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...

Life Goes On

I left home at 17 and went to college in Boston.   It was there that I wore baggy jeans and Simple sneakers, gave up red meat for a year, stopped believing in God, questioned authority, and realized that if you don’t like something in your life it’s up to you to change it.

I returned to NJ after graduation and moved in with my parents.  My dad expected me to follow his rules, after four years of following my own, and so I moved out at 21 and got myself an apartment. 

It’s been my way or the highway ever since.

Don’t like my job?  Get a new one.

Don’t like my weight?  Change it.

Don’t like my house? Move.

Losing my mom has been the only thing that I have not been able to change.  I don’t want to be motherless.  I don’t want to raise children without their grandmother.  I don’t want to not have her here when I need her.  But I can’t change any of that.

That’s why I started this blog.  I was looking for a way to cope with something that I could not change.  All of my life I’ve been lead to believe that I am in control of my own happiness, and here I was, not happy and not able to change it.  I felt stuck.  I wanted my mother here and there was no way to make that happen and therefore, I would never be happy again.

I was wrong.  But I didn’t know it.  It took time.

For the first few years after her death, I felt like I was walking through a dark tunnel.  I was trying to get to the end, walking aimlessly with my arms out, reaching for anything that felt familiar, trying to figure out how to get out of this dark hell.  Every once in a while I grabbed a hold of something that brought me comfort-- a hobby, an achievement, a memory, a good time—and I thought, “Ok, Dana.  Move towards that.  That’s the right way.”  But then there were times when my eyes refused to acclimate to the darkness, and I lost hold of that good feeling, and I continued on my dark trek through the tunnel. 

Lately, however, the tunnel hasn’t been that dark.  It’s actually well-lit.  There are paintings on the wall and friends at every corner.  The ground is carpeted and the bathrooms are spotless.  The tunnel isn’t even a tunnel.  It’s a wide residential street with large leafy trees.  It’s a sunny day.  It’s jacket weather.  My daughter is riding her bike next to me.  My husband is holding my hand.  My dog doesn’t want to eat other dogs.  My daughter doesn’t have a potty mouth.  Greg isn’t lecturing me about leaving my purse on the kitchen counter.  I make a stop at Weight Watchers-I’ve lost 10 lbs this week!  How awesome.  Suddenly I’m jogging down the street.  I’m waving to people who are here to cheer me on.  My family is holding up signs.  My dad is smiling.  My sister is running next to me.  I’m the winner of the race.  The ribbon breaks against my stomach and I get a trophy and I’m laughing and we all break into a flash mob to Jessie J.’s Domino.

Maybe I can change this situation.  Maybe bringing my mother back is not the only way to be happy again.

Random

My phone decided to download a newer version tonight and all of a sudden emails of pictures that I sent myself that had never come through came in.  And I'm not sure why I emailed myself these pictures in the first place, but I can only guess it was to put on this blog back when I updated daily and kept everyone in the loop on everything, no matter how mundane.

Sorry About That

I did not mean to take a vacation from this blog.  It just happened.  Kinda like the earthquake.  And then the hurricane. 

There's nothing new to report, really.  I still run, loosely follow Weight Watchers, lament over Leah's behavior.  For a couple of days last week, there were actual times that I didn't want the world to open up and swallow me while dealing with sticky Leah situations, but then Friday night turned out to be the worst yet behaviorally-wise, and we are back to some days sucking and some days not sucking.

We fared okay through the storm yesterday, only losing power for 6 hours and having some downed tree branches and closed roads today.  I've lived through quite a few hurricanes and the only thing that truly worries me are falling trees.  I mean, if there's water flooding my house I have time to get out and I know how to swim.  You don't have time to move out of the way of an enormous tree falling on you.  Because you're dead.

So, on that note, I leave you with an idea how yesterday went when we didn't have power for 6 hours.

Exhibit A: The face a kid who gets to watch TV makes.

Exhibit B: A face a kid who is told there is no power therefore no TV makes.

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We Had A Time

Over the weekend Aunt Abbe and cousin Stacey came to visit.  We talked about Weight Watchers and the trials and tribulations we've been experiencing.  We gave each other exercise tips and discussed new recipes.  We talked about our feelings: how it feels to be overweight, how it feels to lose weight, how it differs from how we thought it would be. 

We discussed the next Turkey Trot, and I convinced Stacey to do it with me!  Stacey and Leah went swimming for a bit.  Aunt Abbe told me she send me some of her old pants that are now my new size. 

We had a good weekend, and, like you could imagine, we got to the part of the conversation that talks about how you were not there to talk with us.  How you would have been making this weight loss journey with us; how you would have been interested in the 2 point zucchini muffin recipe; how you would have resisted doing the Turkey Trot but ultimately would have tried.

