Leave it to me to go somewhere awesome and come home with angst

I never figured out what I wanted to be when I grew up. As much as I love being a stay at home mom, it's not at all what I wanted to Do (and it's still a surprise, quite frankly, that I'm actually doing it.) And the thought of what I'll do when all my kids are in school frightens me. Sure, I could keep staying home, if we could manage it, and get super involved in their schools and all that stuff. I might do that. But mostly I'm terrified of being thrown back in the What Do I Want To Be When I Grow Up pool. I didn't figure it out the first time, and I don't feel all that hopeful for the future. 

I went to Phillip's "Capstone" project presentation tonight (although I missed the presentation part). It was basically a giant science fair, with posters and snacks and the best punch I've ever had (like an orange creamsicle, only with a big splash of pineapple) and eager beavers dying to talk to you about the thing they've been working on for nine months. I wasn't sure what I was expecting, but I know I didn't expect to come home and feel like such a LOSER. 

(Seriously, I should be ashamed. 1) I always have to make things about me and 2) why do I always come home from the stupidest randomest things with Existential Crises and enough angst for several blog posts? Why can't I just go SUPPORT MY HUSBAND?)

AAAANYWAY, you guys, I could TOTALLY do this master's program. I've known that from the beginning, honestly. If I were to go back to school and NOT get a completely un-lucrative Master's in English, I would go to the Information School (yay UW for deciding information is a science!) and get the same degree Phillip will have. I've always been interested in his classes (most of them) and the two of us can totally geek out over things like databases and information sharing platforms. I mean, the one thing I'm really proud of from my stint in the paid workforce was building a database/event management application FROM SCRATCH and totally revamping the way a nonprofit ran its meetings and yearly fundraisers. I feel that this gives me nerd cred. Only a nerd's heart goes pitter pat at the thought of coding form buttons, right? Or redesigning her personal website every four months. Phillip's program is all about managing, streamlining, improving and quickly finding information and this little final project fair was enough to give an anal-retentive the overheated excitement vapors. 

You don't HAVE to have a technical background, though it helps. I got into a conversation about Drupal with an international student who was, to my satisfaction, overly delighted that I knew what Drupal WAS, and then I found out that he didn't do the actual development himself, he just had the idea and hired out. I COULD DO THAT. Half the projects were ideas for apps - photo management, receipt management, textbook exchanges, how to find hikes and bike trails, several about finding restaurants, Phillip's included. Another chunk were dry and boring library science projects, doing a bunch of organization and cataloging for nonprofits who hadn't organized or cataloged for years. Then there were just people with neat ideas - my favorite was a girl who put a real estate staging company's artwork inventory (for rent or purchase) online, gaining better exposure for the artists and making it easier on the clients to stage their houses. Her poster was pretty awesome too.

And the guys Phillip worked with were so impressive. Their poster was one of the very best, in my obviously biased opinion, just because one the guys in his group has the right EYE for that kind of thing and the skills to match. The other guy made these awesome app screen shots that they demo'ed on their respective iPads (okay, so THERE'S a piece of the I-School crowd I find a SMIDGE obnoxious), I mean, he must have spent the last several months ear-deep in Photoshop. My adorable husband was the chatty one with the big Oh Yeah I Am Almost Done With This Crap! grin. He gave the presentation and wore the tie and didn't stop smiling the whole time I was there. 

I wandered around drinking my delicious punch and thinking I could be doing this too.  

I still don't know what I would DO though. I don't have professional qualifications for anything. My blog probably cancels out a whole lot of things (you know, like that one time I thought I might being a Senate staffer or something. Ha!) And I'm a SAHM and plan to be one for quite a while. I'm having a NEW baby, for goodness' sake! I will be OLD NEWS by the time my kids are in school. I mean, if I'm not updating my Facebook account NOW and still have no idea what Pinterest is, I will be COMPLETELY irrelevant in another five years. 

I know, really, that I'm afraid. I do not have ambition driving me, or a desire to make a ton of cash. I'm lazy as all get out. I don't have a dream job or a passion in anything that might give me a paycheck. I just like to tinker and efficient-ize and learn stuff, preferably on my own, whether or not I'm paid well and what's the point, really? I don't have to put myself out ANYWHERE right now, and as much as these kids drive me crazy some days, they're my comfort zone. I'm in charge, I know what's what, I answer to me. To do anything else... yeah. Hmm. 

