Most of the time I feel like a pretty good mom. Sure, there are many things I could do more of, do less of, or simply do better. But I love my daughter. I play with her, sing to her, comfort her (when she lets me), teach her, meet her needs, and fulfill her desires as much as I can while still setting boundaries and not spoiling her. She's my world, and I truly adore her.
However, because I'm a stay-at-home mom, she's also my job. And as with any job, there are aspects about mothering that suck. Most of them I feel I can handle with relative decorum, but sometimes I feel like I am going to explode with frustration and helplessness. Lunch time is invariably one of those times.
My used-to-eat-everything-until-I-realized-I-had-power-and-could-refuse-things child is, like most toddlers, annoyingly picky about food. And also like most toddlers, she is dizzyingly capricious. She wants Cheerios. As soon as I fill a little bowl for her, she wants chips instead. She eats one chip and then wants a cheese stick. I give her a cheese stick, and she cries and says, "No! Cheese stick!" I respond, "You want a cheese stick?" She says, through tears, "Yeah, okay. Cheese stick!" I hand her the cheese stick, and she throws it as if it were a live grenade. And again, screaming.
All of this is what happens when she'll actually eat food. Most of the time, she won't even come to the kitchen. I ask what she wants for lunch--suggesting every possible thing I can think of--and she says, "No! All done!" She doesn't want to eat. She wants to starve to death. Or she wants chocolate chips. Those are the only options.
Anyway, Aubrey's behavior isn't really the issue. I mean, it is, but it's not. Not for this particular blog post, anyway. The issue is me. The issue is how I respond to this behavior. And lately especially, that's been not well. I yell back. I tell her she's driving me crazy. When I really can't handle it anymore, I walk away and ignore her for awhile. And when she becomes my sweet girl again, as she always does, sometimes I'm still mad and continue to ignore her. She says cute things, and I don't respond. I don't engage. I don't love her.
But of course I do love her. That feeling never stops, no matter what. But I don't act like I love her; I don't show her my love. And isn't that just as bad?
After the lunch tantrums are over and all returns to sweet conversing and endearing play, I cool off too. And then I feel horrible. I feel like an awful mom. I see everything I should have done and everything I shouldn't have, but by then it's too late. I've yelled. I've huffed. I've stormed off. I've thrown a mini adult tantrum of my own. And what does that accomplish? What does it teach my impressionable daughter?
Am I really so immature, so incapable of controlling my emotions that I can't keep my cool any more easily than a child who's not even two years old?
Okay, maybe it's pregnancy hormones. Maybe it's my anxiety flaring up and then being exacerbated by pregnancy hormones. Or maybe it's just that Aubrey has reached a new stage of life and I'm still trying to figure out how to respond. Whatever the case, it doesn't matter. There's no excuse. And this can't go on.
Yes, our jobs can be infuriating and push us to our limits. But my job involves a little person--my sweet, wonderful child. And yes, it's human nature to get sick of someone when you spend too much time with them. But I chose to devote this period of my life to caring for this one person, and that involves a lot of time together.
The question then becomes this: When your child is your job, how do you not treat her like just a job?
I'm sure the answer is "love" or something, but I've learned in my life that love isn't always enough. There are about a billion other factors involved, and I'm pretty sure I have none of them figured out.
Awesome. Bring on child number two! *Sigh*
Tuesday, January 12, 2016
Monday, March 17, 2014
One Less Key
I had my last day of work on Friday, March 7th. My plan is now to stay at home with our daughter and with any future kids we have, so my "time off" is kind of indefinite. It's a weird feeling.
On my way home from my last day at the office, I felt overcome with unexpected emotions, and I felt the need to write them down somehow. So I dictated the following (more or less) on my phone:
One less key on my key ring. Why do I even care?
One less key on my key ring. Why do I even care?
It's interesting, but as I drive away from work for the last time, I find myself less excited than I thought I'd be. It's harder to walk away than I expected.
Don't get me wrong; I'm very much looking forward to a new chapter in my life, and I don't regret my decision to stay home with our baby. And yet, I feel an unexpected sadness. I feel as though my life is never going to be the same. I feel like I am actually, in fact, giving something up and making a real sacrifice. Before this moment, it didn't feel like a sacrifice at all, but I'm slowly realizing that it is.
I actually will miss working in a job outside of my home. I'll miss being able to look at a magazine and say, "Hey, I did that." I'll miss applying the skills that I spent years learning and paid thousands of dollars to gain. I'll miss feeling like I own things and have a handle on them.
Because I can't think of anything more out of my control than having a kid. There is something very controlled about an office environment. Even though you can't control the people around you, and things are always changing, and they get crazy and busy and messed up sometimes, there is still a cycle to it all. There is still a predictability, and you can generally know what to expect. And while I don't think I have any terribly misguided notions about being a parent, I don't really know what it will be like when it's me and when it's my kid. I don't even know what our baby will be like. And for someone who likes to be in control of her own situation, all of that is pretty daunting.
