Waffles Aren’t Just for Breakfast

A couple of weeks ago, right around when we started toying with the DC idea, my husband had a phone interview with a company in CA. A friend of his from HS works there and has been trying to get him to apply there since before he even lost his job back in Rochester. Finally we agreed he might as well see what happens. Well, the first interviewer liked him enough to pass his information further down the line, and now he has a second (phone) interview lined up for later this week. If that goes well too, they’ll be wanting to fly him out there to interview in person either later this month or early next month.

This whole turn of events has led to many late-night, long-drive, dinner-time, and telephone (while I’m on breaks at work) conversations between the two of us, weighing the pros and cons of this possibility from every imaginable angle. They say opportunity doesn’t knock twice, but this is definitely multiple knocks at this point. In the past, we’d ruled it out because O already had a decent job, and then because we didn’t want to move so far away. It always felt like a last-resort option. But even though we have definitely not exhausted all other possibilities, I do have to wonder how long this opportunity will realistically stick around.

As I consider this possibility for our family, I hear the voices of other people in our lives echoing in my head. I hear a lot of “shoulds,” and it’s difficult not to let those potential opinions color my perceptions. On the other hand, is “because I don’t want to!” a solid enough reason to say no, if the job is offered to him in the end?

Theoretically this job would offer us the financial freedom to visit home more often than we can from here, even though CA is further from NY than FL is. But how much more hassle would the flights be, especially when compared to our previous goal of moving to DC (from where we could also drive home relatively easily)?

Even if he is offered the job and we decide that he should take it, it doesn’t have to be forever. But how many times do I really want to uproot my entire life and move out of state, before finally settling someplace for the foreseeable future?

I don’t know. I just don’t know.

Digging Out of my Rut

Starting tomorrow, I begin a new (temporary) path.  I’ll be working outside of my home, full-time, for the first time since 2001.  In the past eight years, I’ve finished two college degrees, held two part-time jobs and a few work-from-home and/or volunteer positions, and birthed and cared for a now-almost-two-year-old little boy.  I haven’t worked in any kind of office since my son was born, and I haven’t worked a full 40-hour week since before I (re)started college.

Yes, I’m nervous.  I’m also excited.  Even before we moved to Florida, I had been wanting a change.  I have loved the past two years of being home to care for my son, but I was ready for something different.  Then, the plan had been that I would try to find something part-time back in NY, and put him in a day-care program for those part-days.

Then when everything fell apart on us in July and we made the decision to move down here, we discussed the possibility of me being the bread-winner and my husband being the stay-at-home parent. Of course, it was all just theoretical until one of us actually landed some kind of gainful employment. And that happened officially on Friday. I begin tomorrow on a temporary assignment scheduled to last through mid-January.

So yes, I’m excited for the change, but nervous about starting something new. I’m looking forward to the weekly paycheck, but concerned about how my son and husband will fare without me for ten (!) hours every day. I feel like a schoolgirl again, on an early September evening. I’ve picked out my clothes, packed my bag, and even bought a new purse (because my old one wasn’t big enough to comfortably house any reading material). I’ve had my shower this evening, so I don’t have to be up quite as obnoxiously early in the morning. Everything is ready for my 6:45 a.m. wakeup and 7:30 a.m. departure.

Am I ready? I guess I’ll have to be!

How Do You Hold Onto Hope?

I admit it; I’m feeling discouraged.  I am feeling as though nothing ever changes, no matter the amount of effort I expend.  This is true of my weight-loss goals, my job hunt, the quest for health insurance coverage… It feels like life itself is just stagnant, even in the areas in which I seek change.

Bathroom Scale, image from http://www.care2.com/

My weight has been stuck at the same place, give or take no more than 2 pounds, for probably close to a year now.  I’d dropped to about 7 pounds above my pre-pregnancy weight at one point, then gained a few pounds back… and there it stayed.  Since we moved to Florida, I’ve tried calorie-reduction and increased activity, and still it remained.  Whether I’m being “good” or not, the scale doesn’t seem to care.  I’m still going to the gym nearly every day, but recently I’ve stopped religiously counting my calories.  I’ve also stopped weighing myself because what’s the point?  It just leads to more discouragement.  (Of course, not weighing in leaves me with this fear in the back of my mind that I’m steadily gaining now, instead of continuing to plateau.)

