When did she get to be so old???

Ho-lee crap! I've been suffering from a migraine since Saturday, so have been absent from bloglandia for the most part. I decided it was high time I checked in with my ophthalmologist. It's been a couple years since I had my eyes examined, and I noticed that my eyes have deteriorated in the last year or so. Both distance and *gasp* closeup.

History lesson: In 2000, I had Lasik surgery. Twice. Because my vision and astigmatism were both so bad, I needed two surgeries to correct it. I'd worn glasses since I was 7, contacts since 11. My vision was so bad that Bob and his roommate in the dorms used to take my glasses and I'd yell "Where are my glasses, damn it?!" And they'd be right there on his face. Assholes.

Anyway, bottom line is, when I got Lasik surgery, and woke up the next morning and could see the clock, it was like a miracle. The Heavens opened up and I saw the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Heavenly harp-like music played. Seriously. Un. Be. Lievable.

So it's been almost 10 years. They told me my eyes might deteriorate, but they'd deteriorate from 20/20. Fair enough. I got 10 years out of my surgery. Given how expensive my glasses and contacts were, plus the boost to my self-esteem, the 2 surgeries more than paid for themselves. They also told me that when I turned 40, I'd need to go out and buy reading glasses. I've cheated them out of 3 years. Woohoo! What I didn't expect was that after 10 years, both the deterioration in my distance vision and my close-up vision would hit at once, and I'd be looking at... bifocals. *cue horror movie music*

Ho-lee CRAP! That is serious old age territory. My grandparents wore bifocals. Hell, my mother wears bifocals. Damn it - I'm too young for this!!!

Thank heavens that they now have progressive lenses. I don't have to have that horrid line in my glasses that screams out to everyone... OLD LADY GLASSES!!

All I can say is, this damn well better help with the headaches.



So... what's new with you?

Belly tunes

There is more than one moment that stands out from our weekend away (dirtbiking of course)...but this one is a laugher.

G. In the process of getting dressed. Sitting shirtless on the edge of the bed in our camper. He looks down at his bare belly, all bunched up because he is sitting there hunched over to pull shorts on. It captures his attention and he immediately stops what he is doing to start patting out a rhythm on his belly fat.

Wouldn't you just LOVE to have that kind of appreciation for your belly fat? I sure would.

Truth or fiction, the view from under 4 feet.

***Thanks to Lori and Anne for carrying this blog! And apologies for dropping off! Life interuptus.***

When I picked up my 6-year-old son from school the other day, I asked about his field trip to the local ice cream joint. His entire elementary school, including 6 kindergarten classes, was bussed to the downtown area for ice cream. Then, class-by-class, they all walked back to school.

He recounted the bus ride, including the bus driver's three trips around a block before finding a place to drop them off. He explained that he ended up with a chocolate ice cream cone, cuz they were out of Superman--which is now called SuperKid he noted.

Then he told me about their experience at the pond--a little sidetrip on the walk back to school. Told me he caught a turtle. In a net. A net with turtle food in it to lure them. He told me about a poisonous frog and went into great detail about how the frog uses its poison to protect itself from other animals.

I'm paraphrasing here, considerably shortening up his richly detailed account. But trust me, I was enthralled and entertained. I took him to his after-school daycare and returned to work.

When I picked him up after work, our chat began anew. And he mentioned that he saw a turtle at the pond. "I thought you caught a turtle," I said.

He responded, very nonchallantly, "Oh no, we didn't catch any. We just saw one. That was a story."

Dilemna? Or no? Story? Or lie?

A bit of a struggle for us right now. There is no question, my son is a great, great storyteller. Imaginative, but realistic enough to pull the listener in and keep her there. Beginning, middle and end--with sound order and flow. And soooo rich in detail, it awes me.

This is talent, IMO. And I encourage it ruthlessly. However, I do ask that he tell me--up front--when he is about to tell me a story. I've instructed him to show the same respect to everyone else in his life as well. He complies with that request more often than not.

But those times he does not? Potential problem I guess. That line between truth and fiction. Between a little boy's imagination--wanting to recount an event the way he wishes it had played out, instead of the way it did play out.

I did that as a child, mostly in my own head though. Did you? Healthy, right? I think so. Most of the time. But I'm worried a little too.

So how do you encourage the storyteller and, at the same time, instill those critical values of honesty, truthfulness?

A little peace in my heart this morning...

When he was just little, G never failed to ask me for a story at bedtime. Not from a book mind you, but one I made up. About him, LOL. So I would dutifully recount something that happened to him that day or the weekend before. Always careful to include every detail, from the smell on the breeze to the clothes he wore. And always culminating with whatever accomplishment he'd enjoyed.

Don't recall when that fell off and book reading began. But here in the last month or so, he's gone back to my storytelling. And both the writer and the Mom in me just love it. I could tell the story of my son til the end of my days.

