The "Santa" Clause

"Have you taken Samara to get her picture taken with Santa yet?" When an acquaintance asked me that the other day, I had to make sure not to roll my eyes.  It never occurred to me that I'd have to reconsider my "no Santa" rule for Samara's FIRST Christmas at 8 months old.  Santa as our country portrays it has nothing to do with celebrating the birth of our Savior.  Yes, I've been called a Grinch more than one, but it isn't that I hate Christmas.  I hate Commercialismas.

The truth of the matter is, I think a very difficult part of motherhood is balancing it with all the growing commercialism of life.  Halloween was my first encounter - costumes and candy, originally centered around evil sprits on the eve of All Saints Day.  Never made any sense to me.  At one point, I heard someone say that Halloween is a time to dress up like anything you want - anything you've ever wished you were.  Now THAT is a fun idea to me, and I can "get" that.  But it is hard to undo myself of all of my "ways."

Enter Christmas.  And Christmas really is a hard holiday for me.  Ask my mother.  At least 2 Christmases, after receipt of my presents - of which there were many - I'd start to cry.  My parents were very understanding - never angry or yelling which is a good thing because I was never entirely sure why I was crying.  If I had to guess, I would say it is because I was not filled in any way by the gifts.  The gifts were great, but I think for me the anticipation of the day and the anticipation of how I thought those gifts would make me feel were never matched.

So as people line up at midnight the day after Thanksgiving, I admit, I'm a little disgusted.  When a colleague asked me if I'd gone shopping on Black Friday, I laughed and said, "No way, I'm not crazy.  I can't handle all of the hype." And seconds after I said it, I realized she may actually LIKE Black Friday, which turned out to be the case.  But rather than feel too embarrassed about my comment, I decided to get to the bottom of this - why does she do this?  She said it was a rush - that she felt she was in the moment...  I can't say that I understand THAT, but I do understand the "rush."

My "rush," for sure, is giving.  It must be.  I spend the entire YEAR thinking of things to get for people and then I insert my latest idea into the upcoming appropriate gift-giving occasion - Christmas, birthday, Mother/Father's Day.  I take my gift-giving seriously.  And it isn't that I need to get something "personal" as much as I want something useful. The last thing I want to do is give someone more junk, although I know many of my gifts have done exactly that - but then again, I never claimed to be perfect...  The rush I get is that someone gets something they need - I tell you, I HAVE cried at Price is Right when someone says they have a 20-year old car, and then they win a new one.  I also buy livestock each year for those in other countries, via World Vision.  And I'm working on getting people to donate to others, rather than give gifts to me.

I've yet to figure out what to do about Santa.  Because surely Santa IS about giving - he GIVES the gifts. I just don't like what our stores and the need for our economy to strengthen has done with a holiday around Jesus' birth.  I suppose as much as I guess Samara deserves to wake up and see what SHE's been given, I want her to be excited to see the faces of those to whom she gives.  So, "no" Samara is not going to get her picture taken with Santa this year.  When she asks, sure.   And on the way, we'll drop off donations at the local Goodwill, or bring canned food to a soup kitchen.  I never knew I'd have to sign onto Santa but since it seems I will, we might as well embrace the true meaning of Santa, and give.

Rats, Mosquitoes, and Teething

So my original idea for this post was that I would compare the purposeless nature of rats and mosquitoes with painful teething.  As my daughter screams her lungs out, very angry and upset, I wonder why God made the process so painful.  I thought a good comparison would be rats and mosquitoes, because what human can find use for them?  But upon a very cursory Google search, I found the answers to both inquiries within 30 seconds.

Rats are scavengers and are important to the animal kingdom, and well... we humans exploit their existence via scientific testing and our own personal gain.  So there goes THAT comparison.

Then, I looked up mosquitoes.  And though it took quite a while to get to their purpose, it seems that they pollenate some plants.  And well, I do believe in breathing oxygen and the more we cut down these darned plants, the less likely we are to be breathing oxygen (a joke, sort of!)

And in the same vein, I've had to find the purpose to painful teething at the seventh degree of separation.  It surely isn't the pain in my daughter's eyes that could serve the purpose.  Certainly my daughter has done nothing wrong and doesn't deserve this pain.  So maybe the pain is for me to suffer any wrong I've done.  But that theory is just ill-fitting.  I don't believe God has such a direct "tit for tat" nature.  Yet, maybe the pain is to test the parents and those around the child, to keep their cool.  It is, if you will, the taking off of the training wheels to up the anti when puberty and hormones strike.  Tim and I do have our moments when we disagree as to the method for calming our child and curing her pain.

But, after a particularly grueling night, during which I worked on my dissertation while she slept, and then unfortunately was called to "calming down baby" duty immediately upon lying in bed, I found the answer.  NOTE:  I said after a particularly grueling night.  This morning was a gift.  I know, corny, but it was.  She cried for almost 2 hours straight - 4am to 6am.  Finally, I got her to calm down and she and I laid in bed and, I feel, had a conversation.  She chewed on her toy, babbled, and cooed.  I tickled her a little bit and smothered her with kisses.  And she let me because she was exhausted.  She looked directly in my eyes and smiled her big, wide smile. We were both tired, but during that half hour, she let me know that she understood: it was not my fault that these teeth hurt.

Yet, who knows.  Tonight, she may scream and cry and look at me as if to say, "Why?"  And for mornings like these, it may not make it better, but may at least cancel out.

