Opting out of opting out… so far
Friday I kind of bottomed out on this funk I’ve been having. I was working hard on a deadline and I changed some of BigEditor’s deathless prose.
Defense: I was being more accurate, choosing the correct location of something over alliteration. Prosecution: I didn’t handle it right by calling and asking her; I made the change and sent the test newsletter. I got email from BigEditor that was worthy of The Devil Wears Prada (well, at least in my view), apologized, switched it back, and sent it off for the 4 pm deadline still.
In between I put my head on my desk and cried. When things go wrong with building the site, I can shrug it off that that’s not my job long-term. But this is my job long-term. And I keep hitting this wall in that I haven’t climbed the editorial ranks in the traditional way so I have had Too Much Say Too Early. It’s not that I don’t think the case was good for changing the phrase back. It’s more that in my world, she’d've called me up and asked me to change it, not fired off a “how dare you” email.
Also, I really like her and it stings.
I know that I’m capable of learning how to navigate in this world. I’m just not always sure I’m making the right choice in doing so. As a writer I am on the path of trying to stop obsessing over every choice; getting slammed for changing one minor phrase to fit the copy editor’s question is not conducive to trusting my experience and instincts. But as an editor if I want to hit the big leagues, I have to learn to handle the big league professional mores.
And emotionally I just hit that place where I was bottoming out that I suck as an editor, mother, wife, friend, blah blah. This is what I think all the NY Times-inspired pieces about why do high-level professional women opt-out is perhaps missing. There has been discussion that women are not happy in their jobs because the workplace is not family-friendly, etc.
But I think there is a whole other emotional level where there’s a sort of duality that’s hard to manage. Most of the time when things are fairly level I can manage my own ambivalence about my choice to work and have Noah in daycare. Over the long term I think this is the right decision for me (irregardless of how a particular job is going, etc.) And yet as soon as things get really hard, the scale tips.
It’s not that women can’t “handle” the crap at work. If they have to, they do, as millions of working women prove every day.
It’s more, I think, that in order to parent small children well in our current culture you have to be in a headspace where you are aware of the repercussions of your actions and in a sense gentle yourself down. With a 2 year old in particular, the dance is quite a finely detailed one: Noah will get mad, for example, that we have no blueberries at all and stomp off and it is my job as a mother to listen to him and let him grapple with his bad feelings, until he can’t any more and then appear to offer comfort. To do that I have to have my own emotions under control but also have my radar for his wide-open.
Dealing with a high-pressure, competitive workplace at the same time is really tiring. And when things go sour, for me anyway, I find the first thought that comes to mind is along the lines of leaving my son is not worth it! but that really translates to: if someone in my life is going to get the emotional energy it takes to walk a minefield, I pick my kid.
I know that loads of people never get this choice. I just think it is possible that those who do have the choice, end up making that decision because to be the calm composed one 24/7 is a lot of life energy they don’t want to spend. And maybe men are raised to just handle the whole thing differently and stop trying to please everyone and that gives them an advantage. I don’t know.
Well maybe I shouldn’t try to speak for everyone. That’s what I feel though. It’s not just the hours, the commuting, blah blah. It’s the moments where I feel like I have no more emotional capacity that are the ones that make me think the juggling act is not worth it.
In this case, the feeling lasted 45 minutes and then I went into a meeting and it’s been uphill from there.
Yesterday my parents took Noah to the zoo for a tot programme in the morning and I was going to work out (go me!) but the gym was closed for repairs to their water system (boo) so I went to Value Village and shopped for our family on a budget instead. Then after nap we took Noah to the playground and just had a rocking good time playing. It was exactly the sort of Saturday one would hope for out here in the middle-class burbs.
Oh yes, budget. Between our decision to go to the Briars, Carl’s trip out West for a funeral, car repairs, and a few luxury items like organic vegetable delivery, we suddenly are carrying some line of credit debt. Since we’re not really willing to cash in any of our emergency fund right now, we’re going to go for 4 months of really restrained spending and see where we get to with that. It’s happy that this aligns with the season of farmer’s markets and so on.
And now… it’s time to garden! First serious go of the season.
It was a sunny day on the island of Sodor…
Thank you for the reassurances. Noah is still not one hundred percent - runny nose and he seems pale and out of sorts. No one would find this terrible but me, but I kind of do. If he doesn’t perk up over the weekend I’m taking him in to our doctor again.
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If you have a train-obsessed child around Noah’s age you probably understand the title. You’ll also get these snippets:
“Mummy, you are a Really Useful Mummy.”
(later)
“Time for shoes!”
“No! I don’t want to!”
“Noah, if you don’t put your shoes on, it will cause Confusion and Delay.”
(Noah gets his shoes on.)
