Face Off

I have a job which requires me to put in nine hours of face time every day. One of those hours is a lunch hour, which I am careful to take. I also have an hour commute each way, so my time spent at home during the week is limited. I am comfortable with spending nine hours at the office (I consider it to be part of the unspoken expectations for a job at my responsibility level and frankly I’m pleased they don’t ask more of me) but my husband objects to me falling in line with the nine hour requirement – he thinks I should work a strict nine to five day, and that no employer or job deserves more than that if you aren’t getting paid overtime. He sort of has a point.

There is history here, too – I once work a job which paid badly and demanded incessant fifty to 60 hour weeks, which I put in. That plus the commute to that job took a toll on my health and on our relationship, so I can see that my husband doesn’t want that to happen again. His fears are understandable, but from my perspective it’s a little frustrating – can’t he see that I learned my lesson from that other job?

From a practical point of view, there’s not a lot of benefit in it for me to insist with my employer on an eight hour work day. At work I have interesting, rewarding things to do that I get paid well for doing. Coming home earlier would just mean I had more time to do the housework. Sure, theoretically I could use extra time to get more writing done, but in practice my husband and I are both such neat freaks that I’d feel too guilty to be able to sit down and write while the house was a mess, so the housework would come first, and housework is such a time suck – there’s always more to be done – that I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to carve out any more writing time than I’ve currently got.

But, you say, this is a dire viewpoint. Maybe my husband just wants to spend more time with his wife. To which I reply, that may well be true – and I’d definitely like to spend more time with him – but my husband, in addition to working full time, is in school half time and plays in a band. Of the two of us, I spend a lot more time at home than he does. And if I can deal with not seeing him as much as I’d like because of his obligations, why won’t he cut me some slack for my work obligations? It’s my career, I’m passionate about my field, I enjoy it, I’m ambitious. And as long as I’m able to maintain a good life-work balance, I think it’s okay to choose to spend 45 hours a week in the office instead of putting up a fight for 40.

So far, though, I’ve been unable to convince my husband of this, which makes me wonder if I am just completely off base. I also don’t know anyone else with this problem, so that’s hard too – I have no model to follow. I guess I’ll just continue to muddle through as best I can – which is what we all spend life doing, so I’m in good company there.

The Second Shift Begins

I'm just sitting down to write this at 10:30. Today I worked from 9 am - 7 pm (my husband had class this evening - after a full day at work - which meant I had the rare luxury of working late, since there would be no one at home tapping their feet and looking at their watch impatiently.)

I got home at 8 and started the second shift. (I don't have a bad commute, mostly sitting and reading on the subway and then a 15 minute walk at the end, but it does take an hour.) Once home, I changed out of and hung up my office clothes and made the bed (which I hadn't gotten around to in the morning) and fed and watered the cats. Then I made dinner (homemade mac & cheese with a bunch of leftover veggies thrown into the veloute and topped with crumbs from the end of a loaf of bread I made this weekend.) I did the dishes as I went along so the end mess wouldn't be too huge. My husband got home from school around then and we sat down for dinner, which was nice. After dinner he finished the dishes while I scooped the catboxes and folded a load of laundry. All of that brought me to 10:30, which is when I finally sat down and started writing this.

I don't really have a larger point to make here, except that jeez, being a grownup is tiring sometime. No wonder I don't have any dang kids; even if I could afford them, I'm tapped out just taking care of the cats and myself and my husband.

School work

Things are getting busy around here. There is always something happening around Small Person's school now; keeping track of the paperwork is a quite a job by itself. Today we got up early, put our work clothes on and headed to school for the annual clean up day. We could have slept in longer, but I'd rather get my chores done early to leave enough room for later fun. We rolled into the parking lot on time to find one other car parked there. One. It belonged to the parents facilitating the event.

I know the basic definition implies that a "Volunteer Work Day" is not mandatory. I know people like to sleep in, or attend services, or want their day off to be just that. I also know that the schools need all the help they can get. I am not excusing our state legislature (or our national educational priorities, for that matter) for its part in this situation, but, c'mon people. One hour? Is that too much to ask?

I don't really have extra funds to contribute to the umpteen raffles, sales, and incentive programs that the local parents' group coordinates. What I do have is some extra time, so that is the currency I spend. I also sincerely believe that my child will learn by my example and today that example showed her how much her parents care about her school. No matter that she tired of picking up garbage after fifteen minutes and headed to the playground. She's five, I give her a pass. I also thoroughly appreciate those that do contribute cash or are running the other fundraising events. I'm generous, I'll give them a pass, too. But, based on my glance at the list of expected volunteers, that must be the remaining 99% of parents whose children attend this small school and decided they didn't need to help out today.

