A few weeks ago, while at a routine doctor appointment, the nurse asked me how many hours I work. I replied that I work full-time so, 40 hours a week. Her next question was a bit surprising and caught me off guard. She asked me how many hours a week my daughter spends in daycare to which I replied, "...umm...ahhh....well......she's at daycare a lot more than she's at home so umm....let me think.....umm....(calculating in my head)...she's there at least 50 hours a week." Then the guilt set in (but that's a whole other blog post).
I have to wonder, why is it that Jake and I went to great lengths to find the perfect daycare but I'm willing to settle for a job that I'm really not that excited about, even though Rachel and I are both at our respective locations more than we're at home? I appreciate my job and am thankful for the people I work with. But, I didn't go to night classes for 5 years, while working two jobs, so that I can be a secretary for the rest of my life. Don't get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with being a secretary. However, contrary to some people's beliefs, I really feel like I'm destined for bigger things.
I wish that I could figure out just how big these other things should be. I love the fact that I can leave work and actually leave work...you know what I mean? Unless I had a particularly crappy day, I don't take my work home with me and I'm out the door by 5:02. I have to ask though, how much further can I climb up the corporate ladder before I can't make those claims anymore? Is it possible to enjoy work (at least the majority of the time) and still be home by 6:00? It must be because other people do it all the time. Why can't I?
Until I figure this out I will not be shoving anything job related, except the papers that I am currently paid to push.
August 10, 2010
August 9, 2010
A few of my (new) favorite things...
My original post for today discussed my "control issues" and how they relate to Rachel being sick for the first time (and long story, why I feel like she's afraid of me because I thought I needed to save her life yesterday). While proofreading my original entry it dawned on me that today has been cloudy enough, and this blog is supposed to be therapeutic, not depressing. So, I deleted everything and am instead listing a few of my newest favorite things. Yes, I love to make lists (by the way).
1. Crock pot liners
2. Envelopes that are big enough to mail pictures in but not so big that they require extra postage
3. Battery operated decongester things
4. Mr. Lion, Jerry Giraffe and a small plastic butterfly
5. Advice given to me by other mothers that is actually good enough to use
6. A dining room table big enough to seat 12
7. Upright freezers
8. Fitting into my old "fat" jeans, because they're not my maternity jeans
9. Time spent with my family (even if my to-do list is waiting to be done).
10. Rain...lots of rain. What else could I possibly use as an excuse as to why my garden is so weedy?
1. Crock pot liners
2. Envelopes that are big enough to mail pictures in but not so big that they require extra postage
3. Battery operated decongester things
4. Mr. Lion, Jerry Giraffe and a small plastic butterfly
5. Advice given to me by other mothers that is actually good enough to use
6. A dining room table big enough to seat 12
7. Upright freezers
8. Fitting into my old "fat" jeans, because they're not my maternity jeans
9. Time spent with my family (even if my to-do list is waiting to be done).
10. Rain...lots of rain. What else could I possibly use as an excuse as to why my garden is so weedy?
August 6, 2010
What I learned from summer camp…
Every day I look at my daughter and think, wow there are so many ways I could screw this up. Sometimes I wish that she would just stay a bouncing baby girl forever so I won't have the opportunity to accidentally shatter her dreams or forget to teach her the fundamentals of life. But then reality hits and I know that it’s only a matter of time before I get to attend dance recitals, t-ball games and back-to-school ice cream socials.
I remember this feeling; it was the same one I experienced every year while packing for summer camp. For the most part I knew what was coming but the anticipation of encountering so many unknowns was just about too much for me to handle. I learned a lot of valuable lessons while packing for camp and I think several of them still apply today.
1. Don’t let yourself be overcome with fear of the unknown.
2. Always plan for the unexpected.
3. Nothing compares to the comfort you get from your teddy bear (he has been with me through every hospital stay I’ve had since I was 15, including Labor/Delivery and the Mother/Baby units).
4. Always know where your address book is.
5. Don’t forget your sunscreen.
6. Buy nice bedding; it just makes you feel good.
7. Pack your Bible.
8. Remind yourself that even if a boy doesn’t ask you to be his date at the banquet you will still have fun (possibly more) with your girlfriends.
9. Kids will like you.
10. Too much fear, mixed with excitement, will make you sick. If this happens do not attend a family pizza party followed by a ride home in the backseat of a packed two-door car while driving on back roads. There is a good chance your previously consumed pizza will end up on your Uncle Dave’s bald head.