The fact of the matter is that you should have been there.  But you aren't.  YOU gave up.  You looked for an easy out and you didn't find one.  And, therefore, you missed out.  We had a time.  And you weren't there.

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 is my 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


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My Little Baby, No More

I purchased some bathing suits on sale for Leah for next year.  I bought a size 4T.  They might as well have come from that Justice store because they look enormous.  I can't imagine, that next summer, in 12 short months, Leah will be wearing those bathing suits.  They are just so damn big and I don't want her to fit into them.  I mourn for the baby she once was and attempt to remain optimistic for the girl she is turning into.



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Run, Dana, Run

I am having such a hard time exercising.  Or, I should say, finding time to exercise.  It seems like the day just contains too many other priorities, and when I finally stop for the day it's too late to go for a run. 

I've taken another employment position and I'll talk about that at some point soon, but I am hoping that with this new position, some more free time becomes available to me.  I have to convince myself, however, that this free time is permitted to be spent on me, and my life goals, rather than using it to spend more time with Leah or Greg.  I have to give myself the okay to spend some time alone doing something positive for me. 

OT: My Shoes

Before I had Leah I wore a size 6.5. I had amassed an enormous amount of shoes and most of them held a special place in my heart. I am not a shoe snob—meaning I don’t care what brand or store they come from—if they are attractive and don’t hurt (much), I’ll wear them. And love them.




Once the aftermath of what I call pregnancy and its related fallouts settled, my feet stopped shrinking at a size 7, which is where they are today. While most of my summer shoes still fit, thanks to the backless varieties, most of the winter boots and loafers had to be replaced.



Three weeks ago I went to my basement where I keep off-season clothes, found the bag of summer shoes, and brought it up to my room. As I opened the bag and peaked inside, I knew immediately that something was very wrong. The smell alone was my clue, but the shoes—covered in a green and black moss-like substance confirmed my biggest fear. The shoes had gotten moldy in the basement and it looked like it might be the end for them.



Not quite sure of what I should do, I quickly closed the bag and shoved it into my closet, as the best way to put something out of your mind is to hide it in the back of your closet. But every time I opened the closet door, despite the fact that I couldn’t see the bag since I had shoved it really far back, I was reminded of the memory of the bag of sad shoes and the idea that something had to be done.



I decided to wash the shoes. Like in the washing machine. And surprisingly only two pairs didn’t make it! Two of my most beloved pairs, but this gave me a reason to replace them. Which I did. At a half off sale at--and I am not embarrassed to admit this--KMART!



So, there’s really no point to this post today, other than to say that shoes are shoes and life goes on, and also as a reminder to my husband that there’s something wrong with the basement and I’d like for him to fix it immediately. And also to solidify the notion that my washing machine is the best appliance in the house. I’ve always believed it, and I think that this story proves it.

Weight Watchers

I’ve been following Weight Watchers since May 17th now. As of this past Tuesday, I am down 12.2 lbs, which means I’m averaging 2 lbs a week. I am happy with this pace, yet I fear I won’t be able to hold on to it for very much longer.


I thought by this point I’d have the new points plus system down better. I don’t. I am nothing without my tools to tell me how many points foods are, and I dutifully find myself entering meals into the system with no idea of how many points they’ll turn out to be until the screen blinks out a number.



I have not been able to exercise regularly, and I feel that exercising is the only thing that will enable me to hold on to that 2 lb a week loss pace. I am switching jobs (again? I know.) in a week which will give me some more free time. I plan on integrating running back into my life.



Other people on Weight Watchers see the plan as, “Oh I can eat anything I want--just in moderation,” while my outlook isn’t as cheery. If I could eat in moderation I wouldn’t be here. Clearly, that’s an issue for me. I look at Weight Watchers as the way I have to eat, with restrictions on foods and portions, forever, if I want to be lighter and healthier. I see it as a war that I’ve lost and my punishment is a very tight rein on my diet for the rest of my life; something that I need to comes to grips with and accept. I’ve tried to live my way with regards to food, and it didn’t work out, so now we do it someone else’s way, and succumb to the fact that I’ll need to track, report, weigh in, and attend meetings in order to curb my eating habits for the rest of my life.



It’s almost like someone in a drug and alcohol treatment program--someone who tried to handle their addiction on their own but failed and is now accepting the fact that they were wrong and need help. Quite often we see certain behaviors and objects as benign, and those who struggle with them as enigmas. When I realized that overeating and poor food choices were issues in my life, and made an effort to change that, I began treatment for my addiction.



