The Job Front

As I've touched upon in the past, my career hit a bit of a speed bump recently. To put it briefly, my company was acquired by another larger firm. It was not guaranteed that there would be a position for me (or for anyone, really). Most of us had to interview for positions. Luckily, there was a match for me. And after hours upon hours of internal debate and family discussion, I accepted the offer with the new firm.

So yay for having a job!

While I am staying in the same department, my job responsibilities will be changing drastically. Also, I will now be commuting into the city. Can I get a collective 'UGGGH'? Yeah. This was one of the major sticking points for me. My commute will basically triple in duration, and instead of a congested highway, I'll be dealing with the woes of public transportation. Sigh.

However, the new company offers flexible work hours and the ability to work from home a great deal more than my current company. So I may only need to actually go into the office 2-3 days a week (if that!). They put a lot of emphasis on pursuing a positive work life balance, very family oriented, blah-dee-blah. So the days I have to go into the office will kinda suck, but on the days I'm home I'll get to drop Des off and pick him up from daycare, which I don't even get to do now! Major MAJOR plus.

On a semi side note... next house project = Home Office. Working at the dining room table is okay when it's once a week, but after that I imagine it will get old. IKEA here we come!

Next week I am traveling to a 5-day event for the merge of the 2 companies. 5 days. Away from home. From my husband, from my baby. I need a paper bag. To breathe in.. and out.. in.. and out. Obviously I'm having a bit of anxiety about this. And knowing that this event was in my future was even one of the negatives in taking the job. I do not part easily from my family, especially for 5 days... God I even hate typing that out loud. BREATHE DAMMIT.

But for some reason, the closer it gets to the event the less nervous I feel. Time is flying, and I hope it flies while I'm there too. I leave on Monday, back on Friday. I won't miss a weekend. Undoubtedly there will be tears. But I'm hoping I'll be plenty distracted so it'll be over before I know it.

There's an episode of the Simpsons in which Homer is having a particularly tough time at his miserable job. If you've ever watched that show for 5 minutes, you know this is one of the overarching themes: Working Man vs. Rich Greedy Old Boss. There's a sign hanging in Homer's office with a photo of crotchety Mr. Burns saying, "DON'T FORGET, YOU'RE HERE FOREVER." Homer tapes photos of his daughter Maggie on the sign so that instead it reads:



I think about this a lot lately. I'll think about it on the plane. And at the conference. And during those seemingly endless commutes.

I do it for him.

Change

In light of all the change that is going to be happening in the next few weeks, I figured the mop on my head needed a transformation as well:

Before:


After:


This is going to be infinitely easier to maintain, especially in this ridiculous heat. And the blond is like coming home. I missed it.

More news on some big changes on the job front this week. Decisions need to be made, but at least I know I have options. Still figuring this all out.

Sorry for the vagueness. You understand.

Water Works

I have always been a bit of a crier. Certain people in my life are rolling their eyes right now thinking, "a bit?"

Commercials, movies, songs, take your pick. If you see me in the greeting card aisle approach with caution. I'm probably holding my breath and swallowing down the lump in my throat. Oh and that Folgers Christmas commercial with the brother and sister... Gives me the creeps and makes me cry. A more common example, Toy Story 3. After watching that movie Tony left me sitting in a salty puddle on the couch, squeaking "Why Andy? Why did you have to grooow uup?"

Events in which it would be exceedingly appropriate to shed a tear, such as a funeral or dire emergency of some sort, what do I do? I cry AND I laugh. Hysterical, nervous, snorting laughter. I'm sorry! It's an anxiety-induced response that I can't control. In the times when I can't choke down the giggles, I can usually mask it as sobbing with a strategically placed hand or tissue over the mouth. But seriously, there are some underlying issues here. I should probably have that looked at.

Parenthood has made the crying at the drop of a hat so much worse. In the first 6 months it was biological. I was just crying out the hormones like they were toxins. But now that things have settled in that respect, I'm starting to get the message... This is just how it's going to be now.

When I watch 'Intervention' from here on out I'm going to bawl my eyes out as the parents beg and plead and pray for their grown, addicted children to seek help. On the Amazing Race the other night, a mom watched her deaf 20-something year old son struggle repeatedly with a challenge, told him "You can do this," and I couldn't keep it together. And forget the country music station. That shit can just go right to hell.

