Balance is an illusion

I know that probably sounds like a cliché by now - a forty-something year old woman complaining that the work-life balance goal is just a fantasy. But, here I sit, at the kitchen table with Rita next to me, playing with Playdoh, while I slog through a stack of reading for my class on Monday night.

It's official, I now work full-time, go to school part-time and try to manage a household containing two little girls and a spouse. There's no 50-50. There are no breaks. It's hard as hell but, at least on some days, I am excited to make it work.

It's true that you have to let some things go when you are trying to do too many things. So, friends, if you were offended by my messy house before, you may want to avoid dropping by now. My Monday babysitter took pity on me last week and folded all the clean laundry that had piled up - now all I have to do is put it away - HAH! - more likely, we'll just pick out what we want to wear from the neat pile on the chair and put it on.

A couple of weeks ago, I felt such dread at the thought of having to finish a paper before class the next day that I told my husband I was going to quit the program. "Okay," he said. This was not a helpful response but he was probably just tired of hearing my gripes. Luckily, I have other friends, those in my doctoral program and others who have finished already and they remind me that I can do it. That it's best not to take things too seriously, to get as much done as you can without freaking out (and papers do get done better that way). To them I say, "Thanks!" To the spouse, I say, "Put away your own underwear!"

Sadness and Love

The other night I was putting the girls to bed and I was singing them a song I had made up. I sang about how cute and sweet they are and how much I love them. Then I added a line about how sad I'd be if they ever went away. Nina asked me to keep singing to her, so I did. After a few minutes, she looked over at me with her eyes full of tears and her face about to crumple. I stopped singing and asked what she was feeling. She said, "When you sang about how sad you'd be if we went away, it made me so sad. Why did it make me so sad?"

We talked about how sometimes when we love someone so much, it makes us sad to think about not being together. We also talked about the fact that we don't cry just when we are sad but sometimes we even cry when we are happy or because we love someone so much.

This kid is getting so big and she asks these questions that are difficult even for grown ups to understand. All I can do is look on with love (and usually with tears in my eyes), answer her questions as best as I can, and hope that she never questions how much I love her.

56° and raining

Since March I had been planning a family getaway to the Cape. We were to spend a long weekend in mid-June enjoying the sun and the beach - before it got overrun with tourists. Everything started off well, we began our trip at Edaville Railroad in Carver, MA, where we took a ride on Thomas the Tank Engine. This is the third year in a row that we've done this and it's always fun. We had a great day for it, the sun was shining and the girls were happy and well-behaved. We rode the train then went on some of the other rides at the park. Just as the sky started to darken, we decided to head out for the rest of our weekend on the Cape.

As planned, Rita slept in the car on the drive to the outer reaches of the Cape. We had booked a hotel room in Provincetown for the next three nights. Once we arrived, we decided not to tempt fate by walking around town with two tired kids after an already-full day, so we ordered a pizza and ate it in our hotel room.

The next morning we woke up to gray skies and cool weather. Luckily, I had packed coats and long pants. After breakfast, we spent time wandering around in Provincetown, checking out the shops. We took a walk down to the water just as it started to mist. We were lucky to make it back to the hotel before the heavy rains started.

While the two-year old took a nap with her Papa, Nina and I spent an hour and a half at a coffee shop in town, where I taught her to play bingo, checkers and crazy eights. I was so glad I decided to bring that 7-in-1 game pack along!

The next day we weren't so lucky, it felt cold and it was definitely raining -- not just misty -- and the wind threatened to turn our umbrella inside out. Paul and I joked that the thermometer in the car was broken since it had read 56° since sometime the day before. Still, we were determined to do something with our day; the idea of being stuck in a small hotel room with two little kids was unbearable. So, we struck out for Pilgrim Monument. Completed in 1910, the 252 foot tower marks the spot where the pilgrims (those of the Mayflower) first stopped in their trek to the New World. As we all know, they quickly decided to move on to Plymouth instead, where they are commemorated with a much less impressive ROCK instead of a tower, but there you have it.

Paul and Nina decided to climb all the way to the top of the tower while Rita and I waited in the relative comfort of the museum and gift shop. At first, we did try to go up with them but the wind was howling and blowing rain in through the open windows and Rita put on her best fierce face and said, "No!" I couldn't agree with her more, so down we went. When they got back from their climb, both Paul and Nina said that the wind was so strong at the top that the rain was coming in sideways and Paul had to hold onto Nina so she wouldn't fly out the window.