Another Oops! for KristieJ

KristieJ posted a hilarious list of Oops! the other day and invited us all to comment and win. I dutifully commented, sharing my propensity to accidentally brew coffee at 10 PM instead of correctly programming the coffeemaker to brew in the AM.

Well, I just discovered another Oops--funny enough to share.

Temps are threatening to warm here. Unsure of where Thursday's temps would go, I decided to grab a spring jacket from the closet for G. I wanted to send it, and his winter coat, with him on his all-day playdate at Seth's.

Went to the closet, spied his spring jacket and grabbed it. Lo and behold, there on the hanger was a white satin bra. MY white satin bra. Apparently, when I washed his jacket (last fall sometime), I bypassed the dryer and simply hung it up to air dry. Like I often do, I slung a just-washed bra over the top of the hanger--also to air dry. Once it (they) dried, I must have just blindly hung it up in the coat end of the closet without pulling my bra off of the hanger.

And I LOVE this particular bra. How did I not miss it?

Now, if you're a man, you're likely envisioning a clandestine romp with a forbidden lover--wherein I inadvertantly left my bra behind, cheating whore that I am.

If you are a woman however, you're heading--this very minute--to your coat closet.

Monday Reckoning

It's still Monday here in California, even if it says Tuesday on the blog :)

I forgot all about this. I've been so busy at work - put in an 11 hour day today. And I'm trying to get ready for Passover, which begins tomorrow night, and I'm trying to prepare all my stuff for a weeklong cruise with my mom (leaving next Friday), so sorry if I haven't been commenting at your blogs or posting anything lately. Just life...

Anywho... Monday reckoning is here. Down 1 lb.

Watching my words...

As usual, I start serious...

Couple of nights ago, I was writing a letter to our soldier penpal. At present, he is in Afghanistan, under fire at virtually every moment. As communication is entirely one-sided right now (us to him), I'm struggling to find the right words for him.

I've always chatted away to him about the goings on in our life--especially everything G is doing. And I've usually been able to include responses to items in his letters--thoughts on politics in particular (we essentially picked each other because we share a political science background). But now, neither of these feels appropriate.

The bit I wrote about balancing work and home life feels...wrong. He works 24/7 in unimaginable conditions and hasn't been home in months.

The spring fever rant I included felt off too. He'd no doubt want the snow I'm wishing away and probably longs to experience seasons again.

I know that I should just stuff it in the envelope and send it. Then sit right down and write the next one. It's letters from home he wants. Period.

Same dilemna applies in conversation with almost anyone today. We are remarkably blessed in that both my husband and I are working. Full-time and with some measure of job security. And although we're like so many--with little to no retirement secured--we've also virtually no debt. While this economic crisis is scary, for us, it's a little less scary than it could be. So we're ok.

But...as you all know, I continue to struggle with our "ok." Because it means less time for hands-on parenting. No matter how much we try to make of our time with G now, the void remains. I miss him terribly. And not only do I fear that that ache will never ease, I'm gearing myself up--again--for the guilt I'll carry every day that he spends in daycare this summer. At least now he spends the bulk of the day in school. Once school lets out, we'll both be back to wanting to spend the day with each other. And it will suck. Because we can't.

A difficult challenge for me, but one that pales next to potential homelessness. Know what I mean? Aside from this venue (thank you), I almost always swallow the words--believing they are highly inappropriate or insensitive given the times.

Move to humor....

Of course there are the other odds and funny ends. Like this past weekend, when I was introduced to a man I'd met before--back when he was married to a co-worker of mine, years ago. Errr, before she got herself a boyfriend and left the husband for him. So do I smile, say hello and nice to meet you? Then shut up? Oh no. My mouth continues as I happily tell him that I remember him because I used to work with his wife. Banging head.

Or when I really, really want to grab a few minutes with my book--while DH and the boy watch TV. But then I accidentally flip the TV to the evening national news or some news hour. Nothing torques my DH up like politics and the economy. He spends a lot of time on the road and listens to a great deal of talk radio (as poisonous as any other source of commentary, IMO). Just when I want to read, I end up triggering a conversation that includes Rush Limbaugh. Banging head.

And on to petty...

On the opposite side of the fence--the side where I look agape at folks when they're doing the talking--I can't tell you how many times I'm engaged in conversation (lately) about money or health. One friend confided that her husband's company is near closing. Around a mouthful of take-out lunch, she told me she fears he will come home any day without a job. I care about her, but honestly, all I could process in that conversation was the fact that take-out lunch goes for anywhere between 5 and 10 bucks these days. I replied appropriately, but felt dishonest.

On health, especially among my co-workers now, I end up in conversations wherein I learn of all the diet-related medical issues this one or that one have. I literally have to bite my tongue whenever the woman down the hall shares her diabetes issues with me--because I witness her down 2 to 3 cans of Mountain Dew every morning.

