Seeking Absolution...

I normally try to make my posts more up-beat and cheerful--we all have enough drama in our own lives without anyone elses', but today I'm in a bad space. So, here it goes:

My kids are acting terribly, I'm tired and cranky, and I'm feeling pretty useless as a human being right now (can you hear the violins playing yet?).

When I'm in this space I think about social movements in history. The women's liberation movement is something that I think about quite often. Strange, but true. I often think that what my grandmother and mother have done for my generation is both good and very, very bad. The Women's Movement created the possibility of independence, a voice, and choices for women; yet it also took away that which we already had. I am grateful for what it accomplished in that I can go into most businesses, doctors' offices, or any other public place and be treated (mostly) in a fair and upright manner. I can complain and have my complaints heard, addressed, and changes made as a result of them. I can drive a car, vote, have a career, a family; I can have it all, thanks to the Women's Liberation Movement.

Or can I?

Today, I feel the crushing pressure closing in on me from all directions. Dolce et decorum est...said Wilfred Owen (one of my favorite poets, whose works were not discovered for the gems they are until well after his death). It is an old lie. You cannot possibly have it all. I cannot have it all, though try I may.

I had the luxury of being a Stay At Home Mother (S.A.H.M) for a year, after my son was born. I about went crazy the first few months--what the heck do you actually do with a toddler and a newborn all day long, with no help? I had never had the experience of being a REAL mother; I went back to work before my daughter turned 4 months old. I have felt extreme guilt over going to work so soon after Peanut was born because of the relief that I felt to be 'free' again. See, I couldn't wait to return to work. Working was so much easier than being a MOM. I got to love on my girl for an hour or so in the morning, and then whisk her off to my daycare provider (whom I absolutely adore--she is a fabulous human being who truly loves what she does) go to work and then pick her up at about 3:30pm. That left me with about 3 hours of being a MOM before Peanut went to bed. Truly, I was only a parent for 4ish hours a day.

That is not parenting.

Then, along came my Chubbers and I flat out told B.J. I would stay home for the year and be a mom. It was hard, but by the time my year was up, I was loathe to go back to work. I wanted to stay home with my babies. I wanted to be a MOM. I loved seeing all their changes and watching Chub-chub make all his milestones (Chubbers is a Typical child, v.s. Peanut having multiple developmental delays, not the leas of which is ASD). It was such a pure joy. It nearly crushed me to drop my babies off at the daycare and head to work.

Well, here it is, summer, and I am 'off' work for a couple of months. My children and I have to get used to each other again. Learn each others rhythms and needs. We're getting there. Slowly. Peanut is having a tough time adjusting. Her attitude just keeps getting worse. She is mean and nasty to her brother; she screams at me and and her brother, and her behavior is just 'ugly' overall. This makes me feel like crap. No, it make me feel like dog crap. Peanut tells me she wants her teacher. I'm glad, because it means she's having a good time at school. I'm also distraught because, she behaves nicely for the teacher and plays well with the kiddos, but for me she is a terror. I feel so ineffectual. I feel like she would prefer to be at the daycare and at school rather than be home. She has told me she doesn't want to 'go home' after school or other outings. How should I take this? What does it mean? Does she hate me? Is being home so terrible? I take it as she would rather be anywhere than with me. It probably isn't true, but on a day like today, that is how it feels.

Which brings me back to the fact that I can't have it all and that the Women's Movement had a dark side to it.

In the past women were at home, to keep house and to tend the children. Men went to work, and made a decent living wage. The roles were sex-stereotyped, but likely worked in most families (yes, I am aware of abuse, limitations, etc.). Today, women are expected to do all of the same jobs that they did before, just they're also expected to pull in a substantial paycheck to go along with it. The Second Shift details the ins and outs of a modern 'liberated' woman. I fall into that category. Men today make less money than they did 30 years ago (adjusted for inflation) and finding a decent job for them is more and more difficult. Women have bridged the gap far enough to make $.70 to every $1.00 a man makes. Men cannot support their families today as they were able to in the 1950's working a single (non college-degree) job. It is so unfair. Are we really further ahead than our great-grandmothers? It seems, to me, men and women are more depressed, more angry, and their quality of life is much lower than it was in my grandmother's day. Is this supposed to be called progress?

