My parents and I tend to have a lot of conversations regarding life, religion, politics, women, education, etc. I like this about my parents, especially since they don't automatically hate me if I have a different opinion. And because they raised me to have an opinion.
On a recent visit to The Parents', we had a conversation about Marriage as a destination vs. a process. Earlier today I read an article that referenced a similar thought, it made my fingers itch to analyze it on a keyboard. (Disclaimer: By nature of my fundamental beliefs about life, families and so forth, here's where I get slightly religious).
We believe that families are forever - that two people can be married by one with the proper authority from God (in the temple) and that they, and any offspring born to them, are linked forever in the eternities. Heaven would be a very sorrowful place to spend by oneself.
As a result, we teach our young women (I can't comment on the young men side, I am never was one, nor have I taught them), that Temple Marriage is the key to eternal salvation. In a matter of speaking. The problem is, here's where doctrine and culture get all mixed up. Doctrinally, yes, eternal (ie temple) marriage (regardless of when it happens) is a key tenet to salvation. But it is not a guarantee. It is not the end of the road. Culturally, however, we teach it as such. People sigh and think happy thoughts when someone is married in the temple, saying, "Oh good. They've made it."
In reality (and doctrinally), marriage (of any kind) is NOT a destination. It is a stepping stone in the process of life. I fundamentally believe that a temple marriage DOES provide extra support and strength to weather the storms of life (internal to, and external of, the marriage). But it does not mean "you've made it."
I have been particularly alarmed of late noticing that young women see marriage as an endpoint. An "arrival" where all will be well if they have the right kind of marriage ceremony. I see those with whom myself and my siblings were raised - with variations on the same theme - and see a staggering pattern of young women who view marriage as a dependent relationship and as their ultimate life's goal.
There is nothing wrong with marriage. There is nothing wrong with having a goal to be married. What scares me is the view of a marriage relationship as a dependency and as THE one and only goal. Should it be a goal? Absolutely! But it shouldn't be the culminating goal on a life's "to accomplish list" - it marks the end of a solitary journey and the beginning of a journey together, which should bring with it an even longer set of dreams, hopes and goals - and work.
Case in point: My youngest brother knows someone whose sole desire in life is to get married, at all costs. In her early 20s, she is desperate to get married. Rather than putting energy into improving herself and building a life (and a persona) that is attractive to men, she dropped out of school, works a dead-end job and lives at home - and concentrates on pushing marriage on every person she dates.
She will achieve her goal of marriage - and probably even temple marriage - but I wonder what kind of marriage it will be? Where does she go from there? What does she have to offer her husband, future children, society? It's not just a lack of formal education, but a lack of life education - the inability to cook, be independent, take care of a household. Yet everyone will cheer for her success and say "all is well," because "the goal" has been reached.
Marriage is hard. It is wonderful and sustaining and fulfilling, but it is hard. It takes work. Neither love (nor a temple marriage) is enough to sustain a relationship. An enormous amount of love combined with work, mutual goals, continual improvement, charity, long-suffering, patience, more work, selflessness, tolerance, acceptance, companionship, and so forth make up a marriage, a long with a good does of reality, forgiveness and a sense of humor.
I cringe to see young women (and young men) enter into one of the most sacred, complex unions completely unprepared. One can never be perfectly prepared, for that would require one (and one's spouse-to-be) to be perfect. Yet, there is an amount of preparedness that one can achieve prior saying "I do" - in preparing oneself to be able to take care of, and provide for, oneself. Some are ready very young. Some are not. Marriage is not a surrender to "here - take care of me forever!" it is a joining of two souls with mutual goals and aspirations, vowing to care for, love and support one another.
I'm by no means an expert. I've only been married five years, and Himself and I are still a work in progress (something akin to how I see Jackson Pollock paintings). But as the number of marriages that fail continues to rise, as the world screams "if you don't feel butterflies, it isn't love," I wonder what kind of disservice we as a culture and society are doing to teach our youth that marriage is a destination, implying that what follows are years of effortless perfection, bliss and butterflies.
I pray I don't fall into the same unintentional cycle as I raise Baby Girl.
End of rant. Off my soapbox.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Little Miss Sunshine
Parents are inherently biased towards their own kids, but with that caveat, I do believe Baby Girl is quite possibly the happiest little girl on the planet.
She has spent her life in a state of calm contentedness - fascinated with the world around her - each new site, sound or event an adventure to be soaked up, each new face to be greeted with a flash of a toothless smile. I don't doubt that all mothers have a special bond with their children, but ours feels different somehow - like a couple of old souls, best friends, separated by a generation.
She rarely cries, and giggles at the slightest things - when we mimic her, when we play games, when we tickle her, when we make ridiculously goofy faces. Her laugh is a deep belly laugh.
Yesterday, rather than tackling much of the work that needed doing inside, I took Baby Girl and we ran a few errands and visited a museum downtown. She rode in her Snugli against me and delighted customers at both Costco and the grocery store - watching (er, staring) various people intently, turning her head from side to side to soak in all the people, the sights and sounds. When spoken to, she flashed a huge grin.
