Sticks and Stars

It’s been almost a year that I’ve been blogging in this particular blog and last night I was reading some old posts that made frequent mention of my 3am insomnia witching hour. I thought to myself, huh! I forgot all about that, how I used to wake up with insomnia at 3am several times a week and how it was so annoying but how I quickly learned not to fight it and to instead make the best use of it (by getting up and writing blog entries of course). It was nice to realize that it doesn’t happen anymore…except that of course, tonight 3am rolls around and finds me tossing and turning in bed, so here I am, paying my respects to tradition.

It was also interesting to read these old posts about how stressed out I was all the time. Until I reread them I had kind of forgotten about that, about how my life used to feel much more frayed at the edges, how I felt pretty unhappy most of the time or at the very least so much more strained. I often thought about that line from Fellowship of the Ring where Bilbo says he feels thin, like butter spread over too much bread, and I felt that was a perfect description of my life as well.

I’m not sure what happened to all that stress. I guess I don’t worry about money as much these days now that I make more, I guess my house isn’t always a grimy mess now that I have someone help me keep it clean, I guess my boys and I have settled into pretty good routines that are greatly mitigated by the more money and the clean house, and of course, as I mentioned, it really adds a lot to my quality of life to love my job.

There are things about my life that make me unhappy. I dearly wish I had more local friends and/or felt like I was part of a community. That was one of my New Year resolutions and I haven’t been very good about making it happen. Part of the problem is not knowing what to do and feeling like the things I do try don’t pan out, and part of it is my own intense shyness/introversion, and both of those together lead to a problematic cycle that obviously doesn’t facilitate this problem. I had thought that going to church would be a good place to start, but (and maybe I’m just making excuses here) I don’t really want to go to “church.” I loved the semi-religious community I was part of in the city where I used to live precisely because it was pointedly anti-church. They were adamant about calling themselves a fellowship, not a church, and they bragged about the fact that half their congregation were atheists. It truly was more of a community of progressive folks who wanted a space to be thoughtful and philosophical and to commune with others who wanted the same thing. The churches I’ve visited around here are definitely not the same, they really are Churches, and I’m just not sure that I want to devote so much energy toward something that’s merely a cover for my real purpose, that of making friends.

I wish all the specifically parenting-related stuff didn’t happen during weekdays. I read about lots of play groups and other events that might be good jumping off points for community building (and really, that’s my focus, to find other parents to befriend), but they are all so clearly targeted toward parents (and moms in particular) who don’t have a 9-5, out of the home job.

I also wish that I was doing some kind of personal work that felt inspiring. A year ago I was completing The Artist’s Way and that was such a life altering process. As I spent time focusing on myself and focusing on being creating I felt like I was growing and expanding and everything felt infused with joy and energy. I wish I could have that again. I think about doing The Artist’s Way again, this time just by myself, but of course it’s one of those things that easy to make excuses for not doing. I feel like I’m growing a lot at work, but I’d also really like to be growing in my personal life too.

But these things that make me feel a little discontent are just that. I wish I could come up with a plan for resolving them, but while these are items that might have reduced me to tears nine months ago (or are items that I would have never even gotten around to because of all the other more pressing stressors piled up in front), today they feel like small pieces of a life that is overall quite nice. I wondered a while back whether this might be my new baseline, whether I could possibly expect to fall back to this place of reasonable contentment instead of an assumption that things are temporarily good but will always return to shit at some point. It appears that, indeed, I might have found myself a new baseline. That, in and of itself, makes me feel quite happy.

Yesterday my boss and I went out to lunch to discuss work issues. I was kind of nervous about what he wanted to discuss, fearing that my lack of mastery/knowledge/competence might be our main course, but no, it turned out that he wanted to discuss my other team members’ performance because he has concerns. When I eventually uneasily broached the subject of my own performance and (my entire body clenched with anxiety) asked whether he had concerns, he looked surprised and said no, that he thought I was doing very well, that he was “pleased as punch” with my performance and then a bit of ego stroking ensued.

It was such a good conversation to have, not only because I worry so much about how well I’m (not) doing in my job, but also because I was able to ‘fess up to my specific areas of concern and have him either assure me that he wasn’t worried or help me come up with plans to address my issues.