So okay, the point is that there are things I'm going to miss about having a career. There are definitely some feelings of loss here. But they are not the typical feelings, the ones I'm sure everyone expects me to be feeling. I do NOT, for example, feel like I'm giving up my sense of self to be a stay-at-home mom. And I refuse to ever feel that way.
I hate it when a woman who quit working to stay at home says she feels like she has given up her identity. (And sorry if that offends anyone reading this.) Staying at home to raise kids is definitely a sacrifice, and I can absolutely see why women might feel this way, but I really think that such an attitude approaches things from the wrong perspective.
I had a friend who once told me that she didn't want to be defined by the thing she did best. She didn't want to be thought of or described as "the piano player" even though she has great musical talent. At the time, I didn't understand how she felt that way. I would have given anything to be so proficient at something--anything, really--that people would think of me in such a narrow way. But now I think I understand.
I don't want to be defined by one particular thing. I don't want my identity to be wrapped up in one single aspect of my life. I don't want to be thought of as nothing but a mom, just as I wouldn't want to be thought of as nothing but an editor. Who I am is the combined result of all the things I do and think and feel. No one thing can define me.
But in our culture, stay-at-home moms tend to be thought of as nothing but stay-at-home moms. And it's really unfair. Being a mother (stay-at-home or working) is just one part of a woman's identity. It adds to the person that she already was. It doesn't erase her former self; it just enhances it. Every woman that I knew before she became a mother is the same person she was before she had kids, only now she is more. Now she has another (albeit very important) layer.
The problem is that in today's world, we focus so much of our attention on what a person "does." It's one of the first things we ask a new acquaintance: "So, what do you do?" The expected response is one that indicates a chosen career, and the answer received is automatically used to determine that person's identity. And it's always a single marker. He's a teacher. She's an accountant. She's a stay-at-home mom.
The even bigger problem is that of all these identity markers, only one carries with it the feeling of a loss of self-identity: stay-at-home mom. Women who are married to their jobs could say that they, too, feel a loss of personal identity, but they don't. At least I've never heard a working woman say such a thing. So why is that?
The only answer I can come up with right now is that in our society, a career is considered an acceptable reason for "giving up" your identity. If a woman fully devotes herself to her job, she is driven and motivated. But if a woman fully devotes herself to staying at home and raising kids, she is not reaching her full potential or is failing to be all she could be. Worst of all, she herself often feels that she has lost her sense of self as a result.
Personally, I think that you can "lose your identity" with anything that you really throw your whole self into, be it a job or charity work or church service or anything that takes a lot of time. But those pursuits are more socially acceptable than stay-at-home mothering. And that's just ridiculous to me. It's just plain insulting.
For me, I don't feel like I have lost or will lose my identity simply because I'm choosing the path of a stay-at-home mom. What I'll miss about working are the people and the work itself. I really do enjoy editing, as it turns out. And it's okay to miss these things. It's right, even. What's not right is to allow myself to feel less important, less special, less independent, or less anything, really. I still feel like I'm making the right decision for me and for our family, and that is what really matters most.
So although it was hard to remove the office key from my key ring today, it's not because--as I originally started to worry--I am somehow less important now. It's because change is always difficult. Moving on is always bittersweet. And the end of a life chapter always brings with it some feelings of loss.
But I'm still me. And I will continue to be me, even if our baby is crazy and my life spins out of control and I sometimes feel like I made the wrong choice to stay at home. And if I ever catch myself feeling like I've lost myself, maybe this rambling blog post will remind me: I am more than what I "do" or don't "do." My identity, like Shrek and onions, has layers. And I choose, in this moment, to spend the next several years as a stay-at-home mom discovering them all.
This should be interesting...
Don't get me wrong; I'm very much looking forward to a new chapter in my life, and I don't regret my decision to stay home with our baby. And yet, I feel an unexpected sadness. I feel as though my life is never going to be the same. I feel like I am actually, in fact, giving something up and making a real sacrifice. Before this moment, it didn't feel like a sacrifice at all, but I'm slowly realizing that it is.
I actually will miss working in a job outside of my home. I'll miss being able to look at a magazine and say, "Hey, I did that." I'll miss applying the skills that I spent years learning and paid thousands of dollars to gain. I'll miss feeling like I own things and have a handle on them.
Because I can't think of anything more out of my control than having a kid. There is something very controlled about an office environment. Even though you can't control the people around you, and things are always changing, and they get crazy and busy and messed up sometimes, there is still a cycle to it all. There is still a predictability, and you can generally know what to expect. And while I don't think I have any terribly misguided notions about being a parent, I don't really know what it will be like when it's me and when it's my kid. I don't even know what our baby will be like. And for someone who likes to be in control of her own situation, all of that is pretty daunting.
So okay, the point is that there are things I'm going to miss about having a career. There are definitely some feelings of loss here. But they are not the typical feelings, the ones I'm sure everyone expects me to be feeling. I do NOT, for example, feel like I'm giving up my sense of self to be a stay-at-home mom. And I refuse to ever feel that way.
