SG: Can you stop snoring?
YG: You need to stop moving the blankets around. You're letting the cold air in.
SG: I can't sleep. Because of all the snoring.
YG: I'm not snoring.
SG: You are snoring.
(pause)
YG: Will you please stop bumping into me?
SG: I'm not bumping into you.
YG: Shut up, or I'll stick my big dick in you to shut you up.
SG: Are you going to stick in my ear? Because that would keep the snoring out.
YG: Bitch.
End scene.
Wednesday, January 06, 2010
Choking Down Some Simple Abundance, Hoping Not to Barf It Back Up
I'm going through a lot of old books, trying to find one that might help me with my get-out-of-high-tech-find-something-else-to-do plan. If you read this, I'm assuming you know me and will reassure me that people do not think ill of me for owning the following titles among many of the same ilk: Learned Optimism, Zen and the Art of Making a Living, What Color Is Your Parachute, The Artist's Way at Work. Really.
This doesn't include the small books, those tiny books like Women Who Do Too Much that I guess you're supposed to carry around in your bag and read when you're having a bad day instead of threatening to stab your cab driver. I have an entire drawer of these, either bought during some apparent time of wanting to turn over a new leaf or given to me by well-meaning friends and back in the day, fellow 12 steppers, that thought I was an angry bitch. I read them sometimes.
Digging through the pile, I found Simple Abundance: A Daybook of Comfort and Joy. You just threw up in your mouth. It was given to me by Abby, this seriously cool woman with a great job and charming husband and nice clothes. She had a lot of cats, but there was nothing about her screaming RUN or Howling Wolf t-shirt! She said it was helpful, and I believed her.
My first reaction, upon reading the first few entries, was that it was quite possibly the gayest shit I have ever read. Tea! Flower sachets! Dream journals! OMFG, SLEEPLESS IN SEATLE! I imagined the Delicious Dish ladies sitting around discussing the book and how their "authentic selves" had baked gingerbread cookies and had cocoa on a snowy winter's day. Barf. Plus, the suggestions were so mundane and almost insulting to women -- everything involved cooking or cleaning (discover the real you by reorganizing the spice rack!), setting the angry feminist radar on high alert. There's even a website that greets you with some breathy music chanting, I shit you not, "the gift of love." Not for me.
Or so I thought.
I picked up the book the other night, and after getting through all the new age hippie crap, I found myself almost liking the central premise: that you have everything you need to be happy, you just need to find it. I believe she says, "discover it," but...ew. Maybe it's the baby. Maybe it's the meds. Or maybe I've tried to think of everything that will help me figure out how to change careers, and I've hit such a wall that a glittery dream notebook and a pink pen seem like plausible ways to do this.
So, I'll be reading one of these meditations (even the word makes me cringe) each morning and attempting to follow through, blogging about my..choke...journey to peace and plenty when I can. Humorous, probably. Enlightening, maybe.
You now have my permission to laugh out loud.
This doesn't include the small books, those tiny books like Women Who Do Too Much that I guess you're supposed to carry around in your bag and read when you're having a bad day instead of threatening to stab your cab driver. I have an entire drawer of these, either bought during some apparent time of wanting to turn over a new leaf or given to me by well-meaning friends and back in the day, fellow 12 steppers, that thought I was an angry bitch. I read them sometimes.
Digging through the pile, I found Simple Abundance: A Daybook of Comfort and Joy. You just threw up in your mouth. It was given to me by Abby, this seriously cool woman with a great job and charming husband and nice clothes. She had a lot of cats, but there was nothing about her screaming RUN or Howling Wolf t-shirt! She said it was helpful, and I believed her.
My first reaction, upon reading the first few entries, was that it was quite possibly the gayest shit I have ever read. Tea! Flower sachets! Dream journals! OMFG, SLEEPLESS IN SEATLE! I imagined the Delicious Dish ladies sitting around discussing the book and how their "authentic selves" had baked gingerbread cookies and had cocoa on a snowy winter's day. Barf. Plus, the suggestions were so mundane and almost insulting to women -- everything involved cooking or cleaning (discover the real you by reorganizing the spice rack!), setting the angry feminist radar on high alert. There's even a website that greets you with some breathy music chanting, I shit you not, "the gift of love." Not for me.
Or so I thought.
I picked up the book the other night, and after getting through all the new age hippie crap, I found myself almost liking the central premise: that you have everything you need to be happy, you just need to find it. I believe she says, "discover it," but...ew. Maybe it's the baby. Maybe it's the meds. Or maybe I've tried to think of everything that will help me figure out how to change careers, and I've hit such a wall that a glittery dream notebook and a pink pen seem like plausible ways to do this.
So, I'll be reading one of these meditations (even the word makes me cringe) each morning and attempting to follow through, blogging about my..choke...journey to peace and plenty when I can. Humorous, probably. Enlightening, maybe.
You now have my permission to laugh out loud.
Sunday, January 03, 2010
Exit Strategies or Quotable Quotes
"Ask not what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive... then go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive."
Howard Thurman
Howard Thurman
Friday, January 01, 2010
New Year 2010 Procrastination Stream of Consciousness
I have been dying for some uninterrupted time to do some writing for weeks now, but when it comes to me by way of a sleeping baby and a husband watching the Hitler channel (Military Channel, I believe, for those not into weaponry television), I pretty much do everything in my power to dick around and not get down to it. And then I complain about not having enough time for myself. Yep.
And now the baby is crying so I could conveniently forget about this if I really felt like it. I forgot to give her vitamins today, so I could go and do that. Note: I forget vitamins a lot, but only when the administration of the vitamins will get me out of something do vitamins truly become important. Or I could return to my obsessive compulsive project of cataloging and hanging all of her new clothes in appropriately-labeled bins in the closet. See Exhibit A: Attack of the Aunts and Grandmas.
