was special in many ways, one of them being the existence of small music stores, as well as large well known chains, and so I was able to build my CD (I know, lame again) collection.
Those four years were filled with The Dave Matthews Band, Blues Traveler, The Wallflowers, and The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, and I re-discovered James and Toad the Wet Sprocket. It wasn't unheard of for the elevator doors to open on my dorm floor and hear Hootie and the Blowfish's Let Her Cry blasting from someone's room, which remains one of my favorite songs to date. And one of my fondest memories is happening upon the Barenaked Ladies playing in an outside pavilion while shopping with friends on a Saturday. Not to be outdone by when someone handed me a white blank CD at an expo asking me to take a listen to an up and coming band: No Doubt.
After graduating, I returned to NJ where I listened to a lot of dance music, as well as some vintage freestyle, thanks to Gina. I went nuts over Sporty Spice's I Turn To You and I think I might have died when I watched the 1999 Grammy Awards and Ricky Martin sang La Copa de la Vida.
And THEN. Oh and then. In 2000 I watched a summer show on The WB called Young Americans. And that's when I heard David Gray for the first time. And I quit my job, moved him with him, made him my boyfriend and have been baking him brownies ever since. I've only seen him in concert once, last year at the Theatre at Madison Square Garden, and I only cried twice, so that was progress. Not even the enormous fight Greg and I had after that concert can take away from that night--that was the best concert I've ever seen, and the twinkling lights from the disco ball that reached every square inch of the theater during A Moment Changes Everything took my breath away.
These days I spend my time listening to Christine Stone and Richard Blade tell me what to like on Sirius Spectrum and it mostly consists of The Avett Brothers, Mumford and Sons, Florence and the Machine, Gomez, Amos Lee, and Bob Schneider. Guster is NOT a fave of mine, but I melt when Mr. Blade says that word in his sexy English accent so I make an exception.
My daughter loves her some Rihanna (doesn't matter which song, she loves them all), and Katy Perry, and Train, and all three of those names sometime hurt me to say, but hey, to each their own.
Thank you all for the nice words about my last post. Believe me, I wasn't trolling for compliments about my actions, but I sure do appreciate what everyone said. If there is one question I was asked more than any other, it was if, as I was running to the flipped car, did I think about what I could possibly find inside there. And the answer is no, I couldn't even remember to turn off my own car the first time, do you really think I was thinking about anything at that point? Honestly, my biggest fear was that a child would be stuck in the flipped car and I wouldn't have been able to negotiate the focacca strap/hook deal that keeps the damn seat attached. When it comes to gadgets, technology and mechanics, I am not bright.
**A line from a Brandon Flowers song. It's catchy.
.
My friend Melissa invited me to her family's shore house, and, since there would be a chaperone, I was granted a reprieve from my tower. On the ride down we listened to tapes on our walkmen (how lame, right) and I fell in love with an album called August and Everything After by The Counting Crows. I don't remember really loving a band or artist up until that point, save for Madonna, which every girl my age had to love growing up. But here I was, down and dirty with the love, and my affair with The Counting Crows ran deep, and carried through my college years.
Boston was special in many ways, one of them being the existence of small music stores, as well as large well known chains, and so I was able to build my CD (I know, lame again) collection.
Those four years were filled with The Dave Matthews Band, Blues Traveler, The Wallflowers, and The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, and I re-discovered James and Toad the Wet Sprocket. It wasn't unheard of for the elevator doors to open on my dorm floor and hear Hootie and the Blowfish's Let Her Cry blasting from someone's room, which remains one of my favorite songs to date. And one of my fondest memories is happening upon the Barenaked Ladies playing in an outside pavilion while shopping with friends on a Saturday. Not to be outdone by when someone handed me a white blank CD at an expo asking me to take a listen to an up and coming band: No Doubt.
After graduating, I returned to NJ where I listened to a lot of dance music, as well as some vintage freestyle, thanks to Gina. I went nuts over Sporty Spice's I Turn To You and I think I might have died when I watched the 1999 Grammy Awards and Ricky Martin sang La Copa de la Vida.