I hate it when a woman who quit working to stay at home says she feels like she has given up her identity. (And sorry if that offends anyone reading this.) Staying at home to raise kids is definitely a sacrifice, and I can absolutely see why women might feel this way, but I really think that such an attitude approaches things from the wrong perspective.
I had a friend who once told me that she didn't want to be defined by the thing she did best. She didn't want to be thought of or described as "the piano player" even though she has great musical talent. At the time, I didn't understand how she felt that way. I would have given anything to be so proficient at something--anything, really--that people would think of me in such a narrow way. But now I think I understand.
I don't want to be defined by one particular thing. I don't want my identity to be wrapped up in one single aspect of my life. I don't want to be thought of as nothing but a mom, just as I wouldn't want to be thought of as nothing but an editor. Who I am is the combined result of all the things I do and think and feel. No one thing can define me.
But in our culture, stay-at-home moms tend to be thought of as nothing but stay-at-home moms. And it's really unfair. Being a mother (stay-at-home or working) is just one part of a woman's identity. It adds to the person that she already was. It doesn't erase her former self; it just enhances it. Every woman that I knew before she became a mother is the same person she was before she had kids, only now she is more. Now she has another (albeit very important) layer.
The problem is that in today's world, we focus so much of our attention on what a person "does." It's one of the first things we ask a new acquaintance: "So, what do you do?" The expected response is one that indicates a chosen career, and the answer received is automatically used to determine that person's identity. And it's always a single marker. He's a teacher. She's an accountant. She's a stay-at-home mom.
The even bigger problem is that of all these identity markers, only one carries with it the feeling of a loss of self-identity: stay-at-home mom. Women who are married to their jobs could say that they, too, feel a loss of personal identity, but they don't. At least I've never heard a working woman say such a thing. So why is that?
The only answer I can come up with right now is that in our society, a career is considered an acceptable reason for "giving up" your identity. If a woman fully devotes herself to her job, she is driven and motivated. But if a woman fully devotes herself to staying at home and raising kids, she is not reaching her full potential or is failing to be all she could be. Worst of all, she herself often feels that she has lost her sense of self as a result.
Personally, I think that you can "lose your identity" with anything that you really throw your whole self into, be it a job or charity work or church service or anything that takes a lot of time. But those pursuits are more socially acceptable than stay-at-home mothering. And that's just ridiculous to me. It's just plain insulting.
For me, I don't feel like I have lost or will lose my identity simply because I'm choosing the path of a stay-at-home mom. What I'll miss about working are the people and the work itself. I really do enjoy editing, as it turns out. And it's okay to miss these things. It's right, even. What's not right is to allow myself to feel less important, less special, less independent, or less anything, really. I still feel like I'm making the right decision for me and for our family, and that is what really matters most.
So although it was hard to remove the office key from my key ring today, it's not because--as I originally started to worry--I am somehow less important now. It's because change is always difficult. Moving on is always bittersweet. And the end of a life chapter always brings with it some feelings of loss.
But I'm still me. And I will continue to be me, even if our baby is crazy and my life spins out of control and I sometimes feel like I made the wrong choice to stay at home. And if I ever catch myself feeling like I've lost myself, maybe this rambling blog post will remind me: I am more than what I "do" or don't "do." My identity, like Shrek and onions, has layers. And I choose, in this moment, to spend the next several years as a stay-at-home mom discovering them all.
This should be interesting...
Thursday, September 6, 2012
My Job Is Awesome
Well, I suppose it's time for me to come out and say it: I was wrong.
All those things I said about how getting a masters degree was a waste of time, how I'd never get a job, and how I was unqualified to do anything--I take them all back. Normally it might be a little degrading to admit just how wrong I was, but I'm so happy that I just don't care.
Little did I know when I wrote my last bitter (yes, I can admit it) blog post that I would be starting a great job with a great company in just 13 days! At the time I wrote it, I was looking at having to take a job I really, really didn't want to take (the word "dread"comes to mind). I had interviewed for a position I really wanted (the one I now have now, in fact), but I hadn't heard back and was convinced that when I did it would be another "no thanks."
But it was a yes (obviously)! Yay! And I couldn't be more happy with where I work. It's a relatively small office of about 15 women (yep, there are no men where I work!), and I get my own actual office--no cubicle for me! The women I work with are absolutely fabulous--every last one of them--and I love associating with them, even if they are really healthy eaters. (Weird!)
I also love the work itself. I'm so impressed and fascinated by the amazing people we feature in our magazines. There are so many talented people in the world (and in my office, for that matter)! They've inspired me to create; I'm thinking quilts. That way I can start using the sewing machine my grandma gave me before she died last month. I know she would love that I'm going to (try to) follow in her footsteps and learn to sew. I only wish she were around to teach me how!
Anyway, I can't express how blessed I feel to work in a job in which I feel accepted and comfortable and capable. I'm actually doing the work I set out to do when I went to grad school. I'm editing! And I really feel like I do a good job. I'm in my element, and it's great.
So there you have it. My job is awesome. And you know the best part? I'm relatively certain that my having a masters degree played a big part in their decision to hire me. Take that, Michelle of two months ago!