Now Hiring, Must Have Clue. photo from http://www.carteworld.com

Obviously I can’t do the same with my job-hunt. I can’t scale it back out of frustration. The only thing I can do is to soldier on in the face of the incoming rejection letters and lack of interviews. The only change I can see making is to slowly reduce my pickiness and increase my desperation. I can look for jobs I don’t really want, jobs that are more likely to leave me miserable and tired at the end of the day, instead of leaving me feeling like I’ve done a good thing with my day. I don’t want to get to that point… but I am losing hope of finding the kind of job I actually want. And it’s not like I’m asking that much – I just want an office job with an area (or, really, anywhere in FL) university.

How, in the face of all of this negativity, do I hold on to my hope? How do I keep myself from drowning in all the rejections and letting it hammer away at my self-worth? I can write, and I can concentrate on the positives. But some days it feels like that is just staving off the inevitable.

I want a job, and I am more than qualified for the kind of job I want.
I want to lose weight, and 10-15 pounds doesn’t seem unreasonable.
I want health insurance I can afford, and everyone deserves that, I believe.
And most of all, I want to feel hope that all of the above can be achieved.

We’re Not in Kansas New York Anymore, Toto.

In the chaos of moving all the way down the East Coast, my blogging habits have sort of fallen by the wayside.  Hopefully that will be rectified soon, though possibly not immediately as we’re still trying to get ourselves situated down here.  (And hey – if you’re in the Ft Myers, Tampa, or Gainesville area and have need of an IT professional or Office Assistant/Writer/Editor, drop me a line!)  In the meantime, let me share a few observations I’ve made since mid-August when we arrived.  These are the ways I’ve found (so far!) in which FL differs from upstate NY:

• The differences in the weather pretty much go without saying, but I think if I neglect to mention them, someone will point it out.  So… yeah.  The weather, even at this time of year, is very different.  Hotter, more humid, etc.  And as upstate NY’s temperatures are starting to dip a bit into autumn… we’re still seeing highs around 90 pretty much every day, down here.  I’m going to miss the changing colors (and changing wardrobe options, I admit) of autumn, but I won’t at all miss the chill and treacherous road conditions of winter.

• Wildlife is definitely different down here too.  During our first week here, we found a tiny lizard in the hallway of the condo where we’re staying.  A lizard.  In the house.  In fact, they are everywhere around here!  I’ve gotten used to it now, but it’s still weird to me.
• Even going to the grocery store is a different experience down here.  My loving husband went to buy me some juice a couple of weeks ago because I was sick.  I didn’t want anything citrus because my throat was sore, and the acidity would’ve made matters worse.  But the food and drink choices down here are different too!  Wanting something non-citrus would seem to be something of a cardinal sin in the state of oranges and key limes.  That said, if you like citrus fruit and/or seafood, this is your place!  Also, the flavors of yogurts that we’ve found down here, just in the stores’ own brands… OMG, yum!  Caramel creme, guava, strawberry cheesecake…  Mmm!
• Would you believe that even shopping malls are different?  Here in the Ft Myers area, at least, the majority of the shopping centers are outside.  They aren’t quite what I’d call strip-malls, but they’re also not what I’m used to in NY.  Of course, in NY, such malls would lose a lot of business for a good quarter to half of the year!  And when you’re in a place so full of sunshine, I think it’s assumed that folks want to be outside in it.

I admit, some of it is taking some getting used to. There have been several days where I’ve sulked about how different life is down here. But then, when I moved from Groton, NY to Ithaca, NY – and when I moved from Ithaca to Rochester, I went through the same sets of feelings. This is just a grander scale transition. In time, I will find places and things (and even people) to love here, as well.

Until then, at least the transition gives me blog-fodder!

Separation Anxiety (Mine, That Is)

I know I can’t always be there for my son, but I didn’t necessarily expect that it would happen for the first time when he’s only 20 months old.