I work. Part-time (really my hours total up to between 35-40 per week). My children go to daycare. Daycare dissolves the majority of my paycheck; once my student loan and some of the smaller household bills are taken care of I have virtually no money left. I see my children after work (between 3:30pm and bedtime) during the crabbiest time of day for them and for me. I am in charge of upkeep of the house, groceries, landscaping, laundry, and other miscellanea. I am not complaining about my husband. He does a good job of being a husband, father, and provider. He does share in the tasks of the household. I just wind up doing more, after all, I work part-time.

Why am I working? I keep rationalizing that my children won't necessarily remember me being home while they were infants/toddlers. They grow up so fast. I'll be able to be there for them after school during their school-age years--where it really counts (I can go to all their activities, be active in their lives and know who their friends are, and supervise them when many other people leave their kids to 'fend for themselves' after a certain age--opening the door to pre-marital sex, drugs, and all sort of other fun things). But, WHY? Why do I work? My paycheck is too small to really make much of a difference. I still do everything I did when I was home for that year. I'll tell you why: So I don't lose my license. I cannot afford to stay home with my kids and lose my license. I worked so hard for it (I got a master's degree after it!!). I can't afford to take the exorbitantly priced graduate school classes that would maintain my license (at $500+ per class/term). Someday my children will fly from the nest. If my licensure is kaput, where do I go? I went to school so I wouldn't have to wait tables the rest of my life. My mother insisted I get a degree so that I could take care of myself should the need arise. As one of my collegues has shown me the need arises all too often (her husband is no longer able to support their family). Had she not maintained her license, they would be homeless. What do I do?

I am stuck.

I feel like I can't go back, and I cannot move forward. The proverbial 'rock and a hard place.' What do I do? What do I do?

I need someone to give me their benediction and tell me that I'm doing o.k. That my kids will turn out just fine. That this season in my life won't go on forever. That I'm doing the right thing.

I need to know that it isn't all for nothing. I need to know that I'm not a bad mother.

Life is hard when you're teetering on the razor's edge in a pair of stilettos while trying to be everything to everyone. Again, I think of the Women's Liberation Movement. Was it all worth it? Am I a happier person because of all the work the mothers of yesterday did? Again, I don't know.

Dante's Lost Circle of Hell

Just 4 more days until we have a weekend away! There, as always, is a lot to do, but I'm excited. Peanut is excited (she can hardly wait to go on Opa's big boat), and if Chub-chub had any concept of time, I'm sure he'd be on pins and needles, too.

Since it is such a short time until we leave, I'm already gearing up for our family weekend in Seattle. As a part of the planning I am already envisioning what I'm going to pack. It sounds a bit shallow (well, o.k, a lot shallow) but that's where I'm at. This is a good thing, in a round about way. As a part of my planning for the weekend (we're staying at the Marriott--ooh, the swimming pool) I have discovered I need a swimsuit.



Yes. A swimsuit. *screaming and sounds of agony*



I have discovered in my pre-trip planning that the swimsuit that I currently own is fairly on the ginormously too big side. This makes me happy. It actually is a demonstrable way seeing that I have in fact shed 60 unsightly pounds in the past 21 months. When you have a lot of weight to lose, as I still do, it is sometimes really hard to see the changes. Even 60 pounds worth of change can be somewhat tough to see.



Take, for example, my fattest FAT PANTS. I saved my fattest FAT PANTS to remind me of why I cannot sit on the couch and watch paint peel while getting take-away for dinner. I tried them on just yesterday for a morale boost: it was good. I could physically see where my waistline was at (even at my heaviest, my FAT PANTS were tight in the waist, hips, and thighs) and I can see that my new-er waist line sits a comfortable 4.5 inches inside the circumference of the old. My hips and thighs can swim inside the old FAT PANTS. This makes me very happy; it makes me very happy, indeed.



I digress. As usual.



Anyhow, I was mentally envisioning myself playing in the sunshine and splashing in the swimming pool with my chickadees, but not in the old swimsuit. Couldn't possibly wear it, lest I offer a free burlesque show to the poor unsuspecting sunbathers poolside. So, that meant one thing and one thing only: swimsuit shopping *blood curdling howls of terror*



Now, if you've a svelte figure that you've always had or kept hold of by religiously punishing your body at the gym, you won't be able to relate to what is to follow. You go on ahead and just cruise on over to another blog. Go on, save your self some time and trouble. Ok. Now, the rest of the 68% of you (us) out there that have *gulp* blossomed past a size 14, here's the scary part.