Or I could get another beer. Or go back to reading my book. But it was reading the book that got me to thinking about projects for 2010 and what to do with my writing Fridays, so I might as well just suck it up.
2009 was momentous for a number of reasons (do I really need to tell you about Zygote? The smartest, coolest kid in the world?), but one of the cooler things was having the opportunity to read the right books at just the right time. I don't really understand people that don't read. I'm sure they have their reasons or their other ways of engaging with the world, but is there anything better than reading something and obsessively underlining because 'OMG, THIS IS SO MY LIFE RIGHT NOW'?"
Anyway...I'm reading this book. I was obsessed with Liar's Club when it came out, and read it twice. I liked Cherry well enough, but I LOVE this one. Because of the earlier books, I obviously knew a little about Mary Karr's life, but I literally dropped the book when I read that she had been toiling away in FUCKING TELECOM before the first books of poem was published. Telecom! I am the only person in high tech who dreams of being a writer. Obviously. Eye roll.
This, of course, got the brain spiral going and I wondered why the fuck I didn't take a class with Mary Karr when I was at Syracuse? Why didn't I take a class with Tobias Wolff? Or Junot Diaz? I read (past and present) pretty much everything these people write, and they were right there -- right within my grasp. Shit, I even served these people at Bruegger's, but I never spoke to them and I didn't dare try to register for a creative writing class. At the time, I'm sure I had legitimate reasons for doing so like a double major and a job and whatever else I was "soooo stressed out" about when you live with your friends and drink on the couch watching 90210 every night. But in retrospect, this seems really stupid. Actually, totally fucking retarded. I'm sure I didn't take those classes because I didn't want to actually TRY writing or get critiqued or face the possibility that the pseudo image that I created for myself (misanthropic writer chick with appropriate hairstyle and glasses to match) was way off base. Dumb.
And now we're 12.5 years from college, and I have been toiling away at this bizarre career, dreaming of my other career, but always putting it off. And now I have the time. I have the husband who thinks this is important and has helped us finagle our finances so that I have one day a week to face the page, and I have a bunch of friends encouraging me and the validation of my recent teachers that I'm pretty good and funny for more than my allotted 15 minutes a day. The only thing getting in my way is me.
So I don't have a lot of resolutions for 2010 other than the usual crap about losing weight and saving money and finding a good red lipstick. But I do want to try and stay out of my own way and out of my own head and see where this writing thing takes me. I don't know how I'll define success, but I'm going to try. Trying to control every facet of my life has obviously not worked out well in all areas, so I will attempt to follow all of these cheesy sayings: go with the flow, let go/let God, blah blah blah.
And please dear god, if 2010 isn't my last year in high tech, please let me have an exit strategy.
And now the baby is crying so I could conveniently forget about this if I really felt like it. I forgot to give her vitamins today, so I could go and do that. Note: I forget vitamins a lot, but only when the administration of the vitamins will get me out of something do vitamins truly become important. Or I could return to my obsessive compulsive project of cataloging and hanging all of her new clothes in appropriately-labeled bins in the closet. See Exhibit A: Attack of the Aunts and Grandmas.
Or I could get another beer. Or go back to reading my book. But it was reading the book that got me to thinking about projects for 2010 and what to do with my writing Fridays, so I might as well just suck it up.
2009 was momentous for a number of reasons (do I really need to tell you about Zygote? The smartest, coolest kid in the world?), but one of the cooler things was having the opportunity to read the right books at just the right time. I don't really understand people that don't read. I'm sure they have their reasons or their other ways of engaging with the world, but is there anything better than reading something and obsessively underlining because 'OMG, THIS IS SO MY LIFE RIGHT NOW'?"
Anyway...I'm reading this book. I was obsessed with Liar's Club when it came out, and read it twice. I liked Cherry well enough, but I LOVE this one. Because of the earlier books, I obviously knew a little about Mary Karr's life, but I literally dropped the book when I read that she had been toiling away in FUCKING TELECOM before the first books of poem was published. Telecom! I am the only person in high tech who dreams of being a writer. Obviously. Eye roll.
This, of course, got the brain spiral going and I wondered why the fuck I didn't take a class with Mary Karr when I was at Syracuse? Why didn't I take a class with Tobias Wolff? Or Junot Diaz? I read (past and present) pretty much everything these people write, and they were right there -- right within my grasp. Shit, I even served these people at Bruegger's, but I never spoke to them and I didn't dare try to register for a creative writing class. At the time, I'm sure I had legitimate reasons for doing so like a double major and a job and whatever else I was "soooo stressed out" about when you live with your friends and drink on the couch watching 90210 every night. But in retrospect, this seems really stupid. Actually, totally fucking retarded. I'm sure I didn't take those classes because I didn't want to actually TRY writing or get critiqued or face the possibility that the pseudo image that I created for myself (misanthropic writer chick with appropriate hairstyle and glasses to match) was way off base. Dumb.
And now we're 12.5 years from college, and I have been toiling away at this bizarre career, dreaming of my other career, but always putting it off. And now I have the time. I have the husband who thinks this is important and has helped us finagle our finances so that I have one day a week to face the page, and I have a bunch of friends encouraging me and the validation of my recent teachers that I'm pretty good and funny for more than my allotted 15 minutes a day. The only thing getting in my way is me.
So I don't have a lot of resolutions for 2010 other than the usual crap about losing weight and saving money and finding a good red lipstick. But I do want to try and stay out of my own way and out of my own head and see where this writing thing takes me. I don't know how I'll define success, but I'm going to try. Trying to control every facet of my life has obviously not worked out well in all areas, so I will attempt to follow all of these cheesy sayings: go with the flow, let go/let God, blah blah blah.