You see, part of this new adventure of ours is going to involve leaving Buggie with O’s parents for several days while we fly back up here, collect the remainder of the stuff that is coming with us, put the rest in storage, and make the 2-3 day drive back down to FL. Note that I’ve only ever been away from him even as long as overnight, once.

I’m worried that something will happen – he’ll get sick, or fall and hurt himself, or … something worse that I don’t even want to think about. I’m worried that in some way, he’ll need me and I won’t be there.

L on Merry-Go-Round, July 2009

L’s first playground fall, July 2009

I’m worried that he’ll suddenly decide to have separation anxiety for the first time in his life.

Or that he’ll have trouble sleeping. (Not exactly an unheard of event around here. He takes after me, that way.)

I don’t know what to do about weaning. I’d hoped he would wean himself by now, but it hasn’t worked out that way. He only nurses once a day, and only when he sees me for the first time in the morning, so I don’t think it’ll be a problem for him while we’re gone. But if he doesn’t wean between now and then, I’m not sure what to do. Will I have to refind and take my pump and bottles (after some 8 months of not using them), so I can pump while we’re apart, in case the separation doesn’t force weaning? Do I have to just force weaning myself, between now and then? I really don’t know, and I could use some advice on this one.

I’m also worried about what all this chaos (and the inevitable mild spoiling of doting grandparents) is going to do to the routines we’ve worked so hard to foster. I anticipate writing up a huge list of things, including his schedule, to give to my in-laws (and hope they don’t think I’m an overprotective mom, but I think they’ll understand – especially since their other daughter-in-law is stricter with schedules than we are, so they’re probably used to it). But even with that, we’re going to probably have a good 2-3 weeks where things are just going to be “different.” Nana and Grappa with be with us until the end of August. I don’t expect that we’ll be able to fully settle into our (temporary) new life until after they’ve gone. (And of course, we’ll get to do a lot of it all over again when we find a place of our own, particularly if we don’t stay in FL… but that’s another blog post all its own, later.)

The fact is, as my mother-in-law and I just discussed … this is likely going to be harder for me than for him. I don’t quite know how to cope with being away from him for five whole days.  (Nor, to be totally honest, how to cope with moving so far away from my mommy, but that too is it’s own separate issue.)

Coping Quiet

Buggie with his favorite "uncle"

This morning I woke up to startling news about a dear friend’s health.  It’s one of those situations which could be nothing, or could be very serious.  Only time (and likely a barrage of tests) will tell which it will be.  This man is the husband of one of my best friends, and has slowly become a friend of mine in his own right over the years.  He is also incredibly close to Buggie.

I told O about it as I was driving him to work today.  The rest of the drive passed in relative silence – a rarity around these parts, let me assure you.  When questioned, O said he was thinking about M.  It made me realize that I … mostly wasn’t.  Not because I don’t care, but because I do. That’s how I cope with things – I put them to the back of my mind until I can fully process how to cope with it.  I skip immediately into denial/distraction, moving along with life as if I hadn’t heard what I heard, until I can’t any longer.

My Gramma

This actually seems to be something of a family trait.  It’s not only a matter of self-preservation and pride, but also of strength.  There are a couple of us in the family – most notably myself and my Gramma – who have taken it upon ourselves to be The Strong Ones.  It isn’t a matter of stoicism, nor of hiding our emotions.  I’m absolutely no good at that; my face and eyes betray me, every time.  It’s just a matter of putting our own feelings on the back burner while others may need us to be strong.  For example, when my mother calls me with any kind of difficult news, I tend not to react right away.  I get through the phone call, hang up, and only then do the tears come.  She doesn’t need my pain to make hers all the worse.

Mind you, it’s not by any means a conscious decision.  Sometimes, I wish it didn’t work the way it does for me.  I would be able to heal faster, if I didn’t delay my pain.  I know this, but my brain seems to not be wired that way.  Instead, I grieve after the fact.  I panic when the danger has gone.  I cry when everyone else’s tears have dried.

