Social Gracious

If I Was a Man

If I was a man, I wouldn't be compelled to justify my reasons for accepting a really good job offer for twice the amount of money I was making, that also happened to require travel.  If I was a man, I'd be a breadwinner, not a homewrecker.  I hear loads of comments, "I could never do that" "Wow your husband is really great, is he OK with being Mr. Mom?"

Well guess what, I wouldn't have married an incompetent asshole in the first place, not that having a partner who travels is for every family.  My husband is the bomb, and even when I was a stay at home mom, he avoided calling me when I went out to ask me stupid questions.   Because we are a TEAM, we are equal parents, he's not a moron who I have to step in and save because he doesn't know how to parent.  He's a really smart guy, and guess what, that means that my daughter's hair might not be perfect, but he knows how to operate a barrette even if the art of the ponytail escapes him.  Guess what else, when I go out, my husband isn't babysitting, because you can't babysit your own kids, a babysitter is someone you pay to take care of your kids, parents don't babysit their own kids.

If I was a man, I could go to the Middle East for 6 months and you would say it's patriotic, not abandonment.  I could work for a pharmaceutical company and pull down 6 figures times 2 and you'd say, "how nice that your husband does so well." But because I'm a woman you pity me and wonder how I could possibly leave my kids for sometimes 3 days at a time.  I do it because it's for my whole family, it's because if I sacrifice for this one year, my family can have some financial peace for as long as we can plan, I do it because my husband has been doing it since we met and it's my turn.  Also, I'm secure that my husband is a good parent, just as good as me, as long as the clothes are laid out, I do bath and hair blow outs before I leave. This is the right choice for our family right now.

I don't say anything when people (sometimes my family or friends, and often women) make comments about my choices.  I know they mean well but it hurts.  I know they would never make the same comments if my husband had a similar opportunity.  Somehow because I'm a woman I am held to a different standard and I know it, but it still hurts me.  I love my kids with all my heart but this is a year I am giving for their future and really it's not that hard.  In return I got an extra day a week at home with them, I was finally able to take off at the holidays for the first time in two years.  I plan to take off an extended period of time during the summer.  No, I don't see them about three nights per week in the flesh when I'm travelling, but when I'm home, I'm home, no work, I can take them to school, pick them up, hang out, whatever I want.  I am not scared to stop and brush Diva's hair or chat with their teacher, lest I be at work at 8:05 instead of 8:00, I'm my own boss as long as I honor my appointments and commitments.

How do you judge other moms?  Do you judge men by the same parenting standards as women?  Do you hold the genders to different standards? Why?

Welcome Back

 It's been a while, I know.  I was talking to a friend recently and she asked if I was going to start blogging again.  The truth is that I always intended to come back to it.  I love writing, it's part of my release. I wanted to be a professional writer, but both parents pointed out the unlikely prospect of a reliable income.  Turns out that a career as a mental health provider also was similarly a fast track to poverty, even with a license and a Masters degree.   A lot has changed in the last three months, there is a lot to catch up on and I'll try to be brief.

Since August I quit my full time job, became an independent healthcare consultant and a frequent traveler.  In general I'm much happier, for a lot of reasons that would take too long to go into, but I'll probably get to them in later posts. I might talk more about healthcare stuff in my posts, I hope you are interested!  What a hodge podge, all the advice about blogging says to have a niche on your blog, not sure what kind of niche parenting/life/marriage, healthcare, travel and cooking is?  You can vent in your comments.

I've gained some things, and have had to give up some others.  For the first year since my kids were born, I bought cupcakes from a bakery for their birthday party, and you know what, they were good! I still love to cook, but sometimes letting other people clean my house or bake the cupcakes gives me more time with the people who mean the most to me.  That probably seems like an indulgent thing to say, most people can't afford to buy cupcakes or to have someone clean their house twice a month.  I struggle with that, but I also don't want to spend 3 hours I could be playing Mancala with Eddie Haskell or Barbies with Diva, on my knees scrubbing a bathroom noone in the house notices is clean but me.

