Here is sit in front of the computer, enjoying a cup of coffee with Pumpkin Spice Non-Dairy Creamer. Trying to decide if I should have a piece of the Vegan Gluten-Free Mocha Cake leftover from a fantastic surprise party. Fuck it, who am I kidding? ...enjoying a piece of Vegan Gluten-Free Mocha Cake leftover from a fantastic surprise party. Musing about another year gone by.
What has a year brought me? LOTS of change. But really, when I look back, what has a decade brought me? I have the battle scars: stretch marks, acne scars, gray hairs yet to be dyed, wrinkles (laugh lines, they call them, sick bastards "they" are).
10 years ago, I was trying to lose weight in order to get pregnant, with what would turn out to be Princess. We were thinking about whether we would have enough love and attention to share with another child, whether it was going to benefit us, expanding our little tri-pod of fun. We didn't know that our hearts would grow along with my belly. We both worked full-time, Sky King commuting over 1 1/2 hours each way. In fact, he had just moved with his company, so now he came home each night, rather than stayed overnight 3 hours away for most of the week, coming home for a long weekend. I was working with school-age children, putting in 50 hours a week, plus drive-time. We lived in a little house in my husband's hometown. We worked on that little house on the weekends. No matter how much paint we slapped on, how much new trim we added, how updated that single bathroom became, we still couldn't get a pizza delivered, due to the reputation of the neighborhood. We were happy though, because our home had doubled in value, and the ceiling seemed limitless.
We didn't know it, but we were coming up on a big change in our lives. Within less than a year, we would be faced with having to sell our home. We would start a business and then pour the home-sales profits into a business that would fail within 7 years. My pain would increase to epic levels, and I would try acupuncture for the first time. We would hit financial lows, and struggle with the things many people in their first decade of marriage struggle with:
Trust, lack of maturity, growing older. We would seek marriage counseling by the year's end.
It would turn out to be some of the shittiest wonderful things that ever happened.
Marriage: The therapist would tell Sky King to quit smoking, and me to take my diminishing ass down to anger management classes. I would grudgingly go, and learn nothing.
Home: We sold that house-our first home. We worked hard to create a warm home out of that shit hole. We had put lots of blood, sweat and cash into it. It pained us-we had made 250% on the sale, and funneled all that cash into our new business. We moved in with my parents, who had retired to the Sacramento area. We had a new baby that had colic, and a son getting ready to start Kindergarten.
Work: I quit my job due to horrendous sciatic problems during my pregnancy. I was going to run the business we started, with Princess attached to my hip. Sky King would commute to Hayward for his regular job running a flight school, then come home for long weekends to help me at the business. (We made custom area rugs and repaired Oriental rugs)
Soon, we were running out of money. Actually, we were running out of room on the credit card. The money had gone long ago. Our credit score was about to take a huge hit, and I needed a job. I took a job teaching preschool at a local chain, mourning the loss of our dream: SK's to be our own boss and live on that alone, mine to leave Child Development-it just wasn't my thing.
I drudged through work, realizing that in order to eat regular meals, I would need to promote. Back to 60-hour workweeks for me. SK's flight job relocated to Phoenix, leaving us dependent on my pathetic hourly wage and the barely afloat business. Princess was be-bopping through life, Monkey Boy was floundering in the public school system.
Then, we took life by the short and curlies. We got our own place, if only to save our relationship with each other, and our relationship with my parents. We needed our own space, so did they. I promoted, and jumped into 60+ hour workweeks, running a failing center. Sky King plugged away at the business while trying to find side gigs flying. Monkey Boy got ripped from the public school system, and nestled into a Montessori charter school. Things were looking up.
Fast-forward six years-my body has taken a beating-so has my psyche. Our entire world has been flipped upside down-roles have reversed, adaptations forced upon us. And we are happier than ever.