“Hanging” on to Memories

Laundry seems a strange thing to be nostalgic about.  Yet there I was today, out in my backyard (by which I mean the postage-stamp-sized lot in back of the duplex in which I rent), hanging my first load(s) of laundry for this season, and remembering.

Buggie outside at 4 1/2 months

Last spring and summer when I would go outside, it took numerous trips.  I needed to get the laundry, a blanket, some toys, and then finally the baby.  I would put him on the blanket in the shade with his toys while I hung the laundry, and he would just stay there.  He would sometimes play with the toys, but he was also just content to watch the world go by around him.  He loved the change of scenery.  When the laundry was hung, the whole process was reversed – baby inside, then the blanket and toys.  (The laundry would stay put, obviously.)  In the spring, he was only just rolling over.  By summer, he could sit up, but crawling wouldn’t come for a while yet.

Me at 31 weeks pregnant

Let’s back up by another year, then.  Two summers ago, I was pregnant.  As the weather got warmer and warmer, I got bigger and bigger.  I remember the unique challenges in hanging maternity clothes because the seams don’t line up quite the same way as they do in regular clothes.  I remember the end of summer, when I received my first lot of hand-me-down baby clothes.  I washed them and hung those outside as well.  It made me smile to see those tiny garments on my clothesline.  Burpcloths, receiving blankets, and tiny, tiny little clothes.  We never had any “newborn” sizes, which was just fine.  At 8 pounds and 5 ounces and 21 inches long, Buggie would never have fit into them anyway.

Buggie at 16 months old

This year, I have neither a growing belly, nor a tiny little baby.  Now I have a toddler.  Today, he came outside with me again.  This time, we didn’t have the blanket, but we still had toys.  I didn’t have to carry him out to the backyard; he walked there himself.  I couldn’t just park him in the shade because he’s so very mobile, which meant being sure he was slathered with sunblock and wearing a hat.  Today, he kept me company as I hung up our clothes – his (which keep getting bigger!), his daddy’s, and my own.  He “helped” by taking the clothes out of the basket, and either handing them to me or (more often) dropping them on the ground next to it.  Once or  twice, he started to wander off, but mostly he stayed right nearby, finding his own amusements.

By next summer, I expect even more changes.  By then, we hope to have bought and moved into our own home.  Perhaps I’ll have returned to the workforce and Buggie will be in daycare.  Will we be expecting baby #2 then?  What changes will be shown on 2010’s clotheslines?

Feeling Like a Grown-up

(not our actual car)

In 2004, my husband and I bought our first “real” car. It was actually the third car we owned together – the first we bought from a guy down the street for $600, and the second was given to us by O’s brother. Our current car, a Subaru Outback sedan, was our first experience with going to a dealership, taking test drives, getting financing, and eventually coming home with a shiny new-to-us vehicle.

Throughout the whole experience, I remembered going to car dealerships (and being bored to tears!) with my parents, when I was a child. It’s rather surreal to do things for yourself that you remember your parents doing when you were a child. It really hit me then (at age 28) – I was a grown-up, at least in one way.

one of the houses we looked at

This year, O and I started shopping for houses. That, too, brought back memories of trips with my parents to view homes. Doing it myself, though, was overwhelming and more than a little terrifying. Somehow it was a lot less scary dealing with cars than with houses. Perhaps because instead of the 5-figures of debt that a car purchase brings, we were looking at going for 6. Six-figure sums are pretty intimidating to think about! Besides, we were choosing the place where our son would grow up, thereby reminding me of all the responsibilities in my life. So again, now at 33 years of age, I was becoming a grown-up in a whole new way.

People ask me sometimes what I want to be when I “grow up,” and I jokingly respond that I don’t necessarily plan to grow up at all. Those who know my family well know that we all tend to stay pretty young-at-heart well into our golden years. I’ve gotten married (twice), become a mother, graduated from college. I’ve made life-changing decisions, and moved way from the area that was my home for nearly 26 years. I know what I want my career to be, and I am taking steps in that direction. I’m the one who generally handles our finances, and I am very responsible with our spending.

Somewhere along the line, when I wasn’t looking, I think I actually did become a Grown-up. In all the ways that count.