It's like all emotions have doubled. For 40 weeks I grew this other piece of me, this vulnerable beating heart, and now I just let it walk around, prone to whatever perils and passions the world has in store. And it's my job to protect him and guide him and sometimes, to sit back and watch him struggle. I don't know if I'm fit for this.



Okay. I can do this.

Now I get what all those tissues are about. My husband. Always looking for a deal and planning ahead.

My Secret Hoarding Confession

Remember that post about my tendency toward throwing everything away? I realized a few nights ago that there is one area of my life in which I lean more towards the habit of hoarding. If not a true hoarder, then I'm at least a disgusting slob when it comes to... my nightstand. Right now on the table by the side of my bed there is:


- a lamp
- a box of tissues
- 5 different half empty moisturizers (What? They're all for different things!)
- 2 books
- Nintendo DS
- cell phone
- a water bottle
- a glass of water
- 2 bottles of pills
- hair elastics, headband, and bobbie pins

Don't even ask about the drawer. In it there is a slew of skin, nail, and hair maintenence items, a few magazines, some mail, receipts... basically the contents of your standard Junk Drawer. Also on the shelf underneath there are even more hair items, some empty shopping bags, and a few more books.

On Tony's nightstand is a bottle of water and a remote control. Sometimes he tries to sell me some retail space on his table. But I always find a way to fit another little something on mine with some clever shifting.

I have tried to purge items from this nightmare of a nightstand. But it all seems to find it's way back. Truthfully, besides the contents of the drawer which can easily be closed and forgotten about, I do use everything on the table on a daily basis. And our upstairs bathroom, where some of these things would more appropriately belong, is limited on space and storage.

Basically what I need is an old fashioned vanity, with a mirror and round make-up lights, a cushioned bench, and a silver hair brush. I'd sit at it in a pink robe with feather trim and shoulder pads, wearing my headbands and moisturizing the day away.

I'm picturing something like this:

I also have a strong aversion to wire hangers. So I'm not too far off.

The Gift of Gab

If Tony wasn't around, this would be a very quiet house.

He talks a lot. To Des, to me, to the tv, on the phone. He sings songs, real and made up. Having lived together for 10 years, I'm certainly used to it and have never minded. It keeps me entertained.

Just lastnight, as I was doing the dishes and Tony was feeding Des, he said to nobody in particular, "Mmm, blueberries. Nature's... blueberry."

WHAT? I almost peed myself.

It must be a genetic thing because his sister is the same way. When she was our roommate I would hear her talking to the refridgerator as she prepared her lunch. It's fascinating to me, this gift of gab.

So far, Des seems to have taken on my traits when it comes to conversation and general disposition. He babbles a whole slew of syllables and screeches if the mood strikes him. But for the most part he's a pretty quiet kid. Calm and content. He has mastered The Serious Face. He's satisfied to listen and observe, and then he'll pipe in every once in a while with something exceedingly witty and intelligent. Yup, just like mom.

Taking him to stores and restaurants is an easy experience. He sits back and looks around most of the time, pointing at interesting things as if to show his approval. He never really says anything back when the waitresses say hi or tell him he's cute, but he will stare at them until they are out of plain sight. Creepy kid.

I bite my lip a little when I think that Desmond might be more like me in this area. Not that being quiet in itself is a negative thing. But I don't want him to feel shy or insecure, as I have felt in the past. I don't want him to think that he is anything less than the most amazing kid on the planet. Tony is the opposite of me... outgoing, charming, confident. He makes people feel comfortable. Sure he talks a lot, but people also go to him because they know he'll listen.

It's early yet. Des's personality is still forming and coming out in adorable snipits. I'm hoping that he will take on more of the friendly, outgoing personality traits of his father. If not through genetics, then just from exposure to things like "nature's blueberry."

Edited to add photographic evidence of The Serious Face:


photo stolen from Jaclyn S.

2011 Resolutions

Happy New Year everyone!

2010 was the best year of my life. So that was neat.

Now it's time to look forward with the obligatory 2011 Resolution Post.

I haven't made a resolution in years. Many major changes happened in our lives (getting married, buying a home, renovating, having babies). We've made huuuge leaps forward in our home and our family. This year, I'd like to take some smaller steps to focus on myself. As selfish as it sounds, I guess.

