Working Mom's Lament

I'm going to say what I've been thinking for a while now: I don't want to work full-time. I have always been a worker, starting with canvassing Ledgewood Road for babysitting gigs as a tween, then serving meals at the Holy Family Monastery, then slinging coffees and jelly donuts at the Elmwood Bakery. I worked while in high school and throughout college, and secured a full-time job right out of school, and have been employed pretty much ever since.

I pride myself on being a dedicated, creative, and goal-oriented employee (except while working jobs that were so deadly boring that I wrote short stories and long emails while on the clock). I hustled my buns off to get a job here in CT, doing long-distance informational interviews, real interviews, and I even hit the pavement once or twice with my portfolio and good attitude all polished up.

But something got me in the way of going to get 'em, and she's about 25 lbs of pure toddler. It's not that I don't want to work at all. I really do enjoy making coffee and getting dressed, and having a clear purpose to my day. I like socializing with colleagues, throwing new ideas into the mix, and trying to squeeze in a work-out at lunch (too rare these days, if I'm honest). But I miss my girl, and feel that our time together during the week is rushed (mornings) or a cling-fest while she vies for my attention, as I try to make some reasonably satisfying dinner (evenings). Weekends are good, but we are also seeing friends and family, doing yard work (sometimes), and before you know it, getting ready for the week ahead.

Many working moms will agree: it's hard to feel that you're good at either job.

I want to watch her grow and reason and learn how to interact. The closest I got to this recently is our time together while on vacation this summer. She was about 75% less whiny because she wasn't threatened by the thought of me leaving. It was amazing, and I wish I could've bottled it. Furthermore, most parents will confirm, this era goes by fast.

I know Edie is happy at her day care. But I want to have more influence over her, and to do the things we did while in Seattle, like bake banana bread or go on a long walk on a Tuesday afternoon. On the flip side, I don't want to be a full-time stay at home mom. I don't think I'd be fully satisfied with that lifestyle. But the gears are turning, and have been for some time, on how to pay the bills and spend more time with my girl, while keeping a foot in the workforce.

Perhaps I painted myself into a corner when we bought a house, and a second car, and we secured all those expenses that go with modern day home-ownership. But I love our home and our neighborhood, and believe we made the right move. Of the moms I know who are raising young kids, there are many common themes. Those of us working full-time (especially those with more than one in daycare) pretty much sign our paychecks over in tuition, and those with one on the way are in denial about what to do when maternity leave ends. Those who stay home are prepared to eat Ramen three times a week to balance the budget of a single income. And a few of my girlfriends have amazing jobs and bosses, and they are more or less happy working and have found the right balance. My hat goes off to them, for sure.

I look at my dad or my uncles who are very talented workers, who run their own businesses and call the shots. I envy their freedom and authority, and wonder how I can establish a sustainable business of my own. I have lots of great ideas and I do have talent, but I can get distracted, or just overwhelmed by the demands of day-to-day, and my great ideas fall aside.

It's a puzzle I try to solve every day.

A real smorgasbord

I've been requested to hop to bloggin' by one of my faithful readers, so I'm dusting off this keyboard to update the world on Chezmoni status. I don't have anything eloquent to say, so this might be a potpourri of random thoughts. A smorgasbord, a mixed bag. Call it what you will.

Top Five Things I'm Excited About:

1. The Bashan Lake Amateur Triathlon (formerly known as the "Fake Tri"), my mom has organized a ladies' triathlon for friends, with a 1/8 mile swim, 5k run, and 10 mile bike ride in September. I've got the running part down, I've done a few (very non-Olympic calibur) laps of freestyle, and my bike is in ship-shape and ready to ride 10 miles. Interestingly, this is my first triathlon, and upon completion I will feel qualified to put a bumper sticker on my car that says 'I Tri'.

2. Edie's new daycare. I'm loving the activities they do, the walks they take to Bushnell park, the daily reports, and the diversity of kids and staff. Her daycare is in the heart of Hartford, and so far it's been great. True to form, she's just warming up this week. They say her silliness is shining through, and I know she'll feel at home there.

3. Ashley's 30th birthday. My baby sis, all grown up this week. She always had the worst birthday time of year as a kid: end of summer, not yet in school to share cupcakes with the class, and it unfailingly rained on every pool party. However, we're grown-ups now and we throw a mean party no matter what the occasion.

4. Lots of ideas are percolating right now. My sister and I have a business idea, I have a t-shirt design idea, and it feels like we're in some kind of renaissance. It's hard to embrace the renaissance with a job, a kid, a house, and a requisite 8 hours of sleep per night, but I'm jazzed about some promising prospects.

5. Baby Boy Edmands, due in late September!

Top Three Things I'm Over:

1. Humidity of summer. Next season, please!

2. My car. Ok, we've had a great run. Over the past 11 year (6 with me) we've clocked a healthy 143,000 miles on the odometer. It's a fantastically reliable car, a real workhorse, but I am frankly over it and ready for a Toyota Highlander or Nissan Murano. Therefore, I bought a Mega Millions ticket today for the first time ever.