Oh my gosh, I was totally just reminded of the dream I had the other night where I went to LAW SCHOOL. And that is how I will manage to end this droopy blog post on a note of HIGH HILARITY. Because: HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

 

Career paths

In case you are playing along at home, today was better. 

I also finished what I thought was a WONDERFUL book: When You Reach Me by Rebecca Stead, which won the Newbery this year. I only finished it today, so I haven't really dwelled on it, you know, SAVORED it, but I really liked it. So I emailed Elizabeth, as I do when I am proud of reading a book I'm sure she's already read and she was all, "Meh." Oh the disappointment! And then the full on Project Runway-esque terror re: do I have a TASTE problem? I mean, is Nina Garcia (in this case, Elizabeth) looking at my four- and five-starred books on Good Reads and going, "Maggie is a good READER but I'm not sure her TASTE LEVEL is where it should be." 

Why this kind of paranoia spurs me to write, I have no idea. But my kids slept freakishly long today and instead of doing any number of my SAHM duties, I sat at my kitchen table and hammered out a 27th version of The Beginning and while it's nothing fabulous, I don't think it's trite or contrived or THAT boring. Hopefully. But now I feel better. Sort of. I read something recently about writing pitfalls and one of them is evaluating and creating at the same time which: GUILTY! This is why NaNoWriMo was so awesome: I wasn't ALLOWED to evaluate! Word count was king. I kept going. I've never ever done that before. 

I've been doing too much of it recently too, but now that I have a beginning that doesn't feel... well, I guess CONTRIVED was my biggest worry. And possibly I should still be worried about it and I still think I could probably cut out the whole beginning and just begin with the next part and that would be okay too, but at least now I feel like I can go ON. I don't have to keep going back and feeling like this entire stupid story was built on NOTHING. 

Now just the MIDDLE is made of nothing. Note to my writing group: I'm afraid we may have to disband as I'm starting to think my story contains no plot and no conflict and I'll have nothing to submit whenever I finally get around to calling for submissions because I'll have wiped my hard drive clean with giant magnets. 

(Can you even do that? Phillip just read that part and put his head in his hands.) 

Speaking of computery stuff. I was in a... SITUATION yesterday where someone said something like, "People are finding out about our organization through our website!", like it was this completely novel idea and I pretty much wanted to find a gun and shoot myself. BECAUSE DUH! Right? I am so right. So obviously I complained about all of this to Phillip, about how if Organization just sucked it up and dove into the 21st century, we wouldn't be having some of the issues we seem to have and Phillip, because he is a nicer person than I am, basically told me I was being a brat. Or, rather, to suck it up because HE has to deal with that EVERY DAY. 

Which, okay, fine. BUT STILL. How can you be an Agent For Change when you are pretty sure you're going to have to wait an entire generation before change is made? I feel so POINTLESS! I mean, I don't know a lot, I'm far from some SEO blog-monetizing professional blogger real writer, but I still want to stand up and shriek, "IT TAKES FIVE MINUTES TO MAKE A FACEBOOK FAN PAGE FOR THE LOVE OF GRILLED CHEESE!"

Ahem. 

Then we crossed into this whole OTHER conversation (my goodness, the places tonight's post is going!) about What I Would Be Doing If I Didn't Have Kids And Also Knew At 18 What I Know Now. Because while it is well established that I do not want to work for The Man and I am QUITE happy being the kept housewife working on her "novel", I finally did think of a Real Job I might like to do. I think I would really like being a web designer. At my old job I spent a lot of time learning Visual Basic-ish stuff to build databases, all of which I either taught myself or begged my husband to teach me via instant messenger at work. And I took an HTML/CSS class and I've done all my own blog redesigns and yeah, they're nothing fancy, but I totally know how to do this stuff and I can get pretty nerdy about all the coding and it makes my little anal-retentive wannabe-designer heart go pitter pat. 

Oh, except for the part where you have to work with clients. I probably wouldn't like that part.

HOWEVER. All the stuff I learned in that class four years ago is, uh, old. I don't know any scripting. I don't know HTML 5. I can still make a website from scratch with Dreamweaver, but it's a crappy one. And this totally feels like a thing that Passed Me By. Like, if I were younger and starting out and could go to school, or if I didn't have kids, or if I really wanted a Full Time Job and wanted to pursue a new career path. But I am none of those things and the next time I tinker with my blog I'll have to hire someone because I'm so tired of relearning everything, especially if I want to switch platforms... 

ANYWAY. Blah blah blah. Not important. Just stuff I think about... when I should be creating, not evaluating. 