And THEN. Oh and then. In 2000 I watched a summer show on The WB called Young Americans. And that's when I heard David Gray for the first time. And I quit my job, moved him with him, made him my boyfriend and have been baking him brownies ever since. I've only seen him in concert once, last year at the Theatre at Madison Square Garden, and I only cried twice, so that was progress. Not even the enormous fight Greg and I had after that concert can take away from that night--that was the best concert I've ever seen, and the twinkling lights from the disco ball that reached every square inch of the theater during A Moment Changes Everything took my breath away.
These days I spend my time listening to Christine Stone and Richard Blade tell me what to like on Sirius Spectrum and it mostly consists of The Avett Brothers, Mumford and Sons, Florence and the Machine, Gomez, Amos Lee, and Bob Schneider. Guster is NOT a fave of mine, but I melt when Mr. Blade says that word in his sexy English accent so I make an exception.
My daughter loves her some Rihanna (doesn't matter which song, she loves them all), and Katy Perry, and Train, and all three of those names sometime hurt me to say, but hey, to each their own.
Thank you all for the nice words about my last post. Believe me, I wasn't trolling for compliments about my actions, but I sure do appreciate what everyone said. If there is one question I was asked more than any other, it was if, as I was running to the flipped car, did I think about what I could possibly find inside there. And the answer is no, I couldn't even remember to turn off my own car the first time, do you really think I was thinking about anything at that point? Honestly, my biggest fear was that a child would be stuck in the flipped car and I wouldn't have been able to negotiate the focacca strap/hook deal that keeps the damn seat attached. When it comes to gadgets, technology and mechanics, I am not bright.
**A line from a Brandon Flowers song. It's catchy.
.
2/3/11
God Said Ha
Today was such a cruddy day. It started off with me leaving my house 15 minutes earlier than usual, but hitting major traffic and getting to work 15 minutes late. This is not fair. People should not be judged by when they get to work, but rather when they leave for it. My boss should know that I left 15 minutes earlier than usual. NOT that I was running into the office like a lunatic at 8:15.
Then, I stood up to a co-worker who treated me poorly. It was incredibly difficult to do because this co-worker is nasty and mean and doesn't care who he's treating badly. But we work very closely together and I can't be disrepected and I won't tolerate inappropriate or unprofessional behavior. I also knew this this person would fight back, rather than most who are just stunned that you stood up to them and sit there and take it, so I braced myself for that too.
He didn't disappoint. And it wasn't pretty. But in the end he apologized and we moved on.
Then I received the text from Greg that Leah had thrown up at home. When I picked her up after work and we proceeded to Thursdays with Michael, she threw up fruit loops all over Michael's bathroom.
And then in her car seat as I drove home on a long and windy road with no shoulder to pull over to.
I bet only a few of us can boast "scooping vomit off my child in the Dairy Queen parking lot" on our list of accomplishments.
And then I couldn't get the car seat cover off to wash it so I just threw the whole foccaca thing in the garage and decided to let Greg deal with it.
And then she wouldn't get into the bath, so everyone, everything, all of us, smell like vomit.
Oh, and for the third time this week I ate dinner standing up in the kitchen in between catering to my child and her demands for various blankets, toys, liquids, and THE PURPLE SLIPPERS MY GOD THE PURPLE ONES, MOM, WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU, THOSE ARE NOT PURPLE! YOU SUCK!!!!!
I think that's all for now.
.
Then, I stood up to a co-worker who treated me poorly. It was incredibly difficult to do because this co-worker is nasty and mean and doesn't care who he's treating badly. But we work very closely together and I can't be disrepected and I won't tolerate inappropriate or unprofessional behavior. I also knew this this person would fight back, rather than most who are just stunned that you stood up to them and sit there and take it, so I braced myself for that too.
He didn't disappoint. And it wasn't pretty. But in the end he apologized and we moved on.
Then I received the text from Greg that Leah had thrown up at home. When I picked her up after work and we proceeded to Thursdays with Michael, she threw up fruit loops all over Michael's bathroom.