Yes, we closed that first business. But that experience allowed us to make our next business a smashing success. And somewhere along the line I fell in love with children again. It felt like the first time though. The first time was more of a crush-I enjoyed showing things to children for the first time, hearing them say their crazy things, telling their parents' business. Now, I LOVE children. I have gotten involved in an organization, PITC, that would totally wipe away all ideas about children and child care. I would transform into a great trainer that knew instinctively the answers to the questions my staff would ask me. (Rather than trying to remember by rote the Piagetian INSTEAD. It took quite a while for a paycheck to become a habit, but the work was amazing and rewarding, growing a business with a group of people that continually amaze me on a daily basis.
Sky King has moved into a comfort zone of working for himself when he wants to, and working with an exciting start-up with some men he respects. Monkey Boy is flourishing in Montessori (despite his report card---it's a work in progress) and Princess is still be-bopping to the sound of a peppy internal soundtrack.
My health sucks. I know this, I accept this. I also accept that my health has caused me to pause, slow down, take on less, commit to less. I recommitted to myself, my children, my awesome husband. I have grown and matured, and I finally know what that therapist a decade ago was talking about. I have eased up on Sky King-I appreciate what he brings to the table, and the way in which he brings it. I didn't do that as much before. I was silently waiting for him to become the man I thought I wanted. Luckily for me, I figured that out before he got sick of me. Learned that the best thing for me was exactly what I had in front of me.
We have lots of free time for our kids. Lots of free time for our awesome groups of friends, new and old. Lots of time to do nothing, which is one of my new favorite hobbies.
I have made peace with the wrinkles, the grays, the stretch marks. Not the acne, though. That shit has GOT to stop.
I WILL be in a bikini next summer. Not because I will be at my goal weight. I may be, I may not be. But I ain't getting any younger, and I want to have pictures I will envy later. Have you seen a picture of yourself from the past and thought, "man, I sure wish I had known how hot I looked" or, "I wish I had shown more cleavage back then, when my boobies were so high and perky". So, come hell or high water, low boobs or gelatinous thighs, I WILL be in a bikini next summer. I want to look back when I am 49 and say, "damn, girl. I was one hot piece of ass." And regardless of what I weigh, I will say that. We all will. The grass WAS always greener, right?
Makes you rethink that venti frappaccino you were going to surprise me with, doesn't it?
I have a feeling this is the start of the best year yet.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Sunday, October 9, 2011
An Open Letter to Volunteers
While I appreciate all that volunteers do to keep our children involved in fantastic activities, I am often frustrated by the quality of our experience with these volunteers. I know-if I'm going to gripe about something, I should be willing to change it. But I feel like I am in a position to gripe. Believe me, you are probably not cutting muster in your current volunteer post, I KNOW I could do better, and as soon as I unravel the time-space continuum, I will. Until then, fix yo shit, ' cuz I'm sick of it.
Team moms and Coaches:
DO maintain a current roster of all children and parents. This document should be updated and distributed. If new children join, you have to update it. Sorry, but you're the sucker that raised their hand when a team parent was needed. You must pay.
DO maintain some sort of calender: Most sports have one through a website. Google Calender is easy-even I can figure it out. And, then we can all upload the damn thing to our phones, and always know what the hell is happening. Because those flyers that come home? Most don't, and the ones that do are under the pile of crap I will get to once this season is over. Right next to the three-weeks-late power bill and my soon-to-expire coupon for anti-depressants.
