Common Ground

I have a good friend from high school who also recently moved back to Montana.  She, too, has a young child--just a few weeks younger than my son.  She, too, has a fast-paced career that she obtained after years of working toward it.  She, too, has a blog and a recent post similar to this one prompted me to publicly agree.  And she, too, moved back after several years in a large city with which she fell in love.

The similarities between our recent lives, however, end there.  Her beloved city believes strongly in recycling and cloth diapers and hybrid cars.  Mine, as those of you who live in Chicago know, tried recycling once and found that it inconvenienced us too much.  (But we do find the blue dumpsters add a splash of color to the city's alleys.)  She is naturally gorgeous and runs hundreds of miles every day.  I have been scouring the state for the nearest Sephora to cover the bags under my eyes and was winded walking 2 blocks to our mutual friend's house.  She believes in homemade baby food and I use my Beaba (overpriced baby food maker, to those of you unfamiliar) to steam cucumbers to make a fantastic cucumber martini.  You get the point.

But despite these seemingly glaring differences, we have both been astonished to find that, in addition to our pasts and our beautiful kids, we share another common bond.  We have both made big decisions that, while insanely tough, were for the best interests of our children.  And we both knew that, no matter how hard they may be on us (read:  no matter how unusual it is for us not to get exactly what we want when we want it), these decisions were the right ones.  And it's funny how this tie binds us.  And it's really nice.

And so I guess my point is (for the millionth time--sorry), each of us is not alone.  And finding those who share our struggles--from parenthood to career struggles to marriage issues--can be extremely freeing.  So ask around.  The life of someone you know may suck as much as yours.

Even Cinderella Scrubbed Toilets

My prior life.

I did something that most people will not find particularly interesting, but which I find absolutely fascinating.  I cleaned my kitchen floor.  Twice in one week.  Me.  Without guests or spills or other reasons to do so.  I cleaned because I could.

You have to understand how strange this is for me.  For much of my faster life I had a cleaning lady.  She was awesome.  She was super sweet and she was so good at her job, it made me cry (literally) when I walked in at night.  I would have written her into my will, had she not (speculating here) been deported back to Poland before I could draw up the paperwork.  I was heartbroken when she left.  She didn't really even mention it, she just sort of stopped coming over.  It was awful.  And, needless to say, the crap piled up in my house.  The worst part is, she stopped coming when I was pregnant, so the house really went downhill.  But I was too busy and too exhausted to even find someone new.  The handing over of keys to my place (particularly when one is as paranoid as I) is a huge deal.  So I left it.  And it got gross.

Sure, I would clean when necessary.  If someone was coming over, I sometimes would try to sweep things into another room.  But it wasn't good.  You could tell your import in my life, based on how messy things were.  The messier the house, the more I assumed that you love me regardless.  But now, things are different and it's WEIRD.  Yes, my house is much smaller, which really helps in the scheme of things.  But overall I do have a bit more time to focus on its well-being.  And I want to clean it, which is VERY WEIRD. 

Maybe this side of me has always been there.  I am freakishly organized when it comes to other areas of my life.  And maybe it's short-lived.  I have been here just a few weeks, during half of which I had no furniture.  But let's see what happens.  Can I keep things up?  Will I want to?  Or will I go completely insane and become the next star of the TV show "Hoarders"?  Place your bets, ladies and gentlemen.  Place your bets.

Dude Looks Like a Lady

Ancient communicative device.

So I think I'm a dude.  Ok, not really--the whole childbirth thing pretty much solidified my chick status, had there been any prior concerns.  But I mean now that my life has slowed a bit, I see that some of my former traits are those more traditionally said to be male.

What do I mean, exactly?  I mean that these days I have (sometimes) more time on my hands than I had previously.  As a result, I have been able to focus on things like friendships and communication.  To the point where I am pretty sure I am driving people insane.  Constant emails and texts and even the occasional (gasp) call.  FROM me.  No, really.  And I think it's freaking them out.  My friends have always been a huge part of my world.  But, like most guys stereotypically, I have also sort of assumed they knew as much.  Sure I told them how much they mean to me, but generally that was during one of our every-six-month-lunches.  Oh. 

