I made this comment on my Facebook page the other idea: “Diane is finally feeling human again.” At the time I hadn’t thought through what I meant exactly so when someone asked if I had been sick I clarified that it was more that we had survived First Year of Baby. This is a more true statement, but at the same time it’s more than that.
It’s not only that Clare is one, is more predictable and interactive, able to express what she needs and wants, that she is a comedian in a pint sized package.
It’s not just that we can reliably get eight hours of sleep now.
It’s that on Monday our babysitter came over for an hour and we went to the Ballard Pool and swam laps together for the first time in over a year. We are hoping to make this a weekly ritual.
It’s that I am once again thinking about my career as a career, and not as “the work day I have to get through without fucking something up because I’m so tired.”
In hindsight, going back to work when Clare was three months old was overwhelmingly difficult. My job was at a very demanding stage. Clare was still waking up twice a night. I had to commute 40 minutes to Bellevue with her, drop her off at daycare, and pick her up at 5:00 because she would go to bed at 6:00 (we still make this commute together, but it’s a bit easier now that she’s older).
It’s the normal plight of the working mother. I know this. And it has made me realize that the working women I know who are still managing to move up the ranks in the business world should all be given gold medals. I’m just starting to think about my career, my personal goals within my career, all that stuff for the first time in over a year. Which makes me feel like ‘me’ again. I’m just not certain how to juggle everything still but I guess nobody is.
I had coffee with a friend recently who told me that “You are doing it, you are a successful working mom.” I hope that it appears that way. Sometimes it does feel that way nowadays. Just maybe not the days that I’m falling into my car or showing up for work when nobody else is there.
Filed under: Di's Ruminations
My husband gave me Amy Sedaris’ new book, I Like You, Hospitality Under the Influence, for my birthday. It’s an odd mix of bawdy humor, real recipes and advice, and kitsch. I keep flipping through it, trying to decide where in my house this book should reside. In the kitchen with my recipe books? In the bathroom as on-hand reading material? Or on my bookshelf downstairs?
I think ultimately it will go beside the recipe books because I have in fact marked a few recipes already. The key lime pie that consists of four ingredients, for instance. The Spinach Pie. Most of her recipes are either Southern or Greek or contain one stick of butter. This is good ‘entertaining the chef’ reading, something John and I like to do when the other is cooking, just idly read things aloud from the paper or the Internet or a book.
And for Clare’s sixth birthday party, maybe we’ll try a few of the recommended Children’s Games:
- Jr. Cat Burglar: Lock the kids out of the house and see if they can break in.
- Hillbilly HiJinx: Toss a greased watermelon into the pool and have the kids try to grab for it. If you don’t have a pool, us a tub.
- Busking: Drive the party to the airport and have them entertain travelers for small change.
Aren’t you excited for Clare’s birthday parties now, especially if you have kids? Oh, don’t worry. They’re in good hands. We won’t refer to the Cooking Under the Influence section for that particular party, which starts out: “I like drugs. And when I say drugs, of course, I mean helpful pills that are legally prescribed by doctors.”
Filed under: Di's Ruminations | Tags: books, literary, Sean Pen, Sittenfield
This article about Sean Penn that I originally found via The Daily Beast made me think of a couple things:
1) A reading that Jeffrey Eugenides gave at Town Hall in Seattle a few years back, where he said that many people often tell him that “they have been thinking about writing a novel, if only I had more time” as if it’s something any average Joe can just whip a best-selling novel out of nowhere, writing skills and discipline be damned. A novel, he noted, is difficult, painstaking work. He won the Pulitzer for “Middlesex” and also wrote “The Virgin Suicides” so he has just a teeny bit of credibility….
And 2) That reading some of the reviews of chic lit on GoodReads makes my head hurt. So many over-educated and opinionated women dissing a female authors work for catty reasons…and so few of them actually admitting they are jealous. Come on, we are all jealous of the gal who wrote “Julie and Julia”! Admit it! We are JEALOUS! Why didn’t I think of that?? I could be making money and not working my day job! Or what about Curtis Sittenfield or Marish Pessl who wrote “Special Topics in Calamity Physics” or….. Oh, yes, throw in point #1 here too.
Filed under: Di's Ruminations
I took Daisy for a long walk last night into Ballard because I needed to reclaim my brain and my calm after a hectic several weeks of work and mommy-hood. I did this even though I was exhausted, and thought about just curling up on the couch but knew that sometimes just the act of walking and getting fresh air is what’s really needed. So I left the house in that frame of mind, which is to say, on auto-pilot — robo-girl — plodding along with an overly energetic Irish Setter yanking my arm socket. I must have looked like a cartoon character being unwillingly dragged down the street, my feet skidding behind me.