DO touch base by text, phone or email, even when there is not much to report-it tells us we haven't been forgotten, and keeps the organization fresh in my mind, which keeps me excited for the events coming up, and lets me know I'm in the loop
DO apologize when you err, and forget to, say, tell a parent when practice is canceled-we have lives, and things like this truly affect the overall quality of the experience, and reflect on the organization as a whole
DO give us as much possible notice on upcoming dates, events, expectations. We all have lives and sometimes need to make plans, especially when a sport takes up 5 months a year including every foreseeable Saturday
DO try to fix your errors. People are way more understanding then yo3 might believe (despite my rants)
DON'T bring any of the following for post-game snacks: cupcakes, Capri-Suns (seriously, have you SEEN the amount of sugar in these???-OK, maybe the Roaring Water or whatever, that has way less sugar will do) , candy, jell-o or pudding cups, red-colored drinks (ummm, the uniforms are white, are you people temporarily blind while you schlep through Food for Less?) Honestly, what is wrong with waters, string cheese, maybe some cut oranges. The kids just exercised for 3 straight hours-they don't need sugar, they need oxygen, for Christ's sake. Water and orange slices will suffice until they regain the use of their fingers, because it's frikkin' cold as a witch's tit out here. Now let's get this party moving, so I can get some laundry done before my child outgrows the clothes he's wearing.
Some of you may be all, "where does she get room to talk, that self-absorbed condescending bitch". Go back and read my blog from the beginning. I'm nice and have developed something I have heard being described as a modicum of patience, but also over-achieving and perfect. Enough is enough, for crying out loud. I have volunteered since I was 14 as a candy striper. I always put 100% in, and when I can't, I fix my errors. I am currently involved in 5 non-profits in one way or another. Believe me when I say I wish I could run them all, my way, without dying in the process. Alas, I cannot, so I need you all to do what you signed up to do. If you can't tell someone, and make the situation better for all involved, crawl back under that rock you call a duplex, and take your rotten child with you. Don't act all embarrassed or ignore the problem-that's way too first-fast-food-job of you. Be a grown-up and step down if you can't handle it-we will all be better off.
Now, this may sound like I don't appreciate the people in my children's lives. That is soooo not true. One of the my kids' team moms is really great, getting emails out each week. She thanks each person that did snack, reminds the next group who's up. She texts when she needs something, so you can ignore her, or step up. It's quick and painless. We all appreciate it. She may not hear much about her work-this means she is doing it right.
Also, I co-lead a Girl Scout Troop with a wonderful mom that has no idea how great she is. When she slacks, she has a good reason. When I nod off, she comes up from behind to take up the slack. She's funny and smart, and I enjoy her company. She also keeps me honest and in the loop, and accepts the "new" me that sometimes can't remember what week it is. This makes her full of awesome-y fabness.
I feel much better now. (That one chick really pissed me off last week, and I didn't want to embarrass my husband and child while I read her the riot act she so deserved, so you get to bear the brunt. For this, I love you extra this week.)
Thanks for all you do,
(or, step it up, slacker, before I have to check you),
Aimee
Team moms and Coaches:
DO maintain a current roster of all children and parents. This document should be updated and distributed. If new children join, you have to update it. Sorry, but you're the sucker that raised their hand when a team parent was needed. You must pay.
DO maintain some sort of calender: Most sports have one through a website. Google Calender is easy-even I can figure it out. And, then we can all upload the damn thing to our phones, and always know what the hell is happening. Because those flyers that come home? Most don't, and the ones that do are under the pile of crap I will get to once this season is over. Right next to the three-weeks-late power bill and my soon-to-expire coupon for anti-depressants.
DO touch base by text, phone or email, even when there is not much to report-it tells us we haven't been forgotten, and keeps the organization fresh in my mind, which keeps me excited for the events coming up, and lets me know I'm in the loop
DO apologize when you err, and forget to, say, tell a parent when practice is canceled-we have lives, and things like this truly affect the overall quality of the experience, and reflect on the organization as a whole
DO give us as much possible notice on upcoming dates, events, expectations. We all have lives and sometimes need to make plans, especially when a sport takes up 5 months a year including every foreseeable Saturday
DO try to fix your errors. People are way more understanding then yo3 might believe (despite my rants)
DON'T bring any of the following for post-game snacks: cupcakes, Capri-Suns (seriously, have you SEEN the amount of sugar in these???-OK, maybe the Roaring Water or whatever, that has way less sugar will do) , candy, jell-o or pudding cups, red-colored drinks (ummm, the uniforms are white, are you people temporarily blind while you schlep through Food for Less?) Honestly, what is wrong with waters, string cheese, maybe some cut oranges. The kids just exercised for 3 straight hours-they don't need sugar, they need oxygen, for Christ's sake. Water and orange slices will suffice until they regain the use of their fingers, because it's frikkin' cold as a witch's tit out here. Now let's get this party moving, so I can get some laundry done before my child outgrows the clothes he's wearing.