Ode to the Mini in my Life

Almost eight months ago

I sat in the hospital bed

Awaiting a new being in my life

I knew parenthood would be different

I had heard it would be glorious

and I longed for all that you would teach me

For as I shape out a place for you in this life

and continue on my journey to be a healthy

Christian, wife, professional, student, artist and friend

I have learned many things

There is an enormous amount of things that can be done in only ten minutes

I know this because I boil each of your bottles for ten minutes

Hair, laundry, makeup, reading you a book, packing lunch - each task takes ten minutes or less

You love the sound of goofy words

What words are goofier than the names of our Country's states?

We focus on, and sing about, a new one each day - today was Mississippi - doesn't get any sillier!

If I need to relax during a day of stress

I literally need only think of your smile

And like the Energizer Bunny, I'm ready to keep on keeping on

The best sound a car ride has to offer

Is the sound of you babbling to your toy octopus

I do not listen to the radio - you're the best radio personality I know!

Your eyes are the most amazing part of your body

I can transfer trust to you, just by gazing at you,

and when I watch your eyes, I can see all that you learn about the world around you

And while many others mark down every baby's milestone

I can't quite seem to pinpoint the MOST important one

because each day you grow more amazing in my sight 

I am told I will miss you at this age

that I should track everything so I will have great memories

But the best memories are those I make each moment with you as you learn and grow

It isn't so much that I have made you the center of my life

Instead, you made a way to the center of my heart

and there you'll always be

Resonance

The context in which the events that occurred this past Saturday are indeed ironic, and of course, tragic.  First, it was September 11 - a day where senseless killing is felt throughout America.  Second, it was the day after World Suicide Prevention Day. Third, while the events occurred, I was at a fundraiser for the York County Suicide Prevention Coalition.  And so, as an adult and close friend of the couple thought to be victims of a murder-suicide, I am finding it hard to cope.

Yet the significance of this event, and the trouble I find in "making it through," resonates deeper.  I have worked with children who live in challenging environments for eight years (I HATE the phrases "inner-city" or "at-risk" but feel free to insert said phrases if it helps in understanding).  And as I work with these children, race, teacher-quality, resource-availability, infrastructure, politics, and power are the hot topics that emerge as the reasons for why our public schools do not deliver an equitable education throughout our nation.

Do me a favor: sit down and ASK a child where "the system" (any system, because there are many) failed them. A majority of children will identify a traumatic circumstance in their life as the point where they went off-track.  Certainly children from all socio-economic circumstances experience trauma.  And it isn't necessarily the trauma itself that is the problem, but the follow-through.  Most children I talk with (and these are youth who are truant or have dropped out) identify the loss of a friend or relative to violence as the time where they lost interest in and control of their lives.  But without counseling and consideration of these children's circumstances, youth learn to cope in their own ways.  So while some children work through their loss in therapy, many of our youth continue to attend school with nary a mention of their loss.  In fact, when their anger and confusion finally breaks through and they act out, they are labelled as "failing," "at-risk," "troubled," "challenging," "a danger," "a problem child," "different," "a bad influence," [INSERT HERE]; they are placed in an alternative education setting, and learn to believe these labels.  Why not do as your told?

And my point is this: for any of these children who have experienced a loss due to violence I simply cannot imagine what life is like.  Period.  Going through this, as I mentioned, as an adult and as a friend who has pretty well-tuned coping skills, is one thing.  But to be the relative of a murder/suicide victim is absolutely incomprehensible to me.  The whys of the murder, the whys of the suicide, they whys of life could - in all honesty - easily put me on a path to self-destruction.  So what was once a black-and-white text book concept, will resonate blood-red with me for a lifetime.

Thank You

It is very important to me, Clare, to thank you for everything that you did.  As I write this, I am still getting used to the fact that I will never hear your sweet voice - or better yet, your lovely laugh - in my ear, ever again.  But I write this post as if you could hear me.  You, sweet Clare, gave me so much inspiration to even BE a mother.   While I knew you, Tim and I were not parents.  I met, and took care of, your sweet Rayleigh and Ramsey.  You were a mom who endured law school and law firm interivews, and it seems, you were a mom who endured much more than I ever knew.  But all I know is that you were a woman who took your motherhood with such grace and love.  Aside from my own mother, you have been the most inspiring mother to me.  Your patience and love and humor with your children did not go unnoticed.  I cannot believe that I have lost you.  I cannot believe I will never see you or hear your voice again.  I am so saddened and disheartened.  I am so confused.  Sweet Erin, Kathryn, Rayleigh, Ramsey, and Ryan - I am so very sorry.  Your mother and her patience, I feel, gave Samara a much better mother.  You had a diamond in the rough.  Your mother is SO missed and SO loved.  Thank you, Clare.  God, I know you have a purpose.

The One Thing

Service is the rent we pay for being. It is the very purpose of life, and not something you do in your spare time. 
- Marian Wright Edelman


It's been a long while since I've written.  It isn't that I haven't had anything about which to write, necessairly, but I felt that I'd either already written about it or somebody else had.


In 11 days I am hosting a coutywide effort focusing on truancy that expects an attendance of 500 people.  Though I am receiving an abundance of help, I am the "mastermind" responsible for it all.  In other words, if something goes wrong, it is my fault.  Yet, even with that pressure - to the point where I wake up at 2:30am thinking about something I should do to make it better - I dedicated a completely free schedule to a Day of Action with United Way of York.  First, United Way of York is helping to fund said-Summit so I feel that I should give back, but I believe, in every fiber of my being, in the quote that begins this blog.  


So I sacrified a potential nine-hours of planning during which I could have caught up and would not be so far behind in my work, to push a lovely 91-year-old woman around the York Fair and to organize books for the York County Literacy Council book fair.