 

So I went to this reading and came home with a stomachache

I went to Anne Lamott's reading tonight (at the bookstore down the hill from my house, I walked, not that I'm, you know, BRAGGING or anything). I almost didn't go, though, because I couldn't find anyone to go with me. All the people who'd want to go to that sort of thing were regrettably out of town (how dare you, Friends Of Me) and I couldn't con anyone else into it and I just didn't WANT to go by myself. There's the whole "ooh, I don't know how readings WORK at this bookstore, what if I go to the wrong SECTION, what if I stand there looking STUPID, what if everyone knows what's going on except for ME, how come I SUCK SO MUCH" issue. And then there was the fact that I knew I would be Impacted Somehow and I wouldn't be able to talk about it because no one else would have experienced it and that is just a big fat bummer. 

But then I was all, "Come on Self. Bird By Bird is what made you think you could pull of NaNoWriMo and YOU DID and you also think Anne Lamott says things in ways that no one else says them and you will kick yourself for God knows how long if you stay home because you're feeling lame and loserish. Also, you can WALK THERE. For shame!"

So I went. But not without a lot of, "Are you SURE you're okay with the kids? Because I can TOTALLY stay home." 

Of course none of the lame and loserish things happened, although what I thought was early enough CLEARLY wasn't early enough and I was stuck standing way far in the back. And I knew absolutely nothing about her new book and now I know too much because Anne Lamott stood up there leading a group conversation about destructive teenage behavior, namely drug use and hooking up. 

SHUDDER. 

So part of me was all, "Oh dear God. Hello nightmares!" But then I also felt sort of... I don't know. Privileged somehow. Because I think this woman is terribly gifted in talking about things most people don't talk about with giant groups of strangers, or even faceless swaths of anonymous readers. I wanted so badly to hear her say something about writing, but she didn't, not really. She mostly talked about being a good person. Being the kind of grown up your kids wouldn't mind being themselves one day. Living authentically. Knowing your own truths. A lot of blah blah whateverness that sounds like blah blah whateverness coming from other people, but coming from her it just sounds like what she's meant to tell us. 

When someone asked her about her response to a certain group of people with, shall we say, some rigid thinking and principles, she just sighed. She said that she has a lot of opinions, opinions she knows are RIGHT. She's right about everything! Trust her! But as you get older you realize: no one cares what you think. People are going to believe what they're going to believe. People are ENTITLED to believe what they want to believe. And you can talk about it and argue about it and almost always lose, or you can be happy. And I was all, "Yes! This is why I don't like to write about Controversial Things on my BLAWG! Ooh, I want to know what Anne Lamott thinks about BLAWWWGS!"

Anyway. I walked home, my head full of writerly thoughts, mostly woe about the cartoonish simpleness of MY teenage characters, who are not doing ANY drugs or ANY hooking up and oh no, if that's what I have to write about if I'm writing about teenagers then I am DOOOOOOMED.

By the way, I was not one of those teenagers. I think there must be some of us out there. I mean, some of my friends were total potheads, but I pretended not to know about any of that, I mean, HAVE YOU MET MY PARENTS? and I think this what Anne Lamott meant when she said you can't be friends with your kids. I also finally understand why my dad drove us to (at midnight) and from (three in the morning, usually) the discos, quite possibly his LEAST favorite way to spend a Saturday night, with nary a complaint. Well, not that going to an Anne Lamott reading taught me that, I'm just bringing it up. Oh man, you know this Adjusting To The Move thing is killing me with the kids, but maybe someone could hurry up on that Age Preservation thing so I can have an almost-three-year-old forever and never ever have to think about "pharm parties" OMG.

I need some cake. MEDICINAL cake. Later dudes. 

Most likely to succeed

Oh man you guys. I know I'm venturing into First World Problems Happening To Spoiled Has Everything She Could Ever Ask For Annoying Even SHE Can't Believe She's Writing About It Blogger territory here, but SERIOUSLY. I feel like every day has delivered some sort of delicious oh-please-sir-can-I-have-some-more? emotional beating and I want a break. Smothered in hot fudge, preferably. 

It's not really the mom stuff either. Some of it is my utter impotency when it comes to managing my two-year-old (and if one more person wants to delightedly tell me how three is ten times worse, I will take my sinkful of dirty dishes and chuck it at that person's head.) Some of it is not having any idea what is up with him this last week or two. And yes, some of it comes from the fact that it takes half an hour just to get READY to walk out the door and someone always poops after I've got her coat and shoes on, MOLLY. So sure, the mom stuff isn't exactly a cakewalk lately. 

