Looking for Amala Says?
Visit http://butyoucancallmeabbiedahl.blogspot.com/
Same great posts, different blog name! Stop by and say hello!
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Is This a Mid-Life Crisis?
I don’t agree with whoever said “you are never too old to start over”.
As my 35th birthday approaches I feel like there are many things I will never be able to accomplish. Never go to law school. Never work at a foreign embassy. Never live in Bali. Never be a runway model. (okay, maybe that one wasn’t going to happen anyway) Never be a travel writer or a restaurant critic. I no longer feel like all my dreams are possible and the whole world is open to me.
But, I don’t exactly feel like the best of life is behind me either.
I’m in this limbo stage, I guess. Where my dreams meet my realty. True, most of the limitations are self-imposed – sort of. I would love to go to law school, but don’t want to be a part-time mom for the next 3 years or spend $40K. And moving to Bali… how would I support myself and my family? Realizing these things just aren’t going to happen makes me feel old and regret that I didn’t think about this sooner. Soon enough to do something about it. At least make a few of these dreams happen.
I guess the next phase is compromise. If I can’t go to law school, what can I do? If I will never live in Bali, where can I live? These are unanswered questions for me right now. When I finished mourning my dreams, I hope to start looking for answers.
As my 35th birthday approaches I feel like there are many things I will never be able to accomplish. Never go to law school. Never work at a foreign embassy. Never live in Bali. Never be a runway model. (okay, maybe that one wasn’t going to happen anyway) Never be a travel writer or a restaurant critic. I no longer feel like all my dreams are possible and the whole world is open to me.
But, I don’t exactly feel like the best of life is behind me either.
I’m in this limbo stage, I guess. Where my dreams meet my realty. True, most of the limitations are self-imposed – sort of. I would love to go to law school, but don’t want to be a part-time mom for the next 3 years or spend $40K. And moving to Bali… how would I support myself and my family? Realizing these things just aren’t going to happen makes me feel old and regret that I didn’t think about this sooner. Soon enough to do something about it. At least make a few of these dreams happen.
I guess the next phase is compromise. If I can’t go to law school, what can I do? If I will never live in Bali, where can I live? These are unanswered questions for me right now. When I finished mourning my dreams, I hope to start looking for answers.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Family Photo Ideas
Until recently the expression on The Babe’s face in most pictures was either a blank stare or crying. This doesn’t exactly make for great family photos … at least not the ones I want to spend money on. But, now that she is six months old and super smiley we have hired a photographer for our first ever photo shoot.
After a few quick emails with the photographer, we agreed the best location for the photo shoot would be our house. It’s where we are already making family memories. We did not discuss the use of costumes, poses or props. I'm no fancy photographer, but I have a few ideas of my own. What do you think?
Good, right?
After a few quick emails with the photographer, we agreed the best location for the photo shoot would be our house. It’s where we are already making family memories. We did not discuss the use of costumes, poses or props. I'm no fancy photographer, but I have a few ideas of my own. What do you think?
Good, right?
Monday, July 6, 2009
4th of July Bombshell
The Psychologist’s Big Employer could not have planned it more perfectly. It certainly must have seemed like a good idea to deliver bad news with a theme. Just like a cool fireworks show, Big Employer dropped an explosive bombshell on their staff just as the 3-day 4th of July weekend was beginning. At 4:00 pm. On Thursday. Fun!
The Psychologist’s job is being eliminated. Actually, the entire program is being cut due to The Budget. Good news! He gets his old job back. Yea! And he gets to have his old shitty schedule back, too. Only, now it’s worse. 6:30 pm – 5:00 am Saturday through Tuesday.
So what was supposed to be a fun, festive weekend was actually a major suck-fest filled with moping, anxiety and too much beer drinking. Couldn’t wait til Monday huh, Big Employer?
On the bright side (really!) at least it was not the “L-Word”. He does still have a job. Many people don’t right now.