Some of you may be all, "where does she get room to talk, that self-absorbed condescending bitch". Go back and read my blog from the beginning. I'm nice and have developed something I have heard being described as a modicum of patience, but also over-achieving and perfect. Enough is enough, for crying out loud. I have volunteered since I was 14 as a candy striper. I always put 100% in, and when I can't, I fix my errors. I am currently involved in 5 non-profits in one way or another. Believe me when I say I wish I could run them all, my way, without dying in the process. Alas, I cannot, so I need you all to do what you signed up to do. If you can't tell someone, and make the situation better for all involved, crawl back under that rock you call a duplex, and take your rotten child with you. Don't act all embarrassed or ignore the problem-that's way too first-fast-food-job of you. Be a grown-up and step down if you can't handle it-we will all be better off.
Now, this may sound like I don't appreciate the people in my children's lives. That is soooo not true. One of the my kids' team moms is really great, getting emails out each week. She thanks each person that did snack, reminds the next group who's up. She texts when she needs something, so you can ignore her, or step up. It's quick and painless. We all appreciate it. She may not hear much about her work-this means she is doing it right.
Also, I co-lead a Girl Scout Troop with a wonderful mom that has no idea how great she is. When she slacks, she has a good reason. When I nod off, she comes up from behind to take up the slack. She's funny and smart, and I enjoy her company. She also keeps me honest and in the loop, and accepts the "new" me that sometimes can't remember what week it is. This makes her full of awesome-y fabness.
I feel much better now. (That one chick really pissed me off last week, and I didn't want to embarrass my husband and child while I read her the riot act she so deserved, so you get to bear the brunt. For this, I love you extra this week.)
Thanks for all you do,
(or, step it up, slacker, before I have to check you),
Aimee
Thursday, October 6, 2011
The Great Pumpkin
I have to hurry up and finish this post, or it will have to wait until next year...
I am a genius. And, I forgot where I got my brilliant idea in the first place, so not only am I a genius, I am an innovator.
"No", you all scream.
"Oh, yes!" I reply. Just wait.
Years ago, I had to spend gobs of cash on Monkey Boy's teeth. They were crap-takes after his father. No, I didn't give him a bottle at night (never, actually). No juice. Nothin' bad, followed all the rules about shit you're not supposed to give your kids. Still, massive dental bills, all before Kindergarten. Princess followed suit. Before Princess came along though, I was faced with a conundrum.
Both my kids have not only massive sweet tooths (sweet teeth?), but they have impeccable radar for junk food. If you happen to stash $10000 around the house, make sure there's a Snickers in there, so later my kids can help you recover it. Seriously, people, their instinct for sugar is, well, instinctual.
So, Halloween was drawing near one year. I wanna say he was 3. (Seriously, I want to say 3, because I know he was young-ish, and I have no idea how old he was. Coulda been 2. Maybe 4. Most likely, 3.)
I was dreading all the candy in the house, and him dragging us around better neighborhoods than the one we lived in til all hours of the night, hoping to bring home a bag that rivals the storage space in my swagger wagon.
Then, it came to me-The Great Pumpkin.
The next day, I told MB the story-the Great Pumpkin needs all his candy. In exchange, MB gets a gift. Kinda like Santa, but a more fair barter system. MB gets to keep 5 pieces, and eat them all at once, or save them, whatever. 5 anythings. The rest, hung on the front door handle. The next day, the newest Transformer/Barbie/DVD would be waiting for them, and all thoughts of sugar madness were thrown aside (because, as you guessed, they ALWAYS choose to eat all five pieces that night-no matter how big. In the grand scheme of things, what's one tummy ache?)