But I feel like I've had all these Irritating Situations pop up this week, requiring me to act like a Grown Up. And not, like, Take Responsibility kind of grown upness, but Sticking Up For Yourself grown upness and Fixing Stuff and Advocating and Knowing What's What. I mean, I don't want to talk on the phone with my FRIENDS. Don't tell me I have to explain an issue over the phone with my DENTIST. HORRORS.

I don't want to call the dentist or the real estate agent or the doctor. I don't want to confront anyone or manage any situation or cause a fuss. Why am I so concerned about all of these people LIKING me? Why am I worried about how I'll come off when I ask a simple question to which I most certainly deserve an answer? Why is it so hard for me to ask for what is mine? Why am I worried about their impression of ME when THEY are the ones who need to sell THEMSELVES? 

GAH!

Okay, and maybe it's the mom stuff too. We took the kids up to bed at seven and at nearly nine they are still griping and whining. I've already made myself hoarse with shouting, I've already moved them into separate rooms, what else can I do? At this point I'd settle for Quiet. 

They are both sick, which is lovely. 

When I met my old boss for lunch yesterday he kept wanting to know What I Do and it's always a little intimidating talking about this with him, since I always get the feeling he is not so impressed with my stay-at-home-ness. He knows Important People and his wife knows Really Important People and the man can namedrop all day long and am I looking for part time work? and he can hook me up whenever I want and hmm, that kind of writing doesn't sound like REAL writing and am I SURE I'm not interested in this contract gig for so and so? It's fun, you know, and when I worked for him I was fresh out of college and it was just him and me and his dog in the office and it's a little like your dad worrying if you can pay the rent that month and if your boyfriend is treating you nice and all that. So I love him, I do, and I appreciate the fact that if I DID need to find a job he would bend over backwards to help me out. But I don't want one. Not right now.

THAT SAID. I wipe noses. My husband just told me that he might have class two other nights a week next quarter. I've bitten off all my nails. I get a stomachache before I have to call the dentist to tell them they did something wrong. I can't figure out what's up with my kid. I eat everything remotely sugary in my house, and can't motivate myself to exercise in the afternoons. I told him I wrote a novel, but I haven't, really, and lately I'm embarrassed every time I look at it. This writing ISN'T real writing, is it? And I think I'm just feeling like I need to succeed at something here pretty soon. I think right now I will succeed at finishing off this bag of chocolate chips. 

Seven Quick Resolutions

1. I resolve to bake more. I love baking and baking took a decided hit in 2009. This should coincide with my next resolution which is

2. my resolution to NOT lose weight. I KNOW. I have many many thoughts on the recent fitness/fat internet kerfluffles, all of which shall go unpublished except for: I am in a good place. I am happy and comfortable doing what it takes to be my current size, and while I'm sure there are people out there - including, sometimes, myself - who think I could stand to lose another size or two, I'm ready to prioritize other parts of my life. At the same time

3. I resolve to not GAIN weight. 2010 shall be the Year of Maintaining!

4. I resolve to set the table more often. I LOVE setting the table! Funny, since I distinctly remember hating it when my mother asked me to set the table. But I have many pretty dishes and place mats and glassware and I'm not even talking about fancy things that you only use for holidays. Instead of throwing some plates onto a cluttered dirty table when Phillip walks in the door, I resolve to do my best to use my table for showcasing dinner, not showcasing a weeks' worth of mail, an assortment of dirty bibs, toys I've taken away from the kids, phone chargers, cameras, remotes and purses. 

5. I resolve to write more about the churchy stuff. There. I said it.

6. I resolve to attempt something professional this year. Yes, I have no idea what this means either. Perhaps it means Submit An Article. Actually, I'm pretty sure that's what it means. But it could also be Get Someone To Pay Me For My Obvious Expertise In Social Media. Or even Learn How To Use Freaking PhotoShop Already. You know, something for the resume.

7. I resolve, for the gazillionth time, to be a better commenter. Every once in a while I sit down and respond to every single comment on a particular post, but I am crap at commenting on YOUR posts and everyone knows comments are better than emails, especially email responses to comments YOU left (well, I guess that DEPENDS, but in the Public Recognition and Affirmation Of Your Online Presence Department I think comments are the clear choice). 

