I love taking my car to the mechanic.
First of all, I finally found one that I can trust. This is no small feat for the average pedestrian, however, it's even harder for me in that my father had his own shop for 27 years. He just closed it, not to mention that he's 2000 miles away, and even in this world of telecommuting, this does me no good for it's hard to turn a wrench over the internet.
Secondly, I love being a pedestrian. I love to walk and it's not too often that I can find a legitimate excuse to do it, or come up with excuses not to do it.
I dropped my car off this morning. My husband gave me a ride there. They asked me if there was any particular time that I would need it, and I said that I really didn't know when my husband was getting off work. I may not be able to pick up the car today, but if they really needed me to, I could always walk. It happened that a neighbor of mine was also there. She gasped and said "That would be a pretty far walk". I told her that it was six miles, and that really it was no problem, because I had done it before.
I had already been through a similar conversation earlier that day with my husband who asked how I was planning to get our daughter home from school. Of course, I would walk.
"WALK?"
I've had that word spoken in disbelief to me four times today (one via email, and another in Spanish). I responded simply yes "that's why we have feet". Simple.
So, I set out about a half hour earlier than I would if I was putting the peddle to the metal, 8 month old in stroller, Bjorn packed underneath for the way home (thinking the stroller would be occupied with my oldest on the way back). The stroller had a bit of a flat, so it was a little bit harder to push, so I stayed on the pavement on the way there.
The trip there was about a half hour, which gave me quite a bit of time to form my rebuttal to the endless debate of "WALK?". The best thing that I could come up with though was, "why not?"
Why is there such a diversion to walking in our culture? People are not as opposed to skiing as they are to walking. When you say you are going skiing, people say "Oh Skiing! Have fun!" whether they ski or not. I think it's about the gear. It doesn't take any special gear to walk, and thus it's not worthy of us because it literally costs no money to do. However if you are so inclined you CAN buy special walking shoes. I prefer not to because then there is the monetary guilt factor of "wow, I spent money on these shoes, I SHOULD be walking". "Should" is a word that I don't want to impart on my walks. I prefer to just walk in my boots, or whatever I have on.
I also think that people actually have a fear of walking. Not so much walking for exercise, but walking to actually get somewhere. When you are walking, it is just you and what you can carry. We have a fear of leaving our possessions behind, so we take our two ton little rolling casitas filled with crap with us wherever we go.
When I got to my oldest's school and walked through the door, bundled baby not in car-seat, but in hand. I started talking to a little boy. He was distracted by the next car that pulled up into the drive. "That's my mom! That's her car... she's got a black BMW". I almost asked him if she had feet too, but thought better of it.
I bundled up my oldest and explained to her that we were walking home. We've done this before, but it the past she's always ridden in the stroller. This time she was going to walk. I thought that she would raise a total fuss over this, but I was wrong, she happily trucked along beside me as we dodged car after car in the driveway, and made our way to the nifty little trail that runs next to the road.
She walked an entire mile. I can hear it now "Child ABUSE, Can you believe that woman actually made her four year old walk home from school?". Yes, maybe she should be riding in a black Beamer. Remember Linus from the Peanuts? "From the back of the bike to the shopping cart, to a stroller in the mall, to the back of the bike, sometimes it's an entire day and my feet don't touch the ground at all!". At least his mom was on a bike.
So after a mile, she got tired, and I switched the baby to the Bjorn and her to the stroller and we continued on our way. We saw crows dancing on telephone poles, and little birds, and got to see what thistles look like in winter.
The best thing about it is, when she lays her head down tonight, I know she won't have any trouble going to sleep. Nor will I. I can pick my car up tomorrow in the morning, but you know... I am considering leaving it there for a couple more days.
Friday, February 8, 2008
Saturday, February 2, 2008
Alice in Wonderland
I went out for a girl's night tonight. It was a friend's birthday party composed of a Russian beekeeper, an astrologer, a therapist, the beekeeper's daughter-going to school for finances, two photographers, and an eclectic young woman dabbling in teaching photoshop and collecting wild edible/medicinal herbs.
The UCLA basketball game was also on, and although I have no interest in this whatsoever, my husband does, thus there was a bit of conflict, considering we only have basic cable in the house. Maybe this is cause to get a bit more out of our cable service.
I offered to come back at 7:30 (after being deterred until 5:50 throwing together a pizza and pasta for the kids and husband and him asking if there was time for him to go get a chicken from the market). This would allow him to catch some of the game, but this was brushed off as "silly", which it is because he's been out and about for the last two games---me at home with the kids. I said that I should probably be home at 8:30 anyhow to make sure the baby was able to get to sleep (dangerous habit).
I left the party at 8:45 (although I expressed to the women that I wished is was a sleepover), so that my husband could make it to the pharmacy by 10 (something that I had no idea was in the plans for the night). But I digress... this is not meant to be blow by blow of my three-phone-call-home night out. It's meant as a celebration of sanity and adult conversation.
I actually met another woman who owns a sawsall. She is in the process of trying to get pregnant. Her friend is "donating sperm" and she intends to do this all on her own. Kudos.
I mean really, she's got the sawsall, what else does she need?
The beekeeper's daughter asked me in my ancient wisdom "what are your thirties like?". I realized, that it's very hard to answer a question about your current frame of mind. I resorted to a comparison of my twenties. What was I like back then? Much like her, I was "depressed" or as I prefer to call it melancholy. I reveled in it and have the scars to prove it (nothing serious, just one on my hand that came about during a depressed painting session where I thought a little bit of adrenaline and blood might amp up the "value" of what I was making).
It came about that I actually miss this feeling. I tried to explain to the therapist, astrologer and beekeeper's daughter, "you know on the way here I was listening too... too... um, Um, I can't remember, ah, shit, some goddam depressing music that I can't remember the name of now". It sums it up completely, my state of mind right now. I am so darn busy that I can't even remember the name of the musical group that was making me depressed.
I explained to them that I miss the feeling of "I am just going to run off into the desert and wilt". No serious intentions of killing myself, by just running off, wilting, starving, getting bit by rattlers... whatever. I guess it all rotates around the "whatever".