Well, each year, things have gone swimmingly. (always wanted to use that word in a sentence-did it work?) Now that MB is older, he pretty much says, "Hey, can you tell 'The Great Pumpkin' I want the new Guitar Hero game?". He even uses finger quotes. But still, a $40 game vs. days at the dentist? Done.
Then, the parents and grandparents get to go through the loot (in secret, of course, because the quality of the loot soooo determines the quality of the toy. EVERYONE knows that. Raisins are still bad. So are pencils, and coupons for crap. Smarties, however, rank pretty high. Almost as high as a full-size bar. I know, I know. I don't make the rules. The kids instinctively seem to know the rules. They are sooo my kids.
You can steal this idea. And, you can even pawn it off as your own-you can be all, "Duh. Of COURSE I do 'The Great Pumpkin'. Why don't YOU?" And then you can smirk at them, and shake your head, while you trot off to Target for the latest thing to trade the candy for.
And, your coworkers will totally thank you the next day.
I am a genius. And, I forgot where I got my brilliant idea in the first place, so not only am I a genius, I am an innovator.
"No", you all scream.
"Oh, yes!" I reply. Just wait.
Years ago, I had to spend gobs of cash on Monkey Boy's teeth. They were crap-takes after his father. No, I didn't give him a bottle at night (never, actually). No juice. Nothin' bad, followed all the rules about shit you're not supposed to give your kids. Still, massive dental bills, all before Kindergarten. Princess followed suit. Before Princess came along though, I was faced with a conundrum.
Both my kids have not only massive sweet tooths (sweet teeth?), but they have impeccable radar for junk food. If you happen to stash $10000 around the house, make sure there's a Snickers in there, so later my kids can help you recover it. Seriously, people, their instinct for sugar is, well, instinctual.
So, Halloween was drawing near one year. I wanna say he was 3. (Seriously, I want to say 3, because I know he was young-ish, and I have no idea how old he was. Coulda been 2. Maybe 4. Most likely, 3.)
I was dreading all the candy in the house, and him dragging us around better neighborhoods than the one we lived in til all hours of the night, hoping to bring home a bag that rivals the storage space in my swagger wagon.
Then, it came to me-The Great Pumpkin.
The next day, I told MB the story-the Great Pumpkin needs all his candy. In exchange, MB gets a gift. Kinda like Santa, but a more fair barter system. MB gets to keep 5 pieces, and eat them all at once, or save them, whatever. 5 anythings. The rest, hung on the front door handle. The next day, the newest Transformer/Barbie/DVD would be waiting for them, and all thoughts of sugar madness were thrown aside (because, as you guessed, they ALWAYS choose to eat all five pieces that night-no matter how big. In the grand scheme of things, what's one tummy ache?)
Well, each year, things have gone swimmingly. (always wanted to use that word in a sentence-did it work?) Now that MB is older, he pretty much says, "Hey, can you tell 'The Great Pumpkin' I want the new Guitar Hero game?". He even uses finger quotes. But still, a $40 game vs. days at the dentist? Done.
Then, the parents and grandparents get to go through the loot (in secret, of course, because the quality of the loot soooo determines the quality of the toy. EVERYONE knows that. Raisins are still bad. So are pencils, and coupons for crap. Smarties, however, rank pretty high. Almost as high as a full-size bar. I know, I know. I don't make the rules. The kids instinctively seem to know the rules. They are sooo my kids.
You can steal this idea. And, you can even pawn it off as your own-you can be all, "Duh. Of COURSE I do 'The Great Pumpkin'. Why don't YOU?" And then you can smirk at them, and shake your head, while you trot off to Target for the latest thing to trade the candy for.
And, your coworkers will totally thank you the next day.
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