He also pointed out to me that despite my desire to pretend otherwise, my position is not comparable to those of my teammates and that it is essentially a supervisory position and so it’s part of my job to delegate the work that comes into our department and to make use of my coworkers as resources. This was very good for me to hear because I often feel so insecure about my lack of knowledge that I unconsciously think of myself as the most junior member of my team. But really, I’m not, in fact it’s actually the opposite.

He also mentioned some of the skills and abilities that I bring to the position that he thinks are far more important than my skill level with PHP and that made me feel good too because it’s true. People come to me for answers all day long and they do it because I know the answers or because I can work out an answer or because I can troubleshoot well enough to give them some good direction at least. That’s my job and I know that I do that part well.

For the rest of the day yesterday and all day today I felt so much more sure of myself as I tackled my work. It’s so easy for me to focus on everything I don’t know and to blow that up until it’s the only thing I can see but now I feel like what I don’t know has been put into perspective and what I do know has been too. I delegated tasks and answered questions decisively and I felt really good.

I love my job so much. I have never had such an exciting, interesting, challenging, thought provoking job. I look forward to coming to work every day. I never knew what it was like to love a job. I never knew there even was such a thing. I certainly couldn’t imagine ever saying something so bizarre as “I look forward to coming to work every day.” But it’s true.

And loving one’s job adds such sweetness to life! Instead of my job just being something I endure for money, it’s actually something that increases my quality of life. I’m dealing with some stressful times in one part of my personal life and some sad times in another part, but my job is always there to cheer me up. Damn that sounds ridiculous, but it’s really true.

I made aloo mattar as this week’s soup (and/or curry) of the week. I can’t say it’s like any aloo mattar I’ve ever had (mostly because I overcooked the potatoes so it’s largely mush) but it’s quite tasty nonetheless. Tangy and savory and very spicy…I just wish it wasn’t quite so thick and mushy.

I also introduced my boys to the joy that is indoor s’mores. I myself was a stranger to the indoor goodness but now I fear I’ve been spoiled for the real thing. If you are unfamiliar, the process for making indoor s’mores consists of the following: take one graham cracker square, top with one quarter of a chocolate bar, top additionally with one marshmallow, microwave for 15 seconds, then gently finish with one more graham cracker square. Initially, being the traditionalist that I am, I was biased against the process, but I quickly learned to see its advantages. When cooked in the microwave, the chocolate gets all melty. When cooked in the microwave, the s’more takes only a few seconds to cook. When cooked in the microwave, s’mores are a dessert that can be produced from start to finish by a proud five year old. And have you ever cooked a marshmallow in the microwave? That’s fun for all ages.

I fear my boys will be deeply disappointed when faced with the slow, chilly, non-puffy campfire alternative even if they do get to play with fire.

And as my final gustatory comment, I am currently baking banana bread. I usually make the recipe from the Joy of Cooking, or if I happen to come across it, my mom’s recipe, but today I decided to try this recipe, as recommended by AmericanFamily. It better be good, damnit.

Today we had our first real day of spring. It’s been a really cold spring so far, unusually cold for us, and our winters are long and grey enough that spring is welcomed a bit maniacally even without the extra long wait. Early this week there was a forecast that today would be sunny and in the upper 60s and people have been talking about it all week. It is literally the only small talk I’ve heard for the past several days. And I wasn’t immune either. I like the soft grey days of our rainy climate, but they also make me appreciate the bright, invigorating sunny days all the more. I was happy to commiserate with coworkers and fellow bus commuters about the ways in which we were going to enjoy our sunny Saturday.

I felt like I should take the boys out to do something fun, but what I really wanted to do was stay home and garden, so that’s what we did. Ballet in the a.m. (”Mama, I really love my ballet class”), then a trip to a nearby nursery, and then home to commune with the earth. I felt kind of bad to be subjecting my boys to a day of yard work, but I had some suspicions that it might actually be fun if I included them in the jobs involving dirt and bugs and any sort of tools or machinery and my suspicions were correct.

I really didn’t have any intention of planting a garden or doing anything special with my yard this year until I read Kristina’s post about her own garden and I sighed with envy and felt inspired to spend way too much money at local nurseries. My landlord told me that the yard was up to me but while it’s relatively small (my front yard is probably about 25′ x 25′), it still requires a lot of work and I only managed to graduate to successful container gardening last year thanks to much handholding. But now I’m in it to win it, apparently. Last weekend I bought myself a reel mower and some weeding implements, and this weekend I spent $50 on plants (round one).

