Balance

I'm trying to identify and confront head-on sources of stress in my life.  In the last week I've been able to, with some pretty deep introspection, narrow down a few of the daily nuances that make me absolutely batshit crazy:

1.  Shoes.  Not being able to find my shoes, not being able to find Geneva's shoes, only being able to find one of the shoes...and don't even let me get started on finding fucking socks that match each other.  It's a Christmas Miracle in July if you can make that shit happen.

2.  Food.  Geneva's Lunch, my lunch, our breakfasts, snacks, morning coffee. Dinner - what are we having for dinner?  All are very important.  All are occasionally missed because I don't have my shit together.

3.  Clothes.  Knowing what I'm going to wear and being able to locate all of the pieces of said outfit.  Wash, Rinse, Repeat for Geneva and Cora. 

Sounds simple enough, right?  Shut up. 

I can recognize how silly and simple that list sounds, but I also know, from living in my daily reality, that those are legitimate, snakes-popping-out-of-my-head crazy-inducing triggers/challenges that can make or break my day before it's really even gotten started. 

I also know how to solve my problems, at least in terms of identifying the solutions - shoes go back in the same place after they come off, food is prepped the night before, laundry is done on weekends and work-week outfits laid out Sunday night.  I've tried.  Oh, how I've tried.  It's not easy being lazy, folks.  When it was just me and Jimi, oh, the lazy times we had.  G came along and required the discipline of every-other-day laundry and regular mealtimes, but she was settling into a pretty good lazy routine too.  Then we added Cora into the mix, and, through no fault of hers, just the pure fact of four people living under one roof, logistics got complicated and started requiring some real planning and execution and follow-through.  Things we're really bad at in the Fowler household.

I was doing great for a minute, though.  When I first went back to work after my maternity leave this last time, I had meal plans planned and prepped Saturday afternoon for the coming week.  Laundry was washed and folded and put away and laid out Sunday night.  Lunches were packed the night before; there was time for breakfast in the mornings before we left the house, rather than grabbing a granola bar on the way out the door.  We knew where our shoes were. 

Those things happened.  They did.  I distinctly remember.  And then we all got sick, and we passed some variety and level of funk around between us for the next few months and it just wasn't easy to keep on top of all of that neatness and organization - it makes everything run so smoothly, but man, it really requires work and staying on top of it.  Or, well, not being completely lazy asses and doing nothing. 

It made me feel better when I learned that there's an actual scientific theory out there that says chaos is the natural order of things - that no matter how nice and neat you organize things, the natural inclination is for those things to become disorganized and messy.  It made me feel like maybe I'm not such a complete failure in life.  Chaos is normal, and expected.  That was long before kids.  It's especially when you have little kids, though, right?  That's what people keep telling me. 

I called a family friend last week, a psychiatrist by trade, and told her that I was pretty sure I was going crazy, and asked her if she could refer me to someone I could talk to.  I don't want any meds or anything, I told her, I just want someone to tell me how to stop being so fucking crazy.  I'd cried the whole way to work that morning.  I was sort of a basket case.  She asked me to explain what was going on - what was my particular flavor of crazy, if you will.  I'm anxious all the time, I feel like I'm constantly going to fuck something up, or like I've already fucked something up and it's going to bite me in the ass.  I can't get my arms around anything, I feel completely overwhelmed and behind at work and at home and I fantasize about burning shit down or quitting my job because then I could start somewhere new and not be behind anymore.  She laughed at me.

"Natalie!  You're not crazy!  You're just a woman!"

dramatic pause

"That's what it is to be a woman in today's fucked up society.  With two small kids and a full time job, of course you're a little crazy."  We can't give enough of ourselves to any one thing to ever feel like we're doing enough or good enough, and then we've given so much of ourselves and our time to those two very important vocations that there's no time or energy left to give to ourselves.  It's a nasty vicious cycle and it can make your brain and your body sick.  She told me how for years she'd held out hope that women could come together, recognizing these truths we all experience every day, and help each other, or at the very least, band together to encourage some positive societal change wherein it was made easier for women to balance these roles.  What she found instead was a bunch of backbiting and judgment. 

Her advice to me was not to seek counsel of a local psychologist - she told me anyone I found locally to talk to would likely be a man, which no ability to understand the perfect storm of emotions i'm experiencing right now, and he'd want to throw a pill at the problem that wouldn't fix my problem.  She told me to hire someone to clean my house, or quit my job, or work part time, or come home and light up a joint to relax after the kids are in bed. 

So those aren't exactly the most feasible options for me, but she got me thinking - what are the sources of my stress?  What makes my day hard? 