"Whatever" is different now. It actually doesn't exist anymore. It's been pounded out by the overbearing "what if?".
I start with the "whatever" and then I get a 3 and a half foot "mommy I need you" that brings me up and out. Whether I want to be there or not. There is a purpose that needs to be filled. Two living purposes much greater (and smaller) than me. A cry, a hungry belly, a skinned knee, a drive to school, a fever, a runny nose, a hug.
I have no time for depression. I have no time to cut myself, or stay in bed, or fantasize about OD-ing on cough syrup. Not that I do not feel depressed from time to time, but the emotion (or lack of) flows through me and it's amazing what going on with what needs to be done can do for you.
Call it Survival Mode. It's kind of a paradox really. If you are busy surviving, then you don't really have time to worry about not surviving. There are people that need me. period.
Where we all run into danger is when we actually have down time. Where we can drive in the car and listen to god-knows-what depressing music. The kids are sleeping, time to put wet towels under the door, make plans for the nanny to come and stick our head in the over (Sylvia Plath). And the only thing that saves us from that is that it's a rare case that you can find a nanny that you can actually trust enough with these precious beings-even their dad.
So, I drove back to the house blasting my depressing music writing poetry in my head, and pulled up the drive at 9:15. ALL the lights were on. The baby was up, the 4 year old was just starting to watch a movie. I nursed the baby and turned off the movie instigating screams about "watching Alice in Wonderland RIGHT NOW!".
My husband went to the pharmacy. The baby fell asleep through the screams of Alice-wanting. I tried to read The Lorax through Alice-wanting, I casually walked down stairs into the lower bunk being chased by Alice-wanting. I stared into space through biting, and hitting, and more screaming of over-tired Alice-wanting. I locked myself in the laundry room to escape physical damage from Alice-wanting. I opened it slowly to Alice-wanting, and Alice-wanting less and less and less and finally a story and a little song and a little talk about how we shouldn't hurt mommy. Because when it comes down to it, none of us really wants to hurt.
Although it would be nice to have the time to be able to hurt, and wallow in it, and drive into the desert listening to, oh yes, it was "Alice" by Tom Waits, if only it is just to drive home again.
The UCLA basketball game was also on, and although I have no interest in this whatsoever, my husband does, thus there was a bit of conflict, considering we only have basic cable in the house. Maybe this is cause to get a bit more out of our cable service.
I offered to come back at 7:30 (after being deterred until 5:50 throwing together a pizza and pasta for the kids and husband and him asking if there was time for him to go get a chicken from the market). This would allow him to catch some of the game, but this was brushed off as "silly", which it is because he's been out and about for the last two games---me at home with the kids. I said that I should probably be home at 8:30 anyhow to make sure the baby was able to get to sleep (dangerous habit).
I left the party at 8:45 (although I expressed to the women that I wished is was a sleepover), so that my husband could make it to the pharmacy by 10 (something that I had no idea was in the plans for the night). But I digress... this is not meant to be blow by blow of my three-phone-call-home night out. It's meant as a celebration of sanity and adult conversation.
I actually met another woman who owns a sawsall. She is in the process of trying to get pregnant. Her friend is "donating sperm" and she intends to do this all on her own. Kudos.
I mean really, she's got the sawsall, what else does she need?
The beekeeper's daughter asked me in my ancient wisdom "what are your thirties like?". I realized, that it's very hard to answer a question about your current frame of mind. I resorted to a comparison of my twenties. What was I like back then? Much like her, I was "depressed" or as I prefer to call it melancholy. I reveled in it and have the scars to prove it (nothing serious, just one on my hand that came about during a depressed painting session where I thought a little bit of adrenaline and blood might amp up the "value" of what I was making).
It came about that I actually miss this feeling. I tried to explain to the therapist, astrologer and beekeeper's daughter, "you know on the way here I was listening too... too... um, Um, I can't remember, ah, shit, some goddam depressing music that I can't remember the name of now". It sums it up completely, my state of mind right now. I am so darn busy that I can't even remember the name of the musical group that was making me depressed.
I explained to them that I miss the feeling of "I am just going to run off into the desert and wilt". No serious intentions of killing myself, by just running off, wilting, starving, getting bit by rattlers... whatever. I guess it all rotates around the "whatever".
"Whatever" is different now. It actually doesn't exist anymore. It's been pounded out by the overbearing "what if?".
I start with the "whatever" and then I get a 3 and a half foot "mommy I need you" that brings me up and out. Whether I want to be there or not. There is a purpose that needs to be filled. Two living purposes much greater (and smaller) than me. A cry, a hungry belly, a skinned knee, a drive to school, a fever, a runny nose, a hug.
I have no time for depression. I have no time to cut myself, or stay in bed, or fantasize about OD-ing on cough syrup. Not that I do not feel depressed from time to time, but the emotion (or lack of) flows through me and it's amazing what going on with what needs to be done can do for you.
Call it Survival Mode. It's kind of a paradox really. If you are busy surviving, then you don't really have time to worry about not surviving. There are people that need me. period.
Where we all run into danger is when we actually have down time. Where we can drive in the car and listen to god-knows-what depressing music. The kids are sleeping, time to put wet towels under the door, make plans for the nanny to come and stick our head in the over (Sylvia Plath). And the only thing that saves us from that is that it's a rare case that you can find a nanny that you can actually trust enough with these precious beings-even their dad.
So, I drove back to the house blasting my depressing music writing poetry in my head, and pulled up the drive at 9:15. ALL the lights were on. The baby was up, the 4 year old was just starting to watch a movie. I nursed the baby and turned off the movie instigating screams about "watching Alice in Wonderland RIGHT NOW!".
My husband went to the pharmacy. The baby fell asleep through the screams of Alice-wanting. I tried to read The Lorax through Alice-wanting, I casually walked down stairs into the lower bunk being chased by Alice-wanting. I stared into space through biting, and hitting, and more screaming of over-tired Alice-wanting. I locked myself in the laundry room to escape physical damage from Alice-wanting. I opened it slowly to Alice-wanting, and Alice-wanting less and less and less and finally a story and a little song and a little talk about how we shouldn't hurt mommy. Because when it comes down to it, none of us really wants to hurt.