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I have been suffering almost debilitating levels of anxiety the last week or so. Enough that I remember, suddenly, what drove us into therapy in the first place - it was living like this all. the. time. I think the stress has been building over time but what tipped it was going and sitting at Sick Kids with Noah.
I am constantly quietly freaking out over something, and mostly my thoughts circle the drain that I should not have Noah in daycare but that he should be at home with me in idyllic bliss. When I am calm I remember that although I think group care is not ideal in an ideal world, in our world it is perfectly ok. But most of the time I am not calm and I am imagining that one day he will be sobbing on Intervention that he was abandoned at a young age and brutalized in some way and that’s why he’s a meth addict.
But I also worry about: losing my job, my car blowing up (unlikely as I had to drop $1k on it today in maintenance and a new timing belt), not having enough money, the economy, the price of food, BHA, cancer, bronchitis, heart disease, that the cats are neglected, and pretty much anything else that crosses my mind that could potentially hurt anyone.
And I recognize that while these are serious things what is really going on is anxiety. And then I get anxious that it was going to that reading that made me anxious which means I am really neurotic. And then I try to remember to breathe. Working out should help and I am trying to slot that in, but each time I’ve “had time” (ha ha) to go to the gym I have spent the time with Noah turning him into a neurotic mess instead. Well ok, to him it looks like we are playing trains or riding his push toy.
Sigh.
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Noah is toilet learning at school (and here too, by default). This happened a bit abruptly: he has used the potty a few times sort of randomly both at school and here, but suddenly on Tuesday his teacher informed me that we should bring 8 pairs of underwear and 8 pairs of pants and some pull-ups for nap.
Of course he owns 7 pairs of pants, + two pairs of overalls which are not ok for toilet learning. So I had to buy pants. I bought 3 on sale at Zellers ’cause I couldn’t get to Value Village, but that was annoying. I had however already bought 12 pairs of underwear.
First day: 5 wet pairs of pants. Laundry R us.
(I know, he’s sick, and they choose this week. Except he supposedly chose it himself, sooo…)
It’s the all-illness blog!
Noah had a fever around 102 last night so I gave him some Motrin. Looked like a cold.
I woke up at 3 am. We’ve been co-sleeping since that big illness (I think he associated his bed with fevers, but it might just be a phase) and I was glad because it was his heat that woke me up. I took his temperature by the top ear - 105.5. So I tried to get him up to give him some Motrin and he was really out of it (not that this could not be sleep related) and held him for a bit. His temperature went down to about 104.5. Then it started going up again, and Noah was still out of it after holding him in my lap for about 20 minutes.
So Carl and I opted not to wait for the clinic and to bypass the local emergency clinic and just go down to Sick Kids. There is no question in Toronto that that’s where you want to end up with anything serious or even any serious injury, just because they have everything, kid sized - butterfly needles, splints, etc. And everyone there wants to work with kids.
Still, walking in there was hard. At least the emergency entrance isn’t one we went through with Emily, but it’s the decor and the sounds and the smells and the staff training. The murals and posters and things.
By then the cool air had sort of revived Noah, although he was still pretty out of it and had slept on the way down. The Motrin hadn’t kicked in at all and after taking vitals the triage nurse added in a dose of Tylenol. About 20 min later his fever went down and then we looked and felt like idiots as he pranced, chatted, and played all over the emergency ward. (Stomach flu next, I image.) Not that we didn’t hold him and all but we were there for 4 hours.
Anyways, he may or may not have an ear infection and he definitey has a cold. But this being Sick Kids we got two good exams (a fairly new resident, and her supervisor), clear instructions, and no attitude for showing up at 4:30 am for what turned out to be a cold. So far.
I am worried about this latest round of illness though - not only has it been nasty, it’s been sort of constant. Noah’s had two good days in between illnesses, but I worry that he’s run down. I asked about bloodwork and they said no, but I may see if our family doctor would run some.
I’d already spent yesterday cleaning everything - doorknobs, baseboards, handles, blah blah blah - so not sure what more I can do other than more chicken soup full of chard or something.
Tired. Not sure what we’ll do for childcare next week either as Carl and I are rapidly becoming “the people with the kid who’s always sick,” although people who have had kids in daycare keep reassuring us that’s what the first year is like.
There was a newborn in emerg too and I felt such a weird mix watching her parents with her. It affected Carl too. But when we all walked out together Carl said “THIS is how you want to leave this place.” And it was so true. Hope everyone else in emerg last night gets the same.
Strategy, courtesy of Hell’s Kitchen
One of my deep dark secrets is that I have a Thing for Gordon Ramsay. I don’t know; there’s something about a guy who yells fuck a lot and abuses his staff and then cooks amazing food, and who has a great body and is really cute to boot. Sign me up for some of that!