And please dear god, if 2010 isn't my last year in high tech, please let me have an exit strategy.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Favorite Zygote Stories
I was out to dinner the other night with a bunch of work colleagues, and a lot of the people with children were sharing horror stories about poopy diapers and smeared baby food and middle-of-the-night wake ups. Another sans-child friend said that one of his favorite questions to ask people with kids, since they tend to commiserate on the horror stories, was what their favorite recent kid moments were.
In no particular order:
1. Zygote sleeps through the night now most nights, and she sometimes even skips the 5 a.m. feeding which is nice in some ways, but sad in others. When she does wake up at 5, we bring her into the big bed, feed her, and then let her sleep with us for the rest of the morning. She makes baby noises and holds my hand, and when she wakes up and realizes I'm there, she gives me this big grin as if to say, "Cool. You're here. I am happy that we are hanging out."
2. She's finally gotten into the bath routine. Now that she knows how to splash, she screeches and laughs and swats at the water. Other time, she lounges back on the tub pillow and crosses her feet and signs. Ah, the life.
3. When she nursed when she was little, she would kick and swat around and generally be very wiggly. She still does this to some extent, but at her last feeding of the night, she puts her one arm on my chest and her leg curled around my other arm and calms down. It's like getting a great glass of red wine at the end of a shitty day.
4. She screeches and pants whenever the cat comes into the room. If he's feeling it, he will rub up against her and she laughs like crazy.
5. She likes my renditions of Christmas carols.
6. When she wakes up in the morning and she's not in our bed, I can hear her gooing and gahing and generally keeping herself entertained on the monitor.
7. She loves the MG. She gets the biggest smiles.
In no particular order:
1. Zygote sleeps through the night now most nights, and she sometimes even skips the 5 a.m. feeding which is nice in some ways, but sad in others. When she does wake up at 5, we bring her into the big bed, feed her, and then let her sleep with us for the rest of the morning. She makes baby noises and holds my hand, and when she wakes up and realizes I'm there, she gives me this big grin as if to say, "Cool. You're here. I am happy that we are hanging out."
2. She's finally gotten into the bath routine. Now that she knows how to splash, she screeches and laughs and swats at the water. Other time, she lounges back on the tub pillow and crosses her feet and signs. Ah, the life.
3. When she nursed when she was little, she would kick and swat around and generally be very wiggly. She still does this to some extent, but at her last feeding of the night, she puts her one arm on my chest and her leg curled around my other arm and calms down. It's like getting a great glass of red wine at the end of a shitty day.
4. She screeches and pants whenever the cat comes into the room. If he's feeling it, he will rub up against her and she laughs like crazy.
5. She likes my renditions of Christmas carols.
6. When she wakes up in the morning and she's not in our bed, I can hear her gooing and gahing and generally keeping herself entertained on the monitor.
7. She loves the MG. She gets the biggest smiles.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Why I'm Not Blogging: Or Things I've Done in The Past Month
In no particular order:
* Bought a new car
* Not driven new car much because registration is hung up somewhere between MA and NJ. Long, boring story.
* Spilled entire bottle of breastmilk on insurance agent's desk while relaying this tale of woe
* Started Zygote at daycare
* Zygote's first cold
* My bad cold
* Dropped Zygote on floor. Twice.
* Allowed Zygote to eat laptop cord. Inadvertently.
* Pumped in weird places. Twice.
* Attended useless meetings. Multiple.
* Christmas shopping.
* Christmas cards.
* Thank you cards. Again.
* Thought about writing. Lots.
* Wrote. None.
* Thanked God for Zoloft. Multiple.
* Wished for lottery ticket. Multiple.
* Bought a new car
* Not driven new car much because registration is hung up somewhere between MA and NJ. Long, boring story.
* Spilled entire bottle of breastmilk on insurance agent's desk while relaying this tale of woe
* Started Zygote at daycare
* Zygote's first cold
* My bad cold
* Dropped Zygote on floor. Twice.
* Allowed Zygote to eat laptop cord. Inadvertently.
* Pumped in weird places. Twice.
* Attended useless meetings. Multiple.
* Christmas shopping.
* Christmas cards.
* Thank you cards. Again.
* Thought about writing. Lots.
* Wrote. None.
* Thanked God for Zoloft. Multiple.
* Wished for lottery ticket. Multiple.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Today Was Hard
Nothing in particular went badly. I just found myself, more than once, thinking, "What the hell am I doing here?" Or "I'm leaving the kid for THIS?" I really don't want to use Zygote as an excuse, but all that job disatisfaction from before has become so much more...pronounced now.
Sometimes I really just wish somebody would tell me what to do. An oracle or something that just appears and says, "I've been thinking about your life, and this is what you need to be."
I try and remember that it is not the job (it's a fine job), and that it's me. And that in the grand scheme of things, I am a happy person with a good life and nice husband, cats, children, family, things, etc.
But when pumping is the best part of my work day, something needs to change.
I have applied for four jobs in the last week. I just want an interview.
Sometimes I really just wish somebody would tell me what to do. An oracle or something that just appears and says, "I've been thinking about your life, and this is what you need to be."
I try and remember that it is not the job (it's a fine job), and that it's me. And that in the grand scheme of things, I am a happy person with a good life and nice husband, cats, children, family, things, etc.
But when pumping is the best part of my work day, something needs to change.
I have applied for four jobs in the last week. I just want an interview.
Monday, November 16, 2009
File Under: Things That Make Me Feel Old
Every job that I want requires "knowledge of social media." What does that even mean? I use Facebook. Does that make me knowledgeable?