There are general areas I'd like to improve upon, some of which are super cliche (lose weight, wicked original!). But I've come up with some concrete, attainable goals within the broader concepts.

Physically
Goal: Run at least once a week.

I used to run, ya know. I'd never call myself a runner. But I ran a few miles 2-4 times a week pretty religiously for years. And I hate running. I can play any sport for hours at a time, but running for 5 minutes is torture. I have physical limitations (flat feet, bad ankles), but I think it's more a mental aversion. Even when I'm listening to music, it's quiet and still and boring. The scenery changes but it's all the same. I wanna kick and swing and jump. Run? Just run? Yawnzies.

But I did it because it was easy and fast. I could open my front door and GO. That's the kind of exercise I need right now. And when I start running, everything else kinda falls into place. I have more energy, eat better, sleep better, lose weight. I just have to put one foot in front the other.

Educationally (Is that even a word? I didn't graduate from college, people.)
Goal: Meet with a counselor, take a class or two.

I have about half the credits needed for my bachelors. It's not an ideal situation, especially for someone who was always considered a smaht kid growing up. But I'm not going to be ashamed of that little glitch on my life resume. I know who I am and where I am, and I am ridiculously happy. A degree is just something I want. Also, I like school. I may take time off here and there, but I'm never going to give up until I finish. I don't care if it takes until I'm 80.

I used to get into these frantic states of, 'OMG I have to quit my job and quit my life and go back to school full time before it's TOO LATE!' At this point in my life, I am much more comfortable with the idea of taking it slow. I'll get there. Just gotta chip away. Now's the time.

Creatively
Goal: Create 2 pieces of which I am proud.

I consider myself artistically inclined. But I can't call myself artistic unless I actually DO something with it. Overall I want to produce more... lotsa stuff, mostly crap I'm sure. But you have to create a lot of crap before you get something decent. Two pieces or 'art' that I can look at without cringing is the goal.

These are small, seemingly easy to reach objectives. I'd like to work toward these even in the face of setbacks and adversity. In the past things have always come up. Injuries, health issues, pregnancy, time and money constraints. Ya know.. LIFE 'n stuff. But these kinds of things are always going to happen. So I guess an additional resolution is to not throw my goals out the window when something unexpected arises.

There you have it. Some heavy duty resolutin' up in here.

I'm excited to see what 2011 has in store!

Reverse Hoarding

Hello. I'm Sarah, and I am a Reverse Hoarder.

That's not a real term. I made it up. I don't know what else to call it.

And I don't think it's necessarily a bad thing. I just don't like having a lot of stuff around. If it's useful in every day life, then I'm fine with it. We do have quite a lot of stuff that we use often. We're not minimalists or neat freaks. We have our fair share of 'clutter' around. But everything you see in our living space serves a purpose.

I also hate the idea of putting things away that I might need in the future. So I tend to... not... do that. If I don't think I'll need it soon, it's gone. We don't have a whole lot of storage in our home. If there's a closet with things in it collecting years of dust, I get physically and psychologically ITCHY.

Spring cleaning and closet purges are kind of a high for me.

Sometimes it works against me. With clothes especially. If I'm having a fat day and something doesn't fit right, I throw it out in a blind rage. A few weeks later I'll wonder where a certain collared shirt is and remember that fat day. Damn. I lost a lot of good stuff during my pregnancy before I finally came to my senses.

Having a child has certainly tested the limits of this phobia, if you want to call it that. Desmond's closet has to be changed out every few months because he grows so fast. I'm saving most of the things that are too small for future use by potential offspring of our own or of family members. But stained or ragged items get tossed.

During one of these change overs, I found Desmond's hospital-issued cap. The one with the blue and pink stripes that the nurse put on his head right after he was born. It was teeny tiny, just fit in the palm of my hand. I thought, "He's never going to wear this, nor would any future kids." Tony watched me as I reached to put it in the Good Will bag and his eyes were daggers. He looked at me like I was a monster. Hell, maybe I am. But at the time I thought it was totally reasonable to throw that cap out. It’s just a piece of fabric. My love for my son or my memories of the day he was born do not change based on the presence of this piece of fabric.

