Take Me Home, Country Roads...

At this time last year, I was at a conference, wondering about the "weird little stomach flu" I picked up. That "flu" is currently sleeping in the crib next to my bed. And I am profoundly grateful for that.

We went back to Tallahassee this weekend. These trips tend to be disorienting for me. How can so many places feel like home? On the surface, it seems like a good problem to have, but it leaves me feeling unsettled. In fact, as I was typing these words, I realized that I recognized this feeling too intimately. After my parents divorced, I spent many years not always knowing where I would spend the night. Dad's house? Mom's house? Maternal grandparents? Step-family's farm? I had a large bag that was packed with a few days worth of clothes and toiletries and that bag was home.

I've always been a bit of a gypsy, and I've always loved to travel. But packing a suitcase to travel is not the same as packing one to float between other people's guest beds or floors and a big part of me longed to make my own home. After two years of dorm living, and a scary old apartment, I bought a home at age 21, anxious to feel centered, rooted. It was cheap, and a bit scary, and more than a little broken, but it was mine.

Only problem is that I shared it with a boy that was also cheap and a little broken and I got to the point that I wanted to leave the home because he was in it. And so I did. I sold it to him and moved to the first floor of a large old home. And it was sunny and sweet. I bought new furniture and plates. And I was given a cat. And then found another. And I would sit on a wooden porch swing on the front porch, and love yet another cat who roamed the neighborhood. I liked that apartment. It was all mine, and I would snuggle to sleep in a canopy bed with a gray cat who would drool on me all night and a little black kitten who was a runt and almost blind.

Things were good until the house was sold to a new landlord. And suddenly, as he made too many bad changes, it was no longer home. Restless in my job, I moved again, this time two hours away. I found myself in a bad job in which I often feared for my life. And while I still think about my sweet rental townhouse there, I didn't stay long.

I moved back into my old home and with the old boy. The house was a wreck, and so was I. But then I got an amazing job and some great friends and my world burst open like a cherry blossom in spring. "Home" was no longer a building, but a city. With each late night in my office watching the sun set over the skyline, with each wine tasting, with each gallery opening, I was cultivating home. My friends were home. My family was home.

And then I got married to that boy. And then he wanted to move to Florida. And I wanted to stay, but I didn't. I left those friends and that job. And I cried, because I lost home again.

And during those first six months in Florida, I cried more. Because although we bought a sweet little house, I didn't feel home. Not in my new city. Not in my new job. Not in my new marriage.

Ironically, it was on our one-year anniversary, when we were "home" for the holidays, that my body became a home for another. And I got a new job. And I got new friends. I explored my new city. And I had a sweet baby. And we spent seven years in the little city, making a life.

But then the boy had to go on internship, and he needed to move. I thought about staying again, but this was to a major metropolitan area. A place of plentiful jobs for the boy after he finished his internship. So I moved. And the first six months were hard, again. But then I got a new job, and I worked real hard, and I got new friends, and we started building a life again. One complete with a pool in the backyard. But then, well, the hubby didn't seem to find any local jobs. And he found a great post-doc far away. And he reminded me that I didn't even like that new city when we first moved there, so why not move again?

And by that time, my body was home to another. I tried to find a way to stay just a bit longer, you see, because there were things that I wanted to finish. I wasn't ready to leave. But I couldn't figure out a way to make it fair to my little boy, and so we moved. To a decent town and a decent house and a decent school for my boy. And now I have a job- it's little, but interesting.

Today my old boss posted an award on Facebook. A prestigious recognition for a project that I spent months putting together before leaving my last home. I didn't get to stay to see it through to the end, but I poured a lot of time and effort into getting it put together. And once again I get to see evidence of my career cut short, my life interrupted. I feel like Sisyphus pushing the boulder, only to find myself having to start over as I get close to the top.

And that "great job" that we moved here for ends this summer. And the promise of a position after has now dissolved. The optimistic outlook of just a few weeks ago for two local jobs for the husband has dissolved, and I'm left to wonder if it's ever going to be possible for me to find a home.