Swimsuit shopping is enough to give any healthy, in-shape, self-possessed woman a case of body dysmorphic disorder. Swimsuit shopping for the overly endowed, voluptuous sort is something akin to having bamboo rods shoved violently under your fingernails and asking "please, sir, may I have some more?" This type of shopping is a grueling task master who likes to crack the whip of self-loathing, under glaring overhead lighting. No one looks good in overhead lighting; if you've got a little cottage cheese to go along with your squishy dough rolls, it is even less flattering.



I trekked to many stores, spanning two cities.

Fred Meyer: Nope.

Wal-Mart: Nope (they design suits for midgets*. I swear, the suits I tried on there either left me glad that my bikini line is neat and well groomed or wishing my boobs hadn't gone as far south as they had.)

JC Penney: not only did they not have any air-conditioning on, there was a waiting line at multiple dressing rooms and when I finally got into one of the sweaty little stalls there was someone else's mess waiting for me. Now, that was just disgusting.



So, I thought I'd try out Nordstrom. I love 'Nordies.' Granted, the Nordstrom we have here is what I call "Ghetto-Nordies":it is only two floors, and the women's, Brass Plum, children's, and children's shoes occupy one of the floors--so a very small and limited selection, but I still enjoy it (too bad the prices are a bit STEEP). Good 'ol Nordstrom, should have something, right?

Wrong. They had exactly 4 swimsuits above a size 14, all of which were so old-lady even old ladies would have gagged.



My favorite stand-by: Target (tar_Shay, ya know how to say it). Nada. Again, the suits had midget syndrome. Hey, I'm tall (5' 8") but, not freakishly tall like, for example, the women folk on my husband's side (his little sis' stands at a diminutive 6' 1"). So I should be able to fit into a suit. American women aren't that short.



I eventually wound up at Macy's. I'll forever think of it as Meier & Frank--calling it Macy's just feels wrong somehow even though the buy-out has been several months ago now.

Once at Macy's I slogged down to the ground floor and wrestled my way through the remodel going on to find the swimsuits. For moi: exactly 1 rack. Uno. ONE! And on that ONE rack there were about 5 different styles of suit. I found 3 different suits that weren't too 'old-lady' or too 'ugly' or too 'midget-ish' and drug myself into the dressing room. I tried each and every one on at least two times. I figured this was the end of the road. Short of a 45 minute drive to a bigger city, my swimsuit shopping options were exhausted.



It is funny, how when you try on swimsuits, you suck in your gut, square your shoulders, twist and turn in vain to look smaller. Uh-uh. No matter what you do, in that 6'x6' portal to hell, nothing makes a dang bit of difference. Yet, we still try. Why is that? If I suck 'it' in, its gotta go somewhere; so, likely, if I suck in my gut, the 'suck in' probably bulges out somewhere less flattering, like my butt. Or my thighs. Oh, my thighs...we're just not even going to go there...



After my dressing room calisthenics I finally decided on a two-piece 'tankini'. It is a simple brown with white piping/edging and a criss-cross back (gotta have the extra support to keep the girls in line--no black eyes for me after my Bo Derek '10' impersonation on the shore). My self-esteem was about 99.7% in the toilet when I walked out at last. However, I think it tanked entirely when I went to the check-out counter.



$106.00. *retching*



As if I needed insult on top of my injury.



Could someone please tell me why on earth a swimsuit would cost that much money? Please? I don't even know what brand it is to warrant such a price tag. (likely no-name brand) But, in the end, after a few hours of self-torture and the realization that the Swedish Bikini Team will not require my presence this season, I finally sucked-up the cost and now have a swimsuit.



I may not look like Claudia Schiffer, but at least I'll be able to play with my kids at the pool (bonus: without indecent exposure!) and have a good time.



As I walked away from the department store, mentally shaking my head over the price I paid, I came to a very real conclusion: I could use this experience as an excuse to go home, boo-hoo into a pint of Häagen-Dazs or stoke the fires of motivation to continue to get into better shape and look better, for myself.



I chose the latter. Sometimes the glass is half-empty; today the glass was half-full.







*if you happen to be a midget, no offense is meant.