It doesn’t hurt that someone (presumably the last residents of my house) put a lot of effort into the yard and so all I really need to do is weed and replant the beds and then just maintain everything. And that’s my plan. Of course, the sheer number of beds (despite the small yard) and the sheer number of weeds means that I’m not exactly in for an easy time of it, but I’m determined. Today I mowed my lawn, weeded one full bed that stretches the entire length of my yard, and dug up the entire rock border (much of which had been entirely overgrown with grass — as in, buried under roots) and re-lined the bed. I am freakin’ exhausted but oh my it looks so pretty. And I haven’t even planted yet! I was figuring I’d tackle that tomorrow, but after resting for the while it’s taken me to write this entry, I feel a second wind coming on, so maybe I’ll do some planting tonight after all.

This yard is odd though. Someone apparently had a driftwood fetish because there is driftwood everywhere, and my boys were thrilled to find hundreds of shimmery opalescent marbles in the dirt, as well as a small Buddha. There is also a painting of a gnome attached to the fence, a painted welcome sign, a driftwood mobile and three bird houses. And a small, very slimy pond. The fence that separates my yard from my neighbor’s is chicken wire and was used to support beans last year (my plan for this year too, scarlet runners that will produce pretty flowers and edible beans) and my five year old spent much of the day happily harvesting the remains. His lunchbox full of dried pink and black beans is sitting next to me and it’s quite soothing to run my fingers through them.

This one is “before” as you might imagine.

And after! It’s been planted since so you really aren’t getting the full effect here, but you can get a clear sense of the driftwood oddness. Some of the driftwood (like that tied to my porch) I can cut down, but the stuff nailed to the fence will be harder.

I’m stuck keeping my kids up while we wait for my beef stew to finish cooking. It’s close enough to being done that it’ll be done (and overdone) before my two year old falls asleep if I were to put him down, but it’s not done enough that I can just take it out now (damned potatoes).

Guess I should have made Indian food like I was planning. For some reason my curry cravings left me on Friday and haven’t returned, and beef stew was both something I hadn’t yet made for soup of the week, as well as something easy. I can’t say I’m terribly excited about it, I generally don’t make such meat-focused soups, but eh, it’ll be good enough, and certainly cheaper than the alternative. Although yesterday at the grocery store I was casually pricing canned soups and I realized that in many cases it would be cheaper to buy five cans of soup than it is to make a big pot of soup. Either would be cheaper than buying lunch every day, of course, but cans would certainly require less effort than the pot. Maybe I’ll try it for a week and see if canned soup has improved in quality since I last ate it.

Mostly, the weekend has been fairly uneventful. I got a few things done but, as always, less than I’d hoped. More than the bare minimum of weekend tasks (laundry, groceries, tidying), so I’m counting it as a success. I started filling out paperwork for the impending drama with my boys’ dad and it’s already making me feel tired. Tomorrow I have a long list of tasks to complete in order to proceed with the paperwork and I can tell it’s going to be one of these situations that adds enough stress to my life that I start feeling like I’m only barely clinging to sanity. But so be it. The hardest part is coming up with a workable custody schedule. I’ve been reading guidelines from several different counties in my state and while they’ve given me some insight, I think that ultimately I need to talk to a professional. Our situation is just too complicated and messy, with such young children, one of whom doesn’t know his father at all, both of whom can handle different amounts of time being away from their primary care giver, both of whom are dealing with visitation over long distances…and those are the easier parts. I just want to know that what I submit is what’s best for my sons. Maybe my concerns are less important than I think, maybe the ideal arrangement is simpler than I anticipate, but I really need someone who knows about child development and custody and visitation and whatnot to make that determination for me.

I don’t know what happened, but today wound up being a somewhat rough mama day. It started out so well, as well as our days usually start out, with suggling and tickling in bed, followed by breakfast and the rush to get dressed, followed by the commencement of weekend errands. The grocery store, which can often be a bit bumpy, especially by the end when everyone is tired, was smooth as silk, and even when I got home and realized that they had neglected to include one of my bags of groceries, I wasn’t fazed because I simultaneously realized we were entirely out of toilet paper.

Somewhere in the evening though, something went awry and I found myself yelling and making outrageous threats (”If you don’t clean your &$%@ room I will not only throw away every toy you have, but I will smash them all with my sledgehammer while you watch and then banish you to the closet with nothing but moldy bread and water until you are 18!!!”) and then stomping around for an excessively long time, all the while mentally asking myself what the hell was up with me.