Anyways I follow his exploits on YouTube because I don’t have broadcast TV and I didn’t buy Kitchen Nightmares when I saw it. And I admit that I watch a bit of Hell’s Kitchen. (Kitchen Nightmares are still my favourite though - saviour complex, reality business tv, and filthy kitchens! What more could you ask?!). And thanks to this dark fascination, plus having watched The Apprentice when in Ottawa, I have come up with one reality show strategy:
Sleep.
While everyone else is drinking beer, providing soundbytes, and trying to screw each other, go and sleep. I think most of the crazy comes from sleep deprivation and anyone is bound to look better in comparison.
There it is. :-) Aren’t you glad I share these life-altering, ground-breaking tips with you?
Professional post-coital bliss (or, how to impress an editor)
So from about the day I started at my new job this freelance writer would email me from time to time. Here’s my resume and some clips! Love the magazine! Hey noticed you are doing really well! [err, the magazine is]
Of course when an article came up in one of her areas of expertise, I did think of her. I’ve read her stuff so I figured it would be decent. So I called her up and gave her the assignment. At web rates and sizes, the assignment is not that exciting in some ways. But she took it. Deadine was yesterday.
She delivered exactly right, extra material, all the contact info for fact checking, blah blah blah. I love it when it works.
So summary for freelancers (including self, future):
- connect with editors in a professional way
- remind them that you are out there doing your research. It did in fact impress me that she was keeping up on the industry news, because… that is what I hire for, that kind of thinking
- listen to the editor on the phone; read your assignment letter
- deliver a good article on deadline with all the proper fact-checking info
Not rocket science!
Events
I went to an author interview for work last night, although I have to say it was also a pleasure to hit the Toronto literary scene again. It was Patricia Pearson talking about her book A Brief History of Anxiety (Yours and Mine) and it was a lot of fun.
It was a bit of a head trip because it was held at Hart House, which is where my senior formal (that’s “prom” to you Americans) took place, and in the library which is both very Harry Potter like and smells like my old university-affiliated high school smelled. (You know: dust of the ages, books.) So I was enjoying the walk down memory lane, the familliar faces of us Toronto folks that trot out to support our own at readings and such, a bit of atmosphere, and my professional capacity all at once.
I like living in Toronto.
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Noah hated that I was not home for dinner or bedtime and I sorely paid for it this morning when he held onto me and told me quite firmly that I was to be home for dinner tonight. It’s a tough balancing act. And the truth is that at 6 pm when I was about to leave my office to drive downtown (it made no sense to come home in between) it was hard not to just drive home instead.
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It is very complicated to be a mother and a person.
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Talking about anxiety made me anxious. And that wasn’t even the point of going! But maybe in part because I have at times suffered anxiety, and in part because it was such an overwhelmingly integrated evening in terms of past, present, and future, that I felt like I might also have writing on my head declaring all kinds of things about me. I realize that I compartmentalize a lot still.
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Speaking of which, multiplicity has not appeared a lot in this blog lately and I think I might have to talk about that a little more. But meanwhile I give you a link to a better interview with Herschel Walker than the fragments of the Nightline ones I have seen. I still haven’t bothered to read up on embedding video, so sorry.
I find it fascinating that the last three big books on multiplicity have been male-authored about male systems, while women with DID/MPD/whatever are pretty much passe in the publishing world (as well as the therapy world). (The other two being Cameron West’s First Person Plural (best title!) and A Fractured Mind by Robert B. Oxnam which has the best line on sex ever.)
Gratitude, mothering, my mother
I am so grateful Noah is okay today. Actually, having Noah in my life at all has made me a much more grateful person. I am grateful for the kindness of strangers who are nice to my son. I am grateful for sunny days and sandboxes. I am grateful for the bluejay that we look for every day. I am grateful for health and growth.
One thing I have been grateful for too is that my parents have turned out to be better grandparents than I thought they would be. My dad still has problems engaging with Noah, but he tries so hard that Noah doesn’t notice (and engages with my dad). My mother definitely still lives in a bit of a bubble of narcissism and I don’t always feel like she appreciates the real Noah but rather how he reflects on her as matriarch. Also he has to be the most special at everything, and fortunately her perceptions make this easy for her to believe.
But as a grandparent, it really doesn’t matter. She provides love, attention, hugs, books, and cookies. This is totally enough as far as Noah is concerned.
And both my parents have really been there to help out, coming over for a few hours when Noah was sick so Carl or I or both could frantically work, and so on.
So I am grateful for that. And perhaps all that makes what I am about to say even worse but…
the thing is, my relationship with my mother is still horribly toxic to me.
My mother in law was here over Easter and she took a few minutes to mention to me that during the Easter dinner experience my mother had treated me pretty badly. And in fact, she had. I just really hadn’t noticed. I think the issue in the present is that mother is really not comfortable with the choice I have made to work. But she makes strange comments like:
“I’d like to tell my friends about your job, but I don’t really understand what you do.”