I hate resolutions. I can't believe I actually came up with these. Boring! Trite! Who cares! Now I'm off to SET MY TABLE for our much-looked-forward-to New Year's Eve dinner with friends. Happy New Year to YOU! And see you in your comment box. xoxo

What might have been

One side effect of writing 27,000 words about teenagers in 9 days (SO FAR!) is that you spend an awful lot of time thinking about being a teenager. Not just any teenager, mind you, but the teenager you once were. I don't think I have to explain why this is not always a fun place to be.

In addition! One side effect of being a rabid Mad Men fan is understanding that you have no choice but to stay up late to watch the season finale in real time, a privilege not afforded to any other show. (How people manage to watch The Biggest Loser in real time is BEYOND ME.) Which meant I was up another hour after THAT decreeing [SPOILERS! SPOILERS! SPOILERS!] that I shall NEVER get divorced EVER EVER EVER and WOE and SNIFF and WAH and can we have Season 4 now please?

Actually, Phillip and I stayed up talking about What Ifs. I'm not sure we've ever had that conversation before. Who we might be married to if we weren't married to each other. What we might be doing, how we might see life differently. Kind of a scary dangerous place to go, right? But it was actually kind of fun, which I think means that we are fairly confident in each other and our relationship. Whew!

It was just a strange and swirly combination of all the things I've been thinking about over the last week. I've been living in Teenage Girl Brain where you think you're going to marry your high school boyfriend, or sometimes you get a whiff of Reality and resign yourself to visualizing who you WILL marry and of course he will be all these THINGS. And you will go certain places and do certain things and live with these goals in mind and PEOPLE. Phillip is NOT what I pictured when I was fifteen! Or even twenty, for that matter, when I was sitting around waiting for him to realize I existed.

I think I've written before about sitting up one night, mere months away from my wedding, and having the slightest of panic attacks because it had only then occurred to me that Phillip was missing a few of the Required Attributes. Basically I was sitting there wringing the sheets over the fact that Phillip did not (and does not, alas) read novels. How could I marry someone who DOESN'T READ BOOKS?!?!?!

In the end (which was only an hour or two later, THANK GOD, we all know I can let these sorts of things DRAG ON) I realized that even if I found a nice guy who read books and measured up in all the other designated areas, I would still want Phillip. Problem solved. Bring on the marriage!

But until last night I'd never heard Phillip's take on the exact same subject. VERRRRY INTERESTING! Apparently, and SURPRISE!, I am not exactly who he imagined EITHER! Shocker! He had always imagined for himself a career-oriented Asian-American girl. My thoughts immediately flew to the more, ah, successful couples we know: people who have important or at least importantish jobs and disposable income, the female half of whom would not be happy as a full time stay at home mother. Maybe this is weird but I can totally see Phillip living that life. I think, in a lot of ways, he'd have an easier time of it if I were 1) profit-driven and 2) Asian and 3) WAS MORE LIKE HIM.

And since I can't just let something go, I had to share what I'd pictured: an artsier fartsier type of guy, someone who not only read novels but liked to stay up late talking about them, who worked but knew work was only for funding travel and creative pursuits. In other words, someone MORE LIKE ME.

Phillip was pretty adamant about how it was RIGHT that he married me. I am the right person for him. He went on and on about how he's always pretty slow to make big decisions (OH REALLY?) but he'd never been slow about me. (A point we debated due to the aforementioned Waiting For Him To Realize I Existed which he then rebutted with some valid points I won't bore you with, at least not in this post, and now I agree.) While I, of course, was wishier washier and went off on my whole "but I CHOSE you" theory and "soul mates shmole mates!" blah blah blah. The fact is, we don't know what life would be like had we married other people. (IF we had married other people. It's not like I had a throng of suitors banging impatiently on my door.)

That said, I am not sorry I don't know. I feel like it turned out pretty well, don't you?

Teenage Girl Brain doesn't know this, though. Sure, some of us marry our high school sweethearts, but most of us don't. Most of us go out with total boneheads and immature jerks and spend many a night despairing that anyone will ever love us, that anyone will ever really KNOW us. I've been living in that place for nine days, and it made last night's conversation that much sweeter. 