All I can say is you won't find me going on and on about sleeplessness or dull skin. I already know I drink too much caffeinated coffee and I need to quit smoking. For more than just glowing skin. I do my damn best not to invite those truths.

Successfully demonstrating both my mental spaghetti and reliable immaturity...

So how about you? Are you finding yourself watching your words of late?

Overheard at the pool

My friend Lisa and I were standing in the "big" pool, listening patiently while our six-year-old boys worked up the courage to tackle the water slide. Long-time swimmers in the "small" pool, both want to move up, now that they're so much older and capable. Our rocket water slide is a big step.

D: "You go."

G: "No."

D: "Yeah, you do it."

G: "Uhhhh, no." (Wonder where he gets that Uhhhh from, LOL.)

D: "Come on. Do it. Then you can rub it all in my face."

LMAO! Her and I laughed so hard. Specially cuz he accompanied that statement with a rapper hand move.

Ah well. Gone are the days where we overhear them citing manner rules--drilled at daycare and pre-school--to each other.

Oh, and they BOTH did it. At least a bazillion times each.

There is no such thing as too much time.

My OB-GYN's husband died late last week. I learned of his death on Saturday and have not been able to shake the images (flashbacks) to six years ago--when I saw her routinely for pre-natal care. She was pregnant with their fourth child, he was a stay-at-home-Dad and I envied them their up-north, outdoor life. I wasn't sure at that point in time if my DH and I were going to be able to pull it off. It was a very difficult time for me and my OB-GYN was one of the few silent pillars of strength I've known in my lifetime.

Today, knowing how she and her children must be aching, I flashback to those images. I see her face and think to myself 'she doesn't know what tragedy lies ahead for her'.

None of us do.

It's morbid. But it appears to be a new step in my grieving process. This is the fourth time in as many months that I've grieved the loss of a friend or acquaintance. It's been the same every time. My mind instantly flashes to the "before" and I'm stuck, for days, re-living and seeing it all again, but with the knowledge that it ends sooner than we expect.

I'm a person of faith. I'm ok on that point (for lack of a better way to say it).

But I'm left, every time, on this edge of anxiety. Made vulnerable by the indescribable love I have for my 6-year-old son. Please God, don't shorten our time. He still needs me. I will always need him.

And sobered to what matters most. Why do I still let the most impotent of shit cloud my perspective, pull me out of my "moments" with loved ones? A daily battle when it should be a way of life, a manner of thinking so ingrained that I never leave the tracks.

I keep at it.

Not only because I want to grow old, but because I want to do it with as few regrets as possible.

I recall a conversation I had with my Aunt Wanda. At age 85, she told me about the woman who lived across the street from her when the kids were little. This woman had a gaggle of her own kids and my Aunt recalled how they went in and out of that house all day long, hands smudging the glass pane of the front door. My Aunt never remembered seeing the woman clean that glass pane. Instead, she remembered seeing the woman playing with her kids.

My Aunt ended by saying, "If I had it to do all over again, I wouldn't have spent my time watching her through my own glass door--while I dutifully cleaned it. I would have played with my children instead."

My Mom's sister, she imparted this wisdom to me just after my Mom had chided me for playing with my son too much. My Mom had said: "He doesn't play well by himself. That's because you play with him too much."

Not too much.

More like never enough.

It will never be enough.

That's how I want to live, I think. Like it will never be enough and I want more, more, more. From every day and every moment.

JenniferB: Dinner Conversation

Sitting down to dinner. Me, my husband and our 6-year-old boy...

DH: Blah, blah, blah about work.

ME: Well, Sheila's back from Denver.

BOY: Who is Sheila?

ME: Momma's boss.

BOY: I thought Norm was your boss.

ME: Oh no Baby. I quit that job a long time ago.

BOY: [puzzled frown]

ME: Don't you remember? Momma had two jobs and I had to pick just one. I picked the new one and Sheila is my new boss.

BOY: Did you use use eenie-meenie-miney-moe to pick?

A (happy) update on the headspace thing...

This past weekend?

DH and I went out for a nice Valentine's dinner with friends on Friday--right after work.

On Saturday, we managed a relaxing morning--during which I looked up more fab crockpot recipes to accompany the one Lori shared last week--and early afternoon--which was when I grocery shopped. Then, we left around 2 to go skiing. Ended up having dinner there again and even let G enjoy himself a bit at the kid's club event (which featured those crazy bouncing/jumping houses--G's all-time fave carnival amusement).