And then in her car seat as I drove home on a long and windy road with no shoulder to pull over to.
I bet only a few of us can boast "scooping vomit off my child in the Dairy Queen parking lot" on our list of accomplishments.
And then I couldn't get the car seat cover off to wash it so I just threw the whole foccaca thing in the garage and decided to let Greg deal with it.
And then she wouldn't get into the bath, so everyone, everything, all of us, smell like vomit.
Oh, and for the third time this week I ate dinner standing up in the kitchen in between catering to my child and her demands for various blankets, toys, liquids, and THE PURPLE SLIPPERS MY GOD THE PURPLE ONES, MOM, WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU, THOSE ARE NOT PURPLE! YOU SUCK!!!!!
I think that's all for now.
.
1/26/11
Testing One, Two, Three
Leah is known for testing my patience to the point that I have to leave the room sometimes and scream it out at the dog. She'll ask for something, let's say, for me to rub her back at night, and then I'll say, okay, lie down, and then she'll just sit there staring at me. NOT lying down. So, I'll say, you have until the count of three to lie down or no back rub, and then she'll just sit there staring at me. Not slowly lying down. Not waiting until I get to three and throwing herself down. Just not doing it. So, I'll go to walk away, and then she'll scream I NEED MY BACK RUBBED! MOMMY COME BACK! BACK! NOW!!! BWAAHHHH BOOOO OOOOHHHH WWAAAHHHH!!!!
Now, if you can understand what the hell she is trying to do other than bury me early then kudos to you. Because I can't for the life of me figure out why she will ASK for something then purposely take the steps that keep her from getting it.
And finally yesterday, it clicked. Not what she's thinking, because honestly? I think that at these times she was put on earth to get me back for every single thing I did to my parents growing up. I will never fully understand my child. She's incomprehensible and unbelievable. Like the shelf life of a Twinkie. And Sarah Palin.
No, what clicked was how I was going to handle it.
Now, brace yourself, because I am about to let you in on some genius-speak. From now on when Leah asks for something, like say a snack, and I ask her to sit down at the table to eat said snack, and then she gives me the Carol-Ann stare, I walk away. That's it. Snack's over. So sorry. Cab's are here. Gotta go.
And that's it. She hates it, blows a gasket, has a fit, but then eventually gets over it. And me? I don't hate it, blow gaskets, or have fits, and I'm over it before it's even begun.
Lately, we've been working on cause and effect. You throw something, you get it taken away. You want me to give you something, you ask in a big kid voice. You want lotion, then you don't jump off your changing table. You want to take a 30 minute shower, then you get your own apartment. I'm tired of treating her like some special-rainbow-cuddle-bunny, when I suspect she's old enough to know that she's getting special treatment and taking advantage of me. She's a human being and life isn't always barbies and ponies. Believe me, for Leah, life is quite often barbies and ponies, but occasionally, it's not, and it's best she start realizing this early on.
Last night, there were some shenanigans when I announced bed time. Honestly, I don't even remember exactly what it was. But on the nights that Greg works late, there are usually shenanigans at bedtime. I did that warn/threat thing, (If you don't stop jumping off your bed, you will not get your teeth medicine*) and I watched her proceed to jump off the bed. Twice. And I had it. So, I took the teeth medicine, put it on a shelf where she could see it**, and her told that she wouldn't be getting any that night. She should try harder and listen better and perhaps tomorrow would be a teeth medicine night.
Which she did. And it was. However, tonight we had the back rubbing issue. There's always an issue. We'll try again tomorrow.
*It's Orajel. And she's not teething. But she got it into her head over a year ago that she needs teeth medicine nightly. I don't fight it. I choose my battles.
**I learned this from an old co-worker Jon, who told me that when his wife Janine needed to take something away from their daughter due to naughty behavior, she made sure that she put the toy in a spot where their daughter would be sure to see it and be reminded of naughty behavior/punishment. I've never forgotten it.
.
Now, if you can understand what the hell she is trying to do other than bury me early then kudos to you. Because I can't for the life of me figure out why she will ASK for something then purposely take the steps that keep her from getting it.