Anyway, I'm attending these social media brownbags in the hopes that I will become a hipster doofus with a job title like "Social Media Expert." We watched this today. Interesting, but made me cringe too.
Anyway, I'm attending these social media brownbags in the hopes that I will become a hipster doofus with a job title like "Social Media Expert." We watched this today. Interesting, but made me cringe too.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Zygote: Month Five
I hope it's not cheating if I just cut and paste from a mail I sent to a few friends.
Zyogte turned five months old today. That seems so old. We no longer get "oooh, tiny baby" or "fresh baby" when we go out. She's growing up.
What to say about a baby that doesn't sound like the usual my-baby-is-so-special-and-I'm-so-in-love-with-her drivel that is really only interesting to the parents and grandparents? Nothing, really. I am so in love with her. This is a good age. Our first month was just nutso with the normal postpartum period and the flu and MG's appendicitis and YG's hearing loss and my crazy-ass depression. Once the antidepressants kicked in and she started becoming more aware, it seems like it's been pretty smooth sailing. Or if not smooth all the time, at least we have a mutual appreciation of each other and how much we can piss each other off. So we try to limit bitchfests as best we can.
She is a happy, smiley baby most of the time. She started with the smiles very early, and giggles and talks a lot. I haven't heard a lot of B sounds, but a lot of gahs and cahs. She also discovered how to make this high-pitched shriek that she uses a lot, mainly when talking to her hands. I find it charming, but I imagine it's annoying to anyone sitting next to us in a restaurant. Rich has an easier time making her laugh than I do, and I think it's because of his facial hair and his renditions of songs from the Muppets. She humors me when I sing her Beatles songs, but I can't really get her laughing unless I'm tossing her in the air or really roughhousing with her, and I'm sure there's some book somewhere that will tell me I'm damaging her by doing this.
She has a variety of stuffed animals and toys that she likes, but prefers the smaller ones that can be stuffed in her mouth. One of her favorite games is throwing her binky down, and then picking it up and putting it back in her mouth. I watched her figure this out over the course of several days, and it's much more fascinating than it sounds. She had this look on her face like, "I am such a BOSS right now. Look at me with this thing."
The Exersaucer reigns Supreme. I also tried some Baby Einstein despite my pre-kids belief that babies shouldn't be watching TV. but it just put her to sleep and/or she got much more interested in chewing things. She drools like a Mastiff, and her teething periods SUCK. But she's such a champ the rest of the time that we're handling them okay. By handling them okay, I mean white-knuckling and trying to keep her as comfortable as we can what else can you do?
She's also very active, or as active as you can be when you can't walk or crawl yet. She doesn't snuggle, and never really did when I carry her around, she's always peeking over my shoulder or wiggling around to see where the action is. When we put her on her stomach, she grunts and groans, but she's managed to pull her knees up to her chest already. She definitely wants to move, and she most definitely wants to catch the cat. She does a lot of rolling and jiggling too. I suspect that we're going to need to child proof our place sooner rather than later.
The transition back to work has been about as difficult as I expected. I was feeling very apathetic about my job and my career before I left on maternity leave and I have been itching to do something new. Add the feeling that I'm missing watching this cool kid develop on top of that...hard. My mom lived with us for most of October when I first went back, and it worked out way better than I could have imagined. I seem to regress into a sullen teenager whenever my mother is around so I thought we would spend the whole time fighting. And yes, there were times when I wanted to kill her ("why do you have to talk with your mouth full?," "for the nth time, no, you cannot put a blanket in the crib," and "she is not starving because of breastfeeding.") But I was mostly just grateful to have her around when I left in the morning and came home at night. It was also the first time in my life that I learned more about what it was like for HER working and raising three kids. She also took Zygote to all the historical sites around Boston and developed her own routine with her. Nice all around. Rich's sister is watching Zygote this month, and that's been working out as well. She starts daycare in December, and then I'm hoping that we will finally settle into a routine.
Right now, I nurse her in the mornings twice before I go to work, have my work day, and then rush home to spend some time with her and nurse her again before she goes to sleep. Pumping at work is another thing that doesn't suck nearly as bad as I thought it would. It's not fun, but it gives me some breaks during the day to think about the baby and to try and imagine what I'd be doing if I wasn't working here. I mostly draw a blank, but the pumping time gives me a few minutes to remember exactly why I'm here. Cliché, but true.
I'm not working on Fridays and besides the whole bleeding money thing, I like having that extra day to spend with Imme. I plan to use that day for writing once she is in daycare, but for the past two months, we've been sleeping late, going to the bookstore or the movies, and sometimes taking the T to MGH and running back to Cambridge along the Charles when it's not too cold or windy. There's also a ton of mundane errands to do, but I've been enjoying the time. I still haven't quite come to grips with the fact that I am now a part-time worker and that effectively puts my career on hold for a bit, but see above: not so hot about that career anyway.
Things are good. Looking forward to the holidays and introducing Zygote to Christmas, Italian-style in NJ.
Zyogte turned five months old today. That seems so old. We no longer get "oooh, tiny baby" or "fresh baby" when we go out. She's growing up.
What to say about a baby that doesn't sound like the usual my-baby-is-so-special-and-I'm-so-in-love-with-her drivel that is really only interesting to the parents and grandparents? Nothing, really. I am so in love with her. This is a good age. Our first month was just nutso with the normal postpartum period and the flu and MG's appendicitis and YG's hearing loss and my crazy-ass depression. Once the antidepressants kicked in and she started becoming more aware, it seems like it's been pretty smooth sailing. Or if not smooth all the time, at least we have a mutual appreciation of each other and how much we can piss each other off. So we try to limit bitchfests as best we can.