Sunday morning, we went to church. Came home and had lunch. Then I cleaned my house top to bottom and plowed through laundry while the boys relaxed. Just before the vacuum came out--DH and G went outside to do chores and play. So I finished up the housecleaning and polishing without boys or toys underfoot. A bit later, we all hopped on our snowmobiles, strapped G's sled on the back and rode a couple of miles to a humongous sled hill. Played there a bit, rode on to a pub for pops and then headed home. Where I grilled dinner in time for us all to relax in front of the TV for Supercross (dirtbiking). Then, LOL, later, while G was in his bath, I colored my hair. [Bit bummed on that--it is one of my two economic concessions right now...giving up the salon appointments. Hate to color my own hair, blech.]

At any rate...my point? My happy point? We did all of this and, NOT ONCE did I feel rushed or conflicted or put out that I had so much shit to do on the weekend (now that I've limited time during the week). It all just flowed, dare I say it, naturally. No trying to figure out how to fit it all in or how to get alone time to do it in...I just...did it. With my family around. It was like we were in perfect sync, balancing fun and chores with G front and center during both.

Sigh. That's the sound of contentment right there.

Changing the way Americans think?

A friend posted this up on her Facebook page. Powerful stuff. It's called His President's Black. Simply awesome. Click on the picture or on the link...

How do you charm your man?

Last week, Lori cited Bob's laugh lines--those sexy crinkles around the eyes--and asked "What's sexy about your man?"

Well, it occured to me yesterday, there is one thing (I hadn't thought of) about my own husband that utterly charms me. It's the way he deals with my more 'interesting' moments. Specifically, it's the totallly bland expression and closed mouth he wields when I KNOW he is dying to do otherwise.

[For the few of you who know little about my DH, let me just say that talking is his forte; he's really, really good at it; does it ALL the time.]

So what renders him speechless? My appearance ususally. Like when I arrived at the chairlift a full minute or two behind him and my son yesterday. Covered in snow, head to toe. And it's not snowing outside. Completely unaware of how I looked, I ski'd into the shoot behind them and waited for my chair. All the while, he has to be envisioning the mother of all wipeouts. Looking me over, silently. And when I don't mention it, he wisely--and charmingly--leaves it alone. LOL

Exactly the same reaction he managed a few years back, when, I swear, I fell asleep while riding my snowmobile. Seriously, totally relaxed, mind on something else, meandering at a casual pace through freshly groomed trails. He was a bit ahead of me and didn't witness my boneless slide off my machine. Or my breakdance-looking spin--thank goodness for Goretex--across the snow. Or my machine as it miraculously slowed to a stop on the trail, instead of against a tree. I was not aware of my snow-encrusted appearance then either, because when I caught up with him down the trail--where he waited for me--I smiled and gave him the thumbs up sign (which, for us, means to continue on). He just sat there looking at me. Then slowly faced forward and resumed riding. Bless his heart.

Like I hinted, my DH rarely stops talking. He has something to say about virtually everything and doesn't buy into the whole 'some things are better left unsaid' argument. Helpful or hurtful, he never holds his words back. So how does he manage it in these instances? I think he is charmed. By me. I think he is amused in the same way the heroes of our romance often are, when amusement sparks attraction or remembers fondness. Truly, a gooey moment both ways.

And while there is plenty of humor in my marriage, as well as the standard hi-and-bye kisses and endearments, there are very few gooey moments. This one brought a secret smile to my face as I rode the chairlift behind him.

What about you? How do you charm your DH? Was gonna ask how you render him speechless, but I'm not sure we're rated for that kind of content here. LOL

TMI???

So, it's annual review time at work, and we always have to do these dumb self-evaluations/self-reflections along with providing a list of our annual accomplishments, etc. (Don't you hate those?) The company has already announced that in an effort to reduce costs in 2009, merit increases will be limited to 3%. Thankfully, I have a terrific relationship with my boss. You all know that I work anywhere between 55-70 hours a week, depending on the project work being done at the time. I've been at this company for 10 years. I know they consider me to be a valuable employee. I'm not worried about losing my job over anything I may write. But still, it's not a good time for anyone to be stirring the pot. So here's how I answered the last question on the "self-evaluation" (bearing in mind this was number 8... sheesh, enough already):

Question: Is there anything else you would like to share about yourself professionally related to 2008? If so, what?

Answer: This is as honest and self-reflective as I can be. I love the work that I do, and I enjoy the people I work with. But I feel overextended. I cannot possibly accomplish everything that my job requires in an 8 hour day, and I cannot continue to lead a healthy life and keep a healthy family life working the number of hours that I do. I'm concerned that the quality of my work may begin to suffer, or that simply by the nature of my work ethic and gratitude for having a job in this economy, that I will allow my family life to suffer. I remain hopeful that our company will consider some sort of flex scheduling or ability to work from home occasionally that may allow employees like me to juggle a demanding job with home life in order to feel less stressed, less overextended, less unable to cope. Because that is how I feel most days.

TMI to give to your boss at review time?

Headspace. Again.

Have to laugh. Have to share.