And finally yesterday, it clicked. Not what she's thinking, because honestly? I think that at these times she was put on earth to get me back for every single thing I did to my parents growing up. I will never fully understand my child. She's incomprehensible and unbelievable. Like the shelf life of a Twinkie. And Sarah Palin.
No, what clicked was how I was going to handle it.
Now, brace yourself, because I am about to let you in on some genius-speak. From now on when Leah asks for something, like say a snack, and I ask her to sit down at the table to eat said snack, and then she gives me the Carol-Ann stare, I walk away. That's it. Snack's over. So sorry. Cab's are here. Gotta go.
And that's it. She hates it, blows a gasket, has a fit, but then eventually gets over it. And me? I don't hate it, blow gaskets, or have fits, and I'm over it before it's even begun.
Lately, we've been working on cause and effect. You throw something, you get it taken away. You want me to give you something, you ask in a big kid voice. You want lotion, then you don't jump off your changing table. You want to take a 30 minute shower, then you get your own apartment. I'm tired of treating her like some special-rainbow-cuddle-bunny, when I suspect she's old enough to know that she's getting special treatment and taking advantage of me. She's a human being and life isn't always barbies and ponies. Believe me, for Leah, life is quite often barbies and ponies, but occasionally, it's not, and it's best she start realizing this early on.
Last night, there were some shenanigans when I announced bed time. Honestly, I don't even remember exactly what it was. But on the nights that Greg works late, there are usually shenanigans at bedtime. I did that warn/threat thing, (If you don't stop jumping off your bed, you will not get your teeth medicine*) and I watched her proceed to jump off the bed. Twice. And I had it. So, I took the teeth medicine, put it on a shelf where she could see it**, and her told that she wouldn't be getting any that night. She should try harder and listen better and perhaps tomorrow would be a teeth medicine night.
Which she did. And it was. However, tonight we had the back rubbing issue. There's always an issue. We'll try again tomorrow.
*It's Orajel. And she's not teething. But she got it into her head over a year ago that she needs teeth medicine nightly. I don't fight it. I choose my battles.
**I learned this from an old co-worker Jon, who told me that when his wife Janine needed to take something away from their daughter due to naughty behavior, she made sure that she put the toy in a spot where their daughter would be sure to see it and be reminded of naughty behavior/punishment. I've never forgotten it.
.
1/24/11
Letter Time!
Dear Horizon-
A $70 per month increase on my toddler's health insurance? Really? Does this sound like a normal annual increase amount? TWENTY PERCENT? Are you sure? Our waste removal fee went up $5 one year and every senior citizen in Sparta picketed for months outside the post office. Can you imagine if the increase was $70? I now need a Xanax every time I open the bill. MY health insurance is going to go up because of your greedy little ways. I hope you're happy.
Dear Salerno-Duane Auto Plaza of Newton-
I swear to Hay-Zeus, thinking of you makes my blood boil. I bought a car from you. I took it home on the same day I visited just to test drive. I played your negotiation games. I agreed to your payment terms. But when I brought my car in to have leather installed on the seats at 10 a.m. and returned at 8 p.m. to find 1) leather, 2) an empty tank, and 3) 300 miles on the odometer that weren't there that morning, I expected at the very least a SORRY. Or a HOW CAN I MAKE THAT UP TO YOU? But what I got was insulting, rude, wrong, and full of BS. I will be coming to get my license plates soon. If your attitude hasn't changed by then, I'll be bringing my two year old. Don't know what that means? Call the guys over at the Audi dealership and ask them how fun it was when we brought Leah to that visit. Hope you like your showroom cars "jellied."
Dear JCP&L-
WHY DOES IT COST SO MUCH TO PUT LIGHTS ON??!!! My god, what the hell, is electricity made of gold????? Due to your exorbitant rates, I now scream at Greg for leaving things plugged in! I yell when he leaves the TV on to go to the bathroom! I wait by Leah's door for her to fall asleep so I can turn off the focacca light she mandates be left on in order to fall asleep at night. I am a stingy, electric-saving scrooge! You are turning me into my father!
