The City: Long Story Short

I have not gone into detail about the horrors of my house, and I'm not really going to do it now.
Let me just sum up:

Aaron and I bought a house in 2002 that was a mess. But... It had a two-family layout (plumbing, floor plan, electrical boxes, heating zones, etc) and we thought it would be a good income property. With the money in equity, no problem, we'll fix it up!

Weeeeelll. Not exactly. We have been trying to do this 2-family thing for the last 2+ years. We have had varying degrees of luck and help along the way. But we are really toeing the end of the line, here. Our last appeal is to the Zoning Board. We were scheduled for that meeting on Thursday night.

So after two years of waiting, endless research and money dumped into our house, nerves all a twitter... Two of their members just didn't show and we have to wait until next month. This made me feel very small and insignificant on the one hand, like we weren't worth their time, and on the other hand, it made me raging beastly mad. How dare they?!?

So I'm crabby at the beauraucracy. Will it ever end?

Weight loss

I had a bit of a self-deprecating weekend. Self-loathe... you know.
So I have a new lease on life, of sorts. More exercise, fewer calories, more water.
This is going to happen.
I just have to lose the weight.

Friendster

So I'm at work. It's 11:45 p.m. I'll be here until 6 tomorrow morning. It's a rough shift just because of the hours. I don't mind staying up all night... But I never really feel like I get those hours back. I little morning catnap just doesn't seem to do the trick.

I have recently discovered the beast that is "Friendster." At first I was incredibly cynical and crabby about it: "What's the point?" I asked. Yeah, networking, yeah yeah. But then I realized that it was like "Google"-ing people and then realizing how many different people you know them through. I have become a bit of an addict. But, I must say that it's worked for me. I've reconnected with a fellow Uni. of Edinburgh guy (it's been 7 years. I can't believe it's been that long), an old high school friend, and a friend I basically lost in college. Plus-- I met someone who is absolutely my long lost twin. Her son's name is Owen, she's obsessed with poop, she likes cutting paper... it's just ridiculous. So anyway, I "know" her through my friend Susan, and now my twin and I are in regular contact. Go figure.

And I got my first art show. It's starting in mid-April in a coffee shop downtown. I can't believe I had the balls to actually show my work... It's good (for many reasons), but definitely because it's given me a deadline and I can't put it on the back burner. Yay. Go me.

Toxicity in Post-Adolescence

The other day I came across some angst-ridden poems that I feverishly wrote in my youth. I'm still a youth. But you know what I mean. I wrote this one line about friends/people in my life:

"[they] want me to drown
only to wring the water from my clothes"

I mean for all the pessimism that it reeks and all the adolescent-in-pain stuff aside, I still know what I meant. I was talking about those people in our lives who are a bit... Toxic. They say things, or do things, that are hurtful... And then they are there to pick up the pieces as it were. It sounds incredibly abusive, when I read over that sentence, but is it a natural tendency? To want to be "honest"/take you down a peg/be the black cloud of reason and then caretake for the person. "Yeah, you might just be a stout little freak [note the feeding off my personal insecurities]... but that's what I like about you". Compliment? Sort of. I guess.

What's bringing on the talk about "toxic friends"? Because I've been avoiding one of them these days. There are many positive things about our relationship, but others just leave me feeling a little bit vulnerable and completely hesitant to answer the phone.

So anyway, that's my little rant for the day. Does everyone have "toxic friends"? Aren't we all just a little bit toxic?

Holy shit. Do I sound like Britney Spears?

babes in bushland

So I decided after my blog the other day that I don't really need to decide this very second about having another baby. And the fact is, I know that I'm going to have another baby. I think it's just all a matter of timing... The question is not "if" but "when." And the answer is: "Not right now." We'll just have to wait and see. There are so many variables- school, job options, fleeing to Canada- so we'll see and for now, I will try not to stress about it.

And Cate!-- Living on student loans is FANTASTIC!-- And makes baby-having very possible. The other great thing (if you can get health insurance through Conor) is that you can make money on the side. Take extra kids into your home, do a paper route, whatever-- it's very possible-- the insurance is really the key.

On other topics, I keep thinking about moving out of the country. In reading about Bush's proposed budget... I'm just so nervous. I shake my head, pretend I don't have a stomach ache, and think about something else. Like having a baby with dual citizenship.

Clued in to "Mommy Blogs"

So I'm sure everyone on blogger.com knows about the rise of these so-called "mommy blogs" thanks to the NY Times article last week... I felt a little slow on the uptake. Now, however embarrassingly, I am hooked. These folks-- they are my homies. Honestly. Sometimes you just forget that there's a whole world out there of frazzled moms. It's all the rage these days-- just look at the success of "Desperate Housewives"-- everyone is talking about the struggles of the post-modern woman. It might be a bandwagon, but I'm on it.

I've been thinking these days about having more babies. And I'm really thinking about it. I always said I would have zillions of kids. After the birth of Owen, I wanted another, but was soon swayed by the financial implications. Aaron and I started basing our discussions of children on income (sad, but true). We figured that we could, realistically, afford two kids at this point in our lives. We're not talking any time in the next few days or anything... But "probably when O turns two" we'd start trying. The last few weeks, though, I've been really thinking about it.

Basically, I feel like, when you have one child, you can work your life around that baby. Things change, but you still have some semblance of control over things. You can still go out, have time alone, sleep, etc. You are a couple with a child. When you have more than one child in the mix... You become a family. The responsibility increases EXPONENTIALLY. There is suddenly NO time for anything that resembles your former life. It's harder to find a sitter for multiple kids, there's less time when one of them isn't awake/ grabbing at you/ or sucking on you, there's less sleep... It becomes you. You are Mom.