My efforts to free up headspace have been nothing if not methodical. Identify all of my roles or obligations, then pare the list to just the essentials. Went something like A) eliminate job one, B) offload freelance gig and, C) settle into the set work schedule of job two (now full-time). The sooner I accomplish A, B and C, the sooner I can get back to enjoying my family and myself. And the higher the likelihood that said family will have clean clothes to wear.

So why am I laughing now? Cuz I forgot one of my key roles--that of cruise director. You know, the one responsible for Little League sign-up, keeper of the birthday card and gift list, buyer of said cards and gifts, special event coordinator, etc. Here I was simply trying to keep us all emotionally balanced and in clean clothes when I should also have been getting the boy signed up for spring ball, remembering the upcoming birthday of another little one near and dear to us, making arrangements to get my top-of-the-line breast pump back from one friend and passing it on to another in need, and coordinating the when/where/who details of the big rally car race we're attending Saturday. Oh and oops, remembering that G's normal afterschool daycare arrangements required a slight modification today--like as in he has to be picked up one hour earlier than normal. Duh.

I think I need a man purse.

You know, big enough to keep my planner on my person, in plain view at all times. Not tucked in my backpack or purse.

Sigh. Yeah, humor is my primary coping mechanism. But honestly, I'm losing even that. And the next coping trick? That of finding perspective? That's not working so well for me either. Take these two examples...

Perceived Problem: The Rally Car Race? A two-day event--today and tomorrow. For the past two years, we've attended the first day, meeting the racers at the fun-filled, fan-fare start of the event. This year we're attending just the second day of the event. Because I need to work today--specially since I was off unexpectedly with my sick child last week.

Put Into Perspective: Will we have fun going on day two? Absolutely. Will he meet the racers? Yep. Will I be able to take the day off of work next year? Certainly.

Perceived Problem: Had a thought as I schlepped me and my son to town this morning. The weather. I had a brief image of summer-warm, sunshine-filled days--when words like schlepping or bundling won't even pop into my head. When heading out of the house won't include 12 pounds of winter apparel, mouth-breathing on your scarf or the defroster on high, drowning out all attempts at conversation. It was a funny, looking-forward-to-summer thought, a fairly common thought this time of year in the mid-west.

Until I remembered...yeah, summer. When G will be stuck at daycare all day while I work. Another adjustment.

Put Into Perspective: Will he adjust? Yes. Will I offset those days by arranging playdates for him? You know it. Will I figure out how to get him to swim class, like maybe do it on my lunch hour? You bet.

Everything is fine, everything will work out. So why then do I feel like slinking off to have a good, hard cry?

Boy, this started out to be funny and I talked myself right into tears. Wow. Sorry about that. Let me bring it back around a bit...know what I need? A man like SEP's Bram.

Last night, I finished What I Did For Love by Susan Elizabeth Phillips (SEP). Throughout, the leading man (Bram) asserted himself as husband and protector of the girl (Georgie) using the language of ownership. More than once, he makes it known that her and her problems belong to him now. To her father, he says (paraphrasing), leave her alone, she's not your headache anymore, she's mine. It doesn't matter that they're all independent-minded adults and she, in particular, is no wilting flower--she gives it right back to him from beginning to end. What struck my romantic fancy here was Bram's sense of responsibility to her, for her. Very romantic.

And though the realist in me knows that responsibility (all of it) is shared in any good relationship, the weary wife and mother in me wouldn't mind curling up to a man willing to take it all upon himself. Since, by definition, he will be fictional, LOL....lemme see...who will be my next hero...I've got Brockmann's Dark Of Night (HUUUGGGEEE Thanks to Lori!!!!!!!) and I have Garwood's Fire And Ice (due back at the library right quick). Hmmm.

Update on that headspace thing

So....

1) I quit one of my part-time jobs.
2) And grew the other into a full-time job.
3) And offloaded my freelance web development gig.

More headspace, right? Soon, soon. I hope. Keep praying.

One week into it and...

1) The part-time job I quit was the biggest thing on my mind. As some of you know, that guy lacked character and was very, very difficult to work for. Well, true to his nature, he was infuriated by my resignation and spent all of last week trying to make trouble for me--accusing me of general incompetence (harmless) and of forging his signature on checks to pay his bills (not so harmless). Nor true. I was assigned to him through a temp agency and he spewed nearly all of his venom her way. That she defended me without hesitation stirred his ire to scary heights and not only was I compelled to proactively contact local authorities (on the forgery accusation) but I also spent all week looking over my shoulder, locking my doors the instant I was behind them, etc. A mess. The only moment of feeling 'safe' came when the officer I spoke with assured me he knew this guy, knew he was not believable and doubted he would come back (they told him he didn't have a sound complaint and that any further action would require a full-blown audit; that gave him pause and he dropped it). So far this week, he's been quiet. I'm still unsettled, now just worried about him as a physical threat, but maybe with each quiet day, I'll be one more day to putting it behind me.