At the museum, she was quiet as a mouse, turning her head this way and that when we went into a new exhibit, absorbing the new visual stimuli. Mid-way through, it was time for her mid-afternoon snack. Since we had to go to formula during the day two weeks ago, due to chronic weight issues, I found a bench in a quiet corner of the museum, made a bottle (silently giving thanks that Baby Girl happily drinks room temperature anything) and people-watched while she fed herself (such little skinny arms and tiny hands holding such a huge, heavy bottle makes me laugh every time).
A woman from the museum came over and started to chat with me. She said, "I've been watching. I've never seen an infant look so interested in the exhibits. She is certainly well-behaved." I told her how Baby Girl has long been portable not just in size, but in temperament - happy to be along for the ride, experiencing new things and seemingly absorbing everything along the way. Times will change, when that independent streak hits and she can mobilize on her own, but for now, I'm enjoying the quiet moments (and convenience) of her absolute contentment.
After her bottle, we finished the exhibits I wanted to see, and left about an hour later. We had been gone a total of five hours. She played happily on her activity mat for another hour while I put groceries away and started roasting a chicken. She flashed a huge grin to Himself when he arrived home and delighted both of us with a laughing spell that lasted a full five minutes.
I don't know what I did to warrant such a happy little soul, but the sunshine and peace she brings into our home and our lives is remarkable. I only hope that someday she realizes the magnitude of her contribution to our home in the few short months she's graced us with her presence.
She has spent her life in a state of calm contentedness - fascinated with the world around her - each new site, sound or event an adventure to be soaked up, each new face to be greeted with a flash of a toothless smile. I don't doubt that all mothers have a special bond with their children, but ours feels different somehow - like a couple of old souls, best friends, separated by a generation.
She rarely cries, and giggles at the slightest things - when we mimic her, when we play games, when we tickle her, when we make ridiculously goofy faces. Her laugh is a deep belly laugh.
Yesterday, rather than tackling much of the work that needed doing inside, I took Baby Girl and we ran a few errands and visited a museum downtown. She rode in her Snugli against me and delighted customers at both Costco and the grocery store - watching (er, staring) various people intently, turning her head from side to side to soak in all the people, the sights and sounds. When spoken to, she flashed a huge grin.
At the museum, she was quiet as a mouse, turning her head this way and that when we went into a new exhibit, absorbing the new visual stimuli. Mid-way through, it was time for her mid-afternoon snack. Since we had to go to formula during the day two weeks ago, due to chronic weight issues, I found a bench in a quiet corner of the museum, made a bottle (silently giving thanks that Baby Girl happily drinks room temperature anything) and people-watched while she fed herself (such little skinny arms and tiny hands holding such a huge, heavy bottle makes me laugh every time).
A woman from the museum came over and started to chat with me. She said, "I've been watching. I've never seen an infant look so interested in the exhibits. She is certainly well-behaved." I told her how Baby Girl has long been portable not just in size, but in temperament - happy to be along for the ride, experiencing new things and seemingly absorbing everything along the way. Times will change, when that independent streak hits and she can mobilize on her own, but for now, I'm enjoying the quiet moments (and convenience) of her absolute contentment.
After her bottle, we finished the exhibits I wanted to see, and left about an hour later. We had been gone a total of five hours. She played happily on her activity mat for another hour while I put groceries away and started roasting a chicken. She flashed a huge grin to Himself when he arrived home and delighted both of us with a laughing spell that lasted a full five minutes.
I don't know what I did to warrant such a happy little soul, but the sunshine and peace she brings into our home and our lives is remarkable. I only hope that someday she realizes the magnitude of her contribution to our home in the few short months she's graced us with her presence.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
One Moment in Time
One year ago today, the bottom fell out of my world.
I had come back to the office after a meeting, when my boss asked me to go with her upstairs (at that point "upstairs" was the executive suites and HR) - never a good sign, especially when followed with, "You need to trust me that everything will be okay."
Five minutes later I was told that my job was ending in 5 hours.
I sat, numb, unable to speak for fear that emotion would swallow me whole and leave me in a melted puddle of black silk, hose and high heels. The first thing through my head was how it could be me facing this - me, the one who had finally found a company with whom I could see myself for years to come; me, the one who, at 12 1/2 weeks pregnant and the primary income in our house, was not in a position to suddenly be jobless; me, who had grown out of her position, but was still hesitant to leave the friends, the mentoring, the slim thread of a future. They offered me a week to decide if I wanted to take a counter-offer - a position I had no desire for, no future in, but meant stability in the short-term. Unable to fathom walking out the doors forever on five hours' notice, I numbly nodded my head.
Worst of all? An hour later I had to appear at an interview for Marketing Director of the Year, for which the same company that had just told me "sorry ... no job" had nominated me. I willed myself not to cry on the drive there, for I didn't have any extra mascara on me.
I spent the weekend angry, crying and bitter. I allowed myself 48 hours to feel any emotion I wanted - to rage against overpaid executives who thought my pathetically small salary outweighed my contributions to the company and would save a few bucks. I allowed myself to be scared, even though the voice of reason had whispered "it will be okay." I allowed myself to vent, to steam, to shout, to think horrible thoughts.
Monday morning came, my deadline to quit behaving badly. I put on an air of resolve and vowed to be strong and stalwart. I was the consummate professional - organizing, filing and preparing reports on the status of my projects; speaking highly of the company who had shattered my confidence and security; working hard at the new job, which provided little satisfaction and no challenge. Little did I know that two months later, I would be interviewing for positions and contemplating a move to The Frontier.