But I get that some people don’t think that way. My husband, for one. He put that cap away in a place I will never find in one of my purge frenzies. He didn't need to do that. I understand that it's okay to save things like that. And if I do, I will not turn into one of those people from the show Hoarders.

I guess I tend to make quick, rash decisions when it comes to getting rid of things. So my recent solution is to start a bag of potential good will items. Keep it off to the side for a few months and then go through it again. It's kinda like shopping in a way.

I went through it just the other day and, oooh! A powder blue argyle sweater would be great at work! Why would I throw out this gem? I figured it out as I was reaching for some files and noticed a faint brownish tinge in the armpit area of the sweater. Ummm.. GROSS.

So that was a setback in my reverse hoarding therapy. But I'm working on it.

Coming Through, Intro

Remember that multi-part entry I vaguely referred to a few entries ago?

Well...

Last year we had a scare. It was a bizarre blip on the radar of my generally healthy life, still difficult to explain or talk about. I can’t remember a lot. It was out of nowhere and then never really resolved. But I want to share what I do recall and what I’ve been told happened. Piece it together in a way that makes some kinda sense. Then I can paint a picture, point to it, and say “Here. Here’s what happened.” For me. For my husband. For our son to read one day. Mostly for me.

I hesitate to make it public. It’s profoundly intimate. But maybe sharing it all will resolve something inside me that doctors and medicine can’t. That’s my hope.

I have a feeling it will read like a poor man’s Picasso recreation, with a little Dali and Escher sprinkled in. I’ll call it Crazy Stairs.


Oh no, did that hit Crazy Stairs?

Part 1 to be posted soon. At this point I don’t even know how many installments there will be. It’s ‘coming through’… albeit slowly.

I’ll continue to post Des updates and light-hearted entries in between. And maybe the health recaps once a week or so. Otherwise I might go a little crazy. If I’m not already there...

Self Reflection

I am mildly agoraphobic.

Isn't everybody? At least a little?

There was a TV show called 'Sisters' back in the 90s, and one of the husbands would never wear anything but his PJ's and a robe. He would only go as far from the house as the mailbox. Even in my closeted pre-teen sense of the world, I could tell he wasn't a lazy person. He was comfortable within a certain zone and fearful of anything outside of it. I can totally relate to that guy.

I always prefered to think of myself as a free spirit, hippy, go-with-the-flow kind of person. And a part of me is, or still wants to be. But the more time passes, the more I realize that I am a creature of habit, comfortable and satisfied in the every day routine. Sometimes it feels like a warm blanket and sometimes it feels like an anchor. It takes constant work to keep it on the lighter side.

I can even see it looking back to my teen years. I was content to stay in on Friday nights watching TV with my sister and my mom (hence the previous reference to 'Sisters,' which was on Friday nights). It's amazing I was able to keep friends with the number of times I cancelled plans at the last minute. It was sort of a running joke with them. But they kept inviting me out, as unreliable as I was. I should send them all a thank you note and a hug for that.

Nowadays, I prefer to stay in our house or yard. A stroll around the neighborhood or trip to Target is nice, as long as both Tony and Des are with me. If I leave the house without one or both of them, there is always anxiety. It's not crippling or severe. It's just there, like an itch I can't scratch. I've learned to ignore it most of the time.

A good friend of ours, Chad, is almost the complete opposite. He has lived all over the world, from New England to the West, from Eastern Europe to New Zealand, and traveled everywhere in between. He can't seem to stay in one place for very long. He's a professional couch-hopper, takes little jobs to get by, and he can carry everything he owns in a backpack. It's a fascinating, admirable way to live. And it's totally alien to me.

He recently came back to New England for a few weeks and just left to head out West again the other day. It was so nice having him here, but we knew he wouldn't/couldn't stay. We'll miss him and his lovely girlfriend, Janka. I think saying goodbye to them has sparked this bit of self reflection.

This weekend I have plans that involve me driving a few towns away. Saturday I'll take Des with me, Sunday I'll be alone. I've been looking forward to these plans for weeks, but now that it's here I'm trying to come up with excuses to just stay home wrapped in a blanket with my boys. Same old story.

Also with the passing of time comes a stronger sense of self-awareness and maturity. So I will make myself go. And I'll have a good time, as I almost always do... it's just hard to see through the fog sometimes.