Okay, so what am I supposed to do when I am unfriended by someone? SOMEONE I HAVEN'T EVER MET? My husband's cousin friend requested me many, many months ago, and I accepted. I will admit I was kind of judgy of her posts because they were always, always, always glass-half-empty kind of posts. But I never commented on them, or sent her a note stating I thought she needed to look on the bright side. 'Cause nothing is more irritating to a pessimist than being told to look on the bright side.
Anyway...
I spoke to her mother on the phone recently, and it got me thinking that I hadn't seen any of her updates in awhile. I thought maybe she hadn't been posting, or that maybe with the Facebook re-design I hadn't flagged her as someone from whom I'd like to see updates. Whatever.
I did a search on my friends, and nope, she didn't show up. So then I wondered if she'd deleted her account. I went to my sister-in-law's Facebook page, and this cousin-in-law WAS THERE.
Weird, right? I mean, it's not like Facebook relationships really require tending of any sort. So now I"m wondering -- in as benign a way as possible -- why, if she was paring down her Facebook friends, I didn't make the cut?
Seriously, I'm not stressing about it. Just struck me as odd. Though now I'll have a conversation crutch if we happen to meet. "So, uh, nice to meet you. Hey, why'd you unfriend me?"
That'll be a hoot a the next family reunion.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
You Load Sixteen Tons and What Do You Get...
See, that thar title is apt, APT I say, because I have two nuggets of info to share that relate. Firstly, I head back to work next week.
Urgh.
Not "urgh" because I don't like my job. I do, actually. Plus, I'm a boss, so it helps that I can delegate work upon my return. "Urgh" because I will actually need to be washed, dressed, brushed, and out the door by an actual time. I cannot begin to explain how unfathomable that is to me right now. It's 11:08 a.m., and I am STILL in my pajamas and unshowered. Lump in the fact that the rhythm of my household management will be totally disrupted, and you can see the source of the "urgh."
But I am returning to work. I like that people think Super Ninja and I are rolling in dough enough to ask if I'm planning on staying at home. Yeah, not so much. We had enough dubloons for me to stay at home without pay for half of my leave, but I prefer to live life off of our income, not off of our savings.
Part the second of this missive is the glorious announcement that I have shed my baby weight. NOW all I need to do is work off the "I stayed at home for three months and ate waaaaaaaaay more brownies than I should have" weight.
Urgh.
Not "urgh" because I don't like my job. I do, actually. Plus, I'm a boss, so it helps that I can delegate work upon my return. "Urgh" because I will actually need to be washed, dressed, brushed, and out the door by an actual time. I cannot begin to explain how unfathomable that is to me right now. It's 11:08 a.m., and I am STILL in my pajamas and unshowered. Lump in the fact that the rhythm of my household management will be totally disrupted, and you can see the source of the "urgh."
But I am returning to work. I like that people think Super Ninja and I are rolling in dough enough to ask if I'm planning on staying at home. Yeah, not so much. We had enough dubloons for me to stay at home without pay for half of my leave, but I prefer to live life off of our income, not off of our savings.
Part the second of this missive is the glorious announcement that I have shed my baby weight. NOW all I need to do is work off the "I stayed at home for three months and ate waaaaaaaaay more brownies than I should have" weight.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Something I Didn't Understand Before I Became a Mother
Know what I didn't fully comprehend before I had children? Just how fully these tiny people PWN you. And I don't mean in the Ron Howardy, "Gee, the kids are constantly asking me for juice/grapes/stories/books" kind of way. Chock-full-of-corn as it sounds, these babies of mine thoroughly own my heart.
Oh my God, you have NO IDEA how hard that was to write. I feel like I'm turning into a Hummel figurine. I have squishy feelings, OKAY?
From the moment the Older Boy was born, my family has invaded my past, present, and future. In doing so, I've been forced to live there a little. Not because I'm the Terminator. Although that would be intriguing. Let me explain what I mean...
Regarding the present: almost every decision my husband and I make is done with respect to what's best for the kids: where we live, how we spend money, what car to buy, what to have for lunch (seriously -- if the Older Boy needs a sandwich and we have two slices of bread, Super Ninja's packing leftovers). That's one way the kids sit on my brain. The other way is just enjoying raising them and the things they do. Like when my kindergartner decides to wear rain boots to school because they are part of his superhero costume and they will make him feel awesome all day...or when my three-year-old daughter says "whobody put this here?" (there's somebody, anybody, nobody, so why not whobody?)...or when my two-month-old wakes up and beams a smile at me... All of that fills me with joy.