I've watched UberGeek, who I've long known is an amazing husband and father, step it up to a whole new level.  If I go out of town, when I get home, I am telling you, the house is clean, sheets changed (although he admits this is because the dog sleeps on my pillow when I'm gone), laundry done, and school newsletters set out to read.  Just the other night he told me he now understands why I always wiped down the kitchen and straightened it every night, "Otherwise it builds up so fast."  I love that man.  

There have been a lot of new challenges along with the benefits, but I'll get to those.   

 

A Visit to a Florida Cattle Farm

 
Cracker the Cow

We received an amazing invitation a few weeks ago, to Disney World you ask?  All expense paid trip to Costa Rica sans children?  No, sillies, to a friend's family cattle farm just a couple hours away in rural Mount Dora, Florida.

Three families met up early on Saturday morning at a nearby shopping center to caffeinate, pick up supplies at Publix, and caravan to Mount Dora.  Although it's only a couple hours drive, it might as well be a world away.  We turned down a long, sandy dirt lane, hoping the minivan wouldn't bottom out and require us to be towed.  Thankfully, we made it to the farm at the end of the lane.  

Children and adults struggled from the confines of minivans and SUVs and headed straight for shade trees, lounge chairs and picnic tables.  The kids were happy to be running around in the grass and dirt without the constant supervision required in suburbia.  There was even a little one room building with a bed and table inside that the kids called a play house, although it was really a full size guest room separate from the main house.  They got to feed two resident horses a carrot which didn't seem to compare to being able to run around free and relatively unsupervised.

At lunchtime, we shared a picnic feast, and got ready for the main attraction, the cows.  My friend 1.0's mother in law occasionally raises calves by hand, bottle feeding them if they have problems eating from their mother.  The result is a whole lot of cows who grow up really happy to see her.  She has an entire baby picture album of cows she has raised.  The photos show cows lazing about on front steps, eating from bottles and just generally seeming like domestic pets.  They even know her vehicle, a Jeep Cherokee, which we got to take a tour in.  

The "Cow Tour" consisted of 4 adults and 4 kids piling into the Cherokee, old school style.  Kids were sitting on laps, standing and wedged in every which way.  Mind you, we were never actually on a road but driving around the farm, very slowly looking at cows.  The kiddos looked at me wild eyed in amazement, having never been in a moving vehicle without a seatbelt or carseat.  As we drove around the farm, cows approached the Cherokee.   The favorite cows, typically those who had been raised as pets, came running toward us at a pretty quick pace.  We had a bucket of cow treats with us to sweeten the pot; we dared all of the kids to taste one, but none would.  

Once the cows approached the Cherokee and saw we had treats, it was all over.  I personally loved feeding them; I put my hand out and a cow would stretch her big head toward me, sandpapery tongue out, and lick up a pellet.  The only downer was the slobber, cows really slobber a lot.  Thankfully 1.0 was prepared with lots of paper towels; you could tell she's done this a few times before.  Most of the kids tried at least once to feed a cow, and one or two got a little overwhelmed by the giant heads stuck in the window, deciding they would just watch.

The day went by really quickly and before we knew it, it was 4 in the afternoon.  Time to pack it in and head back home to suburban life.  Two cranky, whiny, "are we there yet?" hours later we arrived.  I have to say I miss the shady trees, the fresh air and especially the cows.  I am also extra grateful for the good people in my life who make everyday wonders, like feeding a cow from the window of a Jeep Cherokee, possible.

Thoughts on Motherhood This Mother's Day

For several years all I could think about was becoming a mother.  UberGeek and I got married almost ten years ago and were married for over five years before we had children.  We had a great life together, traveling, working on projects around the house and enjoying each other's company.  In addition to that, we were madly in love with each other.  Still, I knew I wanted to be a parent and I understood that UberGeek would be a great dad. 

Our struggle to have children seemed like a long one to me.  At the time, I was working as a therapist for children with severe emotional disturbances and their families in a school system.  It seemed every time I turned around someone's adolescent client was getting pregnant, occasionally it was my client.  It appeared that fertility was inversely related to your ability to love and care for a child.  At the time I was not even thirty, but I felt positively ancient next to the fifteen and sixteen year old girls heavy with child everywhere I looked.