While I was organizing these books I asked a woman with whom I was volunteering whether she often volunteered with the York County Literacy Council.  She seemed amazed at my question and answered that she had a son who was a senior and a son who was a 7th grader.  She did not have time, she said.  Their sports schedules were so time-consuming there was hardly time for anything else.  Another volunteer heard this and chimed in that she remembered when her boys were young - all the games and the practices and the time dedicated to driving and watching said games, etc.


As I continued to listen I decided that I would never let Samara's activities - or mine or Tim's for that matter - stop me from giving back to my community.  Thinking back, I know I danced  A LOT when I was young, but I do not think I let it stop me from giving back (Mom, correct me if I'm wrong.)  If anything, it would be great family times.  And this revelation has answered a question I've been asking myself for many weeks.  My daughter - like all children her age - is a sponge.  So everyday I ask myself, what is the one thing I would want to teach this "sponge" and how do I do it?  How do you teach the mindset that if you have a dollar and you're not really that thirsty, buying lemonade for a person who hasn't had a drink since the day before is a better investment?  Better yet, teach her to invest in an organization that teaches people how to MAKE lemonade.  And as many wise folk will tell you, lead by example - that is the best way to teach.  


So I will take Samara to my weekend fundraisers - like the fundraisers we have scheduled to attend tomorrow.  We will volunteer as tutors and painters and helpers and whatevers at the agencies who serve the folks who need us.  I will teach her that because I invest time and money into her interests (whatever they may be) I ask that she give back to the community that I know needs our help and attention.  We will because that is what life is about.  So I won't wait for spare time to knock on my door because it won't.  Other to-do items will always exist.  It is the making of the time because- AGAIN - that is what life is about.  That is the legacy I hope to leave.

"Wallowing" is Such Sweet Sorrow

Wallowing in sorrow is not productive. I rarely allow myself to do it because it can suck the energy right out of me.  These days, that energy is very valuable.  I write tonight, however, to wallow.  Quite frankly, I’m sick of it all.  I love my family and I love my job.  I wish my life was just my family and my job.  With a dissertation hanging over my head, I do not often feel justified in the ways in which I spend my time when it isn’t writing the darned thing.  I miss reading a book for pleasure.  I do not remember the last book I read – this is very sad to me.  I miss waking up on a Saturday morning and having nothing on my agenda.  These days even if I do take a day off to actually spend with my family, I feel guilty the entire time.  I miss feeling good and satisfied about the decisions I make. 

On the other hand, the last time I was not in school was in the summer of 2004 – six years ago.  I guess I don’t even know the things I miss.  I don’t really remember what it is like to have hobbies in which you can invest time.  I couldn’t tell you the last time I went bowling or to the movies.  Well, actually, the last movie I went to in the theatre was in 2005…  I think overall, I wish I would actually have the time and energy to follow through with the things that are important to me. 

I am paying a lot for this dissertation of mine.  I can’t tell you much of what I’m learning, although arguably a dissertation is not an educational experience as much as it is a test of what has already been learned.  But today I can tell you what it costs me – full satisfaction; time to spend with my family; my own growth in spiritual and recreational matters; the ability to more adequately give back to my community.  I am often commended for this journey, but right now I hate it.  And like fizz that has been contained in a seltzer bottle for months if not years, I am releasing this negativity. 

I do hope to finish what I started.  I think that people would say it is good for Samara to have an example of a strong, dedicated mother who sticks to her commitments and doesn’t quit.  Yet I find myself asking whether it is wise to advocate to your child the act of sticking to something that isn’t satisfying – sounds more like idiotic stubbornness to me.

FYI

It may be a while before I post again - a week or so.  Unless, of course, the stress and excitement (because I love what I'm doing) of the next few weeks wakes me up in the wee hours of the night and I can't sleep. 

But for now,
I am signing off from my blog to return at a later date,
with hopes of a slightly lighter load on my plate! :-)

Our Daily Bread

As a lifelong member of the Episcopal Church, it is easy to let the "antiquated language" of the century's old prayers wash over me, without ever considering their meaning.  But if you sit down and consider the meaning of many of these prayers, you need not ever shop in the self-help isle at Borders or Barnes and Noble.  I remember the epiphany I had when I learned, line by line, the meaning of the Lord's Prayer ("Our Father, Who Art in Heaven...") in Sunday School.  And the particular line, "Give us this Day, Our Daily Bread" struck me then and has stuck with me since.  We are not asking for bread, obviously, but for just enough of what we need - the essentials - to get through each day.

So though I firmly believe in this, and find it to be great comfort when I pray this line, I would have to admit that I don't live it.  It is very hard to change behaviors - we all know that.  I have spent most of my life with ideals, but rarely ever living up to one tenth of what they ask of me.  Mind you, I have a four-month-old baby.  We GROW things these days...diapers, wipes, bottles, baby food, toys, books, clothes, washcloths...  Not to mention the mini-version of this list, as found in the diaper bag.  My mother and sister bought me an amazing diaper bag - a trendy, purse-type.  I love it, but find it hard to minimize what I "need" into this bag, although I feel the parameters of "need" can be expanded when one attempts to bring a baby into society - resolving issues and preventing cries is of utmost importance - so anything that can help in this effort is "needed."