It all worked out in the end. The room got clean and everyone was happy as a result, and I only barely minded that while I was folding laundry my five year old managed to eat an entire pint of organic grape tomatoes, as well as two pints of organic strawberries, both of which were expensive and were supposed to last all week for his school lunches. I also didn’t mind that my two year old took over an hour to fall asleep (if I’m lucky I can usually get out in a half hour to forty five minutes) because I engaged in a silly little romantic fantasy that I’ve been tossing around in my head and the time just flew.

And now I’ve determined that my evening tantrum was nothing more than my subconscious plea for a break, so I’m giving myself one by staying up late, ordering my very, very favorite pizza (and soda — I never get soda), and preparing to watch a recently arrived disc of Lost, despite the fact that I really should save it for my morning workouts next week.

Kristina commented that I must be feeling a sense of relief about getting resolution with regard to establishing a parenting plan with my boys’ dad but no, I definitely do not feel any relief at all, I only feel fear. My boys’ dad is the type of person who will stop at nothing to win, nothing. If I file a parenting plan and he gets served with notice of my filing, he won’t look at the plan to see how reasonable or unreasonable it is, or how it fits in with what he wants, he’ll just attack.

I fully expect that he will make up any number of lies to demonstrate that I am a bad parent. He already does this in our regular communication, taking one small occurrence and twisting it into something completely inappropriate. For example, way back before he moved across the country, he sent me an email completely out of the blue and told me that he was moving and that he wanted to take our five year old with him. As you might imagine, this freaked me out. I was afraid that if I said no, he might well do it anyway. And when I received the email, our son was at his house already, so I was afraid that if I said no, I might not ever see him again. We got into a big (email) fight as a result and when we were coming down from the fight I tried to explain to him that he had scared me, that my first thought had been to run to my son’s preschool and bring him home so that he’d be safe, so that I’d know he wouldn’t be taken from me. Ever since I wrote that, he’s been using that to accuse me of threatening to kidnap our son. I was just trying to explain how panicked and afraid he made me! It’s like being at work and hearing about something bad happening to a little kid and wanting to leave work immediately to go hug your own to reassure yourself that they are safe. You don’t actually do it, it’s just your first thought because you worry about these little people who depend on you so much! But now I am a potential kidnapper.

He also accuses me of bringing strange and dangerous men around my children. This accusation was based on a blog entry I wrote long ago about a guy I met who was too needy and clingy, but jesus, he wasn’t dangerous, he was just insecure! He just liked me! In my experience dating over the past year or two I’ve talked to and/or gone on dates with plenty of people who were too insecure for me but who were still interested in me. That doesn’t mean they became insane stalkers. Hell, some of them actually became my friends (including the needy clingy guy from above). Most of them never came to my house, never even learned my last name, and certainly never met my children. Not because I felt they were unsafe in any way, but because there was no need. Jesus, I’m not desperate and I’m also not a moron. I don’t need to latch on to any and every person who happens to glance my way. I certainly can be choosy enough to keep far away from anyone who seems even slightly concerning. If I learned anything from my ex, it’s that trust is a dangerous thing to give someone, so it’s best to be very, very cautious.

And then just yesterday he accused me of drunk driving with my five year old in the car. This is based on a text message I sent him from a friend’s house one day. She was moving away and another friend brought over a bottle of wine as a going away present and so we each had a glass. I made the mistake of sending him a silly, exaggerated text message saying that I was drunk (after one glass of wine) and since I drove home afterward (four or five hours later), I’m now a drunk driver. (Especially pleasing is the fact that although this happened years before we broke up, he emailed himself the message so that he would have it in case he needed it in the future.)

It’s easy enough for me to get indignant over his ridiculous accusations and then roll my eyes, brush them off and move on. But when it comes to court, it won’t be that easy. The story I hear from women over and over is that the first hearing, the temporary hearing where the temporary parenting plan is established, is a setting where anything goes. He can make any accusations he wants, any, and he won’t have to back them up or provide any evidence until the final hearing that generally doesn’t take place for another year or two. So he could lie, he could make up outrageous bullshit, and as a result I could lose my children for a year or two. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how that thought keeps me up at night, how it chokes me up thinking about it right now.