She is a happy, smiley baby most of the time. She started with the smiles very early, and giggles and talks a lot. I haven't heard a lot of B sounds, but a lot of gahs and cahs. She also discovered how to make this high-pitched shriek that she uses a lot, mainly when talking to her hands. I find it charming, but I imagine it's annoying to anyone sitting next to us in a restaurant. Rich has an easier time making her laugh than I do, and I think it's because of his facial hair and his renditions of songs from the Muppets. She humors me when I sing her Beatles songs, but I can't really get her laughing unless I'm tossing her in the air or really roughhousing with her, and I'm sure there's some book somewhere that will tell me I'm damaging her by doing this.
She has a variety of stuffed animals and toys that she likes, but prefers the smaller ones that can be stuffed in her mouth. One of her favorite games is throwing her binky down, and then picking it up and putting it back in her mouth. I watched her figure this out over the course of several days, and it's much more fascinating than it sounds. She had this look on her face like, "I am such a BOSS right now. Look at me with this thing."
The Exersaucer reigns Supreme. I also tried some Baby Einstein despite my pre-kids belief that babies shouldn't be watching TV. but it just put her to sleep and/or she got much more interested in chewing things. She drools like a Mastiff, and her teething periods SUCK. But she's such a champ the rest of the time that we're handling them okay. By handling them okay, I mean white-knuckling and trying to keep her as comfortable as we can what else can you do?
She's also very active, or as active as you can be when you can't walk or crawl yet. She doesn't snuggle, and never really did when I carry her around, she's always peeking over my shoulder or wiggling around to see where the action is. When we put her on her stomach, she grunts and groans, but she's managed to pull her knees up to her chest already. She definitely wants to move, and she most definitely wants to catch the cat. She does a lot of rolling and jiggling too. I suspect that we're going to need to child proof our place sooner rather than later.
The transition back to work has been about as difficult as I expected. I was feeling very apathetic about my job and my career before I left on maternity leave and I have been itching to do something new. Add the feeling that I'm missing watching this cool kid develop on top of that...hard. My mom lived with us for most of October when I first went back, and it worked out way better than I could have imagined. I seem to regress into a sullen teenager whenever my mother is around so I thought we would spend the whole time fighting. And yes, there were times when I wanted to kill her ("why do you have to talk with your mouth full?," "for the nth time, no, you cannot put a blanket in the crib," and "she is not starving because of breastfeeding.") But I was mostly just grateful to have her around when I left in the morning and came home at night. It was also the first time in my life that I learned more about what it was like for HER working and raising three kids. She also took Zygote to all the historical sites around Boston and developed her own routine with her. Nice all around. Rich's sister is watching Zygote this month, and that's been working out as well. She starts daycare in December, and then I'm hoping that we will finally settle into a routine.
Right now, I nurse her in the mornings twice before I go to work, have my work day, and then rush home to spend some time with her and nurse her again before she goes to sleep. Pumping at work is another thing that doesn't suck nearly as bad as I thought it would. It's not fun, but it gives me some breaks during the day to think about the baby and to try and imagine what I'd be doing if I wasn't working here. I mostly draw a blank, but the pumping time gives me a few minutes to remember exactly why I'm here. Cliché, but true.
I'm not working on Fridays and besides the whole bleeding money thing, I like having that extra day to spend with Imme. I plan to use that day for writing once she is in daycare, but for the past two months, we've been sleeping late, going to the bookstore or the movies, and sometimes taking the T to MGH and running back to Cambridge along the Charles when it's not too cold or windy. There's also a ton of mundane errands to do, but I've been enjoying the time. I still haven't quite come to grips with the fact that I am now a part-time worker and that effectively puts my career on hold for a bit, but see above: not so hot about that career anyway.
Things are good. Looking forward to the holidays and introducing Zygote to Christmas, Italian-style in NJ.
Thursday, November 05, 2009
We Just Bought A Flip -- Can You Tell?
In lieu of real blogging...movies! Zygote's baptism from a few weeks ago. What I find hilarious is how absolutely shell shocked and miserable I look. Totally wasn't the case, but I guess I just have that mama look now. Bring on the cat sweatshirts.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Straight for Equality
I attended an online seminar for Straight for Equality at work this week. I mainly wanted to support my coworkers who are members of my company's LGTB alliance, but I found it really useful. Particularly around issues of understanding why gay coworkers are not comfortable sharing pieces of their personal life at work. I heard a horrifying story about a straight guy who hung a flier for a LGTB event in his cube and overheard people discussing "fucking faggots" and it reminded me of my own run-in with a bigoted mofo at work a few years back -- a gun-toting NRA member who told me he stopped his subscription to Time magazine because they had a photo of Ellen on the cover. We got into it, but I wonder how many people are comfortable are getting up in some one's face because of mofo bigotry. And I wonder how much of my fuck-you-I've-got-balls attitude would stay in tact if I really felt I was in danger. This makes me alternately depressed and wanting to beat some heads.
So I signed The Pledge. You Should Too. And check out the guide.
Maybe we will take their suggestion and have a I Love Gays party. That's not what they call it, but I reserve the right to edit.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
I Was NOT Raped By My C-Section
The first time I heard the phrase "I was raped by my c-section," I didn't actually take the time to think about how offensive that statement might be to actual survivors of rape. I just thought it sounded stupid and melodramatic. In Childbirth Is Not Burger King. You Can’t Always Have It Your Way., Rachael Larrimore takes these people on. I like the piece. It sums up my feelings nicely.
Then you get to the real crazy in the comments.
There is nothing quite like birth and parenting to bring out the fundamentalist crazies.
Then you get to the real crazy in the comments.