Yeah, let's go with that explanation, it's the one most likely to cheer me up.

My old ponies

Butterscotch and Blossom sit on the windowsill in my daughter’s play area. They were born in 1982, so they’re getting on in age – Blossom’s got missing hair, artfully replaced by a bunch of lilac and yellow ribbons – but their expressions are still patient and placid, friendly and calm.

They’re My Little Ponies -- the Barbies of the animal kingdom, with their girlish prancing forms and large, coy eyes. And they are my My Little Ponies, accumulated during the years when pre-teen horse craziness and an affinity for bright colors intersected.

I had many, and last time we were at my mother’s house we dug them out of the closet for my daughter.

But I feel weird about them, the way they are anthropomorphized – in a way that suggests, if not overtly, sexiness and all the “girl” qualities of flirtatiousness and shiny, shiny hair.

Blossom and Butterscotch are from the first run of ponies, before they got quite so bad, but I have some from later years, too, and they only get more ridiculous.

I’m not sure if I want my daughter to subtly absorb all this weird stuff -- I mean, these ponies come with everything from sparkly combs to wedding dresses, disco gear and roller skates (all of which I own). I try to gracefully accept the fact that I should relax and let her organize them by size, which is what she does with them, and stop worrying. (Of course I could always sell them…)

But they do sort of bug me out. I don't approve and at the same time I cherish them in the way one cherishes a loved toy from a happy childhood.

Especially old Blossom.

Totally normal

Yesterday was my first day of volunteer time in Small Person's classroom. Oddly, the most reassuring thing about it was the evidence that my kid is excessively normal. Goofy, smart, distractible, entertaining, cute; but not any more or less than the rest of the class. I know the law of averages theoretically proves that most of us do not fall greatly out of the norm under any circumstances, and nowhere better to observe that than in kindergarten. 

The class is more noticeably full of individuals, and less raging herd than I expected. I managed to remember a few names, and I could definitely see the range in skills of varying types. I would like to say that Small Person was the most smart, the best in class, but I would be wrong. We like to believe that our children are the most unique, the most special, the cream of the crop, and although it is the exception that proves the rule, for the most part, they are not. It doesn't stop us trying to prove it though. All those high-priced preschools with infinite waiting lists, the private/prep schools with their innumerable extracurriculars, and the skyrocketing numbers of applications to well-regarded universities are better examples of tense parents than special kids, in my opinion. Believe me, I'm not excluding myself from this high-strung group, but I am trying to manage it.

How does a parent walk that line between interference and involvement? We're told over and over that we need to pay attention, help with homework, play sports, join healthy social group activities, all for the benefit of our kids' successful lives. It's another push-me-pull-you dilemma that is written about a lot, but rarely with any concrete, useful answers. Sure, kids need attention, but how does that translate to filling their lives with so much activity that they do not have time for the business of being kids? I do want my child to grow up to be a successful adult, but maybe my definition of success is different from yours. I'm delighted that she is having so much fun with school, in large part because I really didn't. I always felt awkward and left out, and would have given anything to feel normal and usual.

Normalcy is underrated. Who knows what angst we have yet to face, but I can take my shoulders down a notch about this one.

9 to 5

So recently I interviewed for a position a headhunter threw my way, and I decided going in that I wanted a certain level of compensation for the job, because it was a lot more responsibility and would also possibly be a lot more work (i.e., more than 40 hours) than my current job.

Fine, right? But here's the female angle: not only do girls have to be sneaky when they negotiate for more money, but I am also the executive in the family - meaning I make most of the decisions and deal with the outside world - everything from insurance to cat vaccinations to wedding registry stuff. That's fine for now, but here's my conundrum: a better-paying, more prestigious, higher salary job would be good in that it had more salary, but would be hard to balance with my role in this marriage. And I don't think a man would get stuck in this position - he'd have to decide to work harder or not when thinking about the job but he wouldn't be averaging 28 hours a week on housework* in addition to increased job responsibilities.