A year, numerous interviews, another layoff, three jobs, one move and a baby later, here I am.
I am not sure what to think.
I had come back to the office after a meeting, when my boss asked me to go with her upstairs (at that point "upstairs" was the executive suites and HR) - never a good sign, especially when followed with, "You need to trust me that everything will be okay."
Five minutes later I was told that my job was ending in 5 hours.
I sat, numb, unable to speak for fear that emotion would swallow me whole and leave me in a melted puddle of black silk, hose and high heels. The first thing through my head was how it could be me facing this - me, the one who had finally found a company with whom I could see myself for years to come; me, the one who, at 12 1/2 weeks pregnant and the primary income in our house, was not in a position to suddenly be jobless; me, who had grown out of her position, but was still hesitant to leave the friends, the mentoring, the slim thread of a future. They offered me a week to decide if I wanted to take a counter-offer - a position I had no desire for, no future in, but meant stability in the short-term. Unable to fathom walking out the doors forever on five hours' notice, I numbly nodded my head.
Worst of all? An hour later I had to appear at an interview for Marketing Director of the Year, for which the same company that had just told me "sorry ... no job" had nominated me. I willed myself not to cry on the drive there, for I didn't have any extra mascara on me.
I spent the weekend angry, crying and bitter. I allowed myself 48 hours to feel any emotion I wanted - to rage against overpaid executives who thought my pathetically small salary outweighed my contributions to the company and would save a few bucks. I allowed myself to be scared, even though the voice of reason had whispered "it will be okay." I allowed myself to vent, to steam, to shout, to think horrible thoughts.
Monday morning came, my deadline to quit behaving badly. I put on an air of resolve and vowed to be strong and stalwart. I was the consummate professional - organizing, filing and preparing reports on the status of my projects; speaking highly of the company who had shattered my confidence and security; working hard at the new job, which provided little satisfaction and no challenge. Little did I know that two months later, I would be interviewing for positions and contemplating a move to The Frontier.
A year, numerous interviews, another layoff, three jobs, one move and a baby later, here I am.
I am not sure what to think.
In Suspense
I have a "To Do" list that is long enough to keep me busy long past hibernation season is over, but all I want to do today is hibernate.
Well, not entirely true. I'd like to go exploring, but there are at least six batches of laundry, both the kitchen and bathroom need to be scrubbed, last week's clean laundry is all in the nursery, begging to be folded, the floors need attention, I need to make a small grocery list and ... we won't even discuss the state of my bedroom.
Besides, it's raining. And cold. And Himself and friend went off skiing today, leaving me with the Hoopty, which isn't good on wet streets. And I have no idea where I'd actually go exploring, given that I can't seem to find anything going on and it's cold and rainy outside.
So, I've sat here for the 40 minutes that Baby Girl has been asleep, thinking I really should DO something while she's asleep, as it's much easier to clean when she's sleeping. Nothing happens.
I sit here in my Christmas pj bottoms and an enormous Snoopy sweater and wonder how on earth I could possibly be wasting my one real weekend day just sitting here.
Well, not entirely true. I'd like to go exploring, but there are at least six batches of laundry, both the kitchen and bathroom need to be scrubbed, last week's clean laundry is all in the nursery, begging to be folded, the floors need attention, I need to make a small grocery list and ... we won't even discuss the state of my bedroom.
Besides, it's raining. And cold. And Himself and friend went off skiing today, leaving me with the Hoopty, which isn't good on wet streets. And I have no idea where I'd actually go exploring, given that I can't seem to find anything going on and it's cold and rainy outside.
So, I've sat here for the 40 minutes that Baby Girl has been asleep, thinking I really should DO something while she's asleep, as it's much easier to clean when she's sleeping. Nothing happens.
I sit here in my Christmas pj bottoms and an enormous Snoopy sweater and wonder how on earth I could possibly be wasting my one real weekend day just sitting here.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Through the Looking Glass
Being stripped to your very core, exposing your soul to the elements is fundamentally exhausting.
Discovering that what you thought was wrong with you is only one tiny little component is terrifying.
Spending three hours under a microscope and having to be brutally honest with yourself is more revealing than comforting.
It's a good thing I'm working from home tomorrow and having lunch with a total stranger, whom I hope will turn into my first not-from-Virginia-friend-in-Utah.
Because sleep isn't coming anytime soon.
Discovering that what you thought was wrong with you is only one tiny little component is terrifying.
Spending three hours under a microscope and having to be brutally honest with yourself is more revealing than comforting.
It's a good thing I'm working from home tomorrow and having lunch with a total stranger, whom I hope will turn into my first not-from-Virginia-friend-in-Utah.
Because sleep isn't coming anytime soon.
Side Note
Sushi aside, I've realized that Shrimp Paneer is quite possibly one of my favorite foods.
Simple, easy to make, full of vibrant, heated flavor ... the perfect comfort food for all the right reasons (unless you're my thighs).
It's 11 p.m., and I'm just now able to eat the dinner I made 5 hours ago.
