House Wif-ery Day 1

As many of you may or may not know, I am now officially unemployed. My last day at work was Friday, and I am now joining the masses of former claims analysts wandering around Bellingham aimlessly looking for something to do during the day. Today is my first official day as a house wife/stay at home mom, a role I have only adapted once before in my life, and to be honest, kind of sucked at. I have never been the "plan a day full of cleaning and activities rife with education and fun" kind of parent. I am more the, "watch TV until you can't take the guilt any more and then go to the park and read" kind of parent. But ever since learning of my impending unemployment over a month ago, I resolved that this time would be different.

Any historical foray's into the land of domesticity have failed after a day or two of poorly risen loaves of bread, one super clean room of the house, and an ill begotten field trip to the railroad museum that ends in both of us crying. Within a matter of days we are back to frozen veggies and ICarly.  All of these attempts at active parenting leave me stricken with guilt and feeling inadequate once again. I console myself with lack luster promises of doing better next week, and excuses surrounding my work schedule. Eventually I have myself convinced ALL parents are this inadequate and Parenting Magazine is simply a ploy brought to us by Pottery Barn and LeLeche League designed to convince us that we should be shiny happy soccer moms with perfectly organized organic households to guilt us into buying color coordinated plastic bins and nurse until our kids are in college. Fascists.

I awoke this morning totally ready to execute the plans I'd been making for the last month. We would arise early, do some mother/daughter yoga, make muffins (organic whole wheat of course!), and walk to school. I would then return home and think smugly to myself "what a fine parent I have been! all other mothers simply pale in comparison!" it would be fantastic.

I failed to mention that I rose about an hour later than I initially planned...so that cut into my muffin making time (-5 mom points) but I did get PinkOne up by 8, and for the first time in...ever...she woke without argument and dressed herself (in matching clothes) without complaint. (+5 mom points!) Instead of the delightful dried fruit protein muffins I intended to feed her (-3) she got a bagel with cream cheese, but the bagel was homemade (+2!)  and whole wheat (+2 more!) While she ate, I got started on my muffins, so those were in the oven by the time she was done eating, and we were ready for yoga via YouTube. We did like...20 minutes of awkward, chubby mom and awkward tiny person yoga in the living room before we both decided this was toates hard and we should try again tomorrow. (plus 5 for yoga -2 for not finishing the tape)

So the first batch of muffins are done, (+3) and the laundry is in the washer (+2) and the kid is fed (+3) and dressed with combed hair and brushed teeth (+a bazillion) and its 9am.  Just the right amount of time for us to walk/ride out bikes to school at a leisurely pace whilst idyllicly walking the dog and sipping my coffee. Maybe I'm not so bad at this house mom thing after all...

We mount the bike, the dog is leashed, I have the coffee, and we head out. This is where the trouble starts.

1) my dog is the WORST leash dog in all of the land. Picture attempting to leash and properly walk a drooling, snarfling, snake that weighs 30lbs and wants to smell EVERYTHING. My leisurely walk quickly turned into a brush with death. There was a leash wrapped around my ankles, a pug under the bike tire, a pug on the sidewalk, a pug in the neighbor's yard, a pug stopping to snarfle every 2 and a half feet, just in case there was some sort of variation in smell from 2 and a half feet before. She also had to pee every 4 and a half feet, and crap at least twice on the 1/4 mile walk (and guess which irresponsible pet owner forgot the doggie bags? sorry neighbors!) Once the peeing, crapping, snarfling and attempted murder by leash was complete, there were still other dogs to bark at, small children to demand pets from and the occasional invisible danger to alert the town to. Once we returned home, Idgie was whipped from all of the activity, and so was I.

