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.