And it is perfect. Nutty, aromatic basmati rice. Large gulf shrimp (from a crazy sale back when we were both employed), smooth, melty pieces of paneer bathed in a wonderfully creamy tomato base, a vibrant explosion of a number of spices. Mild enough to not interrupt the flavor, spicy enough to make your lips tingle for a moment after the last bite.
Never mind I'll have heartburn from the spices, the cheese and the tomatoes.
For five blissful minutes, all was right with the world.
Simple, easy to make, full of vibrant, heated flavor ... the perfect comfort food for all the right reasons (unless you're my thighs).
It's 11 p.m., and I'm just now able to eat the dinner I made 5 hours ago.
And it is perfect. Nutty, aromatic basmati rice. Large gulf shrimp (from a crazy sale back when we were both employed), smooth, melty pieces of paneer bathed in a wonderfully creamy tomato base, a vibrant explosion of a number of spices. Mild enough to not interrupt the flavor, spicy enough to make your lips tingle for a moment after the last bite.
Never mind I'll have heartburn from the spices, the cheese and the tomatoes.
For five blissful minutes, all was right with the world.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Old Friends & Introductions, Part II
...Continued from here.
* The Brown Brigade - If I could be like anyone when I grow up, it would be to have the literary genius, the talent with words and the delightfully brilliant son of Julie. One of my best nights this month involved nibbling on Chinese food, catching up and just plain enjoying Bruce & Julie (and Colter's!) company. Our lives are certainly more dull without them as neighbors, now that we've moved to The Frontier.
* The Nordstrom Family - Megan is someone else I've known since junior high, and our worlds keep colliding here and there. We had the briefest of chances almost 18 months to catch up while she was in Maryland visiting family. Neither of us had been able to make our class reunion, so we indulged ourselves in a little catching up of our own - swapping stories about friends and classmates and laughing about wonderful memories of days gone by.
* The Rollins Rundown - More friends from Virginia, who are now living their lives in the wonders of South America. If it weren't for Fiona's delightful posts about cockroaches (delightful in her ability to make something grossly disturbing be actually funny), I might be envious. As it is, I don't do cockroaches. A definite "must read" if you have any interest in children, odd facts, history, culture and great ways to kill cockroaches.
* The Welcome Matt - Matt and I shared our senior year at the school down the road together. We were members of what I am convinced was the MOST functional senior practicum/thesis team in history. No drama, no whining, everyone shared equal loads - probably because I was the only female on the team. We worked ourselves nearly to death, but pulled out an A - and our project still lives on in legend as it is used as an example of what should be done. Matt now lives in Virginia, practices law in DC, is a Harvard law alum and a dad to two little girls. I read his blog more as an education than anything, as he's one of the most intelligent people I know. I also borrow liberally from his suggested reading list to supplement my own literary habits.
* Twinkies - More Virginia friends, who have a houseful of girls. How they manage three under three, I'm not entirely sure. Somehow though, there is always a great deal of fun and laughter that goes on.
* What A Wonderful World - Heidi has the most enviable collection of shoes on the planet. Many Sundays came and went where I found myself silently coveting her shoes from across the room. I don't doubt that even though she's now the mother of twin toddler boys that her shoe collection is still to be envied.
* The Brown Brigade - If I could be like anyone when I grow up, it would be to have the literary genius, the talent with words and the delightfully brilliant son of Julie. One of my best nights this month involved nibbling on Chinese food, catching up and just plain enjoying Bruce & Julie (and Colter's!) company. Our lives are certainly more dull without them as neighbors, now that we've moved to The Frontier.
* The Nordstrom Family - Megan is someone else I've known since junior high, and our worlds keep colliding here and there. We had the briefest of chances almost 18 months to catch up while she was in Maryland visiting family. Neither of us had been able to make our class reunion, so we indulged ourselves in a little catching up of our own - swapping stories about friends and classmates and laughing about wonderful memories of days gone by.
* The Rollins Rundown - More friends from Virginia, who are now living their lives in the wonders of South America. If it weren't for Fiona's delightful posts about cockroaches (delightful in her ability to make something grossly disturbing be actually funny), I might be envious. As it is, I don't do cockroaches. A definite "must read" if you have any interest in children, odd facts, history, culture and great ways to kill cockroaches.
* The Welcome Matt - Matt and I shared our senior year at the school down the road together. We were members of what I am convinced was the MOST functional senior practicum/thesis team in history. No drama, no whining, everyone shared equal loads - probably because I was the only female on the team. We worked ourselves nearly to death, but pulled out an A - and our project still lives on in legend as it is used as an example of what should be done. Matt now lives in Virginia, practices law in DC, is a Harvard law alum and a dad to two little girls. I read his blog more as an education than anything, as he's one of the most intelligent people I know. I also borrow liberally from his suggested reading list to supplement my own literary habits.
* Twinkies - More Virginia friends, who have a houseful of girls. How they manage three under three, I'm not entirely sure. Somehow though, there is always a great deal of fun and laughter that goes on.
* What A Wonderful World - Heidi has the most enviable collection of shoes on the planet. Many Sundays came and went where I found myself silently coveting her shoes from across the room. I don't doubt that even though she's now the mother of twin toddler boys that her shoe collection is still to be envied.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Old Friends & Introductions
I love the Internet and its ability to connect (and keep connected) people, regardless of geographic distance. I especially love it since I am terrible at keeping in touch with people, although they are continually in my thoughts.