I wasn't going to write this, actually. I just came to post two songs to capture how I am feeling. So I'm going to do that, and try to sleep to dream of home. Wherever that is.



And my anthem:

Good Lord... I think I bore myself...

Not quite, actually.
The title of the post, I mean.
I actually amuse myself too much, enjoy my solitude perhaps to detriment.

What I actually mean is this...
On paper, I am boring. I am unrecognizable.

This isn't, upon reflection, a recent problem.

I decided to strike out a bit this week, to make an effort to jump into some social groups. Not working really, really limits one's social choices. I joined a few groups on Meetup. One is for plus size folks in this area. They seem like a nice diverse group. I can't seem to get to their social events for awhile yet, and most of them are about an hour away (ah, the drawback of a major metropolitan area).

Another is a parent's group. They have a breakfast in a few weeks that I am going to.

In the meantime, I took to good ole' Craigslist to mine the friend field for some nuggets of gold. After all, I was on there anyway trying to sell some small appliances. So I see, in the "Strictly Platonic" section, a woman around my age and around my area. She likes to craft and go thrifting- great, me too!

So, I craft a reply. And as I lay my life out on the screen, I seem so alien. I am someone that I wouldn't have recognized 10 years ago...

Married
Mother of two kids and two cats
Currently a stay-at-home mom

Hobbies?
Reading!!!
Walking!!!
Hanging with my kids!!!
Trying to find a job!!!
Pinterest!!!
Watching episodes of Buffy as I breast-feed!!!


Wow! I'm so boring that I would never friend myself.

There is so much more to me than that. Or, at least, there used to be.

I need to meet that girl again.

If You Give A Mommy Some Coffee...

She's going to add peppermint mocha creamer.
And then she's going to have lots of energy and forget that she hasn't slept.
So she'll make some appointments and answer some emails.
Then she'll paint a decoration for the nursery.
But when she goes looking for the paint, she'll organize the cabinet.
Then she'll take out the trash.

And if the baby is sleeping,
Then she'll go on Pinterest,
And that's when she's really in trouble.

'Cause she'll decide to try and clean the microfiber couch with alcohol.
It will work pretty well, but then the cats will walk on it with dirty paws.
So she'll do it again.

Then she'll make homemade coconut milk.
And load the dishwasher.
And then grind some flax seed,
because she's feeling inventive with food.
But she'll have to use the dustbuster to clean the cabinet because the flax seed escaped.

And then the baby will wake up.
So she'll sit down with some water and feed her.
Maybe she'll turn on the tv and wonder when Jack McCoy became the DA on Law & Order.

When the baby goes back to sleep, the mommy will be feeling hungry,
so she'll make a strange mixture with the flax seed and other innocent ingredients,
'cause the fridge is bare and she's trying to eat healthier anyway.
Then she'll decide to make a freezer meal. And then another.

She'll want to take a walk, but it will look like it is about to storm,
so she decides to wait and check her email and facebook- real quick.
But the baby is awake again and so the mommy will feed her,
and read about inspirational people on the laptop while nursing.

When the baby seems full, she will play with her on the bed and sing her silly songs.
And then she will put the baby gym next to her and try to get her girl to work on her hand-eye coordination. The mommy will then start to type this, but soon the baby will be indignant at the gym and hungry again, so the mommy will finish and feed her again .

The Tides of Love

It's rather fascinating how you experience love in deeper and deeper stages.
After a few very tough weeks, I'm definitely enjoying my days with my little girl this week, as she sleeps peacefully besides me (for the moment).

I see so much of myself reflected in my little girl, and in profile I can see generations of women in my family. My mom. My aunt. My beloved grandmother whose name my baby girl wears.

The last few weeks have brought challenges- her GERD, with led to much screaming, worrying,and constant painful breastfeeding. My frustration at my marriage. My panic about out financial situation. And just the normal new mother issues of extreme sleep deprivation and loneliness, which is compounded by our recent move and the fact that I haven't yet built a social or support group here.