All those things I said about how getting a masters degree was a waste of time, how I'd never get a job, and how I was unqualified to do anything--I take them all back. Normally it might be a little degrading to admit just how wrong I was, but I'm so happy that I just don't care.
Little did I know when I wrote my last bitter (yes, I can admit it) blog post that I would be starting a great job with a great company in just 13 days! At the time I wrote it, I was looking at having to take a job I really, really didn't want to take (the word "dread"comes to mind). I had interviewed for a position I really wanted (the one I now have now, in fact), but I hadn't heard back and was convinced that when I did it would be another "no thanks."
But it was a yes (obviously)! Yay! And I couldn't be more happy with where I work. It's a relatively small office of about 15 women (yep, there are no men where I work!), and I get my own actual office--no cubicle for me! The women I work with are absolutely fabulous--every last one of them--and I love associating with them, even if they are really healthy eaters. (Weird!)
I also love the work itself. I'm so impressed and fascinated by the amazing people we feature in our magazines. There are so many talented people in the world (and in my office, for that matter)! They've inspired me to create; I'm thinking quilts. That way I can start using the sewing machine my grandma gave me before she died last month. I know she would love that I'm going to (try to) follow in her footsteps and learn to sew. I only wish she were around to teach me how!
Anyway, I can't express how blessed I feel to work in a job in which I feel accepted and comfortable and capable. I'm actually doing the work I set out to do when I went to grad school. I'm editing! And I really feel like I do a good job. I'm in my element, and it's great.
So there you have it. My job is awesome. And you know the best part? I'm relatively certain that my having a masters degree played a big part in their decision to hire me. Take that, Michelle of two months ago!
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Jobs, Marriage, and Life in General
I'm feeling introspective today. It makes me want to blog. I'm not sure what that's about.
Life is so unpredictable. A year ago I was working toward my master's degree in journalism and spending the vast majority of my nights alone watching episodes of Lost, Friends, and Veronica Mars in my little shoe-box apartment. As the common phrase goes, I was as single as a dollar bill. I never went on dates, rarely even hung out with the few friends I had, and occasionally attended church activities just to stand there awkwardly for a half hour before deciding to retreat to my shoe box for some Ben & Jerry's and more T.V. If you had told me then that I would be married in a year, I'd never have believed you. All the evidence suggested it was impossible. And if you'd then told me I would also be unemployed for 6+ months, I'd have been even more incredulous. All the evidence suggested that this, too, was impossible. After all, I was on the track to finally beginning my career. I was getting a master's degree; I was doing internships and building a portfolio and gaining valuable work experience. So what happened? I don't understand.
All I know is that a year ago I had one major goal: to finish graduate school and get a job doing something I love. I had decided that marriage wasn't going to happen for awhile, and I came to terms with that. Having a good job would be enough at first. But then I met Daniel, and everything changed. I got married! I can't tell you how unexpected that was. I figured it was a bonus, that now I was going to get the personal success and the professional success all at once. But nothing turns out the way I plan, and nothing can be easy. True, I achieved the personal success, but in the process I've failed professionally. All the things I have worked toward--essentially for my entire life--have brought me none of things I was promised:
"Education is the key to success in life."
"You need an advanced degree if you want a leg up on the job competition."
"Having a master's degree will make you more employable."
"You'll earn more money if you go to graduate school."
Lies. All of it lies.
I want to believe in the importance of education for education's sake, but it's hard when I sit at home all day and watch the value of my hard work decrease while my student debt increases. Deep down I know that I will always be glad I got an advanced degree, but I am also aware that I did it with the expectation of getting a job. When I applied to grad school, I had all these notions of working as a writer or an editor for a food or travel magazine, or maybe working as a critic of some sort. I had a plan for my life, and it involved both education and a good job. It never occurred to me that the former might not lead to the latter. Both were equally important to me and completely interdependent in my mind. The possibility of failure wasn't even on my radar. It's like I viewed the whole situation as a foolproof equation: education + relevant experience = guaranteed employment. But that's not how it works.
When I was single, I used to see people in happy, long-term relationships and wonder how they could ever have anything to complain about. I would think to myself, "If I had someone, I would be happy no matter what. As long as I loved him and he loved me, I could get through any difficulty or trial. Nothing else would matter but us." Oh, the naivety. I wish that were true, but unfortunately other things do matter. As much as it pains me to say it, the Beatles were wrong; love is not all you need. You need employment and purpose and direction and hope. You need to feel like the efforts you make produce some sort of result. But for me, they just haven't. I went to school for 19 years, all the while expecting that one day that schooling would bring me a good job, but I have nothing tangible to show for my years of effort. Now I spend nearly every day searching and applying for jobs, only to hear rejections if I hear anything at all. Always the labor but never the fruits thereof.
Now I lie. Shame on me.
