My Complete Inability to Make a Commitment to My Job: How Busy Does This Little Bee Want to Be???

I took a day off work two days ago to BE. Just to be. With my sister. To talk and eat and laugh and BE. It was fantastic, even though my mind was muddy and felt quite separate from my body. It is absolutely amazing in every way that the body can produce so much mucus. I've decided that I would much rather wipe my kids' noses and coax them to blow OUT than to be inconvenienced by my own cold. That's just awful, isn't it? Am I wishing sickness upon my kids? Well, no, of course not. It's just that as the mom there is so much to be done and any illness or ache just SO impedes my ability to function. And the kids hardly seem bothered by snot dripping down their faces. Of course when there's a fever or and ear ache or... then it's a different story. But this isn't even what I wanted to say. So there - I'm not required to explain that story.

So I will myself to work the next morning. No, I didn't show up until 10, but I showed up dammit. And here it all goes again. Sarah, we need to know when you are going to be here. Whenever it is, it doesn't really matter, whether 3 days or 5 days. We just need to know so we can know what to expect, etc etc etc. And it's only fair, right? So why do I have such a problem making a commitment. A commitment to the amount of days, to which days, to in-times and out-times.

And then there's the whole question of full-time work, and going on salary, and making the biggest work commitment of all. I swear his eyes lit up and twinkled for a split-second when I told my boss that I was wondering, just for the hell of it, if he'd want me full-time. "I'd love you full-time." No, No, I mean he said something like, "I'd love you to WORK full-time." Gosh, that first one just sounded creepy. Let me be CERTAIN to add that there are NO OFFICE ROMANCES INVOLVED HERE. Oh my, that's just too creepy to fathom, especially if you knew my boss, and my workplace. Let's just say it's bizarre. Can't go into it any more than that, I suppose.

So then I go on to say that Dan's contemplating leaving his job, and if I work full-time my current hourly rate translated to salary @ 40 hours isn't enough to support and would he consider giving me a raise??? (Jen, I know what you're thinking. Okay, no I don't but I know enough to say, "I know, right? Can you even believe I had this conversation with the big man? And what am I even doing or thinking HAVING such a conversation? Let's just say it is wasn't planned or anything, just one of those things.... and yes, yes, we'll talk. :Oh my goodness, that was so Mom-ish with the YES,YES:)

So he looks at me rather uncomfortably, my boss, the big man, and then his eyes turn away almost embarrassingly as he says, "Yea, we'll work it out."

And then I'm sitting in my office furiously typing Dan trying to figure out what he thinks about this crazy idea I've had, trying to figure out what the hell I think of it all. I mean, work is so awful sometimes. Then there are other times that I look forward to the distraction it brings me from the kids. OH, the kids! They are SO messy and SO loud and SO damn infuriating at times that I imagine tossing them one at a time from the second story bathroom window instead of plunking them in the bath at night; BUT, they are also SO terrifically cute that my fantasy has them landing happily on Mr Bouncity Bounce and hip hop bouncing with all their cousins to the funky musical selections of their favorite babysitter (hear Hip Hop beats and Pop Tunes).

------------Sidenote: What's a girl gotta do to get these little ppl to take care of themselves for 10 minutes so I can finish this?! I understand it's morning and breakfast time and all, but EAT little ppl, EAT, and leave Mommy to Momalom for 10 more minutes. Five? Two? Currently there is a little bee eraser dropping in on my keyboard over and over again as I say Sit DOWN, Sit DOWN, Get OFF The Table. (And yes, I am clearly speaking of Max)------------------------

So now I've just totally confused myself. I mean, it's not as if I haven't thought of this before, and what life would really be like if I were to work full-time. Where would the kids go between end of school day and Mommy arrival time? Who would watch them? Do I really really want to put myself in a position where I HAVE to be there every day, all day?? I have to carefully schedule all appointments and activities. I never have the afternoon just to take the kids to the park and loll. (Oh yeah right? Loll? That's a laugh.) Anyway. I gripe about the three hours or so between picking the kids up every day and either Dan's arrival home or the start of the bath/bed routine. That magical hour when I know it will all come to an end for another day and I'll get a little peace ALONE until it all starts again in the morning. So I gripe about it till kingdom come, but would I really have it any other way? I mean, the weather is perking up, finally! And summer is on the way. And don't I want to be able to take the kids to the pool and the lake? To do away with all my worries on those perfect days that I don't have to go in to work and it's not the weekend and just watch them in the yard with popsicle juice dripping down their faces for the third time that day?