Although it would be nice to have the time to be able to hurt, and wallow in it, and drive into the desert listening to, oh yes, it was "Alice" by Tom Waits, if only it is just to drive home again.
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Search Engine Test
This is a test to see if I can get picked up by search engines by typing all the words I'd like to be picked up for in random sentences across this blog. Wahm comes to mind, although I don't believe in wahms. How many "mommy blog"s are there anyhow. I really enjoy mom blogs even though I think they focus on growth percentiles too much. My mommy blog does not, I am a true mommy blogger.
I am a designer mom, that sits in front of her laptop, or under her desk similar to the woman in the American Express ad. Maybe I don't need sentences about being a wahm or a mommy blogger, or owning power tools and being a woman that has kids. Maybe I can just type in the words, but this is more fun.
What else? disgruntled house-wife? No that's not me. I go by maniamom. Manic, maybe, mom, yes. I work as a designer and take care of the kids. I nurse my baby at my laptop while working at home.
Work at home and earn money, doing data-entry, and selling candles. Just like many WAHMs I know that sell Avon, and Mary Kay. Just like Naomi Wolf and Abigail Adams.
I don't put pictures of my kids online or talk about birth weights or how they are doing in school. Not yet, at least. My husband is a mathematician and doesn't know how to use power tools. I am the handy-man, or handy-woman of the house.
I like long moonlit walks on the beach, quiet dinners, and punk rock.
Okay, let's see where that gets me.
Love, Maniamom
I am a designer mom, that sits in front of her laptop, or under her desk similar to the woman in the American Express ad. Maybe I don't need sentences about being a wahm or a mommy blogger, or owning power tools and being a woman that has kids. Maybe I can just type in the words, but this is more fun.
What else? disgruntled house-wife? No that's not me. I go by maniamom. Manic, maybe, mom, yes. I work as a designer and take care of the kids. I nurse my baby at my laptop while working at home.
Work at home and earn money, doing data-entry, and selling candles. Just like many WAHMs I know that sell Avon, and Mary Kay. Just like Naomi Wolf and Abigail Adams.
I don't put pictures of my kids online or talk about birth weights or how they are doing in school. Not yet, at least. My husband is a mathematician and doesn't know how to use power tools. I am the handy-man, or handy-woman of the house.
I like long moonlit walks on the beach, quiet dinners, and punk rock.
Okay, let's see where that gets me.
Love, Maniamom
Thursday, December 6, 2007
No experience necessary - the Myth of the WAHM
"Work from home and earn 20-25 bucks an hour. No experience necessary."
You will see several ads for this on wahm.com,
...and for data entry,
...and posts about women who have their own multi-million dollar "Candle Business".
I am here to debunk the myth of the WAHM (For those of you unfamiliar with this term, it stands for "Work at Home Mom"). I personally think the term should be WOHP-Work at Home Professional. It's a much cooler term, and it doesn't bias the situation with sex.
I know several people who work at home, work in the car, work at the coffee house. They are both men and women, both moms and dads.
I work from home, and happen to be a mom too. The more the term WAHM is thrown around, the more I find myself being taken less seriously. I don't sell candles, I don't do data entry, I don't do ghost writing for Stephen King. I do exactly what I did before I had children (design). I know WAHMs that work for the Rand Corporation, that are Sociologists, etc.
One of the women in my "virtual office" was featured on the Today Show a few months back. It showed her shuffling her three kids off to school in an orderly fashion after feeding them a healthy breakfast, and "commuting 6ft. to her office". She confided in me that this was the most organized she's ever been. They were up at 4:30 to have everyone neat and tidy for the show.
What I found interesting is that they focused the show on a woman. It wasn't about work at home parents, it was about a work at home mom. The show concluded with a woman who sold "designer clothing" from her home. She summed up the show in a sales pitch about how the clothing was the "finest quality" (holding a garment for the camera to see) and how you too could join her team and sell these "fine"products. I swear I saw the camera zoom to the street and her driving away in a pink Cadillac branded with Mary Kay.
My colleague that was featured is nothing like this woman. She has skills beyond your typical Avon sales lady. She is doing what she did before she became a mom, she just happens to do it remotely. She is not kicking legos around under her desk while she works. She goes to meetings. She owns suits.
I remember going to a meeting with a banker that was going to work a loan out for a home we wanted to buy. My husband was there first, I came second with the kids. The man (granted, he was an older fellow, stuck in the stone-age) looked at me as he worked out our finances, and said "with these two, I am presuming that you stay at home". I was in the midst of putting out coloring supplies for my oldest to keep her occupied, and probably nursing the baby at the same time. So, I guess it was an honest mistake. I simply said "yes". It was true. I DO stay at home.
While he was working out the numbers, he suggested "we'll just put no income down for you". I honestly don't know where he thought we were going to get the money to buy the house we were looking at if I had no income. I think the words "back up buddy" came out of my mouth. Maybe I just stuttered "Oh no. I have a profit statement here from my business, please take a look". At this point it became apparent that I could bring home the bacon and nurse the baby at the same time.
Still that doesn't take me out of the Avon lady role. I probably could sell enough Avon to buy a house. I don't know, does Avon still exist? I know that Mr. McConnell (and Jr.) made a bundle from women going door to door, and selling products to their friends. Timing is everything. Women! You can now work! Go sell beauty products to your friends! They even "Sponsored Radical Feminist Hate for Fathers Day, featuring known lesbians, man-haters, and supporters of child sexual predation such as Rosie ODonnell, Jane Fonda, Eve Ensler, and Marlo Thomas. (What? Get a load of THAT link if you want a laugh).
So, the way I see it is: women were allowed to work. We gained stride... we got out of the bondage of the house. People questioned, "is it good for the kids?". Our guilt got to us. "Mr. Mom" was just not working. We decided that we could work at home. We could be professionals AND watch the kids.