Last night I was talking to a friend who called me three times yesterday.  I should also mention, however, that she had called me about 30 times over the past year and I don't recall returning a call even once.  Yes, I am bad at telephone communication.  Yes, I have had a totally insane year.  But no excuse.  I love this friend completely and wanted to talk with her.  I just didn't think I had the time. 

Let me say that I am totally stereotyping guys.  But I do think that the communication thing is not most of their strong suits.  However, I also think that this is a focus thing.  I have been focused on my career.  It was my entire world.  I was focused on my kid.  Again, my entire world.  But when trying to balance the two, it was impossible to step up and make calls and say hi.  Now, I am able to.  And I am embarrassed at how much I sucked at it previously.

And so, if I am bombarding you with texts and emails, please do not think that I have gone insane (well, any more than I was).  And please don't think I'm that annoying person from high school that you told a million times you didn't want to date.  It's just me, letting you know that I was wrong not to let you know every single detail of every single day.  And look forward to me fixing that immediately.  Want to know what I had for breakfast?

Are You Mean?

Hi.  Hi.  Hello.  How are you?  Hi.

I very distinctly recall that, when I first moved to Chicago, I would walk down the streets looking passers-by in the eye.  Well, attempting to, anyway.  If they happened to look up from their intense study of the Chicago sidewalks, I would smile.  I think part of me was looking for someone I knew (let's call it habit) and part of me was simply reaching out to my fellow mankind for a connection (again, habit).  But it's not so much the making of eye contact that I recall as the looks on the faces of the people walking toward me.  They looked at me like I was an escaped mental patient.  And as the years went on and I became a fixture of the city, I started to think people such as my younger self were.

Eventually, I got to the point where I would seldom look up during my daily jaunts through the city.  Part of it was safety.  The sidewalks in Chicago are uneven and/or are covered in ice 12 months out of the year and you need to watch where you are going or you will wind up on your butt (as I did several times, and as Grandma did twice).  Part of it was ego.  If you are looking up at the skyscrapers you are clearly a tourist and (a) are a target for mugging and/or (b) are an idiot who is about to get run down by me the commuter because you are standing in the middle of the frickin sidewalk and I am busy and important and need to get past you immediately and walking the additional two feet around you would greatly inconvenience me.  And part of it was "personal space."  While connections with fellow man are good, when there are that many of you in a tiny area, it's way too many with which to connect.  Moreover, most are those with whom you don't want to connect.  You don't like their coat, or they're asking for money, or they just look "funny"--regardless of your reasoning, making eye contact would be way too personal for a Tuesday morning.  So no matter what the reason, by year ten plus, I barely noticed the several other million people I passed each day and was fine with that.

Fast forward to today.  I have had many a fast-food vendor react negatively because I don't look up into his/her face when handing over my cash.  I'm serious. The tone of voice changes and some even try desperately to get me to look up.  When I realize this, I'm shocked, usually into submission.  Oh, you're a person.  Hi.  But the worst was when my son and I were walking to the grocery store.  First of all, this in and of itself was weird.  He was in...wait for it...a stroller.  And I was pushing it.  A number of blocks down the road.  Such things are unheard of when parking is not the most prime real estate in the city.  Anyway, we were walking and a girl about 10 and her mother passed us, as they clearly walked the girl home from school.  As she passed the girl commented to her mother, "Why didn't that lady say hi?"  Her mother answered, "Maybe she's just having a bad day."  I felt horrible.  I was actually having a decent day.  The sun was shining and I was outside and about to spend money.  But I have been so used to minding my own way, I offended (and likely scarred for life) a little girl. 

I'm starting to think there is even more to this adjustment thing than I had thought.  Changing your everyday activities sort of entails changing who you think you are as a person.  Anyone know who the heck I am?  Apart from that horrible mean old lady down the street who growls at Girl Scouts, of course.  Are mean people really mean?  Or is it just that our perceptions of them are unrealistic, unwarranted judgments?  And did I really just accuse a ten year old of judging me?  Little snot....

A Day of Rest

Hi folks,
I have been told that Sunday is a day of rest.  I don't know that this is supposed to apply to me, but for now I will declare it should.  Have a nice, relaxing Sunday and we'll be back tomorrow.

Fast Lane