I just don't know. I'm struggling with these thoughts. Everything I've said is just so romantic. The truth is that I really can't take them all to the pool. We could venture the baby pool, but then Jamis will be bored. He's finally swimming and it's just not fair to have to ask him to compromise YET AGAIN FOR THE LITTLE ONES. But we can't go to the big pool either. A 2 year old and a 1 year old and me. It's just not safe. (I should take the "and me" out of there. I'm rather safe, but with those two hanging on me I think we'd all go under.)

And days spent wiping sticky popsicle hands? Well, I could have two of those on the weekends alone. The routine of work would get tiring, I know. But the alternative of staying with the boys is exhausting just to think about. It's not even 7:30 am here in our house and I've already left this computer like 35 times to break up fights, change diapers and re-fold an entire load of laundry that Max decided to massacre and throw at his brother, Ethan. I mean, 7:30! If I'm already anxiously awaiting Dan's arrival after two or three hours of being with the kids ALONE in the afternoons, then what the hell kind of pressure am I going to put on him when it's summer.

And then, I guess I should give a little back story - mostly to remind myself - that I truly didn't want to work full-time. I wanted days off with my kids. Days to hang out and days to get stuff done. Days to actually do laundry and keep the kitchen clean and go to the grocery store. But I've found that those days can be just as difficult as the days I go to work. It's not "staying home with you kid or your kids." It's being a MOTHER OF THREE! I Swear To You, It's Jaw-Dropping, Head-Spinning what happens when you go from Two to Three!

So I negotiated from 5 days (part-time) to three days, or four days, or whatever I felt like that week. And that's how it's been for a while. And like he said, my boss doesn't care how many days I come in cause he just loves me so damn much, but he just wants to know WHAT days. If I can't commit to picking the days then how on earth would I commit to working full-time?

The whole OTHER SIDE of this story is the fact that Dan could leave his job and focus on his own business, which he's very good at and has already developed quite well indeed! We've texted and emailed and briefly talked about this subject. He's gone through the logistics somewhat, the Figuring Out What This Would Mean thing that Men Truly Love To Do - at least my man - and we've come to no conclusions. But we're not really trying for conclusion at this point, it's all conversation. But what he HASN'T talked or texted or emailed is how he FEELS about this. Of Course. Damn if he should engage in that whole phenomenon. Feelings.

So I suppose this is all TO BE CONTINUED. What shall be decided? I don't know. I really don't know. On the one hand, I wouldn't have to be so stressed at work because I would actually have the time to accomplish all the work that I have. My boss and my husband would probably be rather happy. But what about me and the kids? Would we? We are at an optimal time for testing this all out - mostly because we have our fabulous babysitter back from college for the summer. I love her, the kids love her, and she's part of the family. But then, it's summer. And again, even if I'm wiping sticky popsicle hands for the third time, who cares? Wasn't I the one who gave them the third popsicle anyway? Because it's summer, and because they're kids, and because all I want to do is let them feel the freedom that is a kid in summer. I want to be that kid again.

Letter to my sister

Dear Sarah,

I feel I already have failed you. Wasn't I the one who volunteered to write the next post? Yesterday. After we agreed to a daily presence? Allow me to explain.

Well, I arrived home to a sick kid and the fallout of a SICK KID. And it was dinner time. Need I say more? The night promised to be a long one.

And then, today. It is not yet 10:00 a.m. Here is what I have done—in no particular order. (That would be too much to ask of my fatigued brain.) Three loads of laundry (one hanging on the line already). Fed the baby breakfast (man, can she EAT). Ate my own breakfast. Nursed the baby. Twice. Drank some coffee. Lost my coffee. Found my coffee. Drank some more (cold) coffee. Put the baby down. Picked the baby up. Answered the phone. RSVP for B's party. Phew. At least somebody isn't going away vacation week and can make it. Made a phone call to cancel a playdate for today (See SICK KID, above). Administered medication. Twice. Made tea with honey (for SICKO). Wiped a few noses. Got dressed. Got baby dressed. Skimmed newspaper. Learned, incidentally, that breastfeeding is now legal in Massachusetts. (Good to know I can't be arrested in the park for indecent exposure while feeding my infant now.) Wiped down the table. Did a few dishes. Washed my face (a BANNER day!) Did I mention the LAUNDRY?