There is nothing quite like birth and parenting to bring out the fundamentalist crazies.
Monday, October 26, 2009
A Typical Weekday
Between 5 and 6 am: Get up to feed Zygote
Next two hours: Shower, eat, dress Zygote, play with her a bit, feed cats, feed Zygote again
Between 7:30 and 8: Drive to work, curse traffic on 95. Remember that I promised never to complain about traffic after my hellish commutes in NJ. Think, "fuck that."
8-10: Various cube-dweller related items
10: Pump
10:15 - 12:15: More work. Curse Powerpoint.
12:15 - 12:30: Eat lunch at my desk. Always a packed lunched. Check the New York Times. Get depressed.
12:30 - 1: First panic that I am not going to get done everything that I need to get done.
1: Pump again. Double pump to save time. Try not to stare at the clock.
1:15 - 3:30: Endless conference calls, phone calls, emails, living of the dream.
3:30: Pump again. Count ceiling tiles. Make a mental gratitude list.
3:45 - 5: Mad rush to complete everything.
5: Slink guiltily out the door, convinced that I will be fired for my lack of commitment to work.
5-5:40ish: Commute. Curse Alewife. NPR.
5:45 - 6:30: Play with Zygote.
6:30 - 7:30: Feed Zygote, feed self, dress Zygote for bed. If she has reached the smelling point, we bathe her.
7:30 - 8: Clean up, make tomorrow's lunches, grunt pleasantries at YG.
8: Feed Zygote again.
8:20: Collapse on couch. Converse with husband. Mind numbing t.v. and Internets. Occasional reading. Guilt over not writing or blogging or keeping track of Zygote's various accomplishments in the 500 baby books we have.
10: Bed.
It's kind of exhausting and you'll notice that I don't really do the cooking, and we outsource (heh) our cleaning. Also, my mom is with us this month so there is no rush to get her to daycare in the morning. Yet.
I know that we're going to get it together in time, but I am already feeling the pull between work and family and then wondering how I am going to fit me time (writing, reading, running) in.
Seriously, though, I wouldn't trade it for anything.
Next two hours: Shower, eat, dress Zygote, play with her a bit, feed cats, feed Zygote again
Between 7:30 and 8: Drive to work, curse traffic on 95. Remember that I promised never to complain about traffic after my hellish commutes in NJ. Think, "fuck that."
8-10: Various cube-dweller related items
10: Pump
10:15 - 12:15: More work. Curse Powerpoint.
12:15 - 12:30: Eat lunch at my desk. Always a packed lunched. Check the New York Times. Get depressed.
12:30 - 1: First panic that I am not going to get done everything that I need to get done.
1: Pump again. Double pump to save time. Try not to stare at the clock.
1:15 - 3:30: Endless conference calls, phone calls, emails, living of the dream.
3:30: Pump again. Count ceiling tiles. Make a mental gratitude list.
3:45 - 5: Mad rush to complete everything.
5: Slink guiltily out the door, convinced that I will be fired for my lack of commitment to work.
5-5:40ish: Commute. Curse Alewife. NPR.
5:45 - 6:30: Play with Zygote.
6:30 - 7:30: Feed Zygote, feed self, dress Zygote for bed. If she has reached the smelling point, we bathe her.
7:30 - 8: Clean up, make tomorrow's lunches, grunt pleasantries at YG.
8: Feed Zygote again.
8:20: Collapse on couch. Converse with husband. Mind numbing t.v. and Internets. Occasional reading. Guilt over not writing or blogging or keeping track of Zygote's various accomplishments in the 500 baby books we have.
10: Bed.
It's kind of exhausting and you'll notice that I don't really do the cooking, and we outsource (heh) our cleaning. Also, my mom is with us this month so there is no rush to get her to daycare in the morning. Yet.
I know that we're going to get it together in time, but I am already feeling the pull between work and family and then wondering how I am going to fit me time (writing, reading, running) in.
Seriously, though, I wouldn't trade it for anything.
Wednesday, October 07, 2009
Back To Your Previously Scheduled Program Shortly
So I wildly underestimated how exhausted I would be with this whole work/mommy/exercise/baseball combo. Much like I underestimated how time consuming the whole baby thing would be at first. Underestimation seems to be the theme of my life lately.
More to come shortly. Hopefully before the post-season is over.
At least we know one thing about the Project -- it kept me updating.
More to come shortly. Hopefully before the post-season is over.
At least we know one thing about the Project -- it kept me updating.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Post 30: So What Have We Learned?
So this is it. 30 in 38 is now complete. Did I learn anything?
Well, for one, I really wish I was a full-time writer and not a full-time cube dweller. I was hoping that I could have written this yesterday or earlier today so that I could avoid being maudlin, but I was spending that time with Zygote. YG asked me if I wanted to cry now or later, and I answered "later" and then promptly started crying. It's not that I don't want to work. Work is important to me, and sometimes I'm afraid that I don't have an identity without work. I am a Hard Worker. And if I'm panicking at the thought of going to work tomorrow and not really wanting to be there, then who am I? A not very hard worker with a non-existent writing career? Blah. Whine. If you're unemployed, you probably want to gag me right now.
So right, lessons learned.
1. I work best when there's a deadline. I've been half assing this blog for about three years now, and I know from my Google stats that some of you do read it. But I only update sporadically. Having this self-imposed deadline helped me to do some minimal journaling, that I then translated into these posts, and maybe someday will turn into something else.
I'm not taking any classes this semester and that worries me because having class assignments forced me to write. Without the deadline and the potential to be embarassed, I just don't seem to write, and that leads me to number 2.