Or maybe, just maybe, a little thing called "the internet" was developed an enabled more people to not have to commute. It enabled us to go to work on our couches, in our own living room office. To be at work at home. To be a professional on the toilet.
So, I guess the stigma attached with WAHM is, not so much the "Work at Home" part, but the "Mom" part. WAHM suggests that even though you work at home, you can still be responsible for the home and the kids, simply because you are a "Mom". ("WAHD" could also be an appropriate term for Dads. As in "Whad you say? I can't concentrate on anything else while I'm working". The site for WAHD's though was built by a WAHM. She decided to be a web designer too while she was at it.)
The Today Show says that this is normal, a new phenomenon. How wonderful that women can work at home so the kids aren't in day care. They actually make Supermom action figures now. I'll tell you, society better pump us up with this stuff, especially if we are going to keep our stride.
We tried to have men do their fair share at home after we hit the work force. This failed miserably in most cases. So we had a couple of choices:
1. Ditch our efforts and resolve to staying at home washing diapers
2. Continue to climb the corporate ladder, leaving our kids in daycare until as late as we can, so that we can compete with those not responsible for the kids (aka. men), all the while feeling a huge amount of societal guilt
3. Adapt by working where the kids are, thumb over the phone receiver, on conference call to London, LA, and New York, baby on the boob, laundry machine going.
4. Doing data entry and earn a WOHP-ing 20 bucks an hour.
You will see several ads for this on wahm.com,
...and for data entry,
...and posts about women who have their own multi-million dollar "Candle Business".
I am here to debunk the myth of the WAHM (For those of you unfamiliar with this term, it stands for "Work at Home Mom"). I personally think the term should be WOHP-Work at Home Professional. It's a much cooler term, and it doesn't bias the situation with sex.
I know several people who work at home, work in the car, work at the coffee house. They are both men and women, both moms and dads.
I work from home, and happen to be a mom too. The more the term WAHM is thrown around, the more I find myself being taken less seriously. I don't sell candles, I don't do data entry, I don't do ghost writing for Stephen King. I do exactly what I did before I had children (design). I know WAHMs that work for the Rand Corporation, that are Sociologists, etc.
One of the women in my "virtual office" was featured on the Today Show a few months back. It showed her shuffling her three kids off to school in an orderly fashion after feeding them a healthy breakfast, and "commuting 6ft. to her office". She confided in me that this was the most organized she's ever been. They were up at 4:30 to have everyone neat and tidy for the show.
What I found interesting is that they focused the show on a woman. It wasn't about work at home parents, it was about a work at home mom. The show concluded with a woman who sold "designer clothing" from her home. She summed up the show in a sales pitch about how the clothing was the "finest quality" (holding a garment for the camera to see) and how you too could join her team and sell these "fine"products. I swear I saw the camera zoom to the street and her driving away in a pink Cadillac branded with Mary Kay.
My colleague that was featured is nothing like this woman. She has skills beyond your typical Avon sales lady. She is doing what she did before she became a mom, she just happens to do it remotely. She is not kicking legos around under her desk while she works. She goes to meetings. She owns suits.
I remember going to a meeting with a banker that was going to work a loan out for a home we wanted to buy. My husband was there first, I came second with the kids. The man (granted, he was an older fellow, stuck in the stone-age) looked at me as he worked out our finances, and said "with these two, I am presuming that you stay at home". I was in the midst of putting out coloring supplies for my oldest to keep her occupied, and probably nursing the baby at the same time. So, I guess it was an honest mistake. I simply said "yes". It was true. I DO stay at home.
While he was working out the numbers, he suggested "we'll just put no income down for you". I honestly don't know where he thought we were going to get the money to buy the house we were looking at if I had no income. I think the words "back up buddy" came out of my mouth. Maybe I just stuttered "Oh no. I have a profit statement here from my business, please take a look". At this point it became apparent that I could bring home the bacon and nurse the baby at the same time.
Still that doesn't take me out of the Avon lady role. I probably could sell enough Avon to buy a house. I don't know, does Avon still exist? I know that Mr. McConnell (and Jr.) made a bundle from women going door to door, and selling products to their friends. Timing is everything. Women! You can now work! Go sell beauty products to your friends! They even "Sponsored Radical Feminist Hate for Fathers Day, featuring known lesbians, man-haters, and supporters of child sexual predation such as Rosie ODonnell, Jane Fonda, Eve Ensler, and Marlo Thomas. (What? Get a load of THAT link if you want a laugh).
So, the way I see it is: women were allowed to work. We gained stride... we got out of the bondage of the house. People questioned, "is it good for the kids?". Our guilt got to us. "Mr. Mom" was just not working. We decided that we could work at home. We could be professionals AND watch the kids.
Or maybe, just maybe, a little thing called "the internet" was developed an enabled more people to not have to commute. It enabled us to go to work on our couches, in our own living room office. To be at work at home. To be a professional on the toilet.
So, I guess the stigma attached with WAHM is, not so much the "Work at Home" part, but the "Mom" part. WAHM suggests that even though you work at home, you can still be responsible for the home and the kids, simply because you are a "Mom". ("WAHD" could also be an appropriate term for Dads. As in "Whad you say? I can't concentrate on anything else while I'm working". The site for WAHD's though was built by a WAHM. She decided to be a web designer too while she was at it.)
The Today Show says that this is normal, a new phenomenon. How wonderful that women can work at home so the kids aren't in day care. They actually make Supermom action figures now. I'll tell you, society better pump us up with this stuff, especially if we are going to keep our stride.
We tried to have men do their fair share at home after we hit the work force. This failed miserably in most cases. So we had a couple of choices:
1. Ditch our efforts and resolve to staying at home washing diapers
2. Continue to climb the corporate ladder, leaving our kids in daycare until as late as we can, so that we can compete with those not responsible for the kids (aka. men), all the while feeling a huge amount of societal guilt
3. Adapt by working where the kids are, thumb over the phone receiver, on conference call to London, LA, and New York, baby on the boob, laundry machine going.