It’s incredibly difficult to sit in a room with women who are strong enough to make a life change through diet and exercise, which, with all the fast and easy ways of losing weight this days, can be described as the long and hard way. I look around at these women who know that this is the right way to do it and are fighting the good fight, despite the uphill battle ahead of them. It’s not difficult to handle because I’m one of them, and can glimpse 10, 20, 30 years in the future and see myself still needing this program to stay healthy. No, it’s difficult because of the one person who gave up on this. The person who introduced me to Weight Watchers so many years ago, and who went back time and time again. Who saw results- although meager and short-lived- after her hard work. But then who gave up. Who succumbed when the battle became too much. Who saw a light off to the right, rather than through the long tunnel, and went to it.  And then got burned.

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Hair Come The Tears

She had to put every clip in her hair.  Wouldn't let me touch one, help out, or make any suggestions.

And then, like a mini Paris Hilton, threw a huge fit when I told her it looked nice.

And forget when I told her that she should wear it out.  FOR. GET. IT.

It's times like these that make me very scared for the future. 

Jeez, I didn't do anything wrong!  Unless you count complimenting you!  For the love of god, lighten up!

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Adjusted

Leah's been in school full time for several weeks now, and, although I am totally jinxing it by discussing it here, her transition has been seamless and this has been a huge weight off my shoulders.

We were all very surprised when Greg decided that he wanted a new career and then was offered a job after his first interview.  (If you remember, some of us had to interview 13 times in an industry we've been in for 7 years before being offered a new job.)  Because of that, we were forced to put her in full time school mid-year, or rather, at the end of the school year in May.  The school we selected offered open enrollment which allowed us to sign her up on a Friday for her to begin school the following Monday. 

I was told several times by the head mistress that while she might enjoy school in the beginning, the fad would fade and she would eventually give us problems when it came time to drop her off.

I also lost a few nights' worth of sleep thinking about how all of the kids were going to know the routines, the songs, their letters, numbers, days of the week in Japanese, whatever, and she would be lost and embarrassed.  Just thinking about it brought a tear to my eye. 

You know where this is going, right?  Nothing.  Nada.  No issues, no problems, no hesitations, nothing.  She sings the songs, announces the date, pledges the allegiance, and knows that butterflies come from caterpillars.  She's just so damn awesome.

Dream On

Yesterday Leah told me that Pop Pop John took her to gymnastics with Ana.  Then, after that, they went to Dunkin Donuts.  And then, she woke up! 

That's what she said. 

I think that she recounted her first dream. 

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Easter Recap

Sorry about my absence.  I was sick and had a busy week.  And, it didn't start out great. 

So, I'm back!  With an Easter update.

Surprisingly, it wasn't 30 degrees!!!  I mean, it still rained and all, of course,but we didn't need winter coats, only umbrellas.

We got to hang out with family and have egg hunts, go to dinner, see the Easter bunny, have a caricature made, and get our face painted.

And, in keeping with a theme, the target may be different, but the picture never changes.

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!

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Clothes Encounters

We try to let Leah pick out her own clothes.  There are time when I must intervene--sometimes put the kibosh on the entire outfit--but we want her to be independent and proud of what she's wearing.  So, for the most part, I'll let her chose.  She's pretty good at it.

Until she's not.

My sister calls this Ace Ventura.

**If anyone cares, nine years ago today, Greg asked me to be his girlfriend.  

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Whatever She Wants To Be

I often look at Leah and wonder what will come of her.  What kind of woman will she grow to be?  What will she do for a living?  Will she marry?  Will she have children?  Will she move to another state or country?  Will she never move out of my house?  Will she be headstrong and independent?  Will she be kind?  Will she own her own business?  Will she be an ant marching to work each day?  Will she be open with her feelings?  Will we be good friends? 

The list goes on and on...

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Pop Pop And His Ladies

A little update on Baby Bella.

She's getting bigger everyday. 

She will be turning over any day now. 

She smiles and lols.

She "talks" to people.

She "loves" her cousin Leah.

If you want to imagine what Bella and Leah's relationship is like, just imagine Pepe Le Pew and his girlfriend.  It's like that.

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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.


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On Pre-School

I took off today to take care of some personal business.   Since I had some time, I set up a couple of appointments at pre-schools.  Now that we've seen two very different schools, with different policies, beliefs, curricula, and teachers, we have to make the decision on which one (or type) we'd like to go with.  Although I know that in the long run it probably doesn't matter which pre-school Leah goes to, the decision on which one we will send her to is sure to keep me up for the next 3-4 weeks. 

If there is anyone out there who has something to add to this, I welcome your feedback.  How did you choose pre-school for your child(ren)?  What were the most important qualities you looked for in a school?  What turned you off to a school?  What ultimately sealed the deal?