2. I need to make the time to write. Fairly obvious, but I'm horrible at that. I try and squeeze it in when I can, but I don't make it a priority. People have told me to treat my writing as a second job in order to take it seriously, and that works for about three seconds, and then I go watch t.v. Or read more books that I wish I wrote.
Fridays will be my writing time from now on. No work, minimal baby, not a lot of distractions.
3. Marketing is not bullshit. I've taken a few classes now on how to market personal essays and I've purchased an embarrassing number of books on the same topic. I take copious notes and check Writers Market from time to time, and then I don't do much.
4. This is related to the time thing -- edit, edit, edit. Some people journal or blog and the result is beautifully crafted, breathtaking prose. This is so not me. I am all jumbled stream of consciousness. I finished two pieces in the last year that I really loved (and got my personalized rejection letters for -- woo hoo!), but I had worked on them over the course of three semesters. I need to remember to give myself time to edit. Or if all else fails, spell check. And barring that, fix the where/wear, their/there/they're things. At least give the appearance of trying to be a "real" writer.
5. Take notes. My brain is full. I see the world as if it's a story I'm living and I'm constantly thinking of things that I want to jot down and remember (various conversations with the crazies on the T, overheard bits of interesting factoids, city life, Zygote, etc). And then I don't remember. And that's how this happens.
6. Define success. For this little project, success meant just putting some shit out there for 30 days. I really don't know how I will define being a successful writer. Does it mean being published? Does it mean writing every day? Utilizing my Fridays? This is important since I am prone to oh-woe-is-me-I-can't-do-anything sorts of ramblings.
7. YG told me this one last night. He took a class and said the instructor told them to change the phrase, "I'll believe it when I see it" to "If I believe it, I'll see it." Normally, the earnestness of these types of leadership instructions makes me want to throw up in my mouth a little, but I like that one. I have to believe that I have as good a shot as anyone of getting published, and stop believing that I am destined for the cube for the rest of my life.
8. Just write. There's so many warm, fuzzy writers' manuals filled with that advice. Again with the earnestness and the encouragement. But it's true. Some of my babble is bound to take shape sometime.
So that's it. I intend to keep up the blog to keep folks updated on Zygote and me and the rest of the fam, and I intend to keep up the journaling and fine tuning my other pieces this Fall. And working. And taking care of Zygote. And running. And.....I will be fine.
Well, for one, I really wish I was a full-time writer and not a full-time cube dweller. I was hoping that I could have written this yesterday or earlier today so that I could avoid being maudlin, but I was spending that time with Zygote. YG asked me if I wanted to cry now or later, and I answered "later" and then promptly started crying. It's not that I don't want to work. Work is important to me, and sometimes I'm afraid that I don't have an identity without work. I am a Hard Worker. And if I'm panicking at the thought of going to work tomorrow and not really wanting to be there, then who am I? A not very hard worker with a non-existent writing career? Blah. Whine. If you're unemployed, you probably want to gag me right now.
So right, lessons learned.
1. I work best when there's a deadline. I've been half assing this blog for about three years now, and I know from my Google stats that some of you do read it. But I only update sporadically. Having this self-imposed deadline helped me to do some minimal journaling, that I then translated into these posts, and maybe someday will turn into something else.
I'm not taking any classes this semester and that worries me because having class assignments forced me to write. Without the deadline and the potential to be embarassed, I just don't seem to write, and that leads me to number 2.
2. I need to make the time to write. Fairly obvious, but I'm horrible at that. I try and squeeze it in when I can, but I don't make it a priority. People have told me to treat my writing as a second job in order to take it seriously, and that works for about three seconds, and then I go watch t.v. Or read more books that I wish I wrote.
Fridays will be my writing time from now on. No work, minimal baby, not a lot of distractions.
3. Marketing is not bullshit. I've taken a few classes now on how to market personal essays and I've purchased an embarrassing number of books on the same topic. I take copious notes and check Writers Market from time to time, and then I don't do much.
4. This is related to the time thing -- edit, edit, edit. Some people journal or blog and the result is beautifully crafted, breathtaking prose. This is so not me. I am all jumbled stream of consciousness. I finished two pieces in the last year that I really loved (and got my personalized rejection letters for -- woo hoo!), but I had worked on them over the course of three semesters. I need to remember to give myself time to edit. Or if all else fails, spell check. And barring that, fix the where/wear, their/there/they're things. At least give the appearance of trying to be a "real" writer.
5. Take notes. My brain is full. I see the world as if it's a story I'm living and I'm constantly thinking of things that I want to jot down and remember (various conversations with the crazies on the T, overheard bits of interesting factoids, city life, Zygote, etc). And then I don't remember. And that's how this happens.
6. Define success. For this little project, success meant just putting some shit out there for 30 days. I really don't know how I will define being a successful writer. Does it mean being published? Does it mean writing every day? Utilizing my Fridays? This is important since I am prone to oh-woe-is-me-I-can't-do-anything sorts of ramblings.
7. YG told me this one last night. He took a class and said the instructor told them to change the phrase, "I'll believe it when I see it" to "If I believe it, I'll see it." Normally, the earnestness of these types of leadership instructions makes me want to throw up in my mouth a little, but I like that one. I have to believe that I have as good a shot as anyone of getting published, and stop believing that I am destined for the cube for the rest of my life.
8. Just write. There's so many warm, fuzzy writers' manuals filled with that advice. Again with the earnestness and the encouragement. But it's true. Some of my babble is bound to take shape sometime.
So that's it. I intend to keep up the blog to keep folks updated on Zygote and me and the rest of the fam, and I intend to keep up the journaling and fine tuning my other pieces this Fall. And working. And taking care of Zygote. And running. And.....I will be fine.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Post 29: Things That Were Awesome About This Summer
A far from exhaustive list:
1. Zygote. Do I really need to get into this one? Watching her go from rubbery blob to tiny, sometimes blobby person has been amazing.