2) The new full-time job was not worked full-time week one. I had one pre-arranged day off to wrap up websites. That was Thursday. But then...my little one fell very ill and I ended up staying home with him Friday. So yeah, first full-time week and I worked three days. I worried over that too.

3) And speaking of sick, my last website client was too sick last Thursday to meet with me. So, while I met with a gentleman who will be taking over new website clients, I was unable to wrap the last website I completed. She is still sick and, at this point, not expected back in her office until the end of this week. Oh, and of course there is one more graphic she'd like to add. As she has been so patient with me, I'm not inclined to turn her last graphic request down.

But, it's a new week--Week Two--and my positive push must prevail. I've still only one employer with which I must share my headspace. The old employer appears to be slinking off--let's hope. And after this one more graphic and a meeting I plan to take with a surgical mask (to ward off her sick germs), I'll be done with my website clients.

G is much better, if a bit tired still. DH--who is helpful around the house, BTW--is also feeling better (he was sick too) and we all look forward to our ski date later this week. Between my own drama (shared above) and DH's concern over his own job and sales numbers, we keep trying to make sure we set it all aside to do stuff--like ski--with G. And everytime we do, the exercise and air clears just a bit more of that headspace I need so much.

Like I said, soon. There is a rhythm to it and I'm really close to finding it.

(And LMAO--JUST got the image of having being-on-top sex and unable to find a rhythm. Ouch. Clearly just the word rhythm makes me think of sex. The romance reader in me lives, WOOT.)

I think it’s all about headspace

Not enough headspace. The crux of my problem right now. Not sure if it’s a symptom of my stress or the primary cause of my stress. All I know, is that without it, I’m an absolute mess.

While unemployed, I spent all of my time as Mom to our now-six-year-old son. My dream job. And one that afforded more than enough headspace to contemplate ways to help him grow, ways to ensure his happiness and well being, and to remember what groceries I needed when.

Once he was in pre-school, I opened my own home-based daycare. Again, while sometimes physically exhausting, it was a dream job. Another one that afforded me enough headspace, which in turn allowed me to accomplish the things best for my family and for myself.

Then, as my son started kindergarten, I took a part-time job outside the home. The work was not altogether challenging—nothing compared to my lifetime-ago corporate gigs, but the hours were flexible and I was home when my son’s school day ended. And yep, sufficient headspace on this job too. The job responsibilities were not weighty and my part-time status put me home with my son by mid-afternoon. Plenty of time for my thoughts, plenty of time to act on them.

On December 4th, I interviewed for another job—one of those opportunities not to be passed up. Got the job right there in the interview and started—part-time—the following Monday. Half day on the new job, half day continuing on the old job. In the midst of the holiday season. That headspace? It was shrinking. The combined job responsibilities and increase in work hours left me with less and less headspace to keep track of my responsibilities to my family and myself.

On top of both jobs, I was also committed—in a freelance capacity—to developing websites for four clients. All due by the end of January.

So despite the rest I took over both long holiday weekends, mid-January finds me more stressed than I have been in years. Exhausted and growing depressed. Losing hope in the idea that I can find a way to balance it all. A way to reverse the negative impact on my family and myself.

All the while, I’m battling the idea that my stress is not worthy of attention—not my attention, not my husband’s attention. All because, in this collapsing economy, having too many jobs is nothing to complain about. Instead of loss, I should feel blessed.

Nevermind that when I lay down at night, I ask myself what I did with my son today. And weep, because the answer is nothing. Yes, I cooked dinner. I got him in the shower. And I read him his bedtime stories. But we talked little, we played not a single game—board or pretend, and I’m not even sure he has clean clothes for school tomorrow because I haven’t had time to do laundry since the weekend.

Nevermind that when my husband—oblivious to my exhaustion—plans family ski night, I bristle. Afraid to give up an entire evening I had hoped to spend getting things—like laundry—done.

I’ve thought about little else in the alone time I have had—that time being somewhere around 3 AM, when my mind wakes me to worry over things. At first, I figured that I was simply having trouble adjusting between staying home and returning to work. I figured that I must still be trying to accomplish everything a SAHM does even though I’d returned to being a working-Mom. I tried breaking it down to tasks, trying to adjust the expectations I put on myself. Still couldn’t see a solution.

Until I hit on the notion of headspace. I finally figured out that it all boils down to headspace. I NEED time, in my own head, to identify/sort/manage my “stuff”. Stuff that includes the mundane, like groceries, AND the important things, like playdates, and figuring out G’s Transformers (worse than the Rubik’s cube, I swear), and finishing up the comic book (a G original) he and I started three weeks ago. All of it. I have to have room in my head to accommodate this stuff. Otherwise, it feels like I’ve forsaken all of it. Like it doesn’t matter as much as it should, as much as I want it to.