And yet, my house is a mess. But the big kids are on the couch with dad, reading. The baby is asleep. Maybe I'll brush my teeth. 

I promise to do better next time.

LOVE you,

Jen

Body Image

So Dan and I were watching something on tv about this incredibly IN-SHAPE woman who is training for yet another crazy event - the Ironman, I believe - and coincidentally I have a friend training for the same thing. Go friend! It was a motivating story about one woman's accomplishments, dreams, ambitions and drive. Most of all her drive, I guess. What drive! To put not only your body through the rigors of exercise, the tiresome schedule of double and triple workouts in a day, but even more so your mind. The resolve - that your brain must (MUST) tell your body to KEEP GOING. Run 15 miles, Bike 75 miles, swim countless laps.
A few years ago I happened to be in Lake Placid, NY during the Ironman and sat with awe on the bleachers at the finish line as old and young, thick and thin crossed the line and sank into smiles and tears. I was crying too. It was so powerful to witness such an accomplishment. 12, 13, 14, 15 hours of grueling physical exercise. There's a part of me that longs for that kind of achievement; it is ALL YOURS! No one else can claim it. No one can ever take it away, and yet it doesn't have to define you. It's just something you've done. But a damn fine something.
So the next morning, Dan's ironing in his undies and says, "I have just one question about that woman on tv last night, does she do anything else but workout???" He proceeds to tell me how, while he was impressed about this and that and goals and achievements, and how the lady is obviously in primo good shape, he was distracted and somewhat disgusted by her mus-kuls. (yes, muscles) Too much working out, he thought, and she doesn't seem to have anything else going for her. One-dimensional?
And here's me, just out of the shower picking up and putting down various pants and shirts that don't fit, too tight, not right. Trying to hide the jagged lines of pregnancy marks that overtake my entire mid-section. The lovely thing is that right after a hot shower, those stretch marks are bright fucking red. Oh I envy the ladies who survive pregnancy unscarred. Because that's what it is: huge, thick scars across my belly and even above my naval. I had a belly ring in my teens and early twenties, which made that site susceptible to even more stretching, as if the hips and belly weren't enough!
Dan proceeds to comment most fully on this woman's chest. No, not her boobs, of which there was little, but her chest muscles. Too much, too masculine, too alarming. Kinda gross. And of course, while my first instinct is to defend women for their right to develop their bodies the same as men, lifting weights and getting strong and definining muscles (sexy muscle tone and all that), I had to agree. It made this woman look like a skeleton in her sleeveless, low-neck top. The bones and muscles popped out at you in such an alarming way.
We proceeded to banter about the facts. She had school-age kids and no job, so she had the day to with as pleased. Motherhood was like this second obligation. I mean, she was caught talking about her physical self, so what do I know about her life behind the camera, but Motherhood just seemed so secondary. In fact, everything seemed secondary. When asked about other interests, she provided a comprehensive list of all things PHYSICAL - hiking, biking, swimming, kayaking, etc. Family was an inner world she visited, or something. There wasn't one intellectual idea anywhere in her dialogue. One-dimensional, Dan said. Yes, I thought.

And then I thought, "oh honey, it's little bitty conversations like these which help me see you DO appreciate the me that is the crazy me." Cause there is no way in hell you could call me one-dimensional. If anything, I am infinity-dimensional. Most of the time I would consider that a bad thing. But in this instance, I was elated. The stretch marks and the 10 extra pounds felt okay in that moment. Valid annoyances for one busy, tired, working mom. If all I had to do all day was work out my body, I would hope that I'd fit back in those jeans I have stored in the attic. Those tiny tees. But I don't. I have spare time that gets squandered online and eaten up by bill-paying and list-making. Time to rebuild my body should indeed be MORE of a priority, but it just can't be the only priority. I just don't have that luxury so I need to work on BALANCE more than anything.