We also visited the Whydah Pirate Museum for a little while. It's interesting but not enough to hold the attention of two little ones. Although, Nina was fascinated by the rotting pirate in the cage that had been previously hung over the side of the ship. Okay, this one was a reproduction but still, it does capture the imagination.

After lunch, we took a drive so the girls would take a nap. Then we decided that we'd try to go to the beach and at least look at the ocean that we weren't going to get to swim in. We pulled into the lot and parked alongside some other brave souls in rain slickers who just wanted to take a quick walk on the beach. We all got out of the car and started to head towards the path that leads to the shoreline. Once again, Rita decided that she was NOT going to be out in this awful weather. The rain was coming down and the wind whipped so hard that it elicited four-letter words from me unbidden. We headed back to the car. Paul and Nina made an attempt to get to the shore but they didn't get much farther. It was not a beach day.

By now we were beaten down. We had tried, really tried to make the most of a crappy-weather vacation. And, while finding this website was definitely helpful, we really did not have a restful vacation. I haven't even brought up the fact that every night we had a struggle to get the kids to sleep. Being out of our usual routine sends them to a wild and crazy place when it comes to bedtime. Each night, after PJs, brushing teeth and stories, Rita would continually get out of bed and go to the little fridge, open it, take a swig of the milk in her sippy cup, put the cup back and slam the door. She was so proud of herself for figuring out how to open the door. Now the image of our little refrigerator raider is hilarious but in the moment it was pretty infuriating.

We managed to salvage a few good moments during the trip. Playing games with Nina, having a laugh with Paul in the car while the kids were asleep (over I don't even remember what), mostly enjoying one really good meal (that wasn't pizza or hot dogs) while the girls were occupied at the table with crayons, and finishing a really good book in the spare moments I could find, are among the better memories. And, on our last day on the Cape, when we decided to go to the Cape Cod Children's Museum in Mashpee, I spent at least 30 minutes sitting quietly, watching Rita play all by herself with a toy farm. That is beauty and peace.

The Story of Jimmy

On Memorial Day we took the kids to the local parade where we joined some friends and their kids. While waiting for the parade to start, the kids were poking each other with sticks and running around - at least until they discovered the gypsy moth caterpillars. Nina adopted one and named it Jimmy. For her, it was better than the candy being tossed out at the parade.

On the walk home, Nina kept up a running commentary, "Look, Jimmy, there's the library. Hey, Jimmy, we're on the bridge." She was smitten. When we got home, I made Jimmy a house out of a plastic takeout container with some holes cut in the top. We lined it with a nice, fresh maple leaf.

Nina spent the afternoon helping me in the garden and of course, Jimmy was right there with us. Every so often she would take him out and pet his soft little body and coo at him. At one point, she dropped him in the grass and when she couldn't find him right away, she started to cry, "Mama, you must help me find Jimmy! Where is Jimmy!" Finally I did find him and she was so grateful.

Our neighbors were outside in their garden when we almost lost Jimmy and Nina had already gone over to show him off to them. They have a son who is ten or eleven so they understand the whole obsession with crawly things. The next thing I knew, they had presented Nina with an actual bug house for Jimmy. I really have the best neighbors.

For the next several days, Nina carried Jimmy around, showing him things, talking to him and narrating his activities, "Mama, Jimmy is eating. Shhhh, Mama, don't be so loud, Jimmy is taking a nap." She even brought him to day care for show and tell at circle time. Throughout the week, I kept explaining to her that her pet would not be able to become a moth unless he was able to go into a tree and build a cocoon. She understood this but the idea of his leaving was too painful for her to contemplate.

Finally, on Thursday night, on our way home from dinner - Jimmy came with us in the car, of course - Nina decided it was time to set him free. When we got home, it was starting to get dark and it was cold and rainy. I put on my serious face and went with Nina to the maple tree in our front yard. She slipped Jimmy out of his carrier and put him on the tree. She petted him and kissed him and told him goodbye. Just as we were giving him one last look, she decided she couldn't do it. She looked at me and said, "I'm not ready for him to go yet, Mama." Then she put him, and his chewed up maple leaves, back into the bug house and we went in to get ready for bed.

She proceeded to have a complete melt down that night. She had somehow decided that if we didn't let Jimmy go right away, he was going to die during the night. She insisted that we go back out into the dark, rainy night and set him free. But at the same time, she didn't really want to let him go. This was truly an ordeal for her. She was sobbing and saying that she didn't want him to die and we had to set him free. Being the mean mom that I am, I did not let her go back outside in her PJs to set the caterpillar free. We did all manage to calm down and get some sleep.