Finally, I did get pregnant, and nine complicated and miserable months later I gave birth to two healthy babies.  I remember looking at them, and feeling not a sense of overwhelming love, but rather, a sense of overwhelming relief that the pregnancy was over.  Then they wheeled us into our hospital room alone with two babies who we had absolutely no idea how to take care of.  We had no family in town, no support system and no clue. I was pretty sick physically, having been on bed rest for three months before they were born, and then in labor for sixteen hours to give birth to them.

Two days later it was time for us to leave, I was crying, every piece of clothing we brought with us for the babies was soiled with throw up or poop.  We had already paid the hospital an extra day of room and board because we were terrified to leave. I had nothing that fit to wear home and ended up in a nightgown and slippers. I was thinking, "Please God, how can they be letting us go home with these impossibly tiny babies, we will surely kill them; we don't know what we are doing."  Thankfully my mother purchased a plane ticket and was at the house not long after our brand new minivan pulled into the drive way. 

Several weeks later the sleep deprivation really set in, neither of us ever got more than three or four hours of sleep at any one time.  I had thoughts like, "Why couldn't we have just remained childless, we were having fun." "We are going to get a divorce." "We will never survive this."  "We'll never have fun again."  I talked to other parents of young multiples who assured me all this was normal and that they too had similar thoughts.  They also told us to hang on, assuring us that at 12 weeks our twins would sleep through the night with the exception of one middle of the night feeding.  That was the only thing that kept me slogging on through that seemingly endless series of days and nights.

Finally, our children made it to 12 weeks, and everyone was right, by that time they were sleeping 6PM-6AM and waking between 12P-1A for one feeding.  It was a miracle, but not really, since four of my friends twins and triplets of similar age were doing the same.  UberGeek and I went back to date nights, but they were in our house.  We put our kids down to bed right at 6, had nice dinners together, watched a movie and got lots of rest. 

Fast forward five years and there have been more tough times, the time between the age of two and three and a half I'd say.  Truthfully though, right now is a pretty sweet spot.  The kids are much more independent, they can entertain themselves for up to half an hour sometimes.  It goes without saying that being done with potty training rules.  Watching them read and write is incredible.  At this stage I am thinking there are a lot of really good times to come.  I'm pretty proud of UberGeek and I, so far we've done a good job.  I know that's dangerous to say, Diva could still be looking back at me from some scary man's Harley at a too young age.  Eddie Haskell could lock himself in his room with multi colored hair and freaky music.  Right now though, we're riding high.

Being a parent is amazing, there are so many times I am thankful I was given the opportunity.  Still, it is nothing like what I expected; it's absolutely the hardest thing I have ever done.  No one ever tells you how hard it is when you are trying to get pregnant.  It is the most constant job you will ever do and there is no break.  I guess it's kind of like the Peace Corps, the toughest job you'll ever love.

The Tiny Dancer's Mama's Meltdown

 

I got to work this morning early, as is usual on Thursdays, so that I could leave at 430 to make it to Diva's dance class.  Today wasn't any regular day though, it was dance recital picture day.  Even better, I was missing an element of the costume, pink tap shoes, which were sold out all over town.  The solution to this problem is a special can of dance shoe spray paint, which you can purchase for $6.95 to spray paint your otherwise perfectly nice shiny tap shoes, until they drip and are chipped and tacky looking. 

I realized too late, that in my rush to leave in the morning, I had forgotten to grab the makeup bag with blush, lipstick and mascara for Diva.  I know this sounds weird for a five year old, but if you have taken dance pictures you know the drill.  They like for the kids to have a little blush, lipstick and mascara for pictures and recital, otherwise they tend to look washed out with the bright lights and costumes.  I left a message for UberGeek and asked him to dump every last piece of my makeup and brushes into a Ziploc when he ran by home before picking up the kids.  Then I would meet him at the dance studio.

Around lunchtime I drove over to the dance supply store to purchase the paint; while I was there the salesperson also sold me a device guaranteed to make Diva's hair into a perfect bun for $6.95.  This is probably a lesser cost than the five cards of bobby pins and eight cans of hairspray it took last year to make the perfect bun so I bought it.  Then I headed back to the office, found an old pizza box and spray painted the shoes in the hallway on top of the box.  They didn't look great, but passable.  Then the afternoon was a blur of meetings and a last minute user issue before I extricated myself ten minutes behind schedule. 