A hard, hard look at my schedule and responsibilities and I came to the realization that, as is, it was never going to allow the amount of headspace I need.

So last Friday, I ditched the old part-time job and, on Monday, started full-time with the new company. Full-time as in 8 – 5 with an hour for lunch—which I spend picking up my son from school and delivering him to daycare. And today, I’m home (pre-arranged with my new employer) finishing up the outstanding websites and preparing to hand-off development of a new one (and all subsequent contracted sites) to a new guy. I meet with him this afternoon.

The full-time aspect doesn’t give me back my afternoons with my son. And the new job responsibilities—vast and challenging—are already, three days into it, consuming a significant chunk of my thoughts. My headspace.

BUT, I have to hope, that once routine takes over, once I’m up-to-speed and DOING my new job, day in and day out, I’ll be able to settle down. The stress and constant anxiety will be replaced with confidence and organization. My lunch hour will transform from “running here and there, getting G from point A to point B” to “a cherished 45 minutes with my son, mid-afternoon, with stories of school antics and even a few giggles.”

Sure, I’ll still have significantly less time—in my head as well as in my laundry room—than I did before. But as long as I limit ownership of my headspace to one employer, one husband, my child and myself, I should be able to accommodate it all. For good measure though, will you say a little prayer for me? Thank you.

Does this stuff only happen to me?

Ok, so…

1) I am not a strong or confident skier.
2) I harbor a bone-deep, completely irrational fear of chair lifts.
3) I am unable to lift my 6-year-old son easily (almost not at all).

Keeping these points in mind, let me tell you a story.

We’ve been skiing three times so far this season—all in the last two weeks. We’re skiing at a new (to us) resort. There are a bazillion runs with five chair lifts servicing them. There is also the requisite bunny hill with tow rope and a cool tubing run. All good.

DH—the strong, confident skier—promised a Thursday night of skiing for the family. Then bowed out cuz he had to work late. Go back to points 1, 2 and 3. I do not feel ready to take our 6-year-old son skiing on my own. He’s a great little skier, thanks to his Dad, but he is still a novice and, like I said, too heavy for me to lift onto the chair lift seat.

He is also a master negotiator. He talked me into taking him—just the two of us. Said if we are unable to manage the chair lift (see point 3), we’ll simply hang on the bunny hill or go tubing. And honestly, I have to be able to take him without his Dad. It is stupid to live here, with unlimited skiing and not be able to get him on the slopes. No time like the present to suck it up.

We go.

The place is nearly deserted, spooking us both and exaggerating that “we’re on our own” feeling. Ah well.

We take off down our run of choice and head to the chair lift for that run. The woman pops out and informs us that this lift is stuck on fast and that her partner—necessary to help hold back the screaming fast chair—is on a bathroom break. So, we shuffle backwards out of the shoot and make our way to another, less convenient chair lift.

Adequate staff and the designated slow lift for the night. They lifted him onto the chair and, at the top, I simply put my hand to his bottom and scooted him off. No wipe-outs and we’re officially in business. We can do this.

Ahhh, but did I mention that this lift is not convenient? We have to trudge—not ski, trudge—quite a ways to our preferred run. G tires of the trudging after 30 seconds. So, together, we decide to attempt runs nearer to the inconvenient lift. All steep and, with the exception of one, all through the terrain park. Down we go. Very, very exciting. And not something he wishes to do again. LOL

So back we go, to the inconvenient, but safe chair lift. And trudge, trudge, trudge to our preferred run. Exhausting for him. He announces that he’d like to at least try the fast lift now, so we don’t have to trudge so far. Ok. So we head to that lift. The partner is back and they both come out to assist us into the chair. Aside from the chair slamming into the backs of our knees (G didn’t care for that), we’re good. Screaming fast up the hill, but good. At the top, I shove him off the chair and join him, arms flailing. Still, we succeed. No wipe-outs and we’re off again. We do it one more time.

When G decides that lift is no good cuz it hurts when he’s tossed into the chair, it’s my turn to get yet another idea. Let’s try a third chair lift that will take us to the other side of the mountain, to an easy run with a tree-lined side-run back to the main lifts when we’re ready to go. Good, great. Off we ski to that lift. Guy looks at me funny, but says not a word. Up G and I go. To the top. Of an extremely difficult run and a big, fat CLOSED sign blocking the way to the easy run. No way to go but straight down. I tell him we can either ski down it—I’ll go first and he can follow me—or we can remove our skis and walk down it. He chooses skiing. So, we ski down it.

Again, very, very exciting. It levels off and I head for the path back to the main lifts—cuz no, we don’t want to do that again either. The path is blocked off. Looks safe enough to me, so I go around the blockade. G, not a rule-breaker, objects. I ask him if he wants to remain stuck on the wrong run all night. He immediately hustles to follow me around the barrier. Off we go back to the main lifts.