P.S. As we were trying to describe The Person We Thought We'd Marry, Phillip paused, trying to find the right word, and I proffered: "someone with a work ethic?" Because GOD KNOWS I couldn't care less about a career, I'm anti-9 to 5 and completely stymied by people who answer work calls after hours. And Phillip, because he is the best husband in the WORLD even though he thinks the EXACT OPPOSITE of those thigns said, "No, you have a work ethic, just not for PAID work." Which is TOTALLY DIFFERENT, right? Maybe I can stop beating myself up about the lazy? Because: nine days, 27,000 words. Some of you may chalk that up to "obsessive" instead, but I hereby lift the self-imposed lifetime guilt sentence for apparent lack of work ethic. WOO!

Gifts

Ever since I went to that workshop a weekend or two ago I've been thinking more and more about where I put my energy. Especially these last few days when I've spent so many hours writing. It's only been four days, but I'm already wondering if this is a way to create a habit, if, when Phillip goes downstairs for his nightly hour or so of homework, that will be my time to write. I'm excited thinking about it, because that's definitely an area where I know I went to expend energy, and where I know I'm not doing enough.

But there are other places that don't feel that way. Or only sometimes feel that way. I think back to that workshop and try to figure out if those are places where I feel 'gifted'. And it's not that I don't want to do anything I'm not gifted in, obviously, but sometimes I fall into the trap of feeling like I HAVE to do something because it's a GOOD THING TO DO even when I DON'T WANNA. The example the priest at the workshop used was volunteering at a soup kitchen, which he dreaded and hated. Was it a bad thing to do? No. Was it something he should never do? No, of course not. But did he need to feel guilty about not wanting to work in a soup kitchen when he was obviously gifted in other areas and found joy volunteering and serving in other ways? NO.

So I have a few soup kitchens in my life. None of them are as... worthy as a soup kitchen, I should say. But I have a few Good and Fun For Other People things going on that I don't always feel Good or Fun about. But sometimes I do? So it's confusing? I guess my three years on the church committee is a good example of this. Was it a good thing to do? Sure. Was it the best place for me? Was it the best use of my time? Doubtful.

Anyway, I've been thinking about these things and today I was feeling sort of down about one of them. I was comparing myself to everyone else and thinking: gee Self, you sort of suck at this. Maybe you should step down. Maybe that would be a GOOD THING. Maybe it's OKAY to suck! OWN THE SUCKITUDE!

Right? Totally okay things to say to yourself. But I swear, not a minute after I decided I would put in my resignation, I got an email FULL of affirmation. FULL of encouragement. FULL of gratitude that I was involved. So I ask you, good friends in the Internet, what the heck am I supposed to do with THAT?!

Well, of COURSE I did a complete 180 and am now totally and complete re-energized in this particular department. Nothing like a little flattery, eh?

AND THEN (and this is the OTHER thing I've been thinking about re: gifts) I was all, "OBVIOUSLY The Person Who  Sent Me The Email has the gift of Encouragement!" I've been sort of annoying with the Gift Labeling lately. As I sat through the workshop I wasn't only tallying up my gifts* but all of my friends'. I'm such a dork. 

Like, I was thinking about this one friend of mine who always knows what to DO. I mean, physical tangible things to DO. (This would be, for the uninitiated, the gift of service.) When both of my babies were teeny tiny she would come over and suddenly all my dishes were washed. I wouldn't even notice her doing it. Or when we get our kids together to play, she always picks up the toys and cleans up the lunch dishes. I don't do this at her house. I HATE admitting that, but I don't. And it's not because I don't WANT to, I just don't even THINK about it. I suppose that could mean that I don't want to, because if I wanted to I'd be thinking about it, but I liked the way the priest put it. He doesn't have the gift of hospitality. He doesn't walk into coffee hour and notice who is sitting by themselves. It's not even on his radar. And that's how I am with other people's dishes. NOT ON MY RADAR.

But it's totally on my friend's radar. And I have another friend who, I've noticed, always says the right thing in a crucial moment. WITHOUT FAIL. I don't know what gift that is - wisdom? knowledge? - but SERIOUSLY. I know this because I'm the one sitting there all "Uhhhhmmmm" and she's asking, like, INSIGHTFUL QUESTIONS and singling out the IMPORTANT ELEMENTS. Whatever gift that is, I DO NOT HAVE IT.

I know this isn't any great revelation or news to anyone, but the idea that I don't have to be good at everything, that I don't have to LIKE everything - that knowledge has been freeing in a new way lately. In the last couple weeks I've been giving myself more grace than usual. Which is, I'll just say it: MIRACULOUS. Instead of being jealous and/or coming down with a total inferiority complex next to the friend who always knows what to say, I've been able to remind myself that THAT IS HER GIFT. And IT IS NOT MINE. I'm the friend who, when another friend was informed of an unthinkable family tragedy, sat her butt down in front of the computer and found the fastest cheapest plane ticket out of Seattle. That's the kind of thing I can do.