And he will do it. I keep having this entirely irrational hope that he will conduct himself with integrity, that he will read over the parenting plan I create and think to himself, oh, hmm, this is actually not that bad and really pretty fair, and won’t fight me at all. But I know him. I know that if I dare to challenge him, then he has to win. And if he’ll lie to me about me, the person who actually knows the truth, imagine what he’ll say to someone who doesn’t know me at all.

Sure, I can lie too. I can twist circumstances and take things out of context and make up shit outright, but that’s not me. I have no desire to do that, why would I? I don’t care whether he wins or loses, I don’t care whether he is judged as a bad parent, I just want everything to be settled in the best interests of my children. I am fully aware that their best interests include their father, I agree even, so I’m certainly not going to stand in the way of that. But I can’t say the reverse in true for him. I can’t say that he’s not going to try to “win” at all costs, even if that means that our boys will lose, even if he doesn’t even want the prize.

Yesterday I got a letter from my son’s preschool announcing that they are implementing a “no hugging” policy at the school. The reason for such a policy is that hugging apparently leads to talk of girlfriends/boyfriends and pre-schoolers are too young for such talk.

I certainly don’t disagree that preschoolers are too young to be…dating? but man, this no hugging policy positively infuriates me. Can they not just talk to the kids about why calling someone your girlfriend or boyfriend is something for older kids and grownups and not for four and five year olds? Can they talk about how hugs are for friends and to show that you care about someone and how there are lots and lots of different ways to care about someone? Can they not handle this in a million different ways other than banning a perfectly natural form of human expression???

It feels like abstinence education for preschoolers. Don’t address the issue, don’t treat the kids as if they actually have any sort of understanding or ability to comprehend, just avoid it because we all know that if we avoid something it magically disappears! Hell, I say that we draw a line down the center of the school and keep girls on one side and boys on the other! Really, a line probably isn’t enough. The kids will still be able to see each other and we all know that seeing leads to interaction, which leads to friendship, which could lead to any number of very, very dangerous possibilities! I say they ban friendship between the sexes! No wait, that would probably lead to rampant homosexuality, so we better ban all interpersonal contact whatsoever! Give every child a box they sit inside for the entire day! Place bags over their heads as they walk to and from their parents’ cars! Wrap them in layers and layers of bubble wrap so that even if someone does dare to touch them, they won’t be able to feel it!

I did not grow up in a physically affectionate family and let me tell you, I hate it when people hug me, but at the same time I secretly like it because it feels nice, it feels like connection, it feels like caring. It makes me happy to have two huggy little boys and I do my best to make sure that we are a very physically affectionate family because I don’t want them to feel that same discomfort around something that is really a very nice (and really, a very important) aspect of human interaction. The fact that my son’s school is teaching him that hugging is a bad thing makes me incredibly angry. This is not the first time I’ve been annoyed with my son’s school (not by a long shot, unfortunately), and it’s so hard not to tell him that Ms. [School Director] is an ass and that he shouldn’t listen to her and that he should tell her his mom told him to do so.

Only 2.5 months left and then I’ll be done with that stupid place for good.

Is there such a thing as a curry tooth? A garam masala tooth? Because I think I have one. I have been craving Indian food like you wouldn’t believe. Every day I am so happy to go to work because I know I can go to a nearby Indian restaurant for lunch and every day after lunch I think, “Ahh, finally I am sated!” but then an hour later I’m trying to scheme what I’d feed my kids if I stopped at an Indian place near my house to pick up dinner (sadly, my boys don’t do spicy…yet). I don’t know that I’ve ever craved something so intensely in my life. And really, to say that I crave it is to put it mildly. I think about it all the time, I yearn for it. I do not know what is up with me.

I have eaten curry every day for a week and I see no end in sight. In fact, I feel deprived, like I’m not getting nearly enough. Thankfully my lunchtime place has a $4 special that includes rice, an ever changing variety of veggie curries, a piece of naan (that is really just a tortilla) and a drink, so at least I’m not killing my budget too badly.

I think that this weekend I might forgo my weekly soup (that has been forgone for a few weeks now) and make chicken saag and aloo matar and some yummy, yummy samosas and then plan to take that for lunch for the whole week. If I don’t eat it all by Sunday, that is. And really, if I have it in my house, I’m pretty sure I will eat it for breakfast, lunch and dinner until it’s gone.