Back to the fast chair lift closest to our easy run. Ok, nope, still don’t like being slammed into that chair. So G asks to just go back to the slow chair lift and promises to trudge without complaint. Riding up that lift, G looks down at the nearest run again and decides it doesn’t look so bad now. Of course it doesn’t, not after the mogul run we had just completed. So we pick that run and do it. Exciting yes, but fun. We wanna do it again.

Get back on the slow chair lift. Nearing the top. When it stops. We can hear the squeals of the folks who wiped out at dismount. Then we can see them ski off. Still, the chair remains stopped. For a long time. An unnaturally long time. G starts to cry. I wonder if they’ve closed and forgot us up there. Finally, I pull my cell phone out of my pocket, call information and get the club number. Dial the club. And….just as it is ringing, the lift begins to move again.

Needless to say, at the top G is done. Asks me if we can just go do the bunny hill a few times. Yep. We did that. Then we went home.

Both of us, with badges in bravery. Proud of our teamwork and for helping each other avoid total freak-out stage.

And really, the rest of the ski season should be, comparatively, easy. Right?

Helpful reminders. Already.

Many of us started the year--8 days ago--vowing to seek out the positive, live in the moment, find a healthy balance. Don't know about you, but I am already in need of a reminder. So I gave myself these and thought to share them with you. You're welcome.

1. Look up. We passed the shortest day of the year last month. So every day now, we're getting more daylight. This is my absolute favorite "things are looking up" moment of the year. Even a minute more of daylight is a positive; it's good for your health and makes you feel alive.

2. Reach out. The time I make for friends always, always comes back to me tenfold. So even though I feel tired or busy, I have to remind myself that I'll feel energized and usually, humored, after that monthly lunch date with Brandie. Ditto for the calls and emails I owe folks. Make the time, find the cell signal and enjoy.

3. Snag a laugh. Same idea as reminder #2. If my time is limited, I usually avoid opening my blog reader. Instead, I choose to save it for savoring later. Well, while scrolling through over a thousand unread posts last month, I realized something. I laughed out loud. A lot. Quite a lot. And now realize that I'd rather snag a hearty, healthy laugh in a few minutes then relax under a gazillion posts with pen and TBR list at hand.

4. Shave. Don't laugh. Acting like it's bikini-weather or like I might get sex soon is a big positive for me. Smooth legs and pretty toenails mean that I'm taking time for myself. Positive, healthy. [On a practical note though, I need to buy a good pair of long johns to replace the fur. We're skiing a lot already this winter and I need that extra layer. Any brand or material recommendations?]

I know EXACTLY...

…when I switched to Google Reader—early 2007. How do I know this? By the dates on my oldest “starred” items. Sigh.

This is me in November:

Trim the kitten’s claws. Decide to put the clippers away in a new, handier spot.

Here I am in December:

DH: Sid’s claws need trimming.
ME: Hmmmm.

I KNOW I put them in a better spot. No memory of where that would be. So I start looking in the most logical place. Only that place—a catch-all drawer—is a mess and I don’t spy the clippers right away. So I move on to some other logical
places. Nothing but cluttered messes.

I panic, seriously. Not only is my memory completely blank (a shitty feeling), but my “spaces” are cluttered. I can’t think amidst clutter, just like I can’t hear well if there is too much background noise.

This dovetails right into the working Mom/wife guilt I’ve been carrying. If I were still a SAHM, these spaces would be clutter-free and I would have known exactly where the clippers were instantly. Furthermore, the cat’s claws would have already been trimmed again.

So keep this picture of (admittedly self-induced) harriedness in your head…

It’s late December now:

We are on the other side of holiday madness and I belly up to Google Reader. No surprise that there are over a thousand unread posts. I didn’t have a lot of time to read—anything—this month and purposefully chose to save this pleasure
for during and after Christmas week.

Oh boy, just minutes into reading, I see some “Best of 2008” lists. Yay! Love
those. As I will want to compare them to mine, I move to “star” them. Hmmm. Better check my “starred” items. It won’t make any sense to drop more posts in there if it’s already too crowded, right? Better to take a minute and make sure it’s clear. OMG. It’s a fucking abyss. Overflowing with reviews that caught my eye, topics/discussions I wanted to revisit or comment on later, etc. I NEVER meant for this to happen. For me, “starred” items are akin to a To Do list. Something like:

· Add this to my TBR list
· Write related post on this topic
· Include link to this review when I review this one

Instead, my “starred” items grew unchecked into nothing more than a virtual junk drawer. No way could I put all of the Best Of lists in there. They would disappear like the cat’s clippers.

January is here:

And yes, I’ve cleared, cleaned and reorganized both my physical and virtual junk drawers. 2009 may proceed. Just letting you know you all have the go ahead. More Best Of lists please.