When I'm truly honest with myself and look at my life from a higher vantage point--rather than only viewing it from the depths of my self-pity and despair--I realize I do have fruits. No, I don't have a job yet, but I do have a wonderful, supportive family that includes a husband I wouldn't trade for anything. What job could mean more than that? True, my unemployment makes our life together more difficult, more stressful, and more uncertain than it would be if I worked a 9 to 5 somewhere, but we're together. Come Hell or high water, I know that will never change. Maybe love isn't all I need, but it is certainly the most important need I have. And though other things do matter, my relationship with Daniel matters most. So I guess what I've realized is that I'm actually doing fine. And maybe now that I've written all of the other crap down, I'll remember that.
In short, I've decided to be happy with my life for what it is right now. My professional life can bite me.
Life is so unpredictable. A year ago I was working toward my master's degree in journalism and spending the vast majority of my nights alone watching episodes of Lost, Friends, and Veronica Mars in my little shoe-box apartment. As the common phrase goes, I was as single as a dollar bill. I never went on dates, rarely even hung out with the few friends I had, and occasionally attended church activities just to stand there awkwardly for a half hour before deciding to retreat to my shoe box for some Ben & Jerry's and more T.V. If you had told me then that I would be married in a year, I'd never have believed you. All the evidence suggested it was impossible. And if you'd then told me I would also be unemployed for 6+ months, I'd have been even more incredulous. All the evidence suggested that this, too, was impossible. After all, I was on the track to finally beginning my career. I was getting a master's degree; I was doing internships and building a portfolio and gaining valuable work experience. So what happened? I don't understand.
All I know is that a year ago I had one major goal: to finish graduate school and get a job doing something I love. I had decided that marriage wasn't going to happen for awhile, and I came to terms with that. Having a good job would be enough at first. But then I met Daniel, and everything changed. I got married! I can't tell you how unexpected that was. I figured it was a bonus, that now I was going to get the personal success and the professional success all at once. But nothing turns out the way I plan, and nothing can be easy. True, I achieved the personal success, but in the process I've failed professionally. All the things I have worked toward--essentially for my entire life--have brought me none of things I was promised:
"Education is the key to success in life."
"You need an advanced degree if you want a leg up on the job competition."
"Having a master's degree will make you more employable."
"You'll earn more money if you go to graduate school."
Lies. All of it lies.
I want to believe in the importance of education for education's sake, but it's hard when I sit at home all day and watch the value of my hard work decrease while my student debt increases. Deep down I know that I will always be glad I got an advanced degree, but I am also aware that I did it with the expectation of getting a job. When I applied to grad school, I had all these notions of working as a writer or an editor for a food or travel magazine, or maybe working as a critic of some sort. I had a plan for my life, and it involved both education and a good job. It never occurred to me that the former might not lead to the latter. Both were equally important to me and completely interdependent in my mind. The possibility of failure wasn't even on my radar. It's like I viewed the whole situation as a foolproof equation: education + relevant experience = guaranteed employment. But that's not how it works.
When I was single, I used to see people in happy, long-term relationships and wonder how they could ever have anything to complain about. I would think to myself, "If I had someone, I would be happy no matter what. As long as I loved him and he loved me, I could get through any difficulty or trial. Nothing else would matter but us." Oh, the naivety. I wish that were true, but unfortunately other things do matter. As much as it pains me to say it, the Beatles were wrong; love is not all you need. You need employment and purpose and direction and hope. You need to feel like the efforts you make produce some sort of result. But for me, they just haven't. I went to school for 19 years, all the while expecting that one day that schooling would bring me a good job, but I have nothing tangible to show for my years of effort. Now I spend nearly every day searching and applying for jobs, only to hear rejections if I hear anything at all. Always the labor but never the fruits thereof.
Now I lie. Shame on me.
When I'm truly honest with myself and look at my life from a higher vantage point--rather than only viewing it from the depths of my self-pity and despair--I realize I do have fruits. No, I don't have a job yet, but I do have a wonderful, supportive family that includes a husband I wouldn't trade for anything. What job could mean more than that? True, my unemployment makes our life together more difficult, more stressful, and more uncertain than it would be if I worked a 9 to 5 somewhere, but we're together. Come Hell or high water, I know that will never change. Maybe love isn't all I need, but it is certainly the most important need I have. And though other things do matter, my relationship with Daniel matters most. So I guess what I've realized is that I'm actually doing fine. And maybe now that I've written all of the other crap down, I'll remember that.
In short, I've decided to be happy with my life for what it is right now. My professional life can bite me.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Cops and Car Catastrophes
Exactly one week from today Daniel and I will have been married for two months. I'm probably supposed to follow that sentence with a statement about how crazy it is or about how I can't believe it, but neither of those is true. It's not crazy, and I can believe it. It feels just about right. What is crazy, however, is that it took us nearly two months to finally wade through our post-wedding "to do" list--and we're still not completely finished.
First I had to change my name, which involved getting official copies of our marriage license (which we had to wait for my Mom to bring to Massachusetts for us), waiting forever at the Social Security card office, and standing in line at the RMV. When my new driver's license arrived in the mail, we were finally able to start the process of registering my car in Massachusetts. But first, of course, we had to get it insured.