At about 6:30 the next morning, Nina was wide awake and ready to go set Jimmy free. She had made her mind up during the night that it was okay to let him go. After we all had breakfast and got dressed, the entire family gathered around the maple tree in our front yard to say goodbye to Jimmy. Once again, Nina stroked him and kissed him goodbye, but this time she was able to let him begin the long crawl up the tree trunk. We all waved and Paul very seriously documented the whole thing on his iPhone. And, while Nina was happy with her decision, she still mourns Jimmy a little bit every day. She even started to cry out of the blue over the weekend and when I asked her what was wrong, she told me, "Mama, I miss Jimmy!"

What is unique?

This is still a work in progress:

Earlier this week I was asked to answer the question, "What is unique about you?" This was the third in a series of questions that I was asked to answer before attending an orientation session for the doctoral program I will start in the fall.

My first thought was, "I'm a forty year old, middle-class white woman with two kids - there's nothing unique about me," and I still stand by this initial gut response but in the end, I talked about a previous job I had and how it affected me - and still does to this day.

In my early twenties, I thought that I wanted to become a family therapist. In order to test this out, I took a job as direct care staff at a local mental health agency. I had two different positions. Part of the time, I worked one-on-one with teens and young adults who had mental health issues but were able to function in the world. I spent time helping them to have "normal" lives...

At the same time, I also worked at a respite facility. I joke that it's the place you go when you aren't crazy enough to be hospitalized or where you go when you are ready to leave the hospital but not quite ready to go home. I met a lot of different people through this work. It was often difficult to tell who was a client and who was an employee. The work brings interesting people to it - all of them trying to figure out who they are. Some succeeded better than others.

There are many memorable moments from those years, but there is one that sticks out in my mind as an example of the kind of pain people experience and also as an example of just how messed up this job was.

Lorraine came to the respite site one day. She was about my age, mid-twenties, a slender, blonde, lovely girl with an Irish accent. It was hard to figure out what was going on with her but it was evident that she was truly sad - the kind of deep sadness that transcends one's whole being. The only time we saw even a glimmer of light in her eyes was when she spoke about her brother.

Lorraine had attempted to kill herself before she came to us but she was judged to be relatively safe when she was admitted. No one would have guessed that she would take off out the door of the house just as soon as she had the chance, but that's what she did. The next thing I knew, my supervisor dumped a handful of change into my hand and said, "Follow her. And, call us when you can." So, without questioning this charge, that's what I did.

I quickly caught up to Lorraine as she headed down the street. I tried to talk to her but she refused. She quickly crossed the main thoroughfare and I followed (this was pretty scary). She wandered into downtown and I followed. The whole time I kept talking to her. Asking her anything that came into my mind - I don't even remember now what I was saying, I just kept up a steady stream of conversation. At one point, we stopped by this little park and I was sure she was going to talk to me but I think she was just getting tired and confused. Finally, we started heading back to where the respite house was and we found ourselves in front of a convenience store. Lorraine had finally realized that I wasn't leaving her side and she seemed to be ready to come back with me. I stopped at the pay phone to call in and was talking to the shift supervisor when I glanced over at Lorraine and saw that she was trying to cut her wrists with some broken glass she had found on the ground. I don't even have words to describe my dread at that sight.

We ended up in an ambulance, heading to the hospital. The rest of the day is a bit murky but I will never forget how awful it felt to see her cutting herself. Eventually, Lorraine seemed to stabilize, maybe with our help, but who really knows. She left the respite and we thought she went home to be well and live a long life. It came as a shock to me when, about a year later, I saw her obituary in the paper. We can never really know what is going on in someone else's head and how much pain they are in. I won't ever forget that sad young woman and I'll always wonder what else I could have done - although I know that there probably was nothing I could do.

In gratitude

When I was about 3 1/2 I fell off the jungle gym at my nursery school and split my chin open. There were no wood chips on the playground in the early 70's, just asphalt. The gash required a few stitches and to this day I still have the scar.

I don't remember the incident really. What I do remember is being at the hospital with my mother while I got the stitches. The memory is not clear but I can somewhat recall seeing a large needle and thread. Mostly what I remember is my mom starting to swoon and the nurse bringing her smelling salts. I think I remember this part because it really surprised me to see my mom falter, for just a moment, in the face of a crisis. I always thought of her as perfect.