4. Doing data entry and earn a WOHP-ing 20 bucks an hour.
Monday, December 3, 2007
I have a husband, and I actually like him.
So, I guess it's been about a year since my husband and I went out. It was the last time I got pregnant. I can't even remember who watched our daughter that night. We went out with the usual babysitter to see Lou Reed, so obviously it wasn't her.
Yes, we had our first "date night" in over a year. This wasn't out of macho-mommyism, it was only out of practicality. While I was pregnant I was lucky to make it through an episode of "Friends" without passing out in the papasan chair. Once the baby arrived it was the "leave my child with a stranger? ARE you out of your MIND?" syndrome.
Unfortunately, because we can't remember who watched our oldest the night we went out, and because we started hanging out with the old baby sitter, our choices are limited to strangers. This is what happens when you rip up your roots. Not only did I rip them up, I landed in a strange little town where everybody's a "healer" or a naval gazer, and it's not shocking to call someone's answering machine to hear "Welcome to the porch, the naked porch". We actually had a tenant in our guest house request that we re-grate the driveway because it was messing with her chi.
We were more daring with our oldest. Or maybe more desperate. I remember having a sitter come to our house. She was a perfectly charming person with great referrals from our handy-man. That is, until she started talking about "the aliens". This was not a simple haphazard comment. She had the whole thing down... the "reptilians", the "blackies", etc.
My husband is a big fan of talking with people about this stuff. We started our date night an hour late because of it.
So, now you are making the connection, yes, we actually did go. We actually left our daughter with this woman for a night. I remember sitting in the car and looking at my hubby and him looking at me, "do you think it will be alright?"
We knew where the woman lived, we knew her neighbors. Where we live, it's quite common for otherwise normal people to talk of alien life, or have seen alien life, or to have been abducted and "probed" by aliens. My husband made an entire radio talk-show out of it for a while. So we drove away.
If it's not aliens, it's some other eccentricity. Our oldest's first babysitter was the wife of the son of Elizabeth Taylor (I didn't know this until much later), she simply loved babies. The second was my husbands extremely bi-polar friend and his girlfriend. The third was the alien lady. We actually used her more than once. The reason we stopped using her was that she was a general pain in the ass, complained about how difficult the VCR was to use, complained about the steps, complained about misc. other things, and finally we came home one night to find our daughter wide-awake on the bed with the woman snoozing beside her.
Is it just here? Are sitters that are sane and reliable hard to find elsewhere? What happened to the days of high school girls wanting to babysit for a buck an hour? Good wholesome girls, with no interest other than watching kids. Oh god, what am I saying. I know what happened, and I am happy for it. Go girls, get the gold... you'll end up watching kids anyhow when the time comes, AND bringing home the bacon, AND doing the laundry, AND fixing the car.
I am actually all for my child care provider getting more than anyone else. I think they are a valuable asset and should be paid properly, but I also hate to break the bank just to get reacquainted with my husband. This is why we NEVER go see a movie when we have a sitter. I can't see spending fifty bucks to sit facing forward watching something with someone that I never get to talk to.
We are like long lost friends that see each other all the time but never connect. We make an effort to sit in my studio at night and drink a glass of wine together and talk after the kids are asleep (a couple of times a week). I value this time, but the place is not optimal. I look at the computers and have a nasty habit of asking him a question, and if he doesn't know the answer, jumping up to do a quick Google search. How annoying...
It's amazing that we conceived a second child at all. The oldest was still sleeping in our bed at the time. The baby wasn't conceived there (sick), it was on the living room floor (not sick, but not all that comfortable either). We've actually rented cheap hotel rooms for this very purpose. Where do you go when you can't be in your own bed? I suggested parking, but my husband did NOT grow up in the suburbs, where there are places for this. L.A. isn't conducive to parking, so he'd never experienced it, and really wasn't into it's cramped style (literally). So a cheap hotel it is, and I would suggest it to any married couple, however trampy it may seem (or maybe that's the appeal).
I remember one of the times my parents were in town and watching our oldest. We took a trip to a spa with wonderful outdoor tubs, then took a long drive in the woods where we saw a herd of wild horses (for real), then we ended the day in a cheap motel, in a cheap town on the way home. I will remember it forever, it was a perfect day.
The great thing about having a date with your husband is don't need to put on any kind of a front. You are not thinking about whether or not there will be a second date (or third or fourth). You can simply enjoy each other's company. When children are added to the mix, one of two things happens: 1. It breaks you up (do to several factors that are really clear to me, but for another post), or 2. It puts some time in between the quality moments and adds to rediscovery when you actually do get that precious time alone.
So, aliens, cheap hotel rooms, it's all worth it in the long run. After all, when I first met my husband, he drove me to the "premier alien abduction spot" in the middle of the desert (after I had had a few beers). This was our first date. And THAT story is for another post.
Yes, we had our first "date night" in over a year. This wasn't out of macho-mommyism, it was only out of practicality. While I was pregnant I was lucky to make it through an episode of "Friends" without passing out in the papasan chair. Once the baby arrived it was the "leave my child with a stranger? ARE you out of your MIND?" syndrome.
Unfortunately, because we can't remember who watched our oldest the night we went out, and because we started hanging out with the old baby sitter, our choices are limited to strangers. This is what happens when you rip up your roots. Not only did I rip them up, I landed in a strange little town where everybody's a "healer" or a naval gazer, and it's not shocking to call someone's answering machine to hear "Welcome to the porch, the naked porch". We actually had a tenant in our guest house request that we re-grate the driveway because it was messing with her chi.
We were more daring with our oldest. Or maybe more desperate. I remember having a sitter come to our house. She was a perfectly charming person with great referrals from our handy-man. That is, until she started talking about "the aliens". This was not a simple haphazard comment. She had the whole thing down... the "reptilians", the "blackies", etc.
My husband is a big fan of talking with people about this stuff. We started our date night an hour late because of it.
So, now you are making the connection, yes, we actually did go. We actually left our daughter with this woman for a night. I remember sitting in the car and looking at my hubby and him looking at me, "do you think it will be alright?"
