I have arrived!

I believe I have reached a new milestone as a blogger, and it's not that I am near publishing my 200th post on this blog.

I have been asked to shill advertise review a product. Me! Of all the bloggers in the blog-o-sphere. Me, with my dozen or so readers and sporadically intermittent posts.

My problem: I took a look at the item and reacted with snark, giggles and rolled eyes. And still I know that if I spent some time with it, I'd probably end up writing something lovely and touching and empowering because when given a glass, I'm still going to try to see it half full, no matter how tacky the cup or with what it is filled.

While some might look upon the invitation as spam, I'm taking it as a compliment.

But I'm not taking the product.

Pride and Joy

There are moments and days when I am simply overwhelmed with affection and gratitude for my firstborn child.

It was not this morning when he and I outlined jobs he could do (and negotiated a sum to come from his savings) to replace something important he lost. That he has matured and takes his responsibilities so seriously is a wonder to me, but it was not the best part.

It was not at lunch, when we sat together playing games as a team, working cooperatively towards a greater goal that filled my heart.

It was not even when he stood at my side, perched high atop his step stool at the kitchen counter learning about fractions and chemistry as we measured and combined ingredients for chocolate chip cookies (a special project he picked for us to do together on his day off from school). I soaked in every minute watching him enjoying the process and outcomes of preparing food, and hoping that these times will set the stage for many meals we will create in the years to come. I almost had to pinch myself as he put dishes away, carefully placing the clean silverware into the drawer, exclaiming without any prompt, "I love sorting!"

The highlight was just after, when I overheard him asking his Daddy to help him with something in the yard, and Daddy deferred him right back to me.

Filled with awareness and with no hesitation my son responded, "Mommy can't do it right now. She's busy taking care of a few other things for us. It's gonna have to be you."

That's my boy!

Dreaming of John Mayer

I've been having some strange dreams lately. I believe my dreams are a place where I solve problems and ruminate over the days' events, piecing circumstances together that would not have normally occurred. I wake and wonder what it all meant - it is sometimes transparent, other times a jumble of subconscious episodes that will soon dissolve like the sweetener in my morning tea.

Last night, my dreams were of John Mayer.

(Wishing I could find the photo credit for this amazing shot.)

Now, I've mentioned John Mayer here (also here before that, which links to John's now empty blog, though the same referenced post is still on his MySpace page if you scroll down and look for it), and there. And I am a fan of him and his music. I'll even admit to getting a little swoony over his words, both sung and on the page, but that's it. But it's not like I want to marry him. Far from it.

In the dream, we were sitting together watching the opening act for his show. I was trying to explain to him how I really liked him, but I wasn't the kind of fan who wanted to be with him, even though I think I might have been stalking him at his shows. He was flirting with me, and also the guy who sat on his other side, a friend I knew from work years ago. (My colleague and I happened to both date boys from one fraternity I haunted in college, so it is no surprise to me that we'd both be interested in John Mayer in the dream.) Anyway, then John starts singing that Rihanna song I've had stuck in my head since I heard it the first time last weekend, laughing about how Bossy nailed it in her post about the Grammy's, and I'm thinking, John Mayer reads Bossy, too!, and maybe if he's reading Bossy, he's reading other people I read, and maybe he reads my blog and thinks I am interested.

Oh, now I get it. I was back in sixth grade again and John Mayer was my not-quite-a-boyfriend.

I need to put the diary away now, far out of sight and out of mind. Unrequited love is not what I need to revisit from my youth.

Crossroads

Kind readers,

As you know, I went back to work this fall. While it was not the easiest or most natural transition, it has proven fruitful and I have continued to be employed for twenty hours or so each week. I am happy to be working, but I have some issues.

1) When I am busy, I am happy and productive. When not busy (like during the long commute, when the work slows, and especially days where the kids are off school or home sick), my head fills with the many other things I might/could or should be doing both personally and professionally, and I am reminded of the things I need to feel fulfilled.

2) My current employment is temporary, like when the funding is gone, so am I, and that's okay. The job is a foot in the door, a slow ride up the on ramp. Regardless, I will need to make a change for the summer and early fall to accommodate my kids' schedules, and while it continues to be a fine and flexible position, I don't know that any job would be lucrative enough for us to consider outsourcing their care and coordination.

3) I believed I had a great solution, a place to take myself and my career that I had toyed with before but never developed.

4) Now that I'm looking at it more closely (a sick day, time to consider every possible option), I think the market may be saturated with people doing what I thought I would do. To begin, I would be required to earn a professional certificate, and in doing so the new direction becomes both time and cost prohibitive.

5) But if I do choose the path of advanced education, the application deadline is Friday.

Hands in front of me, I am weighing my options.