By the time I met up with UberGeek and the kids in the parking lot of the dance studio, we were behind the eight ball and my anxiety level was rising.  Children were everywhere, perfectly shellacked, groomed and made up, and my child did not even have her costume on.  We put her dress on in the minivan and then I got out the perfect bun device.  Fifteen minutes later and not only was there no bun, but I absolutely could not figure out from the diagram on the card that came with the device, how to replicate what the sales person showed me in the store.  I grabbed Diva by the hand, dragged her toward the dance supply store (conveniently located next to the studio for your spending pleasure, don't you know) and begged them for help.  By then I was near tears, blathering on as to how I couldn't figure it out, the salesperson at the other store promised a perfect bun, why do they have these classes at 5:30, don't they understand that some parents work and how are we supposed to get our kids ready and to a picture session in hair and makeup at 5:30.  Diva remained calm and quiet, thankfully I can't remember her expression because most of the time she was facing away from me while I wrenched and grasped at her hair in vain.

To their credit, both women in the store were helpful and sympathetic, taking Diva and I to a woman who immediately fixed her hair up with the biggest can of Aqua Net I have ever seen and an even bigger smile.  Her hair was perfect and we headed back to the dance studio.  All of the other little girls had on sweet pink blush and a touch of lipstick, some had light color eyeshadow as well.  I didn't have time for eye shadow and UberGeek had somehow missed both the powder and creme blush.  I settled on some lipstick I quickly dug out from the bottom of the Ziploc and a quick coat of mascara.

I chatted with my other mom friends and watched their daughters have pictures taken and all I could think of was that I should have been able to have my daughter ready in time.  My daughter should have had makeup just as beautiful as theirs.  Diva certainly will never know the internal anguish I suffered today; she was oblivious. 

It's not that I don't enjoy having a career, I do.  When my children were infants I worked as a contractor or adjunct faculty at least part time as soon as they were a couple months old. Then I eased back into a salaried part time position and then a salaried full time position.   I've always really enjoyed and received satisfaction from having a rewarding career.  I just wish there was some way to make it easier to juggle having a family and a career at the same time. 

How do you juggle family and career commitments?  What do you think about the new government initiatives encouraging Workplace Flexibility?  Do you ever, or how often do you feel guilty about juggling your family and your career?

Pedicure Stickers for Little Girls

For the Little Diva in Your Life

These little tiny nail art stickers are perfect for the young ladies in your life.  Apply a coat of base coat, a coat or two of polish, then use a toothpick to apply a sticker or two (or 10) as desired to toes (or fingers if allowed).  Then, this step is a must, apply a high quality top coat and let dry.  Your little princess will love the results.  The only issue we had with this was a strong desire to wear open toed shoes when this is not allowed at school.  I suggested perhaps a sock could accidentally work itself off at naptime.  I'm cool like that. 

Other suggestions might be to stock up on them to put in a pedicure gift basket for a little girls birthday.  You could also use them as an activity at a birthday party for girls; a pedicure party sounds fun to me, personally although I'm not sure which of my friends wants to touch my feet.

These stickers can be yours this weekend ONLY for .29 cents!  They usually run a little over $2.00 at Walmart.  Click here for more details.

This comes from the Krazy Coupon Lady, if you haven't visited her site yet you are so missing out.  You can find out how to make the most excellent coupon binder, including free downloadable dividers, print out free coupons and get great deals each week, like this one. 

Hey, Dummy, Are You Listening? It's Me, God

  At my office, there are very few people with young children, hence, when 5:00 rolls around the place is still humming with activity.  I typically try to come in by 8 and leave around 5 or come in at 730 and leave around 430 or so.  My office mates tend to come in later and leave later.  This doesn't generally work for me because my kids want to eat dinner by 6 and go to bed at 730.  If I leave at exactly 5, get home at 530, then I can get dinner on the table by 6 and we can spend an hour together before they go to bed.  If I stay later, I am taking time from the kids so I'd rather log in later from home after they are in bed if I need to.  Still, I always feel as if there is a contest to see who can sit at their desk the latest in the evenings at the office.  I am forever getting these reminder calls from UberGeek at 5:05 inquiring as to whether I have departed, then 5:10, then 5:15.  He usually leaves around 4:30 from work as his office is a ghost town by 5.  UberGeek is always on me to just come on home to be with them.  Still, I feel weird heading off down the hallway when everyone else sits fixed in front of their terminals.