We knew where the woman lived, we knew her neighbors. Where we live, it's quite common for otherwise normal people to talk of alien life, or have seen alien life, or to have been abducted and "probed" by aliens. My husband made an entire radio talk-show out of it for a while. So we drove away.
If it's not aliens, it's some other eccentricity. Our oldest's first babysitter was the wife of the son of Elizabeth Taylor (I didn't know this until much later), she simply loved babies. The second was my husbands extremely bi-polar friend and his girlfriend. The third was the alien lady. We actually used her more than once. The reason we stopped using her was that she was a general pain in the ass, complained about how difficult the VCR was to use, complained about the steps, complained about misc. other things, and finally we came home one night to find our daughter wide-awake on the bed with the woman snoozing beside her.
Is it just here? Are sitters that are sane and reliable hard to find elsewhere? What happened to the days of high school girls wanting to babysit for a buck an hour? Good wholesome girls, with no interest other than watching kids. Oh god, what am I saying. I know what happened, and I am happy for it. Go girls, get the gold... you'll end up watching kids anyhow when the time comes, AND bringing home the bacon, AND doing the laundry, AND fixing the car.
I am actually all for my child care provider getting more than anyone else. I think they are a valuable asset and should be paid properly, but I also hate to break the bank just to get reacquainted with my husband. This is why we NEVER go see a movie when we have a sitter. I can't see spending fifty bucks to sit facing forward watching something with someone that I never get to talk to.
We are like long lost friends that see each other all the time but never connect. We make an effort to sit in my studio at night and drink a glass of wine together and talk after the kids are asleep (a couple of times a week). I value this time, but the place is not optimal. I look at the computers and have a nasty habit of asking him a question, and if he doesn't know the answer, jumping up to do a quick Google search. How annoying...
It's amazing that we conceived a second child at all. The oldest was still sleeping in our bed at the time. The baby wasn't conceived there (sick), it was on the living room floor (not sick, but not all that comfortable either). We've actually rented cheap hotel rooms for this very purpose. Where do you go when you can't be in your own bed? I suggested parking, but my husband did NOT grow up in the suburbs, where there are places for this. L.A. isn't conducive to parking, so he'd never experienced it, and really wasn't into it's cramped style (literally). So a cheap hotel it is, and I would suggest it to any married couple, however trampy it may seem (or maybe that's the appeal).
I remember one of the times my parents were in town and watching our oldest. We took a trip to a spa with wonderful outdoor tubs, then took a long drive in the woods where we saw a herd of wild horses (for real), then we ended the day in a cheap motel, in a cheap town on the way home. I will remember it forever, it was a perfect day.
The great thing about having a date with your husband is don't need to put on any kind of a front. You are not thinking about whether or not there will be a second date (or third or fourth). You can simply enjoy each other's company. When children are added to the mix, one of two things happens: 1. It breaks you up (do to several factors that are really clear to me, but for another post), or 2. It puts some time in between the quality moments and adds to rediscovery when you actually do get that precious time alone.
So, aliens, cheap hotel rooms, it's all worth it in the long run. After all, when I first met my husband, he drove me to the "premier alien abduction spot" in the middle of the desert (after I had had a few beers). This was our first date. And THAT story is for another post.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Random acts of Cynicism
Cynicism (Greek: Kυνισμός) was originally the philosophy of a group of ancient Greeks called the Cynics, founded by Antisthenes. The Cynics rejected all conventions, whether of religion, manners, housing, dress, or decency, advocating the pursuit of virtue in a simple and unmaterialistic lifestyle.
Currently, the word 'cynicism' generally describes the opinions of those who maintain that self-interest is the primary motive of human behaviour, and are disinclined to rely upon sincerity, human virtue, or altruism as motivations.
Honestly, I just looked it up so that I would know the correct way to spell it.I first thought that I would name this post as "random acts of kindness", but I decided to talk more about my mind-frame than to gush over a recent event, but I need to also do this in order to explain my mind-frame. Here is my story:
I was in Trader Joe's today. This is simple enough... go grocery shopping. I needed to pick up "snack" for 40 kids for 2 days (for my oldest's school)-composed of 4 lbs of cheese, 8 lbs of fruit, 4 boxes of crackers, and 2 gallons of juice. Plus there's the dog food. Grocery shopping is an ordeal. When my husband goes with me, we divide and conquer. We are now a "two cart family" and the thought sickens me to a certain extent. He is not with me now though, he has a shrink appointment.
The trick is not so much the parking, but carrying my 4 year old, and the 6 month old (in carrier), and the tote bags across the parking lot. The 4 year old is "out". I try to wake her. I open her eyelids one at a time and peer into her eyes. No effect. There's no turning back. I need to go. I need to get this done. There is no other time.
So I carry 50 lbs of human beings, 5 lbs of carrier, and 6 shopping bags 200 yards to the door. A man helps me by holding the shopping cart so I can slip the 4 year old into the seat. Why these things don't have breaks is beyond me. All they need are simple breaks like the ones on strollers. I've had one of my kids "take a ride" through the parking lot before, and it's not pretty the looks that you get when you leave your child unattended in this manner.
I put the carrier with the baby in the back. This leaves me the bottom of the shopping cart to put food in, so we can't buy anything that is smaller than 4 inches in diameter or it will slip through. I put what I can down there, and decide that it's "okay" to put 4 lbs on bananas on top of the baby. She seems alright with it. Then I put another lb. of oranges on top of her. Still okay, they are off to the side. I pile on a can of tunafish. She's chewing on it. I guess this is okay. Is the label made in China, is it printed with lead ink? No turning back now. The dog food is on the bottom, so that doesn't leave much room for anything else.
It's not very apparent that there is a baby in there. I am hoping to avoid "I would never" looks from people who don't have children. We know that all the "I would nevers (take my kid to Disneyland, buy Cinderella shoes, pile groceries on top of the baby)" go out the window once you actually do have kids.