I organized my pantry.  I cut up one of those over-the-closet-door shoe holder thingies I never use and put half on the back of the pantry door and filled the pockets with easy-to-grab snacks for us and the kids - fruit, babyfood pouches, granola bars, pretzels, oatmeal packs, fruit snacks.  Now I don't have to dig for nutritious things in the mornings when we're rushing to get out the door  - we have things easily available.  I made a meal plan for the week so we'd come home each night knowing what we're having for dinner and how we're getting it made.  I dug out an old CD rack that is a perfect fit for Geneva's shoes - retraining ourselves to use it is another matter entirely.  Jimi's been staying on top of the kitchen mess and the laundry so we've had things to wear and clean dishes to cook and eat with.  We're off to a good start, I'd say. 

Life is hard and messy and sometimes you just need a good cry and someone to tell you you're not alone, that you're not the only person who's ever gone through this or felt this way.  That you're not crazy.  Not in a "medicate me" sort of way - life is just hard.  And messy.  And chaotic.  Exactly as it's supposed to be. 

The Best Parts of the Week

The Best Parts of the Week were, in no particular order:

Geneva told her sitter's husband this afternoon: "My mom is pretty."  I'm not sure where that came from, but man, it sure felt good.

Know what was even better though?  Last night, she and I went for a walk around the block.  "I love you, Mommy." and "I love walking with you, Mommy."  Wow.

This morning, Geneva was reading a book to Cora.  Those girls.  Geneva loves Cora so much, and Cora searches for Geneva constantly, her face lighting up in a huge two-tooth grin when she finds her sister.  Watching them together makes me feel like maybe I understand my purpose in this life.

Geneva and I went swimming Sunday and Monday nights.  The whole fam-damily went to Columbus OH for three days so I could do some training with my counterpart in that office, and the hotel we were in had an indoor pool with so much chlorine the water had a film over the surface and my skin started to burn after fifteen minutes.  G gave zero fucks about her burning eyes and skin, though - she was SWIMMING!  We took turns being sharks, holding our hands up like fins above our heads and saying "Do do, do do, do do" as we moved in for the tickle attacks.  I wish sometimes I had a videographer who could follow me around and record all of these precious moments i'm going to forget in the next twenty minutes.  I'm adding that to my list of shit to buy when I win the lottery or come up with a multi-million dollar idea.  Videographer.  I'll build them an addition on the back of the house so they can live on-site.

Full length mirrors.  I'm almost back to my pre-pregnancy weight - thanks only to the tandem breastfeeding and poor nutrition that comes from being a full-time working mother of two because I sure as fuck can't get my ass to the gym - and my body is something that gives me good thoughts more days than not.  I don't know how I look to other people, but when I see me, I see a strong woman who's given birth and life to two amazing little girls with this body...gotta respect it, you know?  And I recently bought some new clothes that make me feel a little more sophisticated than my usual uniform of yoga pants, nursing tank, light casual cardigan/blouse.  A few of the guys around the office have made some comments that tell me I'm not looking half bad for a 35 year old mother of two - a cheap thrill, sure, but a thrill nonetheless.  (she says as she slugs another mouthful of refrigerated cabernet sauvignon from the 375ml bottle her husband bought for $20 in the hotel lobby and they never got around to drinking together because the kids never go to sleep early enough for the grownups to enough energy to have grownup time...)

I'll get a check for a couple hundred bucks for my mileage for the trip at the start of the week.  Extra money is always good.

My husband is so awesome.  Wednesday was sort of, well, really hard for me.  For no particular reason, just because sometimes life is hard, even if the difficulty is of your own making or even in your own head.  Hard is hard.  I cried the entire way to work that morning.  I was miserable all day.  I got home that night and our conversation had me in tears again.  He  did what he's always done - he listened, and then he offered a couple of logical solutions, each with their own pros and cons he was patient enough to weigh out with me.  He listened to my pipe dreams and pretended with me that there was actually a way to make them reality.  He promised me that if I needed to follow through with those pretend fantasies, he'd work with me to ensure our success.  I can't make the sort of changes I'd really like right now, but it's so reassuring and comforting to know that my partner will be by my side to help me work out viable solutions to my problems every step of the way.  I love my Jimi.  For so many years now he's been my safe place, my confidant, my best friend.  The new and the shiny has long since worn off, but man, what we've got here, this beautiful thing we're still doing...we've got a special thing going, I think.  one that seems it had to have been inspired, on purpose, intended, fated, destined, meant to be.  Lucky, lucky us.

I have so many people who love me.  I posted on facebook Wednesday:  I'm struggling today with a lot of anxiety and feelings of inadequacy. My friends and family rallied to give me kind words of love and support.  They made me cry happy tears.  Sweet friends.