With just Owen, I can manage to get to the gym sometimes, Aaron and I have time together alone every once in a while... And I still feel like I'm on the verge of losing myself. I often feel lost in the shuffle. I feel I'm expected to deal with all household things AND go to work/bring home the bacon AND be primary caregiver to make sure my son has a full/healthy/fabulous upbringing and is smart/thoughtful/sensitive/kind and all that. It's pressure and already a MORE THAN FULL TIME JOB crammed into this small life.

And yet...

On the other hand, I LOVE being a mom. It's the best thing in this whole world. For all the crap that comes along with it-- It's still the best thing I have ever experienced-- miraculous and challenging and fantastic. There is nothing like having a child.

To be continued....

Day Care Provider...

I almost wrote "... From Hell", but stopped short.

There are many wonderful things about the woman who takes care of Owen for the few hours each week when I am at work ("few" being 32 hours, which is really "A LOT", but not in this society). First, let me say, I am lucky to have her. She's relatively cheap, she lives up the street, and she's nearly always available. Plus she's got a degree in Early Childhood Education, plus two kids of her own, so that's supposed to mean that she knows what she's doing. Now, let me tell you that I also have some "history" with this woman. She and I both grew up in Portland, so I know her. Or... I used to know her. She can be rude (without social graces rude), harsh, and overbearing. But Owen loves her, so I do as well.

There have been a couple of instances where she "freaks out" a bit and that makes me testy. I have found that there are a few things difficult with being a parent. One of those things is that everyone feels that it is their right and responsibility to tell you how to parent your child. What you are doing wrong at every turn. "He shouldn't wet the bed at this age." "Are you going to let him climb that chair?" "Holding him by his arms will dislocate his shoulders." The reason that I don't like those comments completely has to do with me and my insecurities. I know that. It brings up the emotion in me that I'm not doing it right. That I'm failing. So now that I've qualified all my remarks:

Tonight was one of those nights that Caretaker had a minor freak out. The first was when O was about 14 months old and Caretaker noted that perhaps I ought to have him "evaluated" since he doesn't talk very much. Now... I don't claim to know everything about child development, but I'm pretty sure that boys are slower than girls in the chatty cathy department, and that you don't really need to worry about a child who is less verbal at such a young age. Especially when you take into account the fact that he repeats words after you, babbles with inflection, and gets his point across, etc-- I just see him as being a bit of an "internal processor" (like his Mama, how cute). So on this first occasion, she went on about how perhaps we could "bring in" the authorities (she suggested a speech/language pathologist, maybe some PT, some OT... you know... the usual). I brushed it off and made a little white lie about how "the doctor" said his speech development is "normal." I use this line all the time: "The doctor said that's normal." When, in fact, I don't really ask the doctor questions like that because I don't really freak out about much. Honestly, just tell people the doctor said it's okay, and they shut up.

So after a series of these minor freak-outs, the latest came tonight. Caretaker calls me (I'm at work, mind you) and says "Something's wrong with Owen!" She goes on to explain how he was zoning out this afternoon, "but not like he was tired, like something was really wrong. He was totally unresponsive." I could feel myself internalizing the deep sigh usually reserved for my mother. I blinked heavily. Oye. "Maybe you should call his doctor and see what's wrong with him. Somethings not right. I mean, he wouldn't play with the girls and he was just zoning out." I could actually feel my heart racking against the inside my chest cavity. At first I'm thinking: Maybe he's going deaf!! Maybe he's allergic to the medication and it's making him groggy! Maybe ....?!?!?

I put on my logical cap and tried to explain that he was probably just tired and sick, since he's on day 2 of medication for a yucky rash, he only took one nap today, and Caretaker had the disney channel on (who doesn't zone out when that's on?!). She wouldn't let it drop, so I "agreed" to call the doctor and I hung up the phone feeling nagged and a bit chastised about what I "should" do.

I called Aaron, hoping to muster up some support-- you know-- the whole "united front" of parenthood or something-- and he was way too calm about the whole thing. He even said he was happy that she said something. "She's just doing her job, Mae." (He calls me Mae. Long story). Grr the level-headedness. I wanted firey discussion. I wanted to go into battle! How dare she say something's wrong with my son?! How dare she insinuate that he's... That he's what? What was she insinuating? Ugh. Nothing, I suppose. So yeah, Aaron's probably right. I'm probably being a little defensive and reverting to my adolescent angst ridden reactivity.

This blogging shit is better than therapy.

Thankful.

After reading C's blog today, and getting some devestating news last night about my friend, Sarah, I thought it would be a good time for some thankfulness.

I am thankful to be healthy. And that my son and husband are healthy. We have no life threatening illnesses, we are not disabled in any way, we can live our lives fully.

I am thankful for my family and friends. Although we all sometimes get frustrated, lose touch, have arguments, whatever... I have people in my life who I can count on. People who truly care about me.

I am thankful for where I live and work. Portland, Maine is possibly the most wonderful American city I have ever lived in (which is why I moved back, I suppose). The people are friendly and loyal, the coast is gorgeous, the way of life is laid-back, there's an incredible arts community and plenty of things going on. The Peabody Center does amazing things; I feel good about the work that I do and the clientele. The people I work with are fantastic, and the humor keeps me going.

I am thankful for my life. For all the times I hem and haw about finances, job searches, continuing education, kid vomit/poop/snot on my clean clothes, finding a babysitter, working late, being hung over... Today, none of that matters. I love my life. Sometimes I need to stop bitching and remember that.

Back to the Gym

So after three weeks, I went back to the gym last night. It felt good. Though... I admit that I feared the treadmill, and did the bike and elliptical machine instead. I have this seed of an idea that I'm going to do a triathlon this summer. Am I crazy??!?!?