No, it's not apparent I have a baby in there, until I am in line and she starts to cry. The oldest is still zonked out. The baby is strapped into the car seat with 6 lbs of groceries on her. There is no getting her out. I will have to let her cry. The line is long. I can't leave. I am responsible for "snack". A woman gets behind me in line. I guess I have a line in my forehead that looks like someone has taken a chainsaw to it, and my mandible muscles are bulging like a bulls, so she can see that I am a bit tense.
She begins to talk to the baby. Her voice is the quintessential mothers. She's soft and soothing, and it doesn't really matter what she's saying to the baby, but she knows that I am listening too. The baby stops crying and I look at her. She tells me to do what I have to do (which is basically check out, but it feels like I am climbing Everest). She is telling the baby that "mommy" is going to take her home soon and snuggle with her and cook dinner. She says "unless mommy has something else that she needs to do (this part is specifically for me)... and if she does she's not going to do it. She's just going to take you home".
Funny, in reading back that last sentence, it sounds so presumptuous. But it wasn't. She was honestly saying it to the baby to keep her calm. And she was, as if she could understand every word the woman was saying. Her words were so carefully placed.
I manage to swipe my debit card which has almost broken in two. I keep meaning to get another, but it's way down on the list. It will become priority when I can no longer get it out of the ATM machine. I can put the bags on top of the dog food now. I am one solid package. My baby is no longer crying (until the drive home). I run to the woman and hug her. We introduce ourselves, and I know I will remember her face forever.
Before I had two children I figured "to each his own". I was the last person that needed help, ever. I would bull my way through my day with my kid, dragging her here and there. People would offer, and I would look at them as if they were nuts. It was my choice to have a child, and I can deal with this, just get out of my way. I am independent to a fault, my mother will tell you this. She admits to making me this way. She didn't want me to cry when I went to kindergarten.
I remember being 8 months pregnant. I had my oldest in tow, five bags of groceries on the curb. I started to get her into her car seat when a guy started towards my bags. "Um, excuse me, those are my groceries!" I yelled to him. What did I think he was doing with them? Stealing them? sure. He was HELPING me. He saw that I had a kid and was pregnant, and he decided to help.
That was the beginning of the end. Little did I know that having a second child would require me to accept help sometimes. The fact was cemented when the baby was 6 weeks old. My car got stuck in across both lanes of a very busy street. I jumped out frantically trying to push it, and then decided that maybe this was not the best thing to do with the two kids in the car. Two super-women and a UPS man stopped traffic, carried the kids, and pushed my car to the side of the road.I sent out a mass email trying to reach them to thank them (managing to reach the UPS driver) and had my letter published in two newspapers.
Through these few events my mind-frame changed. It went from a "to each his own" cynical view of the human race, to a much kinder, gentler space. I am malleable now, I can accept help.
As for the ancient Greeks and their view of cynicism (The Cynics rejected all conventions, whether of religion, manners, housing, dress, or decency, advocating the pursuit of virtue in a simple and unmaterialistic lifestyle). This virtue would be simple to embrace, if only one never had to be responsible for "snack".
Monday, November 19, 2007
Baby Hates Power Tools
I'm not sure there are too many moms that can say that their baby hates the sound of a jigsaw in action. I honestly hope that I am wrong about that... or am I?
Today I found out that it is impossible to multi-task while using power tools. What I mean is that it is far easier to wash the dishes and hold the baby, fold laundry and hold the baby, build a web site and hold the baby. It is quite physically impossible to hold the baby while you are using a jigsaw (that is unless you want to risk... well we won't even go there).
I was in charge of installing a new dog door. Well, I guess technically not "in charge" but if I didn't do it, then it wouldn't get done, and it really needed to get done before the dog sitter took over for the week.
There are quite a few things like this that fall onto my plate in our household: installing a new garbage disposal, fixing a leaking faucet, mounting a new toilet. It's not that I know how to do any of these things. With the toilet, I had forgotten to put one of the gaskets in place so it looked quite perfect, that is, until I flushed. A full tank of water expelled itself all over the floor and by the end I was dripping wet and topless with wrenches in both hands, screaming, and laughing (thank god that part) with a two year old looking at me wide-eyed as if mommy had lost her mind.
The one thing that I've learned while acting as handyman for our house is that I should NOT read feminist lit while doing so (The Beauty Myth comes to mind). The two in combination are deadly. The division of labor in our household is stated verbatim in stats sited in those kinds of books, but having to play handyman pushes it into tilt, and I am generally not laughing but stewing over the figures, wrench in hand.
As I said, I don't know how to do most of the things that a handyman does, but they are quite necessary, so I just do them. My husband doesn't understand the "just do it" part. Holding a wrench must cause some kind of disconnect in his brain, that makes him utterly useless in these situations. What is so frustrating is that I have to hear over and over what a brilliant man he is (being a mathematician and all). Maybe mathematicians are not required to care for themselves in our world. Maybe I am a math slave.
Maybe there is just a difference in how we were brought up. I am an overly stoic New Englander (I say this as a fault). I grew up in the woods. He is a non-practicing Jew from LA. City boy. I only bring up the Jewish part because of the utterly tasteless joke about "How many Jews does it take to screw in a lightbulb?" (there are several punchlines to this, most along the lines of "One to call the cleaning lady and two to feel guilty about it"---the sick ones about Auschwitz are completely irrelevant). The joke is age old, so much that there is an environmental movement centered around it involving installing energy-efficient lights in their homes for the celebration of lights.
The joke is stereotypical, and racist, of course. It's an over-generalization, but in our household there are 7 light bulbs that are out, and someone complaining very loudly that it's too dark. So, I have to laugh at the joke.
I am proud of the fact that I have done all of these things, yes, but given an hour of spare time, I don't think that I would put it into doing them (especially the toilet). I had a daylight fantasy of becoming a handy-woman for a living today. The dream quickly degraded into who my clientele might be. On the plus side, maybe little old ladies would want to hire me, because I would be safer than having a man come into the house. On the downside, I'd get men hiring me to look at my ass while I screwed in a light bulb. Maybe this is just an over-exageration. Maybe not. Why do I even need to think of this?