2) PinkOne is probably the LAZIEST six-year-old I have ever encountered. Now, I was a lazy six-year-old, despite being into sports from an early age, I was NEVER one to choose movement over more sedentary activities. However, I did enjoy the occasional bike ride, especially short distances. PinkOne was very excited about the promise of getting to ride her bike to school today and was all helmeted and back packed and smiling ready to rock when the pug was leashed and I had my coffee in hand. Fast forward approximately five minutes. We reach the 7-11 parking lot and all I hear from about 10 feet in front of me (while attempting to untangle myself from the dog yet again) is: "DIS IS TOO HAWD!" PinkOne is standing next to her training wheeled pink and purple bike of awesome with a look of utter defeat and irritation, the Disney Princess helmet sitting askew on her head.

"Potato," I say with love, "you can do this, it's not far at all to school"

"Its SOOO FAR!! Don't you SEE? The school is ALL the way up THERE!" she points to the school, which is within sight, and a distance of approximately five minutes away by bike/foot.

Eventually, I coax her back on the bike, having to push it with my foot every ten or so feet, while disentangling myself from the pugsnake monster, as she groans her way through the ride. We arrive at school just after the first bell (-5) and she is safely in the building after a begrudging hug and kiss. I walk home feeling accomplished and relatively happy with myself.

Fast forward two hours. I have completed the muffins, they are pretty delicious, served Boss their morning coffee and begun this blog feeling like, hey, I might be able to get used to this house wife thing, when my phone rings. Boss answers it and its Jolinda, the friendly office lady from PinkOne's school. PinkOne apparently has crippling stomach pains that will not subside no matter how long she rests in the office and simply MUST come home as soon as possible and be cared for. We run to the school to pick her up, where we are greeted by PinkOne in the parking lot, hamming up the "I'm just so terribly sick I can only be revived by copious amounts of Nickelodeon and Sprite." What PinkOne did not count on, was that I INVENTED the fake sick so you can stay home and watch TV in my youth. I can spot a fake sicker a mile away. She is relegated to her room sans television to recover as I write this.

So, my first day at house-wifery hasn't completely failed, but I'm thinking there is still a lot of room for improvement.

 Tomorrow's goal: get PinkOne to school on time, and keep her there. Also, not bringing snakepug with me, who is happily snoring next to me recovering from her big adventure.

Defending my Cervix

[caption id="attachment_702" align="alignleft" width="142" caption="Get it? I'm being judged"][/caption]

WARNING: Mom, this post contains information on my sexuality and descriptions of a gynecological nature, you might not want to read it!!

After much debate and weighing of various pros and cons, I have decided that it’s time to get back on the birth control. One of many recent steps taken to help me be a “responsible adult” or whatever, when it comes to my sexual liberties as a newly single person.  As Dude and I were trying for the last 2 years to have another pink headed potato, I wasn't too worried while we were married. After him, all of my partners have been women until rather recently, so this hasn’t been an issue.

Lately though, one thing has led to another and if I'm not a bit more careful, someone is going to end up with a potato they didn’t plan for. Since that’s how I wound up with the first one, I’ve decided to go ahead and exercise my right to easily obtainable birth control and head down to the local clinic to have my IUD put back in.

My gyno up and moved her practice to Seattle leaving me in the hands of the local not for profit sector and I was feeling a little nervous. I haven’t been to a gynecologist in sometime, about 2 years if I remember correctly. I haven’t been to the local Planned Parenthood since I was but a youthful college tramp, so this was going to be something of an adventure for me. Upon walking in I was greeted with the usual mishmash of progressive college students, unwed and possibly wed mothers, broke ass mothers to be, and terrified looking teens. I slid my ID under the bullet proof glass and was buzzed in once it was determined that I did not carry with me a pipe bomb or photo of a dead baby.