Surprisingly, getting our two cars insured wasn't a hassle at all. It was actually a fairly pleasant experience, so I mistakenly assumed the worst was over and that we were home free. One quick trip to the RMV and my car would be an official east coaster, like me. I was so very, very wrong.
On Friday, Daniel got stuck in awful traffic taking a different route home so he could meet me at the RMV. He finally got there, and we waited for about an hour and a half before they called our number. We approached the desk eagerly (Yay, it's finally our turn!), only to be quite rudely informed that we had the wrong form and would have to come back. Of course, it was less than an hour before closing time on Friday, so we would have to wait until Monday. At least the lady gave us a "no wait" slip.
On Monday I went to the RMV again and waited for someone to be available. I approached the desk (Yay, this time it will work!) to find that the now correct form was filled out incorrectly. Apparently I wasn't allowed to handwrite Daniel's name in as co-owner of the car; the insurance company had to type it in. So with another "no wait" slip in hand and without new plates, I left fairly peeved. At home I contacted our insurance agent, got the form fixed, and steeled myself for yet another trip to the RMV the next day.
On Tuesday I went back one last time and finally left victorious, new registration and Massachusetts plates in hand (Yay, it's finally done!). I drove my California-plated car for the last time, and immediately went home to change my plates. The front one went on fine, but the back plate had issues. I couldn't get it off. I stripped the rusted screw trying to loosen it with a screwdriver and then, in a daze of stubborn frustration, proceeded to try to remove it with pliers, a wrench, and eventually my bare hands. All bad ideas. I then undid the lining of my trunk to go at it from the back side, but all I got was a lot of cuts on my hands. After about 45 minutes, I gave up and waited for Daniel to come home. We had to make a trip to Home Depot for new screws, but by the end of it all I had Massachusetts plates. *Sigh*
There was only one more item on the car's "to do" list--the Massachusetts Vehicle Check. On Wednesday Daniel had a half day at work, so he kindly offered to go with me to get the car inspected. We drove to a place just off of Trapelo Road in Belmont, and as we were stopped just a few feet from the turn-in to the station, we got slammed into from the back. Of course. The car in front of us had stopped to let some pedestrians cross, and naturally we had stopped too. The car behind us, however, did not stop.
Long story short, Daniel called the police to file a report, and we were stunned to find that while the Buick that hit us was a crumpled mess and had to be towed, we got to drive our Toyota away with only minor cosmetic damage. Of course, the station we were going to wasn't doing inspections that day, so we ended up turning around and heading right back to a station that was less than a mile from our own apartment. Figures, right? On the bright side, I passed my inspection. My car is done.
While we're aware that we're very blessed that neither we nor the car suffered much damage, we can't help but see the irony and amusement in all of this (in fact, I inconsiderately snickered as the cops filled out our accident report... I just couldn't help it by that point). So much hassle just to make my car an official Massachusetts resident! I suspect it was fighting us all along. It's hard to let go of California.
Add to all of the above another call to the cops--this time on Tuesday night to warn them about an angry man outside our window saying, "I can't wait to kill" in a disturbingly Gollum-like voice--and you have quite an exciting week for the Jibsons.
First I had to change my name, which involved getting official copies of our marriage license (which we had to wait for my Mom to bring to Massachusetts for us), waiting forever at the Social Security card office, and standing in line at the RMV. When my new driver's license arrived in the mail, we were finally able to start the process of registering my car in Massachusetts. But first, of course, we had to get it insured.
Surprisingly, getting our two cars insured wasn't a hassle at all. It was actually a fairly pleasant experience, so I mistakenly assumed the worst was over and that we were home free. One quick trip to the RMV and my car would be an official east coaster, like me. I was so very, very wrong.
On Friday, Daniel got stuck in awful traffic taking a different route home so he could meet me at the RMV. He finally got there, and we waited for about an hour and a half before they called our number. We approached the desk eagerly (Yay, it's finally our turn!), only to be quite rudely informed that we had the wrong form and would have to come back. Of course, it was less than an hour before closing time on Friday, so we would have to wait until Monday. At least the lady gave us a "no wait" slip.
On Monday I went to the RMV again and waited for someone to be available. I approached the desk (Yay, this time it will work!) to find that the now correct form was filled out incorrectly. Apparently I wasn't allowed to handwrite Daniel's name in as co-owner of the car; the insurance company had to type it in. So with another "no wait" slip in hand and without new plates, I left fairly peeved. At home I contacted our insurance agent, got the form fixed, and steeled myself for yet another trip to the RMV the next day.