Sometimes God speaks to you, but in my case, apparently God has to repeat the message, more than once.  When I was in my early twenties my stepmother, Lynn, died of cancer at the age of 44.  At the time, both of her biological children, my brother and sister, were under the age of six.  Before they were born, Lynn's work was everything to her, she was published in a number of academic journals, loved teaching, lecturing and traveling.  I still remember the assorted lab frogs living on the back porch during the summer.  Once my brother and sister were born, work was no longer everything to Lynnie, and she simply would not commit her time in a way she once had.  She was still a very passionate person about nursing, about biology and about research, she simply could not give it twenty four hours a day as she had for nearly fifteen years. 

In hindsight, it was a good thing Lynnie was so dedicated to her family, she certainly didn't know she would be given so little time with them.  I remember not long after her terminal cancer diagnosis she said to me, "Kristie, this will be the thing that kills me, but I want the treatment to give me more time.  I can't die yet, the kids are just too little."  They were too little; when I think about it now, it crushes my heart to know what that did to her, having to leave them without a choice.  The treatment did buy her more time, she was given a prognosis of a few months and she lived about a year.

I am 35 years old, nine years younger than my stepmother when she died.  My children are the age that her oldest child was when she died.  Although I often miss her, and I ache for my brother and sister, I also realize that I learned one of the most beautiful lessons in my life from her.  Today, I was editing a website at work and I came across this quote from Stephen Covey, "Most people struggle with life balance simply because they haven't really paid the price to decide what is really important to them."   I was around to watch that price be paid.  As I read that quote, I started reflecting; I have been given a similar message in several different ways, from several sources lately, so perhaps my ear should be perking up.

A couple weekends ago, I was in church and the focus of the sermon was Psalm 39:4, "Show me, O Lord, my life's end and the number of my days; let me know how fleeting is my life."  The pastor continued to talk about the power of that reading, that our days are numbered, that we only get one chance, one chance to be a child, one chance to be a teen, one chance to be a young adult, there is no going back. "You have made my days but a hands breadth; the span of my years is as nothing before you. Each man's life, is but a breath."  I could feel emotion well up inside me as I squeezed UberGeek's hand as he sat next to me in the pew.  OK God, I'm listening; be patient with me, sometimes I'm a slow learner.

A Fish Story

About a year ago, we bought two fish for the kiddos.  Like all low rent fish who are not cared for by people who have a certain yen for the care of creatures that dwell in aquariums, they eventually died.  The first to succumb was Diva’s fish, who she named Hannahbelle.  I noticed the lady Hannahbelle floating belly up in the little tank late in the evening, and alerted UberGeek to our plight.  Then I grabbed the little green handled scoop and “fished” her out.  We gave the fish an unceremonial flushing and bid her farewell while she circled the drain.  I told UberGeek I would talk to Diva in the morning about the demise of her fish; that’s not his thing. 

In the morning, as I was showering, a terrible thing happened; Diva woke up and noticed the fish was gone.  She approached UberGeek, and he panicked. UberGeek said the first thing that came to his mind, “Hannahbelle went on vacation!  She wanted to see the world like Nemo.”  UberGeek was thinking to himself that he would replace the ill fated Hannahbelle with a similar fish and save his daughter the heartache.  She would never know the difference, right?

Time went by as it does, grocery lists lengthened, laundry loads hummed, until finally over a year had passed.  The lovely Hannahbelle, despite all the good intentions, was never replaced.  Recently, we were out shopping at Wally World picking up some necessities when the kids begged to pass by the pet supplies area.  As we walked past the tanks Diva began to sniffle, “I miss Hannahbelle, she went on vacation a long, long time ago and she never came back. Daddy, where is Hannahbelle?”