Ohhhh summer camp….
I remember this feeling; it was the same one I experienced every year while packing for summer camp. For the most part I knew what was coming but the anticipation of encountering so many unknowns was just about too much for me to handle. I learned a lot of valuable lessons while packing for camp and I think several of them still apply today.
1. Don’t let yourself be overcome with fear of the unknown.
2. Always plan for the unexpected.
3. Nothing compares to the comfort you get from your teddy bear (he has been with me through every hospital stay I’ve had since I was 15, including Labor/Delivery and the Mother/Baby units).
4. Always know where your address book is.
5. Don’t forget your sunscreen.
6. Buy nice bedding; it just makes you feel good.
7. Pack your Bible.
8. Remind yourself that even if a boy doesn’t ask you to be his date at the banquet you will still have fun (possibly more) with your girlfriends.
9. Kids will like you.
10. Too much fear, mixed with excitement, will make you sick. If this happens do not attend a family pizza party followed by a ride home in the backseat of a packed two-door car while driving on back roads. There is a good chance your previously consumed pizza will end up on your Uncle Dave’s bald head.
Ohhhh summer camp….
August 5, 2010
The recipe for success…
Lately I have been wrestling with this thing they call “success”. What is it? Where does it come from? Does it have a price tag? Once you have success, can you lose it? Does it exist in abundance or will we one day be going to war over it, like oil or food or even water?
For some reason, after we moved I developed a strange habit of inviting people over and cooking big meals, and Jake recently commented that my cooking has improved since Rachel was born. It's almost as if post-pregnancy hormones have awakened some kind of homemaker gene that is desperately trying to navigate to my fingers. I really wouldn’t be surprised if that's the case. After all, pregnancy hormones effected every single other part of my body right down to my nose holes (I swear they got bigger last year). Since we moved last spring I have hosted several big (for me) get-togethers, planned meals better, made way too much baby food (if I have to clean and cook and puree one more vegetable….) and watched enough cooking shows to earn an honorary culinary arts degree.
This cuisine inspired journey has renewed my appreciation for the importance of following recipes to-the-letter (turns out they’re not all just guidelines). My mother once advised me never to try a new recipe when taking a dish to a potluck. I must admit that, although this is good advice, I haven’t always listened to it. However, after choosing to throw caution to the wind I did have the sense to stick to the recipe like glue on a horse (huh?). By following the recipe my dish was a success.
Although I’m often right about almost everything (yep, pretty sure of it) I can honestly admit that I have no idea what the recipe for success is. I can’t even define "success"…yet.
For some reason, after we moved I developed a strange habit of inviting people over and cooking big meals, and Jake recently commented that my cooking has improved since Rachel was born. It's almost as if post-pregnancy hormones have awakened some kind of homemaker gene that is desperately trying to navigate to my fingers. I really wouldn’t be surprised if that's the case. After all, pregnancy hormones effected every single other part of my body right down to my nose holes (I swear they got bigger last year). Since we moved last spring I have hosted several big (for me) get-togethers, planned meals better, made way too much baby food (if I have to clean and cook and puree one more vegetable….) and watched enough cooking shows to earn an honorary culinary arts degree.
This cuisine inspired journey has renewed my appreciation for the importance of following recipes to-the-letter (turns out they’re not all just guidelines). My mother once advised me never to try a new recipe when taking a dish to a potluck. I must admit that, although this is good advice, I haven’t always listened to it. However, after choosing to throw caution to the wind I did have the sense to stick to the recipe like glue on a horse (huh?). By following the recipe my dish was a success.
Although I’m often right about almost everything (yep, pretty sure of it) I can honestly admit that I have no idea what the recipe for success is. I can’t even define "success"…yet.
August 4, 2010
Ironically enough…
Yesterday I was feeling particularly chubby so I got a haircut. What? A haircut? Yes, that is what I do when I’m feeling fat. I take the little bit of control I have over my weight and cut off as much hair as I can in hopes that the scale will cooperate. If it doesn’t that’s OK too; at least I look better. Oddly enough, the scale did not go down this morning.
What did go down was our power, again. We must live in a giant cesspool of perpetual electricity lossidness (yes, that’s a word in my world). Every time it rains during the night we lose power. Usually it’s only out for a few awkwardly quiet minutes and when I hear the fan come back on I get up and reset my alarm clock. However, this morning (at 2:00 AM) I was feeling particularly lazy so I didn’t bother getting up. The only thing that saved me from the consequences of this potentially poor decision was Norman, our giant cat.