I do it with you guys too. Some of you leave the most encouraging comments or send the most affirming emails. I suspect things about you based on your own blogs. And I've met some of you in person, and I know you have the gifts of craftsmanship and hospitality and faith and teaching and pastoring. It's so much FUN, this gift deciphering. 

Aaaand, I think that's enough procrastinating for one evening. I'll be lucky if I make my daily quota today. LE SIGH.

*when I use the word "gifts" I'm using it in the context of "spiritual gifts" or, in the Catholic tradition, "charisms". I'm not referring to the "fruits of the Holy Spirit" found in Galatians, but an unspecified number of spiritual gifts (again, according to the Catholic tradition) that show up primarily in Romans 12, 1 Corinthians 12 and Ephesians 4. (And yes, I totally just looked in the book for that information. SUE ME.)

Aspirations

I am reading Anne Lamott's Bird By Bird. I'm less than halfway through, but this book has already replaced Stephen King's On Writing as my favorite book about writing. Not that On Writing isn't good. It's excellent. Bird By Bird just happens to be written especially for ME. Or, at least, it seems that way. 

Like every other blogger you know I entertain hopes of writing a novel one day. I have a thumb drive full of what I call "starts". Things I started writing until a month later when I discovered I hated all the characters, or it wasn't the story I wanted it to be, or I kept writing the first three pages over and over and over, or I realized I didn't have the life experience necessary, or, and I am not making this up, I couldn't figure out what to name my main character. 

I am terrified I will one day misplace this thumb drive or it will melt in a fire or a thief will make off with the storage box of loose papers and receipts and cards and notes where I keep it and I will lose them all. On the other hand, I am terrified of ever reading them again. They are THAT BAD.

But this is why Bird By Bird was written for me. I love Anne Lamott, by the way, and think her book Operating Instructions should be passed out at baby showers, and I swear she has taken all my writing neuroses and patted them down into paper and made me understand that everyone wants to burn their first draft. That it's okay. That you probably SHOULD. But only after you've written the second draft.

I didn't tell you that a few months ago, while I was sprawled on my bed waiting for the stomach flu to use up its 24 hours, I came up with my next "start". I don't know what it was about losing seven pounds in one day, but it just sort of came to me. I've been thinking about it ever since. I haven't written anything, of course. It's much easier to read books about writing than to actually write. 

Today I was telling someone that I'm afraid of resenting Phillip if and when he goes to grad school. Because he'll be doing this new and exciting thing and I will be home feeding children who don't want to be fed. (Seriously. These two cannot possibly be MINE.) We started talking about what else is out there. My little online world, obviously. My devotion to the internet runs deep. Certain family or churchy pursuits. But I have to say I don't envy Phillip's career or his hours away from our house or his hopeful upcoming opportunity to write heaps of papers. Those aren't things I want to do. If there is anything Else, it's probably something I will write. 

(How nice for me, huh? The luxury of choosing Art over Paycheck. Sometimes I think I could just retitle this blog First World Problems.)

I know a million people think they have a novel in them. All of them write better than I do. For SURE all of them have more drive in their pinky fingers than I do in my entire being. I rather like whiling my afternoons away in the front yard, blowing bubbles and digging in the new sandbox. Spending naptime on the treadmill thinking about My Book and then going upstairs not to write, but to eat lunch in front of brain-rotting television (au revoir LC!) and maybe think some more about My Book. I really do have to name my main character. I am not a likely author, is what I'm saying. Bird By Bird is convicting me, but I still have to write. 

Anyway. I am sitting here using Phillip's laptop while he cleans up the entire kitchen, a pile of unstuffed cloth diapers in front of me. There's always an excuse not to start writing, and this time it's 1) wanting to post something for Tuesday and 2) twelve stretched out BumGenius one size pocket diapers. 

I also have my own bathroom. SCORE.

Tonight we are doing grown up things. I am updating The Spreadsheet of Budgeting Awesomeness. Phillip is poring over thirty pages of mortgage refinancing documents. Guess who is sleeping? OH YES. I shall now wait while everyone knocks on the nearest wooden surface.

Sometimes I have to pause a minute or two and take in the Grown Upness. Over there is the television I OWN. Over there is the high chair MY KID sits in. Over there is the freezer which houses the ice cream that I can eat WHENEVER I FEEL LIKE IT. (Except I'm not buying ice cream these days, due to avoiding a sucky part of being a grown up that is having to spend money on bigger pants.)