2. Two weeks in Long Island.
3. The return of copious amounts of wine and beer to my diet.
4. An inordinate amount of time watching bad t.v. and not feeling guilty, like usual, because I was 'nourishing my child' while doing so.
5. Running again.
6. Discovering Cambridge and Somerville with the stroller.
7. Reading.
8. Not working.
9. Restaurant Week.
10. The Water Club at Atlantic City.
11. JP Licks.
12. Walden Pond.
13. My birthday.
14. Being able to stay in NJ for more than 24 hours.
15. Drinks in Davis with YG, while church friends watched Zygote.
16. Can we say AL Division Champs?
17. Seeing old friends.
18. Sleeping until 9 most days, showering whenever, unemployment (read: elastic waist) pants
19. Ball games
20. Dinners on the porch with a bottle of wine.
It wasn't quite the "Summer of JM" that I imagined, but it was still pretty great.
1. Zygote. Do I really need to get into this one? Watching her go from rubbery blob to tiny, sometimes blobby person has been amazing.
2. Two weeks in Long Island.
3. The return of copious amounts of wine and beer to my diet.
4. An inordinate amount of time watching bad t.v. and not feeling guilty, like usual, because I was 'nourishing my child' while doing so.
5. Running again.
6. Discovering Cambridge and Somerville with the stroller.
7. Reading.
8. Not working.
9. Restaurant Week.
10. The Water Club at Atlantic City.
11. JP Licks.
12. Walden Pond.
13. My birthday.
14. Being able to stay in NJ for more than 24 hours.
15. Drinks in Davis with YG, while church friends watched Zygote.
16. Can we say AL Division Champs?
17. Seeing old friends.
18. Sleeping until 9 most days, showering whenever, unemployment (read: elastic waist) pants
19. Ball games
20. Dinners on the porch with a bottle of wine.
It wasn't quite the "Summer of JM" that I imagined, but it was still pretty great.
Post 28: This Is What A Relationship Looks Like -- Guess You Had To Be There Edition
I hate feet. I mean, I really, really hate feet. I get pedicures because I don't even like touching my own feet. I find foot fetishes weirder and grosser than plushies or furries. Feet = gross.
YG knows this, and when I am being super cranky or getting all up in his face about something, he will take his hand, rub it on my face and say, "mmmm....I was just massaging my calluses" or my personal favorite, "I love giving pedicures to the homeless."
He also steals my pillows every night. Being a tad obsessive compulsive, I have a system for proper placement of my pillows. The memory foam one is for my head, and the fluffier one stands propped against the headboard for easy access if I want to hug it or move it in some way.
Every night, I will go to the bathroom and when I get back, the pillows are either switched up or gone entirely. Ticklefest ensues, and I beg YG not to take my pillows anymore, to please, just let me be at one with the pillows. On the rare night that he does not touch the pillows, conversation goes something like:
Me: What's wrong?
YG: What do you mean?
Me: You didn't take my pillows.
YG: You hate it when I take your pillows.
Me: Are you pissed at me?
YG: Yes
Me: It's because I'm fat, isn't it? You're mad at me because of the lard.
YG: And the prattling.
Me: Yes, you hate me because I'm a fat prattler.
YG: That is exactly why I didn't touch your pillows.
I'm sure this is the type of thing that is only amusing to two people.
YG knows this, and when I am being super cranky or getting all up in his face about something, he will take his hand, rub it on my face and say, "mmmm....I was just massaging my calluses" or my personal favorite, "I love giving pedicures to the homeless."
He also steals my pillows every night. Being a tad obsessive compulsive, I have a system for proper placement of my pillows. The memory foam one is for my head, and the fluffier one stands propped against the headboard for easy access if I want to hug it or move it in some way.
Every night, I will go to the bathroom and when I get back, the pillows are either switched up or gone entirely. Ticklefest ensues, and I beg YG not to take my pillows anymore, to please, just let me be at one with the pillows. On the rare night that he does not touch the pillows, conversation goes something like:
Me: What's wrong?
YG: What do you mean?
Me: You didn't take my pillows.
YG: You hate it when I take your pillows.
Me: Are you pissed at me?
YG: Yes
Me: It's because I'm fat, isn't it? You're mad at me because of the lard.
YG: And the prattling.
Me: Yes, you hate me because I'm a fat prattler.
YG: That is exactly why I didn't touch your pillows.
I'm sure this is the type of thing that is only amusing to two people.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Post 27: Reality Check
YG and I just went through a budget exercise to try and figure out what our financial picture (aren't I grown up with my fancy phrases?) will look like after I go back to work at reduced hours and we factor in child care. The result is not pretty. I'm not in total panic mode yet, but I know that we're taking a big hit. My Fridays off are supposed to be for writing, sending out some writing and spending time with Zygote. If I were a contractor and I worked hours on Fridays, I could bill for them. But I'm not a contractor. I'm a regular employee working reduced hours, so if I work more than my allotted hours, I lose money. The onus is on me to make this work. The onus is on me to not check the crackberry, not be available, and use the Fridays to figure out how to extracate myself from this career that I've built.
And the onus is on me to not get laid off while doing so, because the alternatives (check out: U.S. Job Seekers Exceed Openings by Record Ratio) suck.
I WILL NOT DO WORK THAT I AM NOT PAID FOR. Hold me to this, Internets.
And the onus is on me to not get laid off while doing so, because the alternatives (check out: U.S. Job Seekers Exceed Openings by Record Ratio) suck.
I WILL NOT DO WORK THAT I AM NOT PAID FOR. Hold me to this, Internets.
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