Now that I'm a mom, it seems amazing to me that this was one of the only times that I can recall seeing my mother drop her guard. She always seemed so certain in her parenting. Of course, now that I am an adult I can see that this really wasn't the case and we talk about what her fears and anxieties were (and still are). But back then, I was convinced that this woman could fix anything.

I remember my mother always being available to us when we were little. She was one of those mothers who embraced the idea that family always comes first. She and my dad raised us to believe that there was nothing we couldn't do if we worked hard at it. We were all expected to behave, do well in school and go to college. I'm sure my mother had to work hard to keep the five of us in line but it never really seemed that way. She is one of those people who is unfailingly loving and accepting of people. She will recognize a person's faults and accept them all the same. She is a true giver who is always taking care of others, often at her own expense. And, she will never admit when she is hurt or upset. She rarely shows a negative emotion.

I used to think these were all admirable qualities but now that I am an adult, I see these great gifts of my mother's as characteristics that also hold her back. I truly appreciate that my mother has this need to care for everyone and to make sure that she is never the cause of their hurt or sadness. But, I also know that these are qualities I don't want to have -- or to pass on to my own daughters. I don't want them to feel like they have to sacrifice themselves completely so that others can be happy. I have tried to do this, because it's how I was raised, but when I attempt to ignore my needs, I end up feeling angry and resentful. I know that I have to take time to do things that are important to me and this self-care will help me to be a better mother. Although, I will admit that I am still working on not feeling guilty when I take time out for myself.

We are all heir to such a jumble of traits from our parents -- no matter how much we try to fight it. I'm convinced that the best we can do is to recognize what we've been given and try to make it work in our own lives. I love my mother for everything she has given me, for the lessons I've learned from her, and for what I choose not to inherit.

You want to do what?!?

The application has been sitting on my computer's desktop for two weeks now. I look at it every day and contemplate filling it out and submitting it. I think about what I will say in the statement of purpose, why working towards this additional degree will change my life and how the work I intend to do will contribute to a larger goal. But, do I want to do it? Do I want to, at 40, go back to school again?

The last time I went back to school, I was on the cusp of 30. I got a master's degree then and while it was hell doing school full time, I really enjoyed it. Those were two of the best years of my life. Now, here I am ten years later thinking that what I really need is a doctorate. Is it insanity? Is it a midlife crisis? Is it just the nature of working in higher education?

I deal all the time with people who have PhDs. They aren't ALL eggheads living in an ivory tower. Some of them are actually my friends and they assure me that, yes, I'm definitely smart enough to do it. It's really more about stamina, commitment and persistence. Do I really want to commit so much time and energy to getting another degree? Why would I want to do it?

In the class-driven society in which I work, having a doctorate is definitely an asset. It opens the door to more career possibilities. It certainly makes it easier to deal with faculty if they realize that I've had to write a dissertation too. But, to the outside world, where most of my work is focused, it really makes not one bit of difference.

On the other hand, I love school. I've always loved school. In an earlier post I talked about begging to go to school when I was three. I truly enjoy learning, reading, discussion and writing. After I got my master's I worked at a number of jobs while scheming how I might come back and work at the University, because this is where I feel most comfortable. And, if I came back, I would be able to take classes for fun. But I've been working here for close to five years now and I've never taken a class for fun. Instead, I'm thinking about applying to a formal degree program.

Isn't it enough for me to work full time in the midst of all of this learning, taking a fun class every now and again? I mean, I do work full time plus I have two small children. If I take on one more official responsibility, will I just lose my mind?

To help me decide whether to fill out the application and set this whole process in motion, I took a class this semester in the program where I would be getting this doctorate. Overall, it's been a lot of work and a lot of juggling to figure out how to get everything done. There were weeks when I dreaded it and didn't know how I was going to get all of the assignments finished - not to mention finding time to do all of the reading for the class. On the other hand, I really enjoyed the way it made my brain work. It was exciting to think about this subject matter and to see how it applied to things that were going on in my life and work. It was exciting to see the possibilities of doing more research in this area.

Yesterday was the last class of the semester. I turned in all of my assignments and I breathed a huge sigh of relief. I came home and made lists of things that needed to be done because I had neglected them all semester. Last night I slept like the dead. And then this morning, I was right back at it. I started checking the spring schedule to see what class I might want to take next. I couldn't even help myself. Looks like I'll have to take the plunge.