On the other hand, I spend so much more time considering Samara's needs (which arguably I think anything done for Samara is a "need" - physical, mental, emotional and social growth being considered.) that I do put myself second and I am rather happy to do so.  No, I am not going to be on a TV show in ten years looking worse for the wear because I invest all of my energy in Samara and none in myself.  But it is helping me let go of "things."  Rather than carry a baglady purse, where the joke is that you need a purse within a purse in order to find what you need, I now have four items I take with me - keys in hand, sunglasses on head, and phone and wallet in diaper bag or briefcase.  In my wallet I squeeze in a pen and lip gloss.  Better yet, I recently got a smartphone.  I was anti-smartphone for a long, long time.  I did not NEED one and judged that many other people did not need one either.  I saw it as an electronic leash to work and to email.  Instead I cherished computer time while AT the computer, family time while WITH the family, etc.  There was no need to be surfing the internet while waiting for my food to arrive at the restaurant.  But with this gadget I have minimized many other "needs."  I have weaned myself off of my planner.  I track exercise, diet and weight negating my need for my journal.  And as the commercials will show, I could potentially do many other things with all these apps, I just have yet to explore them.

My point to this entire post has barely emerged.  I read another friend's blog the other day - a blog about the things that she missed while her husband serves our country abroad in the Army.  She misses holding hands, co-parenting, SHARING a bed, discussing her day at work, etc.  And those are the things that ARE my Daily Bread.  This blog is about a Portioned Plate with a lot going on.  And with so much going on, "things" easily get in the way yet rarely make life easier.  Less is more.  This is a new focus for me - I am not going to sell my possessions and I continue to recycle all that I do own.  But I will reconsider purchases and instead invest time in my family.  In last week's sermon, my pastor read Mahatma Ghandi's Seven Social Sins, and by listing them, I will close this post.  I mention them because they are a check for us to consider the WHY of what we do.  That is how I will apply my prayer for "Daily Bread."  How would I use this item?  What is the value to me as a person?

Politics without principles
Wealth without work
Pleasure without conscience
Knowledge without character
Commerce without morality
Science without humanity
Worship without sacrifice

Credit Where Credit is Due

So I have had this sneaking suspicion that I may be offending those moms who don't work in a job outside of the home, and I feel I need to clear the air.  First, I am going to vent about this term "work."  When I was a server and then a bartender, people (other servers and bartenders included) would ask me, "When are you going to get a real job?"  And for anyone who has ever served or bartended, answer me this: what type of activity are we engaging in, if not work?  Is not handling the requests of 3 if not 6 or 7 tables (many many more if you're a bartender), coordinating the cook time with the serve time, running back and forth from table to kitchen to table, etc, preparing drinks, rolls, sides of lemon - all with a smile on our face - work?  No offense, but people who sit at those mall kiosks trying to sell miracle lotion probably tell people they are going to work, and no one argues with that.  If we are going to say that the work of bartenders and servers is not real work, and if we really thought that all those in the industry should find a "real" job out of it, then kiss your date nights good-bye.  That is one of the reasons I absolutely love to go out to eat - I appreciate every single aspect of the experience (assuming service is good.  If not, watch out, because I can also be the world's worst critic, although I rarely tell that to the person's face.) But alas, I digress.

I rant about times passed in order to make a point about work.  I have sensed the - what is a softer word than "shame?"  Whatever that word is - I want to use it.  But regardless I've sensed the "soft-shame" women feel when someone says, "What do you do?" And they reply, "I stay at home with my kids."  Some women jazz it up with, "I'm a professional taxi for my children," or "I've made my life my children." And I totally get that.  I want women who care for their children all day long to realize that I know that they ARE working.  To my point above, I am certain that the daycare workers at Samara's daycare say they are going to work.  I would think then, that what you do IS work!  Certainly working parents consider the care of their children work (while also a pleasure) on nights and weekends (sounds like a cell phone plan!)

I have been meaning to write this blog post for a long while but other subjects have come along.  However, a recent Facebook exchange with a friend gave me a renewed interest in the subject.  I realized that there is an essential ingredient in my life which makes me completely okay with leaving Samara.  I WANT to go to work.  Oddly, the way it works between my husband and I is that I want to work - non-negotiable.  If one were to choose to stay home, it'd be my husband, but we of course need his income so it just isn't happening (anytime soon at least!) I may be one of the rare few, but I look forward to work and am exhilarated by engaging in what I do each day.  I know that God has placed a lot on my plate, portioned it out, and I have some serious changes to make in my community.  I have often heard some women say that they were born to be mothers. I have never felt that, though I feel so blessed to be a mother.  And yet I know exactly what they mean.  So please, again, know that I consider the care of a child to be work.  I just want to make sure that I give credit where credit is due.

Glad It Worked Out This Way

So who would have thought that my child would be such a people person?  She is only four months old and is absolutely enjoying daycare.  It is funny.  For the past two months while Samara has been attending daycare, friends and family ask me, "So is she enjoying daycare?"  And I think that we know that that is a silly question to ask because how do you tell?  I know the real question is, "Does she cry a lot there?  Is she adjusting?" etc.  The thing is, this girl really likes it!  There are three other babies her age there - one who is a few months older who is also a babbler, just like Samara.  Apparently they lie on the floor and gab and gab and gab for the time they are awake together.  Once her teacher took her off the floor to change her and I guess she fussed and fidgeted until she was put back on the floor at which point she began to gab with her classmate again!

Her favorite classroom to be in, though, is with the one-year olds.  Now if you know my daughter she SCA-reams when she is hungry - a high-pitched shriek is more like it, but it is what it is...  I guess one day she was wailing away and the teacher in her room was already feeding two others.  The woman from the one-year old room came down and took her back to her class to feed her.  She arrives in the room and sees one of the one-year old boys.  Well, the two of them start flirting - she's apparently talking and putting her hands up to her chin, batting her eyes, laughing, the whole nine.  Completely forgot she was hungry!!  Now that, my friends, is a crush!