(Wow, I am just losing ALL of my hipster cred. Oh well, guess there wasn't that much to lose. I mean, I do Beyonce's "Single Ladies" dance with the Girl. One of us is usually wearing a tutu when this happens. It's not like we're swaying to Kings of Leon around here.)
Losing my focus...
The point is, everyone understands this part of parenthood. It's not hard to wrap your head around the fact that you are responsible for your kids' well-being, that they will do some cute stuff (and some not so cute stuff), that all of it is a lot of work, that you'll be tired, but mostly happy.
But my brain does this weird multi-time-and-place thing. I"m surprised I haven't given myself an aneurysm. I flash to the past to compare my childhood to the one I am giving my children, trying to replicate what was good, trying to change what was not so good. Ultimately, I feel like I understand my parents much, much, much better than I did back then. And I forgive them for a lot more.
Then I flash to the future, and imagine all the possibilities for joy and pain that await my children. Swimming and movies and graduations and college and dating and marriage or holy orders or neither and maybe possibly children of their own and ultimately adventure, lots of adventure... I don't let my mind dwell there too often, because I don't want to force them on a certain path (or invite a fight with me about what they will and won't do with their lives). But I'll hang out with them and my mind will snap to twenty years from now and envision what it'll be like to talk about a movie or politics or whatever with them...
I'm not naive; I know that they will drive me up a wall almost as much as they delight me. My five-year-old already thinks he has the world pretty well figured out, so that'll be fun when he's a teenager.
This forecasting, though...I think this is where fear starts. Worry, in it's milder form. That's the dark side of having a family: the possibility that it would be fractured or lost. See, I have expectations that these children, and my husband, will be a part of my life until my life is done. And if that did not happen, my heart would simply break.
Don't worry, I'm not going all post-partum depression on you. I am like, 98% in the happy. However, I think it's normal to spend some time wondering about how you would react to devastation, like your kid or your husband getting hurt, or sick, or dying. I'm not saying I've gotten funeral planning brochures or anything creepy like that. It's more like a role-playing exercise. Like fire drills. If you imagined that say, your kid fell down a flight of stairs, you might react to it actually happening more quickly.
If you find that you imagine a situation in which you cause these things, though, or sort of wish they would happen so that you can get some sympathy, please go here.
So, there it is: these children, by virtue of being born, have already left their sticky hand prints all over every part of my life. No matter what happens, they are inextricably entwined with who I am. I am still me, the goober who loves Scrabble, staying up late, movies, and being slightly left-of-center. But I'm braided together with these lives, first my husband's, then my children's. Maybe we're programmed this way as humans to ensure survival, but man, it's a doozy when you feel the power of it.
Oh my God, you have NO IDEA how hard that was to write. I feel like I'm turning into a Hummel figurine. I have squishy feelings, OKAY?
From the moment the Older Boy was born, my family has invaded my past, present, and future. In doing so, I've been forced to live there a little. Not because I'm the Terminator. Although that would be intriguing. Let me explain what I mean...
Regarding the present: almost every decision my husband and I make is done with respect to what's best for the kids: where we live, how we spend money, what car to buy, what to have for lunch (seriously -- if the Older Boy needs a sandwich and we have two slices of bread, Super Ninja's packing leftovers). That's one way the kids sit on my brain. The other way is just enjoying raising them and the things they do. Like when my kindergartner decides to wear rain boots to school because they are part of his superhero costume and they will make him feel awesome all day...or when my three-year-old daughter says "whobody put this here?" (there's somebody, anybody, nobody, so why not whobody?)...or when my two-month-old wakes up and beams a smile at me... All of that fills me with joy.
(Wow, I am just losing ALL of my hipster cred. Oh well, guess there wasn't that much to lose. I mean, I do Beyonce's "Single Ladies" dance with the Girl. One of us is usually wearing a tutu when this happens. It's not like we're swaying to Kings of Leon around here.)
Losing my focus...
The point is, everyone understands this part of parenthood. It's not hard to wrap your head around the fact that you are responsible for your kids' well-being, that they will do some cute stuff (and some not so cute stuff), that all of it is a lot of work, that you'll be tired, but mostly happy.