When I was called back to the sterile room I was asked a slew of pre-established questions regarding my visit today.
“Have you ever had an STD?” the earnest young CNA asks
“Does pregnancy count?” I chuckle
“No.” she is un-amused.
“Oh, umm then no” my joke going unappreciated
“Do you have any of the following types of sex 1) Oral 2) Vaginal 3) Anal?”
“Uhhhhh….(answer removed in case my mother decides to read this)”
“Do you sleep with 1) Men 2) Women 3) Both?”
“Both….” *starting to feel rather sheepish
"What are you currently using for birth control?"
"Um, well nothing actually"
"Nothing?" *insert quizzical look*
"Well, my husband and I...and then...umm, yeah, nothing" she shakes her head, makes a check, and moves on.
“Are you in a committed relationship?”
“Well that’s rather complicated, I’m going through a divorce and I live with this Vulcan but….”
“Yes or No please”
“Okay…no”
"Are you sexually active?"
"Define *active*"
"Are you having sex with one or more people?"
"Well, yeah...usually just one at a time...heh heh..." another joke goes unappreciated
“You’re getting divorced?”
“Yeah”
“Did he ever abuse you, 1) physically 2) emotionally 3) sexually?”
“Not officially I suppose…but you know it’s…”
“1, 2 or 3 ma’am”
“Uh, no then I guess”
“Have you ever been raped or sexually mistreated in any way?”
“Well, yeah…”
“Here is the number for the local sexual and domestic violence support groups please call if you have any questions concerns or thoughts of suicide. Please strip, put on the gown open to the front and drape the paper over your legs.”

Somehow I had managed to let a complete stranger into the inner workings of my insane lifestyle and sexual indecision, my sordid past, and my uncertain future all using form questions and without once looking me in the eye. I was feeling a smidge exposed and I wasn’t even wearing the paper shrug yet.

For a clinic that purports to be inclusive of all women, they do NOT make paper shrugs for the “full figured” lady of today, I can tell you that much. Desperately clinging to what little modesty I have, I attempt to close the thing over my breasts only to rip it and create an even bigger gap with which to expose myself. I opt instead to pull the paper drape a little higher and hope for the best.

Once I was adequately covered by itchy paper the worlds oldest Nurse practitioner walked into the room. This woman must have been scoping cervix's with stone tools at the dawn of gynaecology. She proceeded to work her way through the same list of exceptionally personal questions the CNA went through, this time with slightly more detail requested, but still using the 1,2,3 system and once again refusing to acknowledge my witticisms. Once I had given her the name of every person I’d ever slept with, their bank account numbers and names of their first pets we were ready to move on to the health history portion of the quiz.

Apparently, I am fat. So that’s been established now. She took a look at my BMI and habits; something she said was new, and was apparently was not an issue back when dinosaurs got pap smears. Now, I’m used to doctors telling me to lose weight and quit smoking, it is not the first time that a doctor has looked at me like a complete idiot when I tell them that I still, even in the age of almost $9.00 a pack, and a widely accepted link between my favorite habit and crippling cancer, smoke cigarettes. However, the look that Doctor Grandma Moses shot me, when I told her not only that this was NOT the heaviest I have ever been, and that yes indeed, I do smoke about half a pack of cigarettes a day, will forever be burned into my skull. I could have told her that I have been humping the devil himself and I don’t think she would have looked half as horrified.

After promising to continue losing weight and give up the cancer sticks, she was finally ready to inspect my nether regions and prep me for the eventual temporary sterilization I have requested. I realize has she's prepping the tools that I had forgotten to shave my legs, which is for whatever reason, more embarrassing to me than all of the other questions I was forced to answer combined. After a muffled apology, and wondering why they decided octopus gloves with tiny eyeballs were the appropriate stirrup covering apparatus, I was able to calm down and let her do her thing.

The rest of the visit went routinely, despite my rampant sluttiness and disgusting personal habits, apparently my cervix is just ducky, so that’s good to know. I go in next week to see the Cro-magnon gynecologist and get my IUD inserted. Hopefully they will have my fascinating sexual history neatly filled in on the form so I don't have to repeat the sordid facts of my past. I suppose if nothing else it will make for another amusing blog post!