But seriously, it is so great to see!  I picked her up yesterday and observed her before walking into the classroom.  She was hanging out with the teacher, babbling, cooing, etc.  I walked in and went over to her and she completely ignored me.  So some moms/dads may be hurt or offended by this but it was such a typical, "If I don't acknowlege her she doesn't exist and then we won't have to go home" kind of behavior.  Not to mention, if she really is "ignoring me" to make me go away, she wants her independence, which is both her father and me.

My point is that daycare is technically a logistic ritual that we must endure because we have no other day care options.  I want to work, we need Tim's income, so daycare is a must.  And take it a step further - daycare is an opportunity for Samara to meet other people and learn to socialize.  But throw in that she is actually enjoying it - and you can tell that at four months old - and you have one very happy mother who is so glad that it worked out this way.

Nursing the Wounds

WARNING: If you do not like to read about nursing (i.e. breast feeding) do not continue reading!!!! 

What better time than 1am to write a blog you've been dreading writing...?  I was told that I would stop producing breastmilk around the time my baby was three months old - this has been the case for many women in my family - grandmother, mother, aunts and even cousins.  And for the most part, I guess that was true - I did stop producing milk when my baby was three months old.  But something I didn't know while pregnant, and learned once my baby was about two months old, was that the more active you are as a mother the less milk you may produce.  That was a new one to me, and I think I might have taken my maternity leave a little more seriously if I had been told that from the get-go.  I don't really blame anyone for not telling me, although certainly people have given me much advice along the way I do wonder why such a valuable piece of information was left out until it was too late.  Overall, I would have expected the lactation consutlant in the hospital to have said as much.  I think telling someone to take it easy and rest isn't always the right message.  Some of us ladies, myself included, need the more effective message - the warning, if you will, "Do not do too much or else your body will stop producing milk."  THAT, my friends, I think would have grabbed my attention.  Being told "to take it easy" without any reason as to why that would be important to my body's milk production failed to make the mark in my book.

It has taken me a long while to write this post.  Thankfully, I think I've gotten past "the hurt" and have settled nicely into "the memories." (don't let me fool you too much, though... the tears are streaming down my face)  The indescribable part of nursing is the bond with your child - and I think I mean the physical bonding of the two bodies.  As my milk production died I found myself screaming frantically from the inside, yelling at my body, because I was realizing that this one-time, temporary part of my relationship with my child was soon coming to a close.  There was so much pain with that realization.  And I saw my husband observing my struggle.  It got to the point where I wasn't really feeding my baby much milk and she would scream for food.  My husband knew better than to suggest that I wasn't feeding her enough so he would silently position the bottle next to me, knowing that it was the only option I had, once I could admit it to myself. 

And so, in the end, I think my biggest sacrifice - as I've jumped back into the work-routine - is my whim of experience as a nursing mother.  I think I wanted more time with that.  And I think I could have had more time with that.  Of course, with nursing comes the hassle (truly a hassle, in my opinion!) of pumping.  Good gracious, if I ever bear another child I am investing in an automatic double pump, I don't care how much they cost!  I had a single hand pump and pretty much dreaded the practice of pumping.  This too probably had a lot to do with my decrease in milk production but that part was somewhat intentional because I just couldn't make myself do it...

So here I sit.  I have picked myself up and licked my wounds.  But the questions from medical professionals at my appointments, or the looks from people who see me with a glass of wine in hand, while my child sleeps in her car seat at the restaurant - those reminders to me that I no longer have a physical bond with my little one - they hurt still.  Less and less each day, for sure, but the reminders exist.  Though I try my hardest to cherish the milestones with my baby, I guess I hadn't realized how valuable or quickly-attained this milestone would be.

The Weighting Game

This past Sunday, Samara was baptized.  My husband and I used this occasion to throw a big party for people to meet and visit with Samara.  There were many people there, so we - trying to be good hosts - made sure there was enough food.  We went the "veggie platter and deli meat platter route," as that seemed easiest.  We also had desserts, beer, wine, etc.  And the aftermath leaves me with a lot of food.

And the amount of food at my fingertips makes it even harder to shed the pounds.  I have tried so hard to get back on track with my eating.  And the thing of it is, I was not a bad eater during my pregnancy.  I was well aware that I was NOT eating for two.  My baby was only a fraction of my weight so my additional caloric intake was only fractional.  I also maintained a workout schedule somewhat similar to my pre-preggo routine.  Oddly, it was the month or two after returning home from the hospital that got me into my current bad eating habits.  At that point, after the birth and its toll on my body, I knew it was going to be weeks and weeks before I ventured to a gym again.  So due to some weird justification, I told myself it was okay to eat what I wanted because I wasn't going to the gym.  I couldn't be "exercise healthy" so told myself not to be "diet healthy" either.

Isn't that counter-intuitive?  To know that you are not going to go to the gym so you start to eat whatever you want?  And yet, that is what I am now learning about myself.  I have an all-or-nothing mentality.  If I am not going to be going to the gym for a few days, then I let my eating habits drop as well.  The more I go to the gym, the better my diet.  Not to mention that I have a treadmill in my basement - why not use it?  My husband runs on it practically every day, so I know it works well.  Why not run on the days I can't make it to the gym?