Meanwhile, my husband is clueless that I'm doing so much more than him - he thinks we have split the work equally. And it's hard to argue that point with him without resorting to charts and actual data or a hidden camera, or something. He tries to keep his end up, but he works full time, goes to nursing school half time and plays in a band. It's not as if he's sitting on the couch watching football and lifting up his feet so I can vacuum under them (my first husband actually did this), it's more that he's simply not physically present to help out and, since he's not present, he also doesn't see the work that I am putting in. Dealing with the litterboxes and taking the garbage out are only noticeable if they don't get done, because then the house smells like a garbage barge infested with a herd of feral cats.

It's a hard problem, and one I haven't really figured out yet. I'm sure something will come. In the meantime, I did take the higher-responsibility job, and we will probably use some of the money to have a cleaner come in once a week, to make my life a little easier. I really want Alice, the Bradys' housekeeper. That would be sweet. Unfortunately I don't think I could afford her.




* I am defining housework here as all the non-enjoyable stuff you have to do to keep the house going - cleaning, sure, but also cooking when you don't feel like it or folding laundry or medicating the cats or whatever.

Say "yes" to the natural high

Ah, good – “scientific proof” for my post on post-baby hormone highs.

From the BBC comes this snippet.

Brain scans on 12 new mothers soon after birth found more activity in areas linked to motivation and emotions in those who had a vaginal delivery.

The Yale University team says differences in the hormones generated by birth could be the key.

The women in this study were those who elected to have a Caesarean.

The contractions which are an essential part of a natural birth trigger the release of the hormone oxytocin, which is thought to play a key role in shaping maternal behaviour.

Not that you can’t get Blissed out on oxytocin after having a Caesarean – I know a couple mothers who had C-sections and were floating afterwards. But both of them breastfed and spent long hours nuzzled up against their babies, which also stimulates the wonder drug.

But all this is why I have to feel a little sorry for the men. It’s pretty damn hard being the parent of a small baby, and to do it without the extra brain help? Even harder. Not that the fathers I know don’t love their little ones – but their relationships develop later, and in other less druggie ways.

Hello, I'm cute

Now that we all have online profiles, whether it’s something vaguely professional liked LinkedIn or it’s Facebook or just your profile at some Ning site, I’m seeing a lot of photos. Photos of people. Photos of women, ordinary women, confronted with the sudden need to look sexy.

I’m not talking about bikini shots on your CV website or anything ridiculous like that. I’m talking about the pressure to at least look “cute” online.
Because we all know snapshots are so cruel in their variability – you get one where you look great and one where you were having a great time but you look sweaty and tired and horribly old.

Think of the hundreds of work minutes wasted by a million women trawling through photos to find the right one to post!

And as a vain person, believe me I am not immune.

(There’s always the “photo of your kitten” route, but then people like me who forget names get confused. Like there’s a guy on Facebook who friended me with a picture of a – I guess *his* -- dog, and I have no clue who he is. I’m sure I do know him, I could just click “accept” but it bothers me.)

Speaking of parenting...

My Small Person is having so much fun in kindergarten. Every day is an adventure for her; new friends, activities, tasks, experiences. Unlike Mom, she relishes the new, the unexpected, exciting novelty of different people and places. I try not to telegraph my uneasiness too obviously to her. It's her life, she deserves the respect of making her own choices, decisions, and mistakes. Can she climb that tree? Run x distance away from me at the park? Pour her own juice? I don't know, and neither does she, but we will never find out if I always tell her no, or impose restrictive limits that equal "no" just the same.

Obviously, every circumstance has different variables to take into account. And, maybe not obviously if you don't know me, I would never jeopardize my child's safety. I'm observant, I pay attention, I do freak-out when she gets too close to the street and hover like the best helicopter parent around the pool. The point is, to rein her in too much is to do a disservice to her development as a person.

For example (and what precipitated this topic), there is a fun task each child in her class gets to do, turn by turn. They get to bring home the class plushie animal, with journal, to enjoy cosily, privately. The journal is to record whatever the family would like about the day's activities with the rabbit. We were all introduced to rabbit and journal during orientation, when the teacher explained that the kids could draw a picture, or write something, or, perhaps, have a parent write for them. I know, it's kindergarten, not a lot of writing happening yet, although most kids in the class can write their own names. Today was Small Person's turn! Hooray! But, I was a little surprised when I opened the journal to find tidy, detailed, essays in grown-up handwriting, with nary a drawing or childish scrawl in sight. Why? Too messy? Too childish? I felt confused, and, I admit, judgmental. Why wouldn't these parents "let" their kids draw in the book? Are these folks going to be typing their term papers later? 