Today was a day for reconnecting with old friends - a Facebook invite from someone I went to high school with, a note from an old friend in Virginia, whom I know longer remember how we met, and, best of all, an e-mail from a woman I have known for 7 years, since first moving to Virginia Beach. She and another group of women posted to a site for Himself's ship, eons ago when he was in the Navy. Slowly, we all began to meet. We bonded together as the ship and its sailors (and our husbands, boyfriends and fiances) departed and returned in a seemingly endless cycle of work-ups and deployments. I was young, in a new city, knowing no one. They were older, wise and full of life.
Time went on, and I lost contact. Until today. I received a wonderful e-mail from one of the women, who filled me in on the lives of the rest of the group and the happy and sad events of the past few years. It reminded me how much these women had become family for that year, how much "family" has been constructed of assorted friends of all ages, backgrounds and beliefs over the past decade.
It made me think about the people whose blogs I read here - the online community that allows me to associate, to connect, to revel in good friends. It's high time, I thought, that I should make introductions.
* 5 under 7 - Beth has THE cutest kids on the planet (and as a mother of a cute kid, I should know). Her little girl, Lauren, was in our nursery class in Virginia. She was independent, charming and smart - and a true girl with every fiber of her being. The entire family sat every Sunday on the front row - something I cannot fathom surviving, even with only one little girl of my own.
* Abby's Road Trip - Abby is a member of another site I belong to, and began chronicling her cross-country motorcycle trip last summer. Her blog fills my fascination with all things road trip, as well as reminding me of the wonderful times I spent in the motorcycle industry several years ago.
* Angela & Steve - Angela and I met at Heidi's wedding reception 5+ years ago, and became friends when Heidi moved away and we moved to Northern VA to take her place. We are about as sporadically likely to keep in touch as we were to see each other, but her sense of humor and her passion for life are intoxicating.
* Chronicles of the Flood - For those of you who haven't heard the story we love to tell for the shock value of it, Himself and Heidi dated once upon a time. To explain beyond that how she and I met would take a novel of epic proportion. Suffice it to say, she has remained one of my closest friends over the six years we've known each other, culminating in Heidi being my labor coach. If we had Godmothers (or Fairy Godmothers), Heidi would be Baby Girl's.
* Large Plates - Oliver & Kristen met Himself way back when as well (back when he and Heidi were dating). Fast forward a few years, and I meet them at Heidi's wedding. Fast forward a few more years, and we end up living in the same neighborhood, attending the same church, and collecting their friends. I held baby Clara when she was just hours old (See "A Very Important Event") and was amazed to see her two weeks ago looking oh-so-grown up. Oliver and Kristen together create the most perfect assembly of conversational geniuses I've ever known.
* My Friend Andy - This blog is written by a woman I've only "known" virtually, who belongs to the same site that Abby and I do. She has amazing writing talent and a soul that truly knows the pure meaning of friendship.
* Stef's Stuff - While I've known Stefanie since junior high, my greatest memories of her come from our freshman year of college when she continually wowed my roommate and I with her creative ways to stay in touch - a letter mailed in a Last Will & Testament envelope, one mailed on calculator tape inside a paper towel tube, etc. Not to be outdone, we composed a letter using an entire roll of toilet paper. A few years later, she left me a key to her house and notes with before photos to tour her remodeled home while she was out of town and I was passing through. Effectively, I've seen her house in the last decade, but not her. Stef was also my very first friend with e-mail. Nearly 12 years and seven kids later (six hers, one mine), we still manage to collide once in awhile.
**TO BE CONTINUED**
Today was a day for reconnecting with old friends - a Facebook invite from someone I went to high school with, a note from an old friend in Virginia, whom I know longer remember how we met, and, best of all, an e-mail from a woman I have known for 7 years, since first moving to Virginia Beach. She and another group of women posted to a site for Himself's ship, eons ago when he was in the Navy. Slowly, we all began to meet. We bonded together as the ship and its sailors (and our husbands, boyfriends and fiances) departed and returned in a seemingly endless cycle of work-ups and deployments. I was young, in a new city, knowing no one. They were older, wise and full of life.
Time went on, and I lost contact. Until today. I received a wonderful e-mail from one of the women, who filled me in on the lives of the rest of the group and the happy and sad events of the past few years. It reminded me how much these women had become family for that year, how much "family" has been constructed of assorted friends of all ages, backgrounds and beliefs over the past decade.
It made me think about the people whose blogs I read here - the online community that allows me to associate, to connect, to revel in good friends. It's high time, I thought, that I should make introductions.
* 5 under 7 - Beth has THE cutest kids on the planet (and as a mother of a cute kid, I should know). Her little girl, Lauren, was in our nursery class in Virginia. She was independent, charming and smart - and a true girl with every fiber of her being. The entire family sat every Sunday on the front row - something I cannot fathom surviving, even with only one little girl of my own.
* Abby's Road Trip - Abby is a member of another site I belong to, and began chronicling her cross-country motorcycle trip last summer. Her blog fills my fascination with all things road trip, as well as reminding me of the wonderful times I spent in the motorcycle industry several years ago.
* Angela & Steve - Angela and I met at Heidi's wedding reception 5+ years ago, and became friends when Heidi moved away and we moved to Northern VA to take her place. We are about as sporadically likely to keep in touch as we were to see each other, but her sense of humor and her passion for life are intoxicating.