For an instant I was comforted by my saggy tummy. If nothing else, it's some kind of stupid mark of all that I get done in a day and a week and a month. The stretch marks, however, I could do without. It's probably the single most embarrassing thing about my body, and when I get out of the shower I still cringe when I take sight of myself in the mirror, feeling poorly that I will forever see myself so scarred and tracked upon.

Inner Dialogue GET OUT

I don't really talk to myself that often but I think I should start.

Like I just walked in the house and said SHOWER. Yes, Sarah. Take a fucking shower. Your sinuses are blocked and your fingers are tingling cuz you're freezing and a shower will do you good. Forgo those fucking dishes in the sink, the grocery list, and the laundry.

I turned the corner to head upstairs and then I said EAT SOMETHING. (there's a muffin in the toaster right now)

So it's like this - instead of talking out loud to make a list or directing your comments at someone all the time, why don't I just blab out loud to myself when I'm alone?

I went to a private, all-girls, boarding and day school for high school (before I was kicked out - but that's another story entirely - one that I should probably talk out loud too so I can clear it up in my mind). At said school there was this one teacher renowned for the fact that he was always talking to himself. You'd be in line for lunch and there he'd be, right behind, you mumbling to himself. I don't think I ever really distinguished what he was saying. I always wondered. Was he resolving issues, was he making lists, was he contemplating his classes or his students? Was he just nuts? Thing is, the man was clearly one of the most bright - if the most intimidating among all the intimidatingly smart teachers there. But he also seemed at peace. Was it because he voiced that inner dialogue we all have? Instead of trying to work through everything all solo in the mind, he allowed himself to declare it, make it more audible, and allow another part of the brain to process it or something?

Voicing things brings about conviction, doesn't it? I mean, when I talk I am most certain about what I am thinking. When it swims around and around in my mind I am just so damn cloudy. I'm tired of the clouds. Just tired.

So now, SHOWER Sarah, SHOWER!

From Two to Three

Sinus backup. I've got a cluster in my sinus - but it's worked its way into my brain and I feel completely inept right now. I'm supposed to be working and then cleaning up the house and then heading to the grocery store. Instead I am an absolute lump. Maybe I should just let my body fold into sleep and give up until the afternoon - when I will be forced back into motherhood and household duties.

But I keep thinking about three kids. I dropped the little ones off at the sitter's this morning and reveled in the candor that ensues when I hang around for a few minutes to chat. She's just so refreshing in her outlook on parenting, discipline, and little kids. She KNOWS little kids, as she's been doing the nanny/sitter thing for like 20 years, not to mention she has 2 kids of her own. She also knows how to kick the nonsense out the door - both when she is dealing directly with the children and when she's reflecting on the role of an adult in a kid's world. She says things like "knock it off" a lot and "No touch" and makes this ehn, ehn, ehn sound that perks up the little ears in the house and warns them to back away from the lamp, the box of tissues, the picture frames. It's an honest relationship with the kids. This is my world, and you are in it, and this is what you have to learn to get by until you are big enough to join me here.

There's truth in that we are different people when we are around different people. I can be most honest with my sister - yes you, my dear sister. We chat endlessly about the trials of motherhood: how we yelled so loud yesterday that the kids were stunned to stillness; how we are so exhausted by the very idea of heading to the store with three kids because we are fully aware of the stares we'll get and the spectacle that is a mother with three kids. I can't put it into one sentence what happens when you go from two kids to three, and I so totally wish that I could. Three kids wallops you! It just takes you to a different dimension.

Jamis had an overnite this weekend, and although I don't have to change his diapers and he can get his own juice, I felt a great sense of freedom at only having to manage two! It was this crazy release. Two kids. Only two. It felt like a vacation. I say that we are more accustomed to thinking in pairs. We've got two arms, two hands, two feet, two sides of the brain. Once you throw a third kid in the mix, you spin like batter in the mixing bowl. Yes, that third kid makes me feel just tossed - this way and that and I can't get my bearings. I'm just trying to keep it together. It's ridiculous that I start counting the kids to make sure they are all okay, accounted for. It's only one more person. Three isn't a large number. There are families with 4 and 14 kids. I wonder what happens after three kids. Are you just accustomed to the madness, the shattered-brain syndrome that I've come to know? Oh, what's one more? I don't know. I don't know if I'll ever know. I don't know if I should even imagine it.