Dear Wachovia-
I am happy that you got bought out by Wells Fargo. I am NOT sad to see you go, I WILL help you pack, and I hope the door doesn't hit you on the way out. It's been several years of horrible service, mistakes on your part that you blamed me for, and a really stupid name. Good riddance!
**It was bill-paying night. In case you couldn't tell. Have a good one!
.
A $70 per month increase on my toddler's health insurance? Really? Does this sound like a normal annual increase amount? TWENTY PERCENT? Are you sure? Our waste removal fee went up $5 one year and every senior citizen in Sparta picketed for months outside the post office. Can you imagine if the increase was $70? I now need a Xanax every time I open the bill. MY health insurance is going to go up because of your greedy little ways. I hope you're happy.
Dear Salerno-Duane Auto Plaza of Newton-
I swear to Hay-Zeus, thinking of you makes my blood boil. I bought a car from you. I took it home on the same day I visited just to test drive. I played your negotiation games. I agreed to your payment terms. But when I brought my car in to have leather installed on the seats at 10 a.m. and returned at 8 p.m. to find 1) leather, 2) an empty tank, and 3) 300 miles on the odometer that weren't there that morning, I expected at the very least a SORRY. Or a HOW CAN I MAKE THAT UP TO YOU? But what I got was insulting, rude, wrong, and full of BS. I will be coming to get my license plates soon. If your attitude hasn't changed by then, I'll be bringing my two year old. Don't know what that means? Call the guys over at the Audi dealership and ask them how fun it was when we brought Leah to that visit. Hope you like your showroom cars "jellied."
Dear JCP&L-
WHY DOES IT COST SO MUCH TO PUT LIGHTS ON??!!! My god, what the hell, is electricity made of gold????? Due to your exorbitant rates, I now scream at Greg for leaving things plugged in! I yell when he leaves the TV on to go to the bathroom! I wait by Leah's door for her to fall asleep so I can turn off the focacca light she mandates be left on in order to fall asleep at night. I am a stingy, electric-saving scrooge! You are turning me into my father!
Dear Wachovia-
I am happy that you got bought out by Wells Fargo. I am NOT sad to see you go, I WILL help you pack, and I hope the door doesn't hit you on the way out. It's been several years of horrible service, mistakes on your part that you blamed me for, and a really stupid name. Good riddance!
**It was bill-paying night. In case you couldn't tell. Have a good one!
.
12/21/10
The Life I Signed Up For
If my mother had died before I was pregnant, I probably wouldn't have had a child. I wanted a baby, and my mother was going to help me raise it. Package deal.
If my mother hadn't died, Greg and I would have probably taken several weekend trips by now, and maybe even one that lasted five days. Instead of no weekend trips, and nothing close to five days. I don't trust anyone to watch Leah; there's nothing like the trust you have in your mom. We would have been able to do more things with each other, without Leah. Maybe go out to eat more...Christmas shop together...take more trips into NYC.
If my mother was still alive, I probably would have had more children by now. She would have been my house every day in the summer, when she wasn't working, and probably would have used up more of her sick and personal days to spend time with her grandchildren. My nights wouldn't have been parenting solo while Greg worked, and my weekends would not have been attempting to run an errand with a toddler and feeling like I got nothing accomplished.
There would have been more gifts and treats and a lot more spoiling. My children would have run to her when they saw her, got excited when she arrived, and threw fits when she left. They might have even liked spending time with her more than with me.
I never would have been stuck with no sitter. Never would have had to say no to something that I wanted to do because I felt guilty leaving Leah. Never would have felt that all-too-familiar hesitation when I dial a number to request some babysitting.
I never wanted to be a mother if I didn't have my mother with me. I never would have entered into what is the most difficult job I've ever held without her. Never would have created this situation while living 40 minutes away from my closest family, with only one parent who's my dad, while my in-laws live several states away.
And I would have never written this post.
If I seem different to you, uncomfortable, unhappy, and unsettled, you must forgive me. I'm not living the life I signed up for.