* Chronicles of the Flood - For those of you who haven't heard the story we love to tell for the shock value of it, Himself and Heidi dated once upon a time. To explain beyond that how she and I met would take a novel of epic proportion. Suffice it to say, she has remained one of my closest friends over the six years we've known each other, culminating in Heidi being my labor coach. If we had Godmothers (or Fairy Godmothers), Heidi would be Baby Girl's.
* Large Plates - Oliver & Kristen met Himself way back when as well (back when he and Heidi were dating). Fast forward a few years, and I meet them at Heidi's wedding. Fast forward a few more years, and we end up living in the same neighborhood, attending the same church, and collecting their friends. I held baby Clara when she was just hours old (See "A Very Important Event") and was amazed to see her two weeks ago looking oh-so-grown up. Oliver and Kristen together create the most perfect assembly of conversational geniuses I've ever known.
* My Friend Andy - This blog is written by a woman I've only "known" virtually, who belongs to the same site that Abby and I do. She has amazing writing talent and a soul that truly knows the pure meaning of friendship.
* Stef's Stuff - While I've known Stefanie since junior high, my greatest memories of her come from our freshman year of college when she continually wowed my roommate and I with her creative ways to stay in touch - a letter mailed in a Last Will & Testament envelope, one mailed on calculator tape inside a paper towel tube, etc. Not to be outdone, we composed a letter using an entire roll of toilet paper. A few years later, she left me a key to her house and notes with before photos to tour her remodeled home while she was out of town and I was passing through. Effectively, I've seen her house in the last decade, but not her. Stef was also my very first friend with e-mail. Nearly 12 years and seven kids later (six hers, one mine), we still manage to collide once in awhile.
**TO BE CONTINUED**
Monday, February 18, 2008
Back Seat Yoga
I keep hoping to have a little extra money to start a yoga class one of these days, after an extremely successful venture into yoga during pregnancy. No such luck yet. However, this weekend I got 9+ hours of practice driving to and from The Parents' house. It's what happens when you try to haul a baby (and all the assorted paraphernalia) and all of Himself's assorted ski stuff in a compact car - necessitating that my 5'9" frame be folded into the back seat next to Baby Girl, smooshed behind Himself and next to the end of the skis, which got the passenger seat all to themselves.
There was no downward facing dog or warrior positions, but there were several others:
*Sideways facing professional: Buried in work, I took the opportunity to engage in some productivity on the way down, plugging my laptop into a power inverter and typing away, answering the occasional e-mail on my trusty Blackberry. Of course, Himself's seat was almost in my lap, necessitating that I turn almost sideways in order to be able to open my laptop far enough to actually be useful.
*Contoured feeding machine: Since Baby Girl eats every three hours and the drive is 4+ hours, I had to give Baby Girl a bottle on the way. In order to get the right angle with the bottle, I had to lean back to miss the skis dividing the back seat into two, twisting myself into previously unattainable positions.
*Sleepy mom: On the return trip I finagled a reverse sideways position, using the side of Baby Girl's seat and her soft pink blankie as a pillow. I actually think I slept more than Baby Girl did - until she started pulling my hair.
And here I was wondering what possessed people to buy larger vehicles upon the birth of just one child.
Silly me.
There was no downward facing dog or warrior positions, but there were several others:
*Sideways facing professional: Buried in work, I took the opportunity to engage in some productivity on the way down, plugging my laptop into a power inverter and typing away, answering the occasional e-mail on my trusty Blackberry. Of course, Himself's seat was almost in my lap, necessitating that I turn almost sideways in order to be able to open my laptop far enough to actually be useful.
*Contoured feeding machine: Since Baby Girl eats every three hours and the drive is 4+ hours, I had to give Baby Girl a bottle on the way. In order to get the right angle with the bottle, I had to lean back to miss the skis dividing the back seat into two, twisting myself into previously unattainable positions.
*Sleepy mom: On the return trip I finagled a reverse sideways position, using the side of Baby Girl's seat and her soft pink blankie as a pillow. I actually think I slept more than Baby Girl did - until she started pulling my hair.
And here I was wondering what possessed people to buy larger vehicles upon the birth of just one child.
Silly me.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Fire & Ice (or Snow, rather)
It snowed yesterday.
I realize that it snows frequently in The Frontier, even more so than usual this year (Global Warming, what?!), but yesterday's snowstorm was significant because we had been without snow for a whole week.
Not only had we been without snow, but it had been in the 50s (of course I was in DC for most of it) for several days, meaning that the snow on our driveway had completely melted for the first time in two months. (There was still a good 4" on the front lawn). No longer. There is now a good 8-10" on our front lawn, and the driveway has two deep tire tracks, as no one got up early enough this morning to actually shovel anything.
Making matters more interesting, the snowstorm hit its hardest during rush hour, always a great way to spend the entirety of one's evening - watching the snow from inside one's toasty warm car, cross-eyed from focusing so intently on the rear lights of the car in front of you, creeping along the bench at -5 mph.
The only relief is that it isn't supposed to snow again (according to the only-sometimes-correct weatherman) for another week. Maybe. Toes and fingers crossed.