Eddie turned to look at his sister with a very serious look on his face, “Diva, that fish is dead and it’s never coming back!  Fish don’t go on vacation.”

I suppose Santa Claus is next.

Step Away from the Quarters Diva

The kiddos go to a little yellow school not too far from our house. Each Tuesday, we do our best to remember their chapel money.  This is when we scrounge around our pockets, wallets, bureau tops and desks for various silver money to send to school with them as an offering.  Vaguely, I remember that it goes to some sort of charitable endeavor, but mostly it's another thing to cross of the list on Tuesday mornings.

Last week, as you all know, a terrible earthquake struck Haiti and UberGeek and I struggled with what we would tell the kids about it.  We explained that an earthquake had happened to a country not too far from us in Florida, called Haiti, and that many people now did not have a home or food.  Imagine our surprise when Diva and Eddie looked at us like we were the dumbest people they had ever seen.  "Mama, we know where Haiti is; that's where our chapel money goes.  The kids there don't have enough to eat and we send all our chapel money for food and clothes and stuff they need." Um, duh.

Eddie seemed to really reflect on the news of the earthquake, he looked at me and said, "Mama, so now they don't have any house to go to? No food? No toys?"  It was so hard to tell him the truth and yet so important.

We told Diva and Eddie that our family would be sending some money to Haiti to help the people there.  Since the kiddos have change jars stuffed with their allowance, and their money is divided into save/spend/give,  I reminded them that if they wanted to we could go ahead and count out their funds.  They could choose any charity they wanted for their gift, including Haiti.  Both decided that was a good idea.

UberGeek proceeded to count out all of their dough.  They each came out to close to $30 so he rounded them both up to $30.  Then, he did his best to explain the percentages for save/spend/give.  Typically it is 60 save 20 give 20 spend.  UberGeek wanted them to really understand breaking up their money this time and they weren't getting it.  So, he gave them each 10 quarters. 

He asked Eddie, if he had ten quarters how many of those he would keep and how many he would donate.  Eddie pushed forward six quarters.  "Great," said UberGeek, "you will keep six and give four to Haiti?" "No!" Eddie said, "I will give six to Haiti and keep four, Daddy, they don't have any food!"  UberGeek complimented him on his generosity and moved on to Diva.  Diva looked at the shiny silver money and pushed forward two quarters. "Diva!" said UberGeek, "that's very generous, you want to give eight quarters to Haiti and only keep two?" "No, Daddy, don't be silly" she said, "two for Haiti and the rest are for me." UberGeek struggled to keep from laughing then looked at her seriously and reminded Diva that the people in Haiti didn't have anything to eat, or houses to live in.  She gave him a dirty look and pushed forward two more quarters.

Touchdown Wishes and Gridiron Dreams

Just the other afternoon UberGeek came wandering toward me where I was working in the office, as he approached I noted a definite twinkle in his eye. "Kristie, do you know what Eddie just told me?" he asked. I didn't. "He said that one day I am going to be watching him on the television!" So you might be wondering, is that because my bright and beautiful boy is aspiring to a career in public service, or journalism perhaps? No, of course not, Eddie is referring to football! The kids don't watch much TV but during football season it's a television marathon each weekend. My son, at five years old, knows many teams by the color of their uniform, calls out plays to UberGeek when he is in another room and is just generally football crazed.  UberGeek has tried to involve Diva similarly, but she generally insists on doing dance moves across the living room during the games. Still, both Diva and Eddie are probably more educated in the ways of football than I am.

When UberGeek thinks of his son playing football he dreams of the two of them tossing around the ol' pigskin in the yard, discussing strategies and watching instant replays together. When I think of my son playing football there are three things that occur to me, spinal cord injury, brain injury (a concussion counts as a brain injury), and disability. "Kristie, he won't be a defensive back, he's not built for it, those are the guys who get spinal cord injuries, they take the hits." Uh, hem, he is five years old, he's not built for anything really in my mind. I do understand that having a child who shares his passion for football is a dream come true, I just wish the dream would remain on the couch or the living room floor with a Nerf ball.