3. My clothes. Again, we've really had some good times together. True fact: I wore a shirt the other day from 2003. It's of the Anthropologie vintage so it's held up well, but c'mon. I bought it with prize money in an art show upon graduation. Furthermore, the temp that works with me lives at home in Fairfield County and wears a different Marc Jacobs watch every day of the week, cute flats to match a library of dresses, and generally has a killer sense of style. I might as well wear a muu-muu and Crocs next to her, I feel that lame. Definitely time for a wardrobe refresher.

Top Three All-Time Favorite Vegetables

1. Zucchini

2. Kale

3. Sweet Potatoes

Top Four Favorite Recent Out-Of-Town Visitors:

1. Jake

2. Becky/Vince (they should probably count as one because they're lovebirds)

3. Adrian

Favorite Summertime Pic of Dave:

The hardest job is the best job

Does it seem like I have every other week off? Because I just read my last blog post, which was a summary of my July vacation, and I was all set to write about my most recent vacation. I had a few days off last week. We went nowhere. It was awesome.

We took a couple family bike rides (one a success by Edie's standards, the other a rainy failure), danced and colored, finally did some back-breaking, sweaty yard work, saw a visually and audibly impressive Wilco show, and watched ample Olympics.

Of course I love watching the standard events, and I don't mind the eye candy in a swim suit (I'm lookin at you, Lochte), but I also love watching the parents of the Olympians. I get choked up whenever the camera cuts to them. They are usually decked to the gills in Americana (flags, pins, anything red, white and blue). Are most of them from middle America? A lot of them have that Glamour Shots look, but I appreciate. Their emotions are usually spilling forth. I can empathize with their agony watching their kids, who happen to be the most elite athlethes, perform on a world stage. So of course, I love all the P&G ads dedicated to the Olympic moms.

This, from the P&G web site: Because moms give everything to make their kids′ dreams happen. They carry us for nine months and then keep on carrying us. Through countless sacrifices, they are not only loving nurturers and selfless prodders and motivators, but also alarm-clock setters, chauffeurs, doers of laundry and dishes and makers of breakfasts, lunches and dinners.

I didn't intend for this post to veer into cheese-dome, and I'm a far cry from Olympic calibur, but my mom attended every swim meet, softball, and field hockey game, packed sandwiches and hand-me-down snowpants into our trusty Volvo for many afternoons at Ski Sundown (yes, after work), and was a dogged supporter of any sport my sister and I ever caught wiff of.

After quitting t-ball (I was 7), quitting swimming (age 14) and quitting field hockey (16), it turns out I'm not the best team player, but I've really embraced being an athlete as an adult. So I raise my glass of chocolate milk to my mom!

Glass half full

We had a fantastic getaway last week at my family's lake house in East Haddam, CT.

Five sun-filled days included working out, reading my book on tape, swimming every day, water skiing, drinking coffee on the deck, getting Moose Tracks ice cream at Harry's Place and lobster rolls at the Blue Oar, and general merriment.

Growing up, we always had a pool. Once Ashley and I moved to college, our parents got rid of the pool. (I don't think it was directly related to us moving out, but rather a tree branch crashed down and ended its useful life). When my aunt and uncle sold their 1992 ski boat, my parents got first dibs, and realized they could use a lake for said ski boat. So now we enjoy the fruits of their labor throughout the summer.

Edie was not a huge fan of the water. In fact she held onto me like a barnacle when I walked in with her chest-deep. She was happier playing on the shoreline.

The Blue Oar: delicious summertime food on the Connecticut River, BYOB. White linen pants highly suggested.

Memere had lots of baby time.

The last day there, my parents, sister and I went on a morning cruise. We all skiied. I was so proud to watch them all confidently cutting across the wake on a pristine morning lake. I don't want to think about aging parents, I want water skiing parents. (I also love that my husband skis - and way better than I do - but he wasn't there that morning).

The lake isn't far, but being away with family, and unconnected was a much needed recharge.

And yes, the '92 ski boat is purring like a kitten.

Summer has arrizled!

If you didn't notice the crippling heat and ice cream truck jingles, summer is in full swing.

This weekend was my first trip of 2012 to the beach with Edie. After hunting and gathering clothing, beach chairs, beach toys, and food all morning, we were ready to hit the road. We managed to keep enough room in the car free to bring along my friend, Kelly, and we drove to Rhode Island where my friend Marge rented a beach house.

We arrived to meet up with Marge, and schlepped about half of our gear from the car to the beach, on foot. Camden was apparently not a fan of the beach ("Sand off?? No like ocean!"), and we passed her and Michelle on our way. Edie also doesn't love the ocean and won't let her feet touch the sand, so she insisted on keeping her Converse on (a real beach bunny, huh?). We hung at the beach for maybe an hour then carted all of our stuff back to the house in time for happy hour.

Talia met up with us, and after putting the little girls to bed, we had a great time drinking beers and eating dinner on the back deck, under the neighbor's amateur fireworks show. We've been friends since middle school, and it's comforting to be back among my ladies. I stayed up late (for me), just shy of midnight. It was novel until Edie popped up in her crib next to my bed at 6am, "Hi, mama, hi!" Toddlers just don't get the word vacation.