.
If my mother hadn't died, Greg and I would have probably taken several weekend trips by now, and maybe even one that lasted five days. Instead of no weekend trips, and nothing close to five days. I don't trust anyone to watch Leah; there's nothing like the trust you have in your mom. We would have been able to do more things with each other, without Leah. Maybe go out to eat more...Christmas shop together...take more trips into NYC.
If my mother was still alive, I probably would have had more children by now. She would have been my house every day in the summer, when she wasn't working, and probably would have used up more of her sick and personal days to spend time with her grandchildren. My nights wouldn't have been parenting solo while Greg worked, and my weekends would not have been attempting to run an errand with a toddler and feeling like I got nothing accomplished.
There would have been more gifts and treats and a lot more spoiling. My children would have run to her when they saw her, got excited when she arrived, and threw fits when she left. They might have even liked spending time with her more than with me.
I never would have been stuck with no sitter. Never would have had to say no to something that I wanted to do because I felt guilty leaving Leah. Never would have felt that all-too-familiar hesitation when I dial a number to request some babysitting.
I never wanted to be a mother if I didn't have my mother with me. I never would have entered into what is the most difficult job I've ever held without her. Never would have created this situation while living 40 minutes away from my closest family, with only one parent who's my dad, while my in-laws live several states away.
And I would have never written this post.
If I seem different to you, uncomfortable, unhappy, and unsettled, you must forgive me. I'm not living the life I signed up for.
.
11/28/10
The Absence of Suck
I was most concerned with not being able to stretch before the race began. I have never been a morning runner, especially a cold morning runner, so I thought that if anything was going to go wrong, I didn't want it to be something that could have been avoided with stretched-out muscles.
I didn't hear any sort of fanfare marking the official start of the race. I thought I'd hear a gun shot, or a horn, but nothing. This could have been because I had my ear buds in. There were over 1500 runners and for a minute or so after the race began we all just moved forward in a herd. I thought for a second that the entire race might be like this: that maybe there were too many people and not enough road and we'd all just shuffle in a big group for three miles.
Then the crowd began to open up. People started taking off ahead of the group. I remember running for a minute or so in line with my sister. I remember her running with her hands in her pockets and wondering how the hell she was able to do that. I remember my friend Lisa being a few feet ahead of us and looking back several times. I remember when both of them began pulling farther and farther apart from me. And I remember when I couldn't see either of them anymore. And then there was me. And I took a deep breath and fixed my ear buds again, and began the long lonely 3.1 mile journey. As it's always been. As I've grown accustomed to.
A lot of people passed me. People who weren't even jogging passed me. But, as my sister had informed me the night before, my jog speed was slower than most people's walk speed, so I was expecting this. A few minutes into the run I began seeing people on their way back. I tried to get real close to the center line to attempt to make eye contact with the guy who had come in 60th place in the NY Marathon and was predicted to run the Sparta Turkey Trot in record time. He zipped by me; I smiled at him, but he never saw me. It would have been inspiring to catch his eye, but he has personal records and qualifying races on his mind. He didn't have time for me.
The halfway point took forever to get to. By the time I finally reached it, I had seen Gab, Lisa, and Adj zip by on their way back. I could tell I was far behind them based on how long it took me to get halfway through, but I didn't care. I wasn't doing this for time. I was just doing this to run. I kept my eyes on the road and rallied through.
The course had hills. I didn't know this beforehand. I'm sure it was for the best, since I would have been much more intimidated if I had known that hills were part of this challenge. Welcome to the Black Parade played on the steepest one.
At one point I found myself slowing down, each step becoming harder and harder to take. My jog slowed and slowed and I felt my right leg fall into what I can only describe as a walk-step. And my knee immediately locked up, and it jolted my body back to attention, and I continued to run.
I was so lonely at some parts. Or maybe just bored. Alone. No one was on the side of the road cheering us on; I had no idea how much farther I had to go. All I know is that it sucked. It totally sucked.