So woes-me and self absorbed was I that I didn’t notice that the Vanagon wasn’t in the driveway the first time I passed S— and K—’s house. I did notice the moon, full and bright and shining down on Seattle, breaking through the cold air with its rays. I checked for moon shadows in the baseball fields, looked for Daisy’s shadow as she galloped around like a pony, delighted at the crisp night and the chance to run and run and run, but the city lights were too bright. It was the kind of night where anything could happen, any kind of oddities, where extremes felt like the biggest possibility. A night where Harry Potter would be swept away on an adventure. Or where you’d suddenly find yourself in a Law & Order type scene. Extremes brought on by a full moon and cold snap — the kind that makes crazy people crazier, werewolves emerge, wood sprites form posses to protect the good in the world.
We walked down 24th and went past a bar where some scruffy looking guys stood outside, huddled into their coats, sucking on cigarettes with their free hand jammed into their pockets.
“Nice dog,” one said. He had a sorry beard and a black knit cap pulled low over his brow. He was much shorter than me.
I slowed just a tiny bit — Daisy and I walk fast — not wanting to be rude but not wanting to engage with him either. “Thanks,” I said and smiled. I had walked two more steps and then the guy hollered: “I meant you.”
Well then. Thank you very much. I muttered an obscenity but kept my pace. And I then I had those thoughts that I sometimes believe only I have but probably, no, not really, surely not. Surely others have watched too much Criminal Minds and CSI too. What if this guy follows me? What if he follows me all the way home? Would Daisy go ballistic and protective if he tried something, or would she lick him to death? We walked home a different route, bypassing the bar.
I felt like I’d discovered a new spacious room in my head by the time we got back to our block. I forgot about the short “nice dog” guy. I could breathe deeply and there was space to think, areas once occupied by work chaos and deadlines and rush-rush-rush. And that’s when I realized that there were no cars at all at S— and K—’s house, and that their beloved VW Vanagon wasn’t in the driveway anymore.
My heart sank. My lungs constricted. Surely no. But surely yes, I just didn’t know the specifics.
S— and K— are married. They live just a few houses down from us. We don’t know them very well, but enough to say hello and talk for a while in our front yards. Other neighbors are very close to them, and S—’s mother lives across the street from them.
S— has a brain tumor and K— has multiple sclerosis. It’s the most unfair situation. It defies logic. K— pedals around on his recumbent when he’s feeling well. Last summer they bought a gorgeous VW Vanagon and immediately placed seashells on the dashboard that they had been specifically saving for this van, for whenever they finally found the right one to buy. My husband loves Vanagons too so it was a conversation piece for many weeks.
And then around Thanksgiving another neighbor said that S— was in hospice, that the family was there keeping vigil. S— was paralyzed. K— wasn’t taking it well. The street in front of their house had lots of cars out front. It was heartbreaking. Everyone took casseroles and muffins over to the family.
And last night, in the wicked fullness of the moon, the Vanagon is gone. And there are no cars at all, anywhere in front of their house. A few lights are on inside. But it’s eerie and sad and I could only stop and look and send a prayer, send good thoughts, send love their way.
I hope for the best for their family, not knowing what the best is. Peace, perhaps. I hope they have peace. I hope to see K— on his bike this Spring.
From The Daily Beast. I guess — to keep it all in perspective — it could be argued that Bush has made it a bad EIGHT years for men.
“2008 was supposed to be the “year of the woman.” But as Amanda Fortini writes in New York magazine, Hillary Clinton and Sarah Palin “came to represent—and, at times, reinforce—two of the most pernicious stereotypes that are applied to women: the bitch and the ditz.” Hillary “inspired in her detractors an upwelling of sexist animus,” but the real damage was done by Palin. “By stepping into the spotlight unprepared,” Fortini writes, “Palin reinforced some of the most damaging and sexist ideas of all: that women are undisciplined in their thinking; that we are distracted by domestic concerns or frivolous pursuits like shopping; that we are not smart enough, or not serious enough, for the important jobs.” Politics’ newest queen, Michelle Obama, appears to be succumbing to the same forces: “As she prepares to move into the White House, she appears poised to recede into a fifties-era role of ‘mom-in-chief.’”
Filed under: Di's Ruminations
This is actually me working. No, really. I’m working on an internal web site that has a blog functionality and need to understand what the heck my web dev team is talking about, and also need to prepare materials that explain blogs and how to post to my company cohorts. So I’m starting a blog and will probably keep it going, as it’s another way to avoid fiction writing, which is what I do in my fantasy life…..