The real question is, if I did not own a jigsaw, who would install the dog door? Would I have to hire a handyman to do it? How long would it be left undone? So, it is utterly necessary.
So getting back to my feelings about whether or not more women should use jigsaws. Truth is, I don't know too many couples where both partners have a set of power tools (or ones that they share). Maybe I am hanging with the wrong set. Growing up, my father did all of the handyman work. He built our house. He introduced me to sawsalls, hammers, wrenches, screwdrivers. I helped. I learned a little... I learned that if you take something apart, you can put it back together again with new parts (you better have damn well been paying attention when you took it apart). I learned that if there is information written about how to do something (such as instructions), eventually you can figure it out.
I watched my oldest daughter help "poppop" take apart her crib when she was about two and a half. She held the screwdriver, and he actually showed her how to use it. He loosened the screws enough, so she could feel a sense of accomplishment when it finally came loose. She was ecstatic to help.
She came home from school today, and looked at the tools scattered all over the floor, and very proudly said "Mommy. You DID it!". When everybody was settled in, I put the tools away, and started to wash the dishes and cook dinner. She went upstairs to put her "jammies" on. When she came down, my little princess was wearing blue pajamas with wrenches, and hammers, and saws on them. She never wears these (think PRINCESS), but tonight, I guess she was inspired. I bought them for her a couple of years back (she's finally grown into them).
Her father was sitting at the table and she looked at him and said "Look Dada, I have tool jammies on"
"Oh yeah, where did you get those?"
"Pop-pop bought them for me"
I think she's on the right track.
Today I found out that it is impossible to multi-task while using power tools. What I mean is that it is far easier to wash the dishes and hold the baby, fold laundry and hold the baby, build a web site and hold the baby. It is quite physically impossible to hold the baby while you are using a jigsaw (that is unless you want to risk... well we won't even go there).
I was in charge of installing a new dog door. Well, I guess technically not "in charge" but if I didn't do it, then it wouldn't get done, and it really needed to get done before the dog sitter took over for the week.
There are quite a few things like this that fall onto my plate in our household: installing a new garbage disposal, fixing a leaking faucet, mounting a new toilet. It's not that I know how to do any of these things. With the toilet, I had forgotten to put one of the gaskets in place so it looked quite perfect, that is, until I flushed. A full tank of water expelled itself all over the floor and by the end I was dripping wet and topless with wrenches in both hands, screaming, and laughing (thank god that part) with a two year old looking at me wide-eyed as if mommy had lost her mind.
The one thing that I've learned while acting as handyman for our house is that I should NOT read feminist lit while doing so (The Beauty Myth comes to mind). The two in combination are deadly. The division of labor in our household is stated verbatim in stats sited in those kinds of books, but having to play handyman pushes it into tilt, and I am generally not laughing but stewing over the figures, wrench in hand.
As I said, I don't know how to do most of the things that a handyman does, but they are quite necessary, so I just do them. My husband doesn't understand the "just do it" part. Holding a wrench must cause some kind of disconnect in his brain, that makes him utterly useless in these situations. What is so frustrating is that I have to hear over and over what a brilliant man he is (being a mathematician and all). Maybe mathematicians are not required to care for themselves in our world. Maybe I am a math slave.
Maybe there is just a difference in how we were brought up. I am an overly stoic New Englander (I say this as a fault). I grew up in the woods. He is a non-practicing Jew from LA. City boy. I only bring up the Jewish part because of the utterly tasteless joke about "How many Jews does it take to screw in a lightbulb?" (there are several punchlines to this, most along the lines of "One to call the cleaning lady and two to feel guilty about it"---the sick ones about Auschwitz are completely irrelevant). The joke is age old, so much that there is an environmental movement centered around it involving installing energy-efficient lights in their homes for the celebration of lights.
The joke is stereotypical, and racist, of course. It's an over-generalization, but in our household there are 7 light bulbs that are out, and someone complaining very loudly that it's too dark. So, I have to laugh at the joke.
I am proud of the fact that I have done all of these things, yes, but given an hour of spare time, I don't think that I would put it into doing them (especially the toilet). I had a daylight fantasy of becoming a handy-woman for a living today. The dream quickly degraded into who my clientele might be. On the plus side, maybe little old ladies would want to hire me, because I would be safer than having a man come into the house. On the downside, I'd get men hiring me to look at my ass while I screwed in a light bulb. Maybe this is just an over-exageration. Maybe not. Why do I even need to think of this?
The real question is, if I did not own a jigsaw, who would install the dog door? Would I have to hire a handyman to do it? How long would it be left undone? So, it is utterly necessary.
So getting back to my feelings about whether or not more women should use jigsaws. Truth is, I don't know too many couples where both partners have a set of power tools (or ones that they share). Maybe I am hanging with the wrong set. Growing up, my father did all of the handyman work. He built our house. He introduced me to sawsalls, hammers, wrenches, screwdrivers. I helped. I learned a little... I learned that if you take something apart, you can put it back together again with new parts (you better have damn well been paying attention when you took it apart). I learned that if there is information written about how to do something (such as instructions), eventually you can figure it out.
I watched my oldest daughter help "poppop" take apart her crib when she was about two and a half. She held the screwdriver, and he actually showed her how to use it. He loosened the screws enough, so she could feel a sense of accomplishment when it finally came loose. She was ecstatic to help.
She came home from school today, and looked at the tools scattered all over the floor, and very proudly said "Mommy. You DID it!". When everybody was settled in, I put the tools away, and started to wash the dishes and cook dinner. She went upstairs to put her "jammies" on. When she came down, my little princess was wearing blue pajamas with wrenches, and hammers, and saws on them. She never wears these (think PRINCESS), but tonight, I guess she was inspired. I bought them for her a couple of years back (she's finally grown into them).
Her father was sitting at the table and she looked at him and said "Look Dada, I have tool jammies on"
"Oh yeah, where did you get those?"
"Pop-pop bought them for me"
I think she's on the right track.
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