(I’m an editor. My mother worked as a freelance copy editor. It is not that hard to understand.)
What my MIL noticed is that whenever I started to say anything, my mother would interrupt me to talk about my sister. (Who, by the way, is moving to Texas for a really lucrative job that she deserves and has worked hard for. It’s just that the lucrative part is what comes up. Every 5 minutes or so.) And the comparisons that then took place put me in a bad light. I finally (after 14 years!!) explained to my MIL that I am the black sheep of my family in that I continually have failed to live up to my intellectual potential and that nothing I do besides producing children really has mattered to my mother since 1993 when I dropped out of school.
These sound like small examples I think, and they kind of are. But like water torture, it’s not the drops themselves that are horrible. It’s the consistency of their arrival that makes sore spots sore. And it’s not just about my work. It’s my looks, my money, my house, my parenting (although this last tends to get the biggest pass).
I really am the black sheep in the sense that nothing I do seems to be entirely comprehensible to her. This should not come as a surprise especially as my mother outright said (when we were thinking of moving to Ottawa) that she could not stay with Carl and I because she does not like us the way she likes my sister and her husband (and with whom she can stay overnight as a result). But it still does, every time, kind of hurt.
And the irony is that I’m reasonably sure that it will be me who does the old-age hands-on caregiving in whatever way, both because of geographic proximity and because… I don’t have the hugely lucrative job to maintain! (Kind of a joke because my job is just as important to me in my own way.)
Anna, my therapist, used to encourage me to cut contact with my mother. I didn’t then and now I really wouldn’t, as Noah really does get huge joy out of that relationship. But I do think that this constant wearing down of my personhood that happens around my mother is not helping me out right now, and I need to come up with some strategies to address it.
You can tell I just commissioned my Mother’s Day lead article, no? Yes, I’m on short lead times this year. :-)
Little guy is ok
Noah’s fine, from all appearances. We are still watching him pretty closely.
Exhausted, but wanted to update.
It’s just a cold, but he fell down the stairs.
I wish I were kidding, but I am not. Noah went head over heels down the full flight of stairs to the basement. All carpeted, but not exactly plush carpeting, and carpet over cement at the bottom. Carl said he hit the walls on the way down too (I was out).
For the detail-oriented, Carl was at the top of the stairs with Noah and gave him the usual choice - hold hands (and one of Noah’s on the railing) or go down on your bum. Noah chose bum and moved too quickly rather than waiting for the hand to steady him while he got down, crouching down and - then just kept going. I put this one in the “really not preventable unless you are freaky all the time to a crazy extent” camp.
Carl looked like he had had the shock of his life. Noah seems fine - he has a bruise on one cheek and a scrape on his back. No passing out, no vomiting, cried for only 5 minutes. No bruised ribs or broken bones that we can detect. Pupils reacting normally. Ate dinner fine, danced to music, played trains, wanted to jump around on bed, went to bed fine.
We’ll be checking on him every two hours of course.
God it just NEVER ENDS with kids no?
Oh and P.S. my hair is extremely red. Pics sometime, maybe.
My poor baby!
Friday was not a good day, today was much better
What a title but.
Friday I worked from home. I shut off all phones and devices, let my boss and one other key contact know how to get hold of me, and just focused. It was great. Until around 10 pm when I then I checked email and realized I had stood a friend up for lunch.
Duh. I don’t do that often… in fact I don’t remember ABANDONING someone at a restaurant before like… EVER. Anyways I am still embarassed about it.
Kind of took the glow off my Cool Time Management Skilz, you know?
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However work is going well and I have now hired about 5 writers I like and I am feeling better about having some good material beyond the main stuff.
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Today I went to an open house for a spectacular house (look at the multimedia pictures). We cannot afford said house, but it is quite simply one of the most unique homes I’ve ever seen, and if I had no kids and a million dollars, I’d be in negotiation right now. Carl and Noah and I went to see it in person and it was way better than the pictures. Every nook of it had a delight. The banister had carvings to be like an oak tree, with acorns, and a tiny bird’s nest with eggs. There were hand carved statues in the loft: an owl and a squirrel. The ceiling in the kitchen was hand painted between the beams. Everywhere you looked, everywhere you sat, it all had this artistry and care about it, and it produced a unified whole that really worked in this very profound way.
I need to bring a little of that into our house. I like our house just fine, for sure. But the thing is… when Carl and I renoved our old house, and particularly the parts we did before Emily’s birth, we really put ourselves into bits of it. But then with all the grief and upheaval, in this house we sort of picked a fairly bland palette, and went to Ikea, and have made things nice but not unique. Maybe it’s time to do a bit of that again. Slowly.