Yes, I'm paranoid. And reactionary. And, what else? A crazy hippie permissive attachment parent? Yep, that too. The point is, which is more important; neatness, or creativity? Her ability to follow directions, or her ability to think for herself? Self-esteem, or self-abasement? Okay, maybe that last one was a little harsh. It's late, I have issues of my own. I'll reserve further judgment until Back-to-School Night on Thursday. I'll keep you posted.

I don't like the way you parent

The other day I saw some bad parenting. Nothing horrible – no slap or vicious words. It’s just I was talking to this woman and every word that came out of her mouth was the antithesis of the kind of parenting I value.

This is America – so it’s none of my business what you do and how you live your life, unless you back your car into my house or something. Right?

Only when it’s about babies, it’s hard for me not to – at least – trash talk her in my mind. Some kin of maternal protectiveness, I suppose, makes it difficult not to hate someone that is damaging a child in some way, whether it’s their health or creative development or mental stability or whatever.

And I think that the fact I don’t engage people like that mother (constructively) probably means I don’t have the guts.

Happy Labor Day

It’s Labor Day, and what better time to wish a successful labor to all those mamas out there waiting to give birth.

In politics, absurdity is not a handicap*

So I am a teensy bit conflicted about Sarah Palin as the choice for the republican VP. On the one hand, her stances on global warming (doesn't believe in it), evolution (is a creationist), and abortion (anti-choice) make her an automatic no for my liberal self.

On the other hand, it's pretty cool that there will either be a woman as VP or a black man as president come January. And then my mind blew a little further when it was announced that Palin's 17 year old daughter is pregnant and keeping the baby and getting married. The announcement emphasized how it was the daughter's choice to keep the baby. (I guess, in that family, her other option was adoption?)

And really, that choice is fine - I am actually not being judgey about Palin's daughter's right to keep the baby and get married. But ... what if you aren't the insulated by the economic and social privileges conferred by being the daughter of the governor of Alaska, and your choice is much starker, economically and socially?

So I was talking about the Palin choice with my parents retired, who moved out West and bought a handgun. So they are a good example of independent swing voters who could be induced to vote for John McCain. And Mom and Dad are both leery of talking politics with me; I don't know why, since I am pretty calm about it. I think they just know that we are on opposite sides of the fence and don't want a debate to get heated. Ever. We are WASPs, after all.

Case in point: when I told Dad about Sarah Palin's stance on global warming - I didn't tell him that her office had sued the Bush administration for putting polar bears on the endangered list, I just told him that she didn't believe that climate change was caused by humans - he agreed and said that he thought the earth has been through many changes before and it is probably going through another one and that reducing carbon emissions is, in all likelihood, going to just reduce carbon emissions and not change the path of the planet's climate. I didn't get into the science - lord knows I am not a scientist - I just said that it was okay with me to try to reduce carbon emissions just in case.

And that kind of defines my political stance on everything. I want abortion to be available for everyone, just in case they need it. I want carbon emissions to be reduced, just in case it does help. I believe in evolution (well, I am also an atheist, so that's kind of a no brainer.) I want to improve everyone's social welfare and future, not just my own. I'm not really under any illusions about living in a meritocracy - my nice life is the product of a massive amount of privilege, probably often at the expense of others, and what I want to do with my privilege is share it.

And I think that's a belief system, actually, which is why my parents and I are on the opposite sides of the fence. I believe that I got lucky, and that I have a responsibility to share that luck, no matter how unlikely it is that I will, myself, ever need an abortion and be unable to afford one, or how unlikely it is that serious climate change will disrupt the course of my life (probably won't).

My parents believe in a meritocracy. And that's why they are comfortable voting for someone who wants to take away rights** they don't really see themselves as needing any more (access to abortion) and who likes policies that could wreak havoc on generations to come (drilling for oil in Alaska.) Because they believe that hard work is rewarded, that terrible things are unlikely to come to pass and I ... just don't. Despite my own nice life and how hard I know I have worked to achieve it. I think it's pretty much like belief in god: you have faith, or you don't.



*Napolean Bonaparte

** mind you, I have no idea if my parents agree on this matter or if they are completely comfortable making these votes or if they will even vote for McCain. I sort of set up StrawParents for this post. I'm sure my real parents and not the StrawParents are weighing the options and see the possible loss of abortion rights as less crucial to the well-being of the country than, I don't know, tax cuts or whatever is appealing about John McCain.