When I gaze at my sweet little ham hock, I feel such a mighty need to protect her. Already, she needs me more than my little man did. Her dependence on me is much stronger and she is much needier. She needs to feed and be held constantly. That makes the rest of life rather hard to accomplish and it worries me greatly how we'll adjust to my going back to work and the introduction of a new caregiving routine. And yet, it must happen. I have nothing more to give up, nothing more to sell that would allow me to stay an "at-home" mom.

So I'll enjoy our quiet days together now, as I gaze into her blue eyes that hold so many galaxies. I'll kiss the corners of her mouth, and make her smile with her rosebud lips. I'll sing her crazy songs, and listen as she tries to echo me. We'll both overuse our eyebrow muscles as we make faces at the world. I'll wash the little peach fuzz on her head, and get high on the wonderful sweet baby-head-smell. I'll try not to yelp with pain as she feeds for what seems like endless stretches of pain. I'll comfort her as she grunts like a little piggy, burps like an old man, and farts like a band of thieves in a bean soup factory (hey- it's hard to be a gassy little baby!)

Thought of the Day

I've been thinking a lot about sublimation of self.
In relationships.
In parenting.

Just thinking about it, that's all.

Nine Years on a Beautiful Day

This is the first time I've been back to blogland in while.

Today is my nine year wedding anniversary.

In some ways, that number seems so small. I mean, I've been with my partner for many, many years (almost 20??) with a few breaks thrown in there, so nine years of marriage seems like just a drop in the bucket. Although, if you follow some of my dramatic rantings on here, each anniversary can seem like a miracle.

What a huge change nine years has brought. Nine years ago, I had a job that I adored and I was climbing the professional ladder quickly. I worked all the time, but that was fine because I loved my job and was surrounded by great people. I had an awesome group of hip friends who were like brothers and sisters and we spent lunches and evenings at wine tastings and museum openings and fundraising galas. We lived in an old house in the ghetto, but bills were cheap and I was close to downtown and all the fun that promised. We used my brother-in-laws flight benefits and jetted off to Mexico, and California, and Puerto Rico at the drop of the hat. Things were simple. Fun. Direct. My husband proposed to me on live television and as I planned our wedding a decade ago, I had all I thought I wanted.

Soon after we married, I had to choose if I would stay or follow him to Florida for grad school.

I followed. And followed some more. At first it was awful. I missed my friends, and family, and career. And then, exactly on our one-year anniversary, I got pregnant. A few weeks later, I got a new job. And things got better again. I hadn't ever been completely sure that I wanted children, but I had my little boy and my heart exploded with love and I've never since been the same person.

It's often easier to write when there is drama. The blog is an outlet, a way of getting it out without exhausting my friends.

Things are good right now. My baby is snoring beside me and I am waiting for my LM to get home. We live in the nicest neighborhood that we have as adults, and it happens to have a perfect 1/2 mile loop that I have been walking as much as possible. My son goes to a highly-ranked school and is excelling. Hubby has a job with excellent benefits.

Of course, there is still a lot to keep me up at night, besides my very needy baby with acid reflux. I'm not working, and money is so very, very tight. I am struggling with what I want to do with this next step in my career, and the desire to ditch career ambitions and just do something unglamorous that would let me stay home with my little girl.

We still have a house in another town that we can't even put on the market because of current real estate values. I just cashed out a retirement fund to get us through another month, and it's been only through God's grace that we've been hanging on. Hubby's job pays peanuts and is only guaranteed for this year, and then we start all over again if his grant isn't renewed. Our relationship is not a priority most days- survival is. I don't know how we hang on, quite honestly.

But while I did not chose the path of this journey, I am so thankful for it. First, for the people that I have come to know and love. For the gift of my children. For the joy that I have brought to my parents- especially my mom- to allow her to become a grandmother. To the fact that I got to introduce my little man to my grandfather just months before he died, and got to see the joy shine in his eyes.

I fantasize about having the money to make things easy. Or having the perfect partner. Or reinventing my body and my career.

But in the end, I have to wake up and make these things happen.

I am feeling a little closer every day, with every step.

I'm walking towards ten years.

Let The Music Speak

This song so perfectly captures where I am right now...