I harvested my first zucchini last night.  Jimi sautéed it with garlic, olive oil, then squirted it with lime juice.  Oh my goodness, it was so yummy.  I sure hope we get another one.  My eggplant flowered, I harvested one little pea pod that had the two most delicious peas I've ever tasted, we have about 8 tiny watermelons growing, and I think my seeds from Australia are actually growing.  The sweet potato vines seem to be doing well, my beans and cucumbers are flowering - even the black beans! Did you know black bean flowers are pinkish/purple?  They're so pretty. 

I made it to Friday.  Tomorrow's Saturday.  YAY Weekend!

What was the best part of your week?  And can you guess what this post was originally going to be about?

Friday night

I'm going to regret staying up so late, but dammit, it's Friday. i'm grown. I worked really hard all week. I should be able to kick back and chill for a while. Somehow, though, it doesn't matter what time they finally get to sleep, those little girls are up before the sun, ready to go go go, as if sleep were nothing more than a mere inconvenience. And they certainly don't care what time mommy finally caught some shut-eye. How is it that everything about parenting is the hardest thing and the most wonderful thing both at the same time?

I'm on top of the world.  Life is amazing.  Seriously.  My only source of sad right now is my chronic lack of sleep and the fact that my house is a wreck.  And i don't much care, honestly, about the state of the house.  Fuck it. I promise I will never look back on my life and wish longingly for the good ol' days of picking up toys and doing endless loads of laundry and endless sinks-full of dishes -  I may one day miss everything that creates those messes, but fuck cleaning them up.  I'm just being honest.  

My garden is going so well.  I took a bunch of pictures tonight and uploaded them here:

I want to show you my garden

I spend a lot more time in my garden than i do cleaning. Is that true?  I don't know if that's actually true.  I did spend a lot of hours out there last weekend, but this entire week has been a complete bust due to rain.  (Of course, I also haven't cleaned anything all week.  It's a tie.)  IT'S NOT A COMPETITION NATALIE!!!

Jimi's brother was over earlier tonight.  G loves her Uncle J, and he says our girls are the most wonderful human beings on the planet and he's absolutely correct.  Jimi stopped at a gas station on his way back after taking J home, and he brought me a Slim Jim.  It's midnight, but I'm seriously weighing the cost/benefit analysis of eating that motherfucker right now.  

Maybe I should just have another beer.  That's an awfully big time commitment, though.  

I spent two days this week doing computer process training with a guy from our St Louis office.  It makes me feel really good that they think I know my shit well enough to entrust me to train others.  Especially since I've always considered myself a terrible teacher.  I'm learning that maybe I'm not actually a terrible teacher - maybe I've just told myself that because I lack confidence and therefore I'm intimidated by the idea of having to instruct someone - what if I tell them wrong?!  But, truth be told, I'm pretty dang good at what I do - I really do know my shit.  With the upheaval and change our business is going through, I'm glad to find myself in a position of being considered valuable - the day after Memorial Day, they fired my Cincinnati counterpart, a man who'd been with the company for 43 years. As much as I may bitch and moan, I certainly don't want to find myself separated from my employment by anything other than my absolute choice.  I need my job.  I know I'd be fine, but until I'm ready to make some crazy leap, i really do enjoy the security of having money deposited in my bank account every Friday morning.  

12:25.  Still debating that Slim Jim.  And the beer.  Both?

Nah, nothing. Baby's up.

So tired...

I thought I was going to have an easy night - G was in bed asleep by 10. It's 11:33 - Cora's only just gone down for the night.  Heh - "for the night".  Right.  For the next couple hours, is more like it.

Jimi and I are so tired.  We've not slept well in weeks, and it's taking a toll.  We're grumpy and short with each other and with G when she does that annoying shit toddlers do.  Our house is a wreck because we don't have the energy to keep up during the week, and on the weekends we can only barely catch up, so there's no chance to get ahead.  It feels like a losing battle, a futile effort, but I love the way it feels to have a clean house and i want to have one again.  I'm forgetting everything - conversations are hard sometimes because I can't find the right words because my brain is just so tired.

Are we sure there's no "pause" button somewhere?  I could really use a nap.

We all have those days

I'm in a weird place in my head these days. I feel anxious, unsettled.  Like I should be doing something else, career-wise.