We managed to spend about another hour at the beach today, but I realized I had a ticking time bomb on my hands and that hitting the road in time for her nap would benefit all parties involved. Kelly and I packed all of our gear back into the car and headed home.

Planning and actually doing stuff takes work, but I do it in the hopes of stringing together a worthy summer. You have to make these events happen, or else you end up with a few hot months of grilling forgettable hot dogs and weeding the garden. But man, 24 hours at the beach with a toddler...maybe next time we'll stay two nights and get a bit more return on our investment. I came home and took a two-hour nap, I was so wiped out.

Transitions

Change is hard. I should know. If we're taking stock, this year we:

• Moved cross-country
• Left two great jobs
• Started three (and quit one) ok jobs
• Transferred Edie's day care
• Bought a house
• Bought a second car
• Adopted a cat
• Got accepted to grad program (Dave)

Damn, son! Moving alone can test your will (and the best of relationships), so it's no surprise that a day without major upheaval is just fine with me. But, we are heading into one more transition: we're taking Edie out of her beloved day care.

Between Dave and my mom's teaching schedules, they can watch Edie this summer. And they want to spend time with her. Her personality is becoming more apparent by the day; she's excited about the world (the moon, bubbles, our cat's whereabouts), sings along loudly to our bedtime songs, and recently started calling me "Shawna" (cute but strange).

And saving a couple months of childcare tuition is a no-brainer.

I've mentioned our provider Nanny before. She is a wonderful, loving person who's run an in-home daycare for 30 years. She has a system down pat and lives for her daycare kids. Edie loves going to Nanny's, where she plays with her boyfriend Griffin ("Griffy") and Isaac. They ride in the "choo choo car", go to story time at the library, and eat fruit salad like it's going out of style. Beyond that, Nanny has every Little Tikes ride-on toy in their catalog, from 1980s vintages to present-day models. We can't hold a candle to her toy inventory (but honestly, I don't want to).

Dave and I wanted to keep the door open to return in the fall, but Nanny couldn't guarantee our spot would be held without paying for it. It just didn't pencil out, so we're back to the drawing board, looking for caregivers closer to home and open later and more consistently, so that we can accommodate Dave's upcoming schedule, juggling teaching with his UConn program to become a school administrator. Oh yeah, and my crazy work hours too.


I told Edie that we are saying goodbye to Nanny this week. I got sad writing Nanny's last check yesterday. You'd think I'd be used to change by now, but it's hard to say goodbye with confidence that we're making the right decision. To those who don't have kids in daycare, it's hard to fathom what the big deal is, but good care is hard to come by, and good affordable care is elusive at best. I have to believe that when one door closes, another one opens, and that we'll find another great place. Maybe even one down the street?


In a way, I look forward to a time when our life will settle down a bit, but the constant change and commotion that comes with being a parent is strangely comforting, and keeps boredom at bay. Note: these pics aren't from daycare, they're of recent play times with cousin Camden and friend Tommy!

Live Free or Die

My friend Eric owns a frame shop in town. He recently set up the shop's web site, built on my fave software WordPress, and has integrated the current brick-and-mortar art exhibit with his site. Eric did an open call for reviewers, and considering I like art and writing, I dove right in. My family and I rubbed elbows with the punkerati on a Friday night, and here's what I wrote. You can also find this review on the EBK Picture Framing web site, as well as a link to the Hartford Courant's review. If you're a local, definitely check out the show.

Live free or die
Armed with the time and inspiration to create, and angst bubbling forth, Tim Wengertsman presents a body of woodblock prints rich with the iconography of his punk-rock tribe. Wengertsman's steadfast perspective on the world is as black-and-white as the palette of his poster-sized prints.

Wengertsman's take on being hard-working but broke, accepted yet afflicted, and boozy flood the page. No space is left untouched. Try not to get lost in the constant patterns and minute details of his story. The fine linework and repetitive icons bring an assuredness to his raw emotions, worn like a sewn-on patch on his sleeve. Joy may not be apparent in his message, but the act of creating these pieces clearly brings peace. Relying on a catalog heavy with skulls, noserings, dogs, cheap beer, and bikes, he's not afraid to broach the heavier subjects of gender and marriage equality, family, religion, and the disparity between the haves and have-nots. PUNKISM affirms that Wengertsman's been shaping his manifesto, and finetuning his iconography, for some time.

Perhaps fueling his palpable aggression, the artist has a posse of punk rock brothers and sisters, who dress and ride and rock-out alike. Together with his undeclared self-portraiture, they are undoubtedly the subjects of these prints. The opening at EBK Picture Framing was brimming with a tattooed crew, outfitted with ripped tights and studded denim. In a world of No-Smoking on shopping mall grounds, this crowd still steps outside the gallery to smoke a butt, and comiserate. They have each other. They don't need you.

The artist may be broke, but he's young and free. By working a job that provides the space to execute his work and the flexibility to tour with his band, he may not be able to buy much more than a six-pack of Pabst, but at the end of the day, he's free to ride his bike, carouse with his punk rock family, and create a solid, politically-charged show of art.