On the left, I have the new direction. I put application materials together, I take classes, I do professional development, I make the attempt to build something from nothing and I may or may not find career satisfaction and sustainability, but at least I've tried.

On the right, I take what I've been doing and spin it differently. I figure out the elements I love from what I used to do and what I do now, those things that kept me from pursuing the other direction in the first place, mix it with a broader professional network that is closer to home, and bypass the reinvention part, saving some time, energy and resources.

While I'll admit to being risk averse, I'm not entirely risk phobic. I will make a choice and follow through when I feel it is the best choice for me to take and I will move confidently in a new direction. I'm also overwhelmingly intuitive, and when the thought and possibility of doing a thing begins to make me feel ill and anxious, I need to stop and reexamine my motives.

Readers, what would you advise (especially you readers who happen to know more of the specifics)?

I value your insights.

Super (Slanderous) Tuesday

From O magazine, February 2008:

[An excerpt] [f]rom Gaming the Vote: Why Elections Aren't Fair (And What We Can Do About It) by William Poundstone

Like consultants, negative campaigning is nothing new. In the 1828 presidential race, Andrew Jackson's opponents accused him of cannibalism.

The Whigs claimed that Democrat Martin Van Buren wore the finest ladies' corsets under his suit. He ate off golden utensils and spent a fortune on diamonds, rubies, French vases, and imported beauty creams, all charged to U.S. taxpayers. The 1844 race was enlivened by the interesting claim that Henry Clay had broken every one of the ten commandments. In 1876 the Republicans declared that Democrat Samuel Tilden had syphilis and was an unprincipled drunkard scheming to bring back slavery. Tilden's people then claimed that Hayes had gone insane and shot his mother.

In 1948 Lyndon Johnson, running for the Senate against Coke Stevenson, instructed a campaign worker: "Go out there and tell 'em Coke was caught having sex with a farm animal." The worker was aghast. "But you know that's not true!" "Of course it's not true. That's not the point. Tell it anyway, and make him deny it."

* * *

Dear Autodial Messengers:

Please leave me alone now.

I'm not fooled, and I'm not buying anything you're telling me.

I can read the facts myself and make my own decisions.

Calling me every ten minutes, especially at the end of my childrens' day, only makes me dislike your candidate and/or proposition, making me want to vote against him/her/it just for the intrusion.

Yours in democracy,
Karen

Hindsight

I was volunteering at Ellie's school one morning, having the usual chat with another mom: name, how many kids, which class, where will they go to Kindergarten, where will they go to summer camp?

She had a boy Ellie's age and another a year behind Jake.

We chatted about the little ones as we continued at our task.

Then she asked a question I couldn't answer. She asked how I liked Jake's teachers from last year.

I thought. I considered. I paused.

That I didn't respond immediately in the affirmative probably said enough.

I double-checked my words before I spoke.

"My son was very well prepared for Kindergarten."

The other mom looked at me puzzled. She prodded. I responded as appropriately and dispassionately as I could, giving some information but no details.

She'd heard that the teachers were not the warmest, to which I added, "I just don't think they loved my kid."

* * *

A year ago, I was preparing myself and my son for the transition from preschool to grade school. There was truly no way I could be ready, it was a major milestone in our lives.

Honestly, it could not have gone better.

Half-way through the school year, I've had one teacher conference, two mid-term reports, a letter home at Thanksgiving, a holiday card, and a half-dozen e-mails back and forth with Jake's teacher about how well he is doing, what a wonderful addition he is to the class and the school, and how happy they are to know him. I recognize that some of the care and attention is unique because we've chosen to attend a private school, but sometimes, I just want to pat myself on the back for choosing such a good one.

I adore the teachers as they do my son. I am positively giddy each time they interact with my girl who will be their pupil in three years. The level of care my child and our family receives from this school makes it well worth the ridiculous sum we are paying in tuition.

* * *

Ellie's first teacher conference was last week. She, too, is loved and loves school. Her teachers are open and accessible and encourage her academic and developmental growth in every way. Miss L also made a point to tell me how well Ellie adjusted to my return to work, knowing with all certainty how my heart ripped in pieces every day I left my baby to discover that when all the other mommies came back, hers did not, at least not until later when all the fun had passed.

She then said something so perfect and poignant I feel we should probably all have it printed on our best baggy old sweatshirts and bad hair day hats, a bit of wisdom that explains why so many I know walk around with their version of The Look:

A mother is only as happy as her least happy child.

* * *

I don't know what it is about 2008, but I finally feel like I'm getting my groove back. We are settled into our lives differently and more solidly now. A lot of questions have been answered and we are moving forward. We know who are children are and who we are as parents. My children are happy and secure, and for once, I feel like I am, too.