And then I saw it. Mile Marker 3. And Florence and the Machine began. And then Flo Rida followed. And the wooden 3 sign grew larger as I got closer. And I started running. And I moved to the middle of the road. And I didn't feel a thing. Nothing hurt. Nothing was hard about what I was doing. I was sprinting down East Shore Trail all by myself early on Thanksgiving morning and I felt great. I felt wonderful! I was so happy. Happy to be finishing. Happy to be running. Happy to see the light at the end of the tunnel.
And then. Oh my god. And then. I saw my family. I saw my husband and I saw my daughter and they were cheering for me. FOR ME. Leah ran to me and I stopped. In the middle of the road before I hit the finish line, I stopped short. And I grabbed her hand. We started to run and she fell. I picked her up and asked her if she was ok, and she said yes. So, we held hands again and we ran to the finish line. And it was perfect! Gab and Adj and Lisa and Lan were all there. Everyone was waiting for me. And I crossed the line holding my daughter's hand. And I was so happy.
And then the suck came back. And it hurt. My feel felt like they weren't mine. I couldn't stop moving. I had sprained my ankle when I stopped to get Leah. I was trying to drink water. I could barely talk. Old Dana was back. The Dana that is not athletic and can't run and doesn't do very well in sports and is fat, slow, and finds new gray hairs every week.
But, for a few minutes, when Mile Marker 3 came into view, I was someone else. I was that person I used to remember. It was awesome. And I loved it. And it didn't suck entirely.
.
I didn't hear any sort of fanfare marking the official start of the race. I thought I'd hear a gun shot, or a horn, but nothing. This could have been because I had my ear buds in. There were over 1500 runners and for a minute or so after the race began we all just moved forward in a herd. I thought for a second that the entire race might be like this: that maybe there were too many people and not enough road and we'd all just shuffle in a big group for three miles.
Then the crowd began to open up. People started taking off ahead of the group. I remember running for a minute or so in line with my sister. I remember her running with her hands in her pockets and wondering how the hell she was able to do that. I remember my friend Lisa being a few feet ahead of us and looking back several times. I remember when both of them began pulling farther and farther apart from me. And I remember when I couldn't see either of them anymore. And then there was me. And I took a deep breath and fixed my ear buds again, and began the long lonely 3.1 mile journey. As it's always been. As I've grown accustomed to.
A lot of people passed me. People who weren't even jogging passed me. But, as my sister had informed me the night before, my jog speed was slower than most people's walk speed, so I was expecting this. A few minutes into the run I began seeing people on their way back. I tried to get real close to the center line to attempt to make eye contact with the guy who had come in 60th place in the NY Marathon and was predicted to run the Sparta Turkey Trot in record time. He zipped by me; I smiled at him, but he never saw me. It would have been inspiring to catch his eye, but he has personal records and qualifying races on his mind. He didn't have time for me.
The halfway point took forever to get to. By the time I finally reached it, I had seen Gab, Lisa, and Adj zip by on their way back. I could tell I was far behind them based on how long it took me to get halfway through, but I didn't care. I wasn't doing this for time. I was just doing this to run. I kept my eyes on the road and rallied through.
The course had hills. I didn't know this beforehand. I'm sure it was for the best, since I would have been much more intimidated if I had known that hills were part of this challenge. Welcome to the Black Parade played on the steepest one.
At one point I found myself slowing down, each step becoming harder and harder to take. My jog slowed and slowed and I felt my right leg fall into what I can only describe as a walk-step. And my knee immediately locked up, and it jolted my body back to attention, and I continued to run.
I was so lonely at some parts. Or maybe just bored. Alone. No one was on the side of the road cheering us on; I had no idea how much farther I had to go. All I know is that it sucked. It totally sucked.
And then I saw it. Mile Marker 3. And Florence and the Machine began. And then Flo Rida followed. And the wooden 3 sign grew larger as I got closer. And I started running. And I moved to the middle of the road. And I didn't feel a thing. Nothing hurt. Nothing was hard about what I was doing. I was sprinting down East Shore Trail all by myself early on Thanksgiving morning and I felt great. I felt wonderful! I was so happy. Happy to be finishing. Happy to be running. Happy to see the light at the end of the tunnel.