The Psychologist’s job is being eliminated. Actually, the entire program is being cut due to The Budget. Good news! He gets his old job back. Yea! And he gets to have his old shitty schedule back, too. Only, now it’s worse. 6:30 pm – 5:00 am Saturday through Tuesday.
So what was supposed to be a fun, festive weekend was actually a major suck-fest filled with moping, anxiety and too much beer drinking. Couldn’t wait til Monday huh, Big Employer?
On the bright side (really!) at least it was not the “L-Word”. He does still have a job. Many people don’t right now.
No Progress Yet...
It's still sitting on my nightstand. Exactly where I left it two - no three - weeks ago. Only now it's covered with a fine layer of dust. Sigh.
6 Months
This blog post describes my feelings perfectly right now. No further comments needed. Just think she/her instead of he/ him.
I am overwhelmed, today – and was overwhelmed yesterday, and the day before that, and am certain that I will be similarly overwhelmed tomorrow – with this singular thought: I do not want my boy to grow up.
I don’t. I just don’t. I know that his future is bright and amazing and that the him that he will be in that bright and amazing future is a him that I will adore with every ounce of the intensity that I adore him now, and then some, but.
But.
At this precise moment in time I am so love with Baby Him, with his soft, pale curls and his baby-tooth grin and his chubby baby bum and his tiny, grabby fists that clutch and hold and cling and the fact that I can press him to me and just hold, just hold on and breathe him in and pretend that we are still two pieces of one body, that I could, if I wanted to, press him back into my chest to beat as my own heart. This him, this incarnation of the human being that he is, this small, precious, sweet-smelling clutchable form of him – this I want to keep. This I want not to lose.
I know that this is impossible; wrong, even. I know that I should rejoice in the fact that he grows, he thrives, he marches – he leaps! he runs! he tumbles! – steadfastly forward into his own future. And I do, I do rejoice in this, just as I have rejoiced in the transformation of his sister from baby into girl. But I also mourn.
This is a truth about being a parent that nothing and no-one can prepare you for: that it is a continual experience of loss, a never-ending stream of moments of goodbye. That from the moment your children come into your life you are losing them. That the person your child is today is a person you will never meet again, a person that you will, in some ways, forget, as he or she is replaced by new people, bigger people, faster people, people with more words, people with more independence, people whose primary purpose is to move continually away from you.
She is growing up too fast, and I wish I could keep a version of her at each stage in her life. Being her mother is my greatest joy and my greatest heartache.
I am overwhelmed, today – and was overwhelmed yesterday, and the day before that, and am certain that I will be similarly overwhelmed tomorrow – with this singular thought: I do not want my boy to grow up.
I don’t. I just don’t. I know that his future is bright and amazing and that the him that he will be in that bright and amazing future is a him that I will adore with every ounce of the intensity that I adore him now, and then some, but.
But.
At this precise moment in time I am so love with Baby Him, with his soft, pale curls and his baby-tooth grin and his chubby baby bum and his tiny, grabby fists that clutch and hold and cling and the fact that I can press him to me and just hold, just hold on and breathe him in and pretend that we are still two pieces of one body, that I could, if I wanted to, press him back into my chest to beat as my own heart. This him, this incarnation of the human being that he is, this small, precious, sweet-smelling clutchable form of him – this I want to keep. This I want not to lose.
I know that this is impossible; wrong, even. I know that I should rejoice in the fact that he grows, he thrives, he marches – he leaps! he runs! he tumbles! – steadfastly forward into his own future. And I do, I do rejoice in this, just as I have rejoiced in the transformation of his sister from baby into girl. But I also mourn.
This is a truth about being a parent that nothing and no-one can prepare you for: that it is a continual experience of loss, a never-ending stream of moments of goodbye. That from the moment your children come into your life you are losing them. That the person your child is today is a person you will never meet again, a person that you will, in some ways, forget, as he or she is replaced by new people, bigger people, faster people, people with more words, people with more independence, people whose primary purpose is to move continually away from you.
She is growing up too fast, and I wish I could keep a version of her at each stage in her life. Being her mother is my greatest joy and my greatest heartache.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