On Tuesday I went back one last time and finally left victorious, new registration and Massachusetts plates in hand (Yay, it's finally done!). I drove my California-plated car for the last time, and immediately went home to change my plates. The front one went on fine, but the back plate had issues. I couldn't get it off. I stripped the rusted screw trying to loosen it with a screwdriver and then, in a daze of stubborn frustration, proceeded to try to remove it with pliers, a wrench, and eventually my bare hands. All bad ideas. I then undid the lining of my trunk to go at it from the back side, but all I got was a lot of cuts on my hands. After about 45 minutes, I gave up and waited for Daniel to come home. We had to make a trip to Home Depot for new screws, but by the end of it all I had Massachusetts plates. *Sigh*
There was only one more item on the car's "to do" list--the Massachusetts Vehicle Check. On Wednesday Daniel had a half day at work, so he kindly offered to go with me to get the car inspected. We drove to a place just off of Trapelo Road in Belmont, and as we were stopped just a few feet from the turn-in to the station, we got slammed into from the back. Of course. The car in front of us had stopped to let some pedestrians cross, and naturally we had stopped too. The car behind us, however, did not stop.
Long story short, Daniel called the police to file a report, and we were stunned to find that while the Buick that hit us was a crumpled mess and had to be towed, we got to drive our Toyota away with only minor cosmetic damage. Of course, the station we were going to wasn't doing inspections that day, so we ended up turning around and heading right back to a station that was less than a mile from our own apartment. Figures, right? On the bright side, I passed my inspection. My car is done.
While we're aware that we're very blessed that neither we nor the car suffered much damage, we can't help but see the irony and amusement in all of this (in fact, I inconsiderately snickered as the cops filled out our accident report... I just couldn't help it by that point). So much hassle just to make my car an official Massachusetts resident! I suspect it was fighting us all along. It's hard to let go of California.
Add to all of the above another call to the cops--this time on Tuesday night to warn them about an angry man outside our window saying, "I can't wait to kill" in a disturbingly Gollum-like voice--and you have quite an exciting week for the Jibsons.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
All according to plan...
So yeah, I got married and stuff.
Thus far I'm loving married life--if you exclude, of course, my severe lack of employment--and I look forward with great anticipation to all that the future has to bring for me and Daniel. But somehow, I also feel a bit uneasy about it all. Well, okay, that's a lie. I'm not uneasy about everything. I guess you could say I'm feeling... overwhelmed. I know, it's completely ridiculous to think of me as being overwhelmed. For crying out loud, I don't even have a job. I slept until 11:00 this morning. With the exception of the job hunting I did, the only effort I made today was to bake a loaf of bread. And, truth be told, the bread machine did all of the work.
But still, overwhelmed is the prevailing feeling. It's not the job search, though I do despise that. It's not even the long post-wedding "To Do" list of thank you notes to be written, items left to be bought, or legal matters to be dealt with. Strangely, it's the thought that I've surrendered my ability to choose. In a sense, I've surrendered myself.
Before you jump to any conclusions, no, Daniel is not in any way overbearing or controlling, nor do I feel that marriage is a sacrifice of individuality. I love him, and I love us. It's simply that everything feels so mapped out now, so planned. After marriage, the next step is children and everything that goes with them--big pregnancy announcements; awkward photographs of my increasingly large belly; polls of friends and family to see who can guess the baby's gender; Facebook announcements of the birth, complete with pictures, the baby's stats, and a blog post telling the whole birth story; revolving all of my conversations around my and other people's children, the merits of various parenting techniques, and which stroller really is the best; an uncharacteristic concern about the healthiness and safety of the foods and cleaning products I buy; etc.; etc.; etc. Then, of course, there's the guilt--of not doing enough, or of doing it wrong. I've decided it's an inherently maternal thing, guilt. It seems it can't be helped.
Now I realize that my above portrayal of motherhood could seem like a criticism. I really promise it's not. I greatly respect and admire all of the mothers I know (especially my mom and sisters), and I realize that so many of the things I've just described are just part and parcel of being a parent. But therein lies my concern; it's as if there's no choice in any of it. I feel like I have to take the belly pictures and post the announcements and feel the guilt and debate the merits of strollers with my mom-friends. That's just the way it goes, right?
Ironically, I'm sure that when Daniel and I do decide to have kids, I'll want to do all of those parental things. I'll likely knowingly choose to do them and be glad that I did. But right now, if I'm being truthful, the whole idea of it scares the crap out of me. My one consolation is that when little Jibsons do come along, I'll be ready for them--and all the fuss and hoopla that come with them.
On a related note, no, I am NOT pregnant. When I am expecting (in good time, mind you), I'm sure I'll post a clever announcement on Facebook.
Thus far I'm loving married life--if you exclude, of course, my severe lack of employment--and I look forward with great anticipation to all that the future has to bring for me and Daniel. But somehow, I also feel a bit uneasy about it all. Well, okay, that's a lie. I'm not uneasy about everything. I guess you could say I'm feeling... overwhelmed. I know, it's completely ridiculous to think of me as being overwhelmed. For crying out loud, I don't even have a job. I slept until 11:00 this morning. With the exception of the job hunting I did, the only effort I made today was to bake a loaf of bread. And, truth be told, the bread machine did all of the work.
But still, overwhelmed is the prevailing feeling. It's not the job search, though I do despise that. It's not even the long post-wedding "To Do" list of thank you notes to be written, items left to be bought, or legal matters to be dealt with. Strangely, it's the thought that I've surrendered my ability to choose. In a sense, I've surrendered myself.