And then. Oh my god. And then. I saw my family. I saw my husband and I saw my daughter and they were cheering for me. FOR ME. Leah ran to me and I stopped. In the middle of the road before I hit the finish line, I stopped short. And I grabbed her hand. We started to run and she fell. I picked her up and asked her if she was ok, and she said yes. So, we held hands again and we ran to the finish line. And it was perfect! Gab and Adj and Lisa and Lan were all there. Everyone was waiting for me. And I crossed the line holding my daughter's hand. And I was so happy.
And then the suck came back. And it hurt. My feel felt like they weren't mine. I couldn't stop moving. I had sprained my ankle when I stopped to get Leah. I was trying to drink water. I could barely talk. Old Dana was back. The Dana that is not athletic and can't run and doesn't do very well in sports and is fat, slow, and finds new gray hairs every week.
But, for a few minutes, when Mile Marker 3 came into view, I was someone else. I was that person I used to remember. It was awesome. And I loved it. And it didn't suck entirely.
.
11/12/10
Yes, I Still Run
I haven't mentioned running much within the past month or so, have I? Well, because up until a week ago, I wasn't running much. It's dark when I get home from work, and I have a prejudice towards treadmills. So, I stopped running.
But, I never for once gave up on the Turkey Trot. I set a goal a while back, and when I set goals, I meet goals, and, despite the fact that I had stopped training, and despite the fact that I had no idea how I was going to start up my training again, I never for once gave up on the Turkey Trot. I never once thought that I would not be there on Thanksgiving morning. In fact, I have a little surprise planned for the event. Something I have been meaning to do for a while.
So, I'm back to training. On the DREADMILL. At 9:00 p.m. after Leah goes to bed and I manage to find all of my running accoutrements. While catching up on the Housewives or Glee.
Tonight I made my running playlist. There are a lot of good songs out there, like this one and this one. Ooh, but especially this one.
So, if you're doing nothing on Thanksgiving morning and you feel like watching me hobble my way through 3 miles, come on down.
.
.
.
But, I never for once gave up on the Turkey Trot. I set a goal a while back, and when I set goals, I meet goals, and, despite the fact that I had stopped training, and despite the fact that I had no idea how I was going to start up my training again, I never for once gave up on the Turkey Trot. I never once thought that I would not be there on Thanksgiving morning. In fact, I have a little surprise planned for the event. Something I have been meaning to do for a while.
So, I'm back to training. On the DREADMILL. At 9:00 p.m. after Leah goes to bed and I manage to find all of my running accoutrements. While catching up on the Housewives or Glee.
Tonight I made my running playlist. There are a lot of good songs out there, like this one and this one. Ooh, but especially this one.
So, if you're doing nothing on Thanksgiving morning and you feel like watching me hobble my way through 3 miles, come on down.
.
.
.
11/7/10
A Metaphor
I spend a lot of time cleaning Leah's play room. I organize all of her toys--and there are lots of them--making sure that her sushi set contains all of its parts, and her doctor kit is not missing a wayward bandaid. I gather all of the baby bottles and collect them in one bin, and I make sure that her crayons are not broken and that their wrappers are not peeling. I arrange all of the dolls so that each has a diaper and clothes on and is placed in a stroller, high chair, or bed. I spray the white board and wipe it clean and I make sure I remove all of the chalk remnants from the chalk board.
I spend a lot of time cleaning up messes in Leah's play room, but not a lot of time making them. I want to make messes with her; I need to make messes with her. I just don't have the time. Or sometimes, I'm just too tired to make messes. I am letting those messes happen without me taking part in creating them and I am having a hard time dealing with it.
.
.
.
I spend a lot of time cleaning up messes in Leah's play room, but not a lot of time making them. I want to make messes with her; I need to make messes with her. I just don't have the time. Or sometimes, I'm just too tired to make messes. I am letting those messes happen without me taking part in creating them and I am having a hard time dealing with it.
.
.
.
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