I start my improved diet and exercise regimen for a few days, then stop - either because of an impending deadline that inhibits me from going to the gym, or a huge family weekend where I want to enjoy without worrying about my diet.  And because I just had a family weekend, and I have a deadline (well I missed it, it was June 30) I am - AGAIN - postponing the gym.  This is Part I of The Weighting Game - the aspect where I push off the diet and exercise routine because I know it takes so much out of me.  I "wait" for the best time.  The fact of the matter is, there is no "best" time.  Then, once I am on my regimen, I have to understand that there are not immediate results.  As with most people, there are a few days if not a few weeks you must diet and exercise before expecting results.  I call this Part II of The Weighting Game.  If I can make it through these Parts of my life, than I think I will be happier with myself.

I look back to my pre-preggo weight, which was my happiest adult weight, and I want it back so badly.  It isn't so much my clothes fitting as much as it was my healthy, happy routine.  I felt fit.  THAT is what I miss.  So I hope my Weighting Game ends soon.

Little White Lies

Here's the thing: I appreciate...no I EXPECT honesty.  Battling the ins and outs of "pretendhood" is exhausting.  When I enter an office or conference room, or encounter a colleague at a meeting, I am very often told that I shouldn't be working, "Oh you should be at home with your baby."  "Where is your baby?," etc, etc.  And so, I politely explain that she is in childcare, yes, I would LOVE to be at home with my child, but I also am passionate about my job.  And as if a new button were depressed on the microwave, we go into crunch mode.  The tasks are given, the timelines are short, and the demands are high - the expectations mount exponentially from the time I was sweetly told I should be at home with my child.  

The "best" was when I was on what was quasi-maternity leave.  I made myself available to phone calls, emails and various meetings if necessary, since I was in a new position and still closing out an old position.   Someone emailed me a list of about 40 people that needed to be contacted and said it was a perfect job for me since I could make calls while the baby was sleeping... "Oh and how IS that dear sweet baby of yours?" No comment except to say I never called a single one of those people...

And I'm not quite sure which "Little White Lie" I find more offensive - that I should be at home with my child (as if writing me off), or that I should accomplish more in the next week than many people are expected to accomplish in a month.  One of them MUST be a lie because they exist at opposite ends of the "expectation spectrum."  And the high expectations isn't what necessarily offends me, it is the fact that I was just told I should make sure to "spend time with your child, make her the priority, she will grow quickly, time will fly, before you know it she will be driving, graduating high school, entering college..."  Well, if I'm going to be camped up in my office for the entire weekend delivering your charge, I can understand how I would miss out on important milestones...

Thankfully I do have those I encounter who actually do want me to have time to spend with my child.  They understand I am working, but for now, it is a strictly 8 to 4 type of job because I have my rule, "If she is awake when I am at home, I am with her." PERIOD.  We discuss priorities, but we also discuss the essential tasks versus those that can wait to be completed.  They are honest.

And I do have my secret weapon, my child herself.  If she weren't in child care she would be booked solid with people that want to see her again.  And for those who really do respect my time, you better believe I will make the time to bring her over. There is nothing, I do not think, more satisfying for a mother than to share the joy of her child with others.  But for those who talk the talk, and expect me to walk all the walks, I smile and nod, and say, "Yes, sometime soon, I will bring her around."  And THAT my friends, is my own little white lie.

The "Happiness Recipe"

I am learning.  I am learning that this blog is about being busy so I can't actually be posting as often as I would like, though I have material galore.  I am learning that there are times when I am going to have to break my rule and work while Samara is laughing and cooing with her father.  And I am learning that the hurdles keep on coming and sometimes get higher than the ones over which you jumped the day before.

You know the saying, "A happy wife is a happy life."?  I sometimes wonder what it is that makes me happy.  This is NOT to say that I'm not happy, because I am.  I just wonder what my "happiness recipe" is.  Is it being a mother?  Is it being a partner with my husband?  Is it working for what I believe in?   Is it my relationship with Christ?  Is it fellowship with my friends and family?  Is it walking my dogs?  Is it dancing?  Is it a nice sweat while working out at the gym?  Is it teaching others?  Is it research and writing?  And as recipes usually go, it is a little bit of each.  Contentment for me is a fine balance between all of those, with a few gorgoues sunsets and observed random acts of kindness sprinkled in along the way...

And I think that is the exact problem with life.  Sometimes the ingredients get spoiled and you must wait for the recipe to balance out again.  I pulled my back out yesterday.  This means I cannot hold Samara - not a happy mother.  I cannot help around the house - not a happy partner.  I cannot walk my dogs, I cannot dance, and I cannot work out.

One rather important process involved in my "happiness recipe" is the way these ingredients are baked.  For me, I cannot let one element linger too long without being fulfilled, or else I get antsy.   I used to tell people that "Efficient" was my middle name.  I think that would be a misnomer for me, these days, and may be the source of my stress.  I have the ingredients sprinkled in, and though my back is certainly a wrench in the works, it isn't the problem.  I like schedules, I like timeliness.  This, of course, isn't really possible so I am learning to strike a balance.  In my long list of "to-dos" one of them is to complete my two Baltiomre contracts on time - tomorrow.  I spent all of last night and into the morning working on evaluations.  I did not get much sleep, but I think I am happier than yesterday..  I NEED closure. I need to check something off my checklist. I need to meet a deadline that I've set.  I need... So I will do.

The Unsung Hero

So, when I first had the idea for this topic, I felt badly that the idea hadn't hit me two days earlier, on Fathers' Day.  Yet, as my thoughts for this entry simmered, it occurred to me that this blog entry is not about men as fathers, but men as husbands.

I've been writing about my life, all the goings-on, how I'm in and out of the house, going to Denver, continuing to work, etc.  It occurred to me on Tuesday afternoon, thinking about the annual meeting I'd attended the night before, that my aspirations would be much harder to achieve if I were in this alone.