Before you jump to any conclusions, no, Daniel is not in any way overbearing or controlling, nor do I feel that marriage is a sacrifice of individuality. I love him, and I love us. It's simply that everything feels so mapped out now, so planned. After marriage, the next step is children and everything that goes with them--big pregnancy announcements; awkward photographs of my increasingly large belly; polls of friends and family to see who can guess the baby's gender; Facebook announcements of the birth, complete with pictures, the baby's stats, and a blog post telling the whole birth story; revolving all of my conversations around my and other people's children, the merits of various parenting techniques, and which stroller really is the best; an uncharacteristic concern about the healthiness and safety of the foods and cleaning products I buy; etc.; etc.; etc. Then, of course, there's the guilt--of not doing enough, or of doing it wrong. I've decided it's an inherently maternal thing, guilt. It seems it can't be helped.
Now I realize that my above portrayal of motherhood could seem like a criticism. I really promise it's not. I greatly respect and admire all of the mothers I know (especially my mom and sisters), and I realize that so many of the things I've just described are just part and parcel of being a parent. But therein lies my concern; it's as if there's no choice in any of it. I feel like I have to take the belly pictures and post the announcements and feel the guilt and debate the merits of strollers with my mom-friends. That's just the way it goes, right?
Ironically, I'm sure that when Daniel and I do decide to have kids, I'll want to do all of those parental things. I'll likely knowingly choose to do them and be glad that I did. But right now, if I'm being truthful, the whole idea of it scares the crap out of me. My one consolation is that when little Jibsons do come along, I'll be ready for them--and all the fuss and hoopla that come with them.
On a related note, no, I am NOT pregnant. When I am expecting (in good time, mind you), I'm sure I'll post a clever announcement on Facebook.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Dream On
This announcement is long overdue, but I am pleased to announce that I am actually, finally, amazingly, for real done with school. For-ev-er.
Pleased. Hm. Am I really? Am I really pleased?
I could be pleased. I could, in fact, be very pleased if I were to, for example, have that wonderful, illusory dream--a job. Imagine it: a job that pays me a 5-figure salary (no hourly wages, woo!); a job that allows me to work a set schedule (9 to 5, woo!); a job that gives me something to do with my time other than sit at home drinking chocolate milk, trolling Craigslist, and waiting for Daniel to come home so I can have some human interaction (my existence is pathetic, woo!).
But alas, that dream is still in the works. Don't worry; I'm doing everything I can to make it come true. I've applied for more than a dozen jobs in the past week and a half, and I even have an interview in an hour. The only problem is that I can't seem to get that Aerosmith song out of my head...
Dream on
Dream on
Dream on
Dream on
Dream on
Dream on
Dream on
AHHHHHHH
Thank you, Steven Tyler. You've summed up my thoughts perfectly, especially at the end there.
I know, I know. I sound like a total Debbie Downer. But hey, anyone who has looked for a job over the last year or two will understand. The process of job hunting is completely degrading.
To illustrate my point, here are my biggest pet peeves about online job postings:
You see my problem(s).
Still, in the interest of not starving to death and/or having to become a stripper to pay back my student loans (hah, just kidding... no one would pay to see that), I must Carry On.
So yeah, here goes.
Pleased. Hm. Am I really? Am I really pleased?
I could be pleased. I could, in fact, be very pleased if I were to, for example, have that wonderful, illusory dream--a job. Imagine it: a job that pays me a 5-figure salary (no hourly wages, woo!); a job that allows me to work a set schedule (9 to 5, woo!); a job that gives me something to do with my time other than sit at home drinking chocolate milk, trolling Craigslist, and waiting for Daniel to come home so I can have some human interaction (my existence is pathetic, woo!).
But alas, that dream is still in the works. Don't worry; I'm doing everything I can to make it come true. I've applied for more than a dozen jobs in the past week and a half, and I even have an interview in an hour. The only problem is that I can't seem to get that Aerosmith song out of my head...
Dream on
Dream on
Dream on
Dream on
Dream on
Dream on
Dream on
AHHHHHHH
Thank you, Steven Tyler. You've summed up my thoughts perfectly, especially at the end there.
I know, I know. I sound like a total Debbie Downer. But hey, anyone who has looked for a job over the last year or two will understand. The process of job hunting is completely degrading.
To illustrate my point, here are my biggest pet peeves about online job postings:
- When the advertisement doesn't give the company's name (um, seriously?)
- When they try to be cutesy (please, just don't)
- When they ask for someone with a great eye for detail and their post is filled with grammatical errors and typos (yeah, now I really want to work for you)
- When they claim the job is "entry-level" but they want at least 5 years of experience (that's just cruel)
- When they ask for salary requirements (I mean, how do you say "anything you're willing to give me" without sounding desperate? What is too high? What is too low?)
You see my problem(s).
Still, in the interest of not starving to death and/or having to become a stripper to pay back my student loans (hah, just kidding... no one would pay to see that), I must Carry On.
So yeah, here goes.
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