Most of the time I hear myself saying, "Mommy says NO!" or "Do you want to sit in the corner? THEN STOP POKING YOUR SISTER" and it's no big thing. I am the adult. I'm in charge. Don't cross me, mister.

But other times I'm all, "REALLY? They're letting ME do this?"

Maybe it's all this talk of refinancing. We have one of those mortgages that freaks out on you something like five years after you sign the papers, all, "Oh YEAH, you thought you had THAT rate? Well let me show you THIS RATE, SUCKA!" So you know, that's kind of nerve wracking, especially when your neighbors have had very hard times selling the exact same kind of house you live in, and where another one of your neighbors will probably want to sell right when YOU want to sell, which is too bad for you because they did all sorts of cool stuff to their house while you went around destroying things with red paint and babies.

Anyway. I somehow went from deciding in which European country I would blow my [very small] savings to discussing how much we're willing to pay for refinancing closing costs. (Answer: none! I swear my husband can smell "no fees".)

But it's not all gloom and doom and which kind of laundry detergent should we buy. Last night we were a tiny bit giddy what with the baby going to bed at a decent time and Phillip could not keep his secret any longer. He was going to take me to this hotel, and he wanted it to be a surprise, but how is he supposed to produce surprises when I am the most planny person on the planet and DUDE, he was SO not even going to TRY packing an overnight bag for me.

So it's not a surprise (and really, how glad am I that he didn't attempt to pack my bag?) but HOW COOL IS THAT? I'm excited. ONE of these days we'll be able to leave Molly overnight, right? Please God?

It's morning now and Jack somehow left his Adorable and Chipper Personality buried in the blankets in the crib because what I've got today appears to be Total Pest. I mean, all this carrying on when your dad leaves for work is getting RIDICULOUS. Is it really so horrible to be left with your mother? Your mom is awesome!

The volatility index

I have a new mental exercise going on lately. It's called: Squaring My SAHM Status with These Desperate Times. In other words, what am I doing carving pumpkins with my kids while my husband puts the more-expensive-than-it-used-to-be food on the table?

Sure was fun!

I think the bit of SAHM guilt in me is showing itself in new and exciting ways. The guilt is there in the first place because I am constantly feeling like I'm getting away with something. I mean, I get to stay home and play with my kids instead of going to an office. Every single day! Even on the days when Jack decides that afternoon nap isn't worth his while (like today, hence the fork in my eye) I still can't really believe I get to do this.

"Aaaaand," says the guilt, "maybe you CAN'T!"

I've been reading a few trillion blogs about the Dire! Economy! and soaking up financial advice (which is funny because if there is one thing about which I know NOTHING it's finances) and getting all anxious and worried. Do we have enough in savings? Are we spending too much on groceries? Can I quit Target? People, I have recently agreed to give up my landline. HELL HATH FROZEN OVER.

And then I will sit and wonder if I should go out and get myself a job. I could work part time and not pay for childcare, due to the grandmothers who've often told me they'd step in and help. I could most definitely work a flexible work-from-home type job. The extra money would be super nice. When I look at that budget spreadsheet I slaved over and then never used, I wonder how we thought we'd manage all the things we manage and then I remember: I used to have a job. How are we going to refinance our house NOW? Now that I'm eating bon bons staying home with the kids all day?

I wouldn't feel confused except for the fact that in the last few weeks I've been mulling over the topic of Vocations and how very strongly I feel that I am supposed to be home with my kids. At this point in my life. I WANT to be doing this, but it's only recently that I've felt like this is a vocation. And that all the things that pop up in my life and shriek "TRY ME!" I need to put aside until my kids are bigger. These are mostly church things, different ministries here and there that sound interesting or fulfilling in some way. Or even just the fliers from the nursing home where I used to volunteer. I can't do that with two little kids. There's a LOT I can't do with two little kids. It's not that I shouldn't do those things, I just shouldn't do them right now.

And I wonder if a job fits into that as well. It is still somewhat miraculous to me that I don't have to work. We honestly didn't think we could manage on one income (and maybe if you checked out our finances you'd be wondering if we really ARE managing!) but we have yet to move into the cardboard box. And if circumstances aren't [yet] pointing me in that direction, maybe I am just supposed to stay home with my kids. And Fat the Bunny.

Didn't take long, did it?