The unsung hero in my life is my husband.  And one might say that it IS about him as a father since he "steps up to the plate" (ha!) to take on more responsibilities as a father while I take on more responsibilities as a career woman.  And though I know that he DOES take on the additional tasks with joy because he loves his daughter immensely, it is his support of my constant activity that makes him extraordinary to me.  Very rarely does he suggest I not take on another responsibility.  He rarely even reacts so I do wonder what he is thinking when I head another committee, start another research project, sign-on to plan another event, RSVP to attend another meeting, and the list goes on and on.

So my husband is not only an amazing father who takes on parenting tasks after arriving home from a full day's work, but he does not question or limit my dedication to the additional passions in my life.  Without his staying at home with Samara on countless nights, I would not be the multi-tasking, prioritizing women I am so proud to be.  Thank you Tim.

When Reality Strikes Back

So the astute reader probably figured out that The Portioned Plate refers to having a lot to do on one's metaphorical plate.  As a working mother who is a graduate student determined to return to her pre-preggo figure, I do struggle to portion my time appropriately.  Yes, that is the gist of this blog.

For those who know me, some may remember a time in my life where I refused to let the food on my plate (actual plate this time!) touch.  I am one who eats the various dishes of my meals one at a time.  In particular, I tend to save the best aspects of my meal for last so I can savor the flavor.  So another dimension to The Portioned Plate is really a concession that as a mother with a lot on her "plate" you have to let the parts of your life touch.  You can't execute one activity without allowing another responsibility to crop up, oftentimes when you least expect it.  So if you imagine those sectioned off plates, my "plate" has a lot of spillage and seepage, and I am learning that that is okay.

I have always been a good "deadline setter."  In a different time and place in my life, that would have allowed for more dissertation progress because the number one reason students fail to complete their dissertation is due to an inability to follow through with self-imposed deadlines.  I find that my will power to follow through with these deadlines is weakening - due partly to the overwhelming "weight of my plate" and partly to the happenings of life itself.  I have set two important deadlines for June 30th.  ONE: complete the evaluations due to my Baltimore job. TWO: hand in / finalize my dissertation proposal.  As the days pass and I stay true to my number one priority, Samara, my deadlines creep closer with very few checkmarks made on my to-do list.

But now I have to step back and remember a dear friend of mine who passed away yesterday.  Ron you brought me to a much stronger faith in Christ and were an important person in my life as a high school student.  And in my grief I have found myself momentarily unable to progress in my activities and that is okay.  It is now apparent I will not meet my deadlines but I have to let that go.  As much as I am a stickler for being a go-getter and one who follows through, I have to be human and allow myself to mourn.  On the other hand, I am overjoyed that my dear friend is reunited with Christ.  Dear Ron, your death has reminded me also that I need to start again (as I did so faithfully while pregnant with Samara) my morning mediation moments with Christ.

So when life hits you, take the punch.  You may remain on the floor for a while, but when you can, gather your strength and get back to the "plate" at hand.  Rest In Peace, Dear Ron.

Boy Scout's Oath

So here it is, 5am and I'm rushing around the house making sure I get everything done, and what do I feel like doing?  Blogging.  I have milliseconds of time, but will take more, in order to write about one of the biggest lessons I've learned as a new working mother.  BE PREPARED.

Today I commute to Baltimore, which means Samara has to be dropped off at the childcare center at 6:30am, which is right when they open.  This means I get up at 4am.  Now, sometimes there is lag time, like today (although I still have an hour and a half so I may be lulled into a false sense of security).  The truth of it is, with a baby you can't actually manage time on a strict schedule.  You need flexibility.  SO, that means you get up early in order to CREATE the extra time.  Silly, I know, but I would rather lose out on an extra half an hour of sleep in order to cushion myself with nursing time if she decides she is hungry the minute I put her in her carseat, than give myself the exact amount of time necessary and get stressed, agitated and emotional when she gets hungry and the extra feeding time causes me to be late.  The key is to make sure I don't blame HER for MY inability to time our routine properly.  It is never, ever her fault for being hungry or spitting up or peeing through her clothes.  THAT is my fault.

Which reminds me - her carseat.  I used to like that thing... It still holds a certain sense of charm for me.  I can now mostly rely on it to hold my dear child and cradle her to sleep while on car rides; but as Samara grows, its dependability is decreasing.  Not only that but it seems that this carseat triggers my daughter's bodily functions, and only on weekday mornings at 7:30am (normally scheduled departure time) - I KID YOU NOT!  No matter which way I plan the morning routine, this daughter of mine will be placed into the carseat, and promptly spit her food all back up. Or as I'm rushing around (b/c no matter how much time you have, you're still rushing around!) I go to place her in the carseat, and as I support her little tush going into the thing, I realize I misapplied the diaper and she's peed right through her pants.  And on other days, she's bathed, cute, happy and I put her in there, and the sirens begin - um, I mean, her lungs...  Her food from two hours ago has worn off and she is HUNG-ry!

It is now double the time past what I allocated, so I may be screwed.  Let's just hope the food stays down, she is satisfied with the food I just gave her, and I apply her diaper properly.  Now the only thing that can keep me from leaving on time is a bad hair day...!!

"How do you have the time?"

Again, I was planning on writing about something completely different, but based on today's interactions I've changed my mind.  I was asked today, "How do you have the time to go to the gym?"  And as Jillian Michaels (Biggest Loser) would tell you, people don't just "have" time to workout.  It's like asking someone, how do you have the time to go out to dinner?  Well, we all know that we have to make time to go out to dinner, right?  We don't arrive home from work and say, wow, I have an extra 2 hours tonight and instead of cooking dinner, I'm going to go out.  We might use the excuse that we don't have anything thawed from the freezer (this excuse is used often in our house!), but really, when it comes down to it, my husband and I are willing to take two hours out of our night to forgo whatever else SHOULD be done in order to go have some restaurant food and avoid cooking dinner.