So yesterday ended bad; today started out bad. Car was buried. Driveway was buried. Driveway into the sitter's complex nearly bested my poor, non-snow worthy car.
It continued along that course.
Our building caught on fire. One of the suites in The Factory's building had some sort of fire (albeit small) that disrupted the entire building's productivity for 30 minutes while the fireman fixed the fire and another 30 minutes while they scurried around trying to figure out why the alarm was still going off.
An hour later, everyone settled into their comfortable (and only semi-productive at this point) routines, the power went off - on the entire block.
We work on laptops - battery power lasts for several hours - unfortunately, the server which we connect to (owned and operated by the company with whom we office share) does not. I, having possession of the evil Blackberry, was the only one with internet/e-mail access.
It was off for an hour.
Seriously. I haven't even waded through the 100 e-mails I received overnight. Am I going to accomplish anything?
I realize that it snows frequently in The Frontier, even more so than usual this year (Global Warming, what?!), but yesterday's snowstorm was significant because we had been without snow for a whole week.
Not only had we been without snow, but it had been in the 50s (of course I was in DC for most of it) for several days, meaning that the snow on our driveway had completely melted for the first time in two months. (There was still a good 4" on the front lawn). No longer. There is now a good 8-10" on our front lawn, and the driveway has two deep tire tracks, as no one got up early enough this morning to actually shovel anything.
Making matters more interesting, the snowstorm hit its hardest during rush hour, always a great way to spend the entirety of one's evening - watching the snow from inside one's toasty warm car, cross-eyed from focusing so intently on the rear lights of the car in front of you, creeping along the bench at -5 mph.
The only relief is that it isn't supposed to snow again (according to the only-sometimes-correct weatherman) for another week. Maybe. Toes and fingers crossed.
So yesterday ended bad; today started out bad. Car was buried. Driveway was buried. Driveway into the sitter's complex nearly bested my poor, non-snow worthy car.
It continued along that course.
Our building caught on fire. One of the suites in The Factory's building had some sort of fire (albeit small) that disrupted the entire building's productivity for 30 minutes while the fireman fixed the fire and another 30 minutes while they scurried around trying to figure out why the alarm was still going off.
An hour later, everyone settled into their comfortable (and only semi-productive at this point) routines, the power went off - on the entire block.
We work on laptops - battery power lasts for several hours - unfortunately, the server which we connect to (owned and operated by the company with whom we office share) does not. I, having possession of the evil Blackberry, was the only one with internet/e-mail access.
It was off for an hour.
Seriously. I haven't even waded through the 100 e-mails I received overnight. Am I going to accomplish anything?
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Ode to Connecticut (the Avenue)
Did you know the state song of Connecticut is Yankee Doodle? Does it really matter? Not so much.
Connecticut is a fine state (somewhere there is a photo of me at the Connecticut welcome center, just outside Danbury across from NY - on our honeymoon, that photo was taken to commemorate my first foray into the great state of Connecticut and New England itself. Himself still teases me about it - especially since I was wearing my Farmer John overalls, which he loathes).
But Connecticut, while a fine state, isn't the Connecticut I love most. My favorite street in DC is Connecticut Ave. I have many fond memories schlepping up and down Connecticut Ave. in a tour bus or school bus or other such vehicle when I worked as a youth tour guide in DC. I have some not-quite-as-fond memories about the street, from the times when I was commuting via train from Maryland to DC, there was a fire in the tunnel, and I walked several miles UP Connecticut Ave. from Dupont Circle to Brandywine, approaching the MD border. In the humidity of late June.
My trip to DC this past week took me to a hotel just off Connecticut, where the convention was held. To illustrate my nerdiness about DC, as I was carpooling in with a friend, I was crazy-excited about cutting through Georgetown to get to upper Connecticut Ave. because it brought back so many memories. Having lived with me for several years, she was gracious enough to realize it was truly heartfelt emotion rather than hormonal insanity and thankfully let it pass without too much mocking. On my last day at the convention, I set out to wander along Connecticut Ave. in the warm afternoon sun, after I completed my work.
I love Connecticut Ave. It is one of the most vibrant streets in the city, entering DC at Chevy Chase circle among large, expensive homes, small shops and tiny strip malls. It meanders south, passing the University of the District of Columbia, the Uptown Theater (where movies premiering in DC actually premier - and the only theater in the city with a working balcony), the strip mall across from the Uptown theater, which had the first off-street parking in DC - back when off-street parking was considered a developmental accomplishment instead of sprawl. Along the way it passes the zoo, the Taft Memorial Bridge, the fine homes and embassies south of Rock Creek Park, the shops and cafes of Dupont Circle, and the business district as Connecticut meets K street - home to DCs power brokers - lobbyists, lawyers and consulting firms.
My walk took me to the National Zoo. Having not paid homage to the baby (though not so little) panda in a very long time, I wandered into the zoo, drifted among families with strollers and small children and couples linked arm-in-arm using the zoo their own lovers' lane. I remembered all the times we brought Son to the zoo when he was little - back when I was the cool girlfriend instead of the wicked step-mother, back when he loved to ride the train so much, we'd sometimes ride it back and forth across the river - or up to the zoo - just for fun. I found myself anxiously awaiting the day when Baby Girl would be excited to go to the zoo - and longed to bring her to the places that are seared in my memory for a thousand different reasons.