Vodka and Oreos

None of you may remember my former blog as it was housed on my now defunct Myspace page and was only rarely updated. I promise not to hold it against you.

Back in those days, I ran a feature called “Tales from the Cube” in which I chronicled my adventures in corporate America as a newly working mom with a brand new potato at home. I was full of promise and cynicism, excited to spread my wings in a business appropriate, suitably Office Space kind of way.  

 Here we are 5 years later, the potato is a pink headed demon child and I’m still with the same company…that’s about all that is the same.

 There was a fourth round of layoffs at my company yesterday, eliminating pretty much my entire team; a team that I helped to build from the ground up four years ago. I get that companies need to do what they need to do to survive and god knows I’m grateful that I still have my job but damnit, I am pissed off. And what is the point of having an internet based, relatively anonymous outlet with which to write, if I can’t bitch a little bit into the blog-o-sphere?

 In the ranks of those laid off we have single moms, young adults that were already barely making enough to continue living on their own, mom’s on maternity leave, and people who are right on the verge of retirement. Not a single one of them deserved to be laid off and not a single one of them gave any less than 110% every day of work. I will give my company credit though, they offered them a fantastic severance package and will not fight them on unemployment. I don't know what to say about the actual decision makers in the company, but as far as the supervisors and managers go, they have done everything they can to keep us our jobs for as long as possible and in failing that, have made sure that we are taken care of while looking for new ones.

 So why am I bitching?

 Because IT SUCKS! My people were working full time, and still on food stamps. They begged for overtime, they worked with fewer resources and higher demand in an ever changing industry with little complaint. They busted their asses, some of them for over 10 years…and now….nothing.

 As I mentioned, this is the FOURTH round of layoffs, and our company was one of the biggest employers in town. So needless to say, the job pool in our smallish town is getting more and more shallow.

 I should be happy right? They get a good package, I still have my job, they get unemployment, and everyone is acctually in pretty decent spirits about the whole thing. Then why am I so pissed?

 I think I feel  lied to.

 When we were kids, we were told to work hard, finish school, do your best, and you will be rewarded. I was given the impression that a college degree equaled riches beyond my wildest dreams and security for the rest of my life. Well kiddies…that’s bullshit.

I graduated from college with only fast food work experience, becuase that was the only kind of job I could support while taking 22 credits. I got knocked up right out of college (don't listen when they tell you that you can't have babies, until they acctually remove the baby making parts, you can still have babies. USE A CONDOM!) and took a year off to do the mom thing while I sorted my life out.

When I was ready to go back to work, I realized that short of a fancy piece of paper and the ability to bull shit my way into sounding like I know everything, I had no marketable job skills. I was blown away by this realization.

In school, we are told again and again that the shiny piece of paper was what you needed to make it in the world. No diploma, no future. Work hard, get your paper, get the job, get the car, get the house, get the life, live the dream. While the shiny paper certainly doesn't hurt anything, what it symbolizes is no longer the gaurenteed future and white picket fence of my dreams.

 There are no constants, no “for sure” and no guarantees. When I graduated from high school, slated to attend a nice, midrate state college just far enough from home that I wouldn’t have to see my mother every weekend, I thought the world was in front of me. I felt terrified and inspired and ready to take on the world.

 Here I am, 9 years later and I’m working in a cubicle, busting my ass for low, but adequate pay (just above the poverty line thank you!) and it means very little. A down turn in the economy and the work I’ve done, the heart I’ve put in and the big fat shiny degree I worked so hard for means bubkiss.

 Thanks a lot elementary school for filling my head with fantasy!

 Okay, enough bitching for today, I promise to come back with something suitably optimistic next posting so you don’t all run screaming for the razor blades and vodka.

 To my friends that got laid off, you are all handling this far better than I am, and I admire your optimism and positive outlook. Good luck out there guys and lets get together and drink copiously as soon as possible!

 PS: You know what helps EVERYTHING? Vodka and Oreos it’s a can’t miss combination!