I'm so tempted to delete that, because I'm not sure how much time i want to spend fleshing out those thoughts, but it's been on my mind for a long time now - most of last year, and again since I've returned from maternity leave. I have a pretty good thing going where i am now - my situation is pretty ideal and sweet, to be honest.  I can wear what i want, including jeans and tennis shoes.  I can take my dog to work (not every day, but most days lately).  When my kids are sick or my sitter has a migraine, i can bring the girls to work with me (because they'd rather have me and my girls than no me).  I'm paid a good salary; a damn fine salary, even, if you consider that i have only a high school education.  

Here's the thing, though:  I don't give a fuck about drums.  I don't care.  I just don't care. My efforts feel so pointless and stupid and small.   My company is owned by a private equity firm.  The work I do, ultimately, goes toward making rich people richer.  Maybe I'm helping put a Keurig on the counter of some bigwig's 3rd vacation home.  What the fuck?  Why?  What's the point?  I mean, beyond the fact that I have to work to make sure our mortgage is paid and we can go to the doctor when we're sick, of course.  I know why i have to work.  I think that I'm not happy with the sort of work I'm doing, for the sort of company I'm doing it for.  Not that there's anything inherently wrong with my company, But it feels unimportant.  I need to do something more; something that gives back and helps people and makes the world a happier place. 

If only i could figure out what that should be.  

Ideally?  I'd be at home every day, raising my daughters.  We'd go to the zoo and the science center and to toddler story hour at the library.  There would be tumbling classes and music classes and play groups.  My house would be clean and organized and my yard would be planted with beautiful flowers and we'd eat healthy meals each night sitting around the table and telling stories about our days in 3 languages we all spoke fluently....

I've wondered:  Is this how a midlife crisis starts? Because that scenario I just laid out there?  i know, rationally, that that shit wouldn't happen, even if I wasn't working and Jimi wasn't working and we had a full time nanny.  Let's just be honest.  But the longing I have to spend my waking hours doing something productive - actually productive, not just shuffling papers to make imaginary money for some imaginary executive - is so strong I almost turned my car around one day last week when I was heading back to the office after lunch.  I was going to turn around and pick up the girls and take them to the park.  I could almost feel the rush of fear and adrenaline when I called Jimi to tell him I was quitting my job, but that we'd figure it all out.  I didn't turn around, of course.  I went back to my desk like a good little girl and shuffled my papers and stomped down the ache in my heart when I thought of Cora's smile and Geneva's hug.  

I just re-read that paragraph.  I said I want to do something productive, and then said I almost quit my job to take the girls to the park.  Are my priorities totally fucked up?  Making Money < Taking Children To The Park.  Growing young minds?  Shaping the way my girls will approach the world?  Way more productive than customer service at the drum plant, I assure you.  I've been given this amazing task and responsibility, and it's supposed to be my number one priority, but it can't be my full time job because it literally does not pay the bills.  It breaks my heart.

No one's going to pay me to stay home and raise babies, so my next logical solution was to win the lottery.  I only matched two numbers on a $10 quick pick.  Of all the fucking luck. Then I decided I'm either going to have to start my own business (but who has money, or time, or ideas, or the balls to do something like that?), have a post go viral and land a book deal (3 posts in 7 months, that shit's gonna happen any moment), or start looking for a job in a more charitable organization.  

I think I need to be helping people in some way, and making small talk over the sound of the credit card machine processing their purchase just isn't cutting it.  But gosh, the idea of leaving a job where I've been so comfortable for so long - it's terrifying.  Starting something new?  Something unknown?  What if I fail?  Sometimes I think I'm so afraid of failing that I'm afraid to even try.  One of my first thoughts: No charity will pay me what I'm making when I don't have a college degree or any experience.  It's probably the truth, but I haven't looked yet.  The likelihood that it is true may be scary enough to keep me from looking at all.  If I look, and find something I'm qualified for that will pay me enough - what if I sent them my resume and they didn't even call?  I'm only just starting to realize that these crazy "what if" things I make up in my head are all coming from a place of fear and anxiety and I don't know when I started being so fucking afraid.  I don't want to be afraid.  I don't want to teach my girls to be afraid.  

My girls.  I want to tell them they can be anything they want, and I want them to chase their dreams.  How can I show them how to follow their passions if I don't follow mine?  Then again, maybe I should keep my passions on hold until after 6 and on weekends - and keep my ass in my desk chair from 8-5 bringing in that steady cash every week.  

See?  The crazy, it is strong.  Jimi says, "You want all of these impossible things.  You don't even waste your time with something realistic - you go right for the stuff that can't happen."  You gotta dream big, baby.  You don't get anything if you don't ask for it.  May as well ask for the impossible, right?  Maybe you'll get something awesome in return.  

I'm going to get up and go to work tomorrow.  I'll keep my eye out for some awesome, though.  Just in case.