It’s actually quite ironic that it was Norman who woke me up. He usually sleeps next to my face for a few hours and then retires downstairs where the rooms are cooler and there is less snoring. This week Norman and his sister Vera (those of you who watched Cheers might find these names mildly amusing) have been banished from downstairs for reasons that will remain unsaid. This means they have to spend all day and all night (which to them must feel like eternity) upstairs, usually hanging out on our bed. So, if the cats hadn’t been rotten Norman wouldn’t have been forced to sleep upstairs (mostly on my head) all night therefore waking me up on time (almost) to pronounce that he was, in deed, hungry for his regularly scheduled breakfast. What a blessing?
What did go down was our power, again. We must live in a giant cesspool of perpetual electricity lossidness (yes, that’s a word in my world). Every time it rains during the night we lose power. Usually it’s only out for a few awkwardly quiet minutes and when I hear the fan come back on I get up and reset my alarm clock. However, this morning (at 2:00 AM) I was feeling particularly lazy so I didn’t bother getting up. The only thing that saved me from the consequences of this potentially poor decision was Norman, our giant cat.
It’s actually quite ironic that it was Norman who woke me up. He usually sleeps next to my face for a few hours and then retires downstairs where the rooms are cooler and there is less snoring. This week Norman and his sister Vera (those of you who watched Cheers might find these names mildly amusing) have been banished from downstairs for reasons that will remain unsaid. This means they have to spend all day and all night (which to them must feel like eternity) upstairs, usually hanging out on our bed. So, if the cats hadn’t been rotten Norman wouldn’t have been forced to sleep upstairs (mostly on my head) all night therefore waking me up on time (almost) to pronounce that he was, in deed, hungry for his regularly scheduled breakfast. What a blessing?
August 3, 2010
What about bob...
Rachel had her first haircut last night. It took five of us to do it: one to hold her (mommy), one to keep her occupied (Grandpa), one to actually cut her hair (Grandma), one to take the pictures (daddy) and one to get stuffed in her little pie hole (the plastic butterfly).
It’s not really in a “bob” style though.
It’s not really in a “bob” style though.
August 2, 2010
Four-letter word...
I am a historian, not in the sense that I am a history buff (although I do enjoy learning about history but can never retain specifics) but more along the lines of remembering odd dates and reminiscing about them. This habit drives Jake nuts and I’m sure it will someday make Rachel crazy too. I can’t say that I blame my husband for hating it when I say things like, “Do you remember what we did a year ago today?” This usually generates a look of panic that flashes across his face as he goes through the calendar in his mind, trying to recall birthdays, our anniversary, holidays, etc. When he is absolutely positive that he hasn’t forgotten anything important he’ll finally admit that no, he has no idea what we were doing a year ago today. Then I usually spout off some obscure fact like, “A year ago today I bought my first maternity shirt. Don’t you know what that means honey?! Look how much has changed since then!”
I was pregnant and miserable last year at this time. I hated being pregnant. I knew something was amiss before I could even take a test to prove my suspicions because I was already having morning sickness…and it lasted more than half-way through my pregnancy. Plus, there was nothing “morning” about it. I was sick all day every day. And when I finally wasn’t sick anymore I was exhausted, sore, losing my voice, fattening up everywhere and freakin hot (even in the middle of winter). I often admitted that I was, in fact, probably missing the mommy gene because I hated being pregnant so much. I found it hard to believe that some women not only like being pregnant but they miss those days.
Yet, as much as I hated being pregnant, the blessing was worth it and I will probably do it again.
Last summer I thought of a four-letter word that I think may very well describe these women, including my own mother, who choose to go through pregnancy more than once; hero.
I was pregnant and miserable last year at this time. I hated being pregnant. I knew something was amiss before I could even take a test to prove my suspicions because I was already having morning sickness…and it lasted more than half-way through my pregnancy. Plus, there was nothing “morning” about it. I was sick all day every day. And when I finally wasn’t sick anymore I was exhausted, sore, losing my voice, fattening up everywhere and freakin hot (even in the middle of winter). I often admitted that I was, in fact, probably missing the mommy gene because I hated being pregnant so much. I found it hard to believe that some women not only like being pregnant but they miss those days.
Yet, as much as I hated being pregnant, the blessing was worth it and I will probably do it again.
Last summer I thought of a four-letter word that I think may very well describe these women, including my own mother, who choose to go through pregnancy more than once; hero.
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