So let's consider the question again, "How do you have the time to go to the gym?"  Well, I don't.  I do not HAVE time, I have never owned time.  I make so many bargains, pleas and deals with this thing called "time" that I'm plumb out of ideas.  So instead, I make time.  I rearrange, plan, replan - it requires a pencil with an eraser, that's all I can say.  I pick up Samara at 4pm every day.  Tim works out from 4pm to 5pm, during which time I hang out with Samara - read books, giggle, laugh, etc.  And then I go to the gym from 5:30pm to 6:30pm, while my husband prepares dinner.  Get home and dinner is at 7pm.  No questions asked.  It is something I "make" happen.  We "make" the time.

When my sister was little, she once asked my mother about Daylight Savings, wondering "how it all worked."  My mother gave an answer, which apparently didn't satisfy my sister because she proceeded to ask, "Where is REAL time, then, Mom?  What IS 'time'"?  And ya know, whether you're five or ninety-five, I don't think there is a real answer.  (Well, okay, I'm sure some smart, genious science person might have an answer, but generally speaking) Time exists, but we simultaneously chase it.  I haven't yet caught it, I just use what I've got.

And now, more to the point of this blog, I need to MAKE time for my dissertation proposal.  Yikes, I have 12 more days to submit a draft to my advisor.  Let's get a  move on!

Leaving the little one

So I signed in thinking I would write about one thing, but after reading a comment, I decided to write about another.  The leaving of the little one...  I look back on it now and the first time I left Samara I forgot to say goodbye to her.  Oops, is that bad?  I was so "into" making sure that I had everything prepared for my mother-in-law, and then packing what I needed for my meeting (yes, I went to a meeting when Samara was 2 weeks old), as well as my pump and the necessaries for that, I up and walked out the door without thinking and without looking back.  About 5 miles up the highway I realized I'd forgotten my farewell.  And did I cry?  Or turn around and race home?  Nope.  I kept on keeping on, knowing that there was little difference in my care for her then my mother-in-law's.  But I admit, I made sure not to picture her little fingers or toes, or the curve of her nose (yes that is rhyming prose!).

And 8 weeks later, the dawn of her daycare days, did I shed a tear?  Why no, this void-of-feeling mother did not.  But a wave of fear, anxiety, depression and sadness did pulse through my veins for about 5 seconds - I think we humans call it panic?  So, I DO have some maternal bones in my body.  And I only joke because I know my feelings for my child.  I know that being around people is good for my baby and interacting with youth of all ages is a great experience.  Okay so maybe 11 weeks is a little early for this type of exposure to really shape her character but it'll happen.  It did with me.

So why is it that my husband and I have not left Samara with a sitter so we could have a night out alone together?  We've got her in daycare and obviously trust others.  Is it because we don't have a sitter?  Ha!  Now that's a joke.  A member of my board of directors, seconds after my getting accepted into my new position and my being seven months preggo, walked over and handed me her business card so I could contact her for babysitting.  And she is one of a handful of people (okay, women) who I've met throughout my interactions here in York offering their babysitting services.  And my mother-in-law once offered to "take home a cake she had made me, and return it days later" so I wouldn't eat it all (with the real purpose of seeing Samara again).  Naw, the thing of it is, I don't think my HUSBAND wants to leave her.  Go figure!  I mean, he's fine with daycare. We both understand it is necessary, but I can't get him to leave her for our own "alone time."  And the time I went to Denver (yup, I left Samara for two days, one night when she was six weeks old!) I set it up so my mother would take care of her.  Tim INSISTED that he would take two days off of work to watch her instead.  And though crushed at not being able to watch her, my mother so astutely pointed out that I am blessed to have a husband who wants to be a father.  Amen to that!

Soon the day will come when he'll want a night out with just me...?  Eh, we'll see!

Here I Am, My Mission (and I choose to accept)

So here I am, and I have a lot on my plate. "The Portioned Plate" So much to do, so little time. I am a new mother - my daughter is 11 weeks olds today. But I have so many other things going on - a job, my dissertation, church, the gym, a passion for dance and music...

The thing is, there is some stigma with being a working mother. These days, yes, the economy calls for down-sizing. So maybe that does require a parent to stay at home rather than pay a similar amount to a stranger to take care of said baby. And yes, I DO involve myself in things that interest me beyond the pooping, eating and sleeping schedule of my baby and I am NOT male, I promise. Is that wrong - that I am a mother who does not eat, sleep and breathe in sync with her newborn's schedule? And if it IS okay, how do I navigate that working world while letting my young one know I care as much as the next dedicated mother?

How DID it end up that males got all the breaks? Oh, I know, they don't always have it easy, but in this instance, they do. I mean, no one looks twice when they hold a beer and their baby at the same time; no one glances at their "size" while walking down Aisle 10 at the grocery store; no one EXPECTS them to pick up the baby if s/he gets hungry (and therefore screams) at a restaurant. There are just some things forever linked to motherhood - for which we (moms) will always be responsible for being (or not being, but suffering the cost).

The burden we bear is great, but I don't care. I bear the burden and ignore the stigma. Here is my vow - I WILL be a new mother who spends as much time with her daughter as she can. I WILL be a new mother who graduates with her dissertation in May of 2011. I WILL be the mother who loses her "baby fat" in less time than it took to acquire it.