But my brain does this weird multi-time-and-place thing. I"m surprised I haven't given myself an aneurysm. I flash to the past to compare my childhood to the one I am giving my children, trying to replicate what was good, trying to change what was not so good. Ultimately, I feel like I understand my parents much, much, much better than I did back then. And I forgive them for a lot more.
Then I flash to the future, and imagine all the possibilities for joy and pain that await my children. Swimming and movies and graduations and college and dating and marriage or holy orders or neither and maybe possibly children of their own and ultimately adventure, lots of adventure... I don't let my mind dwell there too often, because I don't want to force them on a certain path (or invite a fight with me about what they will and won't do with their lives). But I'll hang out with them and my mind will snap to twenty years from now and envision what it'll be like to talk about a movie or politics or whatever with them...
I'm not naive; I know that they will drive me up a wall almost as much as they delight me. My five-year-old already thinks he has the world pretty well figured out, so that'll be fun when he's a teenager.
This forecasting, though...I think this is where fear starts. Worry, in it's milder form. That's the dark side of having a family: the possibility that it would be fractured or lost. See, I have expectations that these children, and my husband, will be a part of my life until my life is done. And if that did not happen, my heart would simply break.
Don't worry, I'm not going all post-partum depression on you. I am like, 98% in the happy. However, I think it's normal to spend some time wondering about how you would react to devastation, like your kid or your husband getting hurt, or sick, or dying. I'm not saying I've gotten funeral planning brochures or anything creepy like that. It's more like a role-playing exercise. Like fire drills. If you imagined that say, your kid fell down a flight of stairs, you might react to it actually happening more quickly.
If you find that you imagine a situation in which you cause these things, though, or sort of wish they would happen so that you can get some sympathy, please go here.
So, there it is: these children, by virtue of being born, have already left their sticky hand prints all over every part of my life. No matter what happens, they are inextricably entwined with who I am. I am still me, the goober who loves Scrabble, staying up late, movies, and being slightly left-of-center. But I'm braided together with these lives, first my husband's, then my children's. Maybe we're programmed this way as humans to ensure survival, but man, it's a doozy when you feel the power of it.
I Have a Blog?
Yes, yes, I know, my postings have been rather sparse. I think it's because I've been posting status updates on my Facebook account. I gave Twitter a shot, but I find the 144 character limit daunting. It got to a point where I thought if I couldn't whittle something down to 144 characters, then it was too dense. I think this is also what people feel about the healthcare reform bill. We will eventually get to a point in society where we will only use the pain tolerance chart to communicate our feelings about something. Because anything else would be excessive, no?
Anyway.
I am inspired to write when I am challenged. And for the past two months I have been home with Baby Boy, so the challenges? Not really there. Many of you are thinking, "Herm. Isn't a newborn challenging? Especially when you have a 5-year-old and a 3-year-old?" I guess it is, but dudes, I have GOT this. Older Boy is in kindergarten, the Girl is in daycare, so it's just me and the babe. His demands are easily met, and then he goes back to sleep. Easy-peasy. I've built shelves, tested out recipes, rearranged furniture, and corresponded old skool style.
There will be a deluge of annoyance when I return to work. Mostly because I don't control the environment Stromboli-style, as I do at home. Ugh, I can already feel my hackles rising. The meetings, the e-mails, the meetings... 'Til, then, though, I'll be the overlord of my own little 10,000 square foot patch of earth.
Anyway.
I am inspired to write when I am challenged. And for the past two months I have been home with Baby Boy, so the challenges? Not really there. Many of you are thinking, "Herm. Isn't a newborn challenging? Especially when you have a 5-year-old and a 3-year-old?" I guess it is, but dudes, I have GOT this. Older Boy is in kindergarten, the Girl is in daycare, so it's just me and the babe. His demands are easily met, and then he goes back to sleep. Easy-peasy. I've built shelves, tested out recipes, rearranged furniture, and corresponded old skool style.
There will be a deluge of annoyance when I return to work. Mostly because I don't control the environment Stromboli-style, as I do at home. Ugh, I can already feel my hackles rising. The meetings, the e-mails, the meetings... 'Til, then, though, I'll be the overlord of my own little 10,000 square foot patch of earth.
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