For a moment, none of the stress of life existed - no bills to pay, no unemployment woes, no one needing me just then, no need to think about the future, or the time or what was on the perpetual to do list.
I basked in the sun, took in the scents of the handful of Indian, Lebanese and Mediterranean cafes, embraced the fact that not one person sharing the sidewalk with me was just like me and, for the first time in months, felt as if, even if only for a moment, that I belonged.
It's a good thing I got a dose of reality in the form of horrid Saturday-night traffic, or I might have missed my plane back to the real world.
Connecticut is a fine state (somewhere there is a photo of me at the Connecticut welcome center, just outside Danbury across from NY - on our honeymoon, that photo was taken to commemorate my first foray into the great state of Connecticut and New England itself. Himself still teases me about it - especially since I was wearing my Farmer John overalls, which he loathes).
But Connecticut, while a fine state, isn't the Connecticut I love most. My favorite street in DC is Connecticut Ave. I have many fond memories schlepping up and down Connecticut Ave. in a tour bus or school bus or other such vehicle when I worked as a youth tour guide in DC. I have some not-quite-as-fond memories about the street, from the times when I was commuting via train from Maryland to DC, there was a fire in the tunnel, and I walked several miles UP Connecticut Ave. from Dupont Circle to Brandywine, approaching the MD border. In the humidity of late June.
My trip to DC this past week took me to a hotel just off Connecticut, where the convention was held. To illustrate my nerdiness about DC, as I was carpooling in with a friend, I was crazy-excited about cutting through Georgetown to get to upper Connecticut Ave. because it brought back so many memories. Having lived with me for several years, she was gracious enough to realize it was truly heartfelt emotion rather than hormonal insanity and thankfully let it pass without too much mocking. On my last day at the convention, I set out to wander along Connecticut Ave. in the warm afternoon sun, after I completed my work.
I love Connecticut Ave. It is one of the most vibrant streets in the city, entering DC at Chevy Chase circle among large, expensive homes, small shops and tiny strip malls. It meanders south, passing the University of the District of Columbia, the Uptown Theater (where movies premiering in DC actually premier - and the only theater in the city with a working balcony), the strip mall across from the Uptown theater, which had the first off-street parking in DC - back when off-street parking was considered a developmental accomplishment instead of sprawl. Along the way it passes the zoo, the Taft Memorial Bridge, the fine homes and embassies south of Rock Creek Park, the shops and cafes of Dupont Circle, and the business district as Connecticut meets K street - home to DCs power brokers - lobbyists, lawyers and consulting firms.
My walk took me to the National Zoo. Having not paid homage to the baby (though not so little) panda in a very long time, I wandered into the zoo, drifted among families with strollers and small children and couples linked arm-in-arm using the zoo their own lovers' lane. I remembered all the times we brought Son to the zoo when he was little - back when I was the cool girlfriend instead of the wicked step-mother, back when he loved to ride the train so much, we'd sometimes ride it back and forth across the river - or up to the zoo - just for fun. I found myself anxiously awaiting the day when Baby Girl would be excited to go to the zoo - and longed to bring her to the places that are seared in my memory for a thousand different reasons.
For a moment, none of the stress of life existed - no bills to pay, no unemployment woes, no one needing me just then, no need to think about the future, or the time or what was on the perpetual to do list.
I basked in the sun, took in the scents of the handful of Indian, Lebanese and Mediterranean cafes, embraced the fact that not one person sharing the sidewalk with me was just like me and, for the first time in months, felt as if, even if only for a moment, that I belonged.
It's a good thing I got a dose of reality in the form of horrid Saturday-night traffic, or I might have missed my plane back to the real world.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Voyeurism
So much to write ... so little time.
I spent three days in DC attending a political convention for a client. I have always remained painfully neutral on paper regarding politics, so I can easily slide between one side and the other, voting my mind, feeling beholden to no one.
Going to this convention was not neutral. However, I approached it with a sort of open mind - going to test the waters again. I've been disenfranchised with politics and parties of late. As a friend said on Sunday, "I'm too passionate about politics to be this apathetic," which describes me exactly.
I left feeling as if my political ideologies had been crushed to smithereens. I left feeling almost personally attacked. I left, tempted for a moment, to do a radical about-face and run screaming to the other side of the aisle, before realizing that if I attended one of THEIR political conventions, I'd likely feel the same way.
It happens when you mix religion and politics, I guess, or try to.
During the course of a few workshops and interactions, I heard my religion condemned. In vicious, bold strokes, the panelists and attendees painted a picture of what the party's membership encompassed. They made it clear that as a member of this religion, I was not fit to hold the same political ideologies because I didn't share the same fundamental belief in God. They made it clear that they didn't tolerate diversity of theological ideology. They mocked someone challenging a tenet - in front of 100 people. They mocked another person for daring to label certain actions as religious and cultural bigotry. They insinuated that if one didn't believe the same way he or she was Godless, a liar and a poor excuse for an American.
I left, feeling stunned, shaken to my very core. When the emotion passed, I regained sanity and the realization that it was all just rhetoric and pomp. I've seen the other side do the same thing, though it's never been personal to me.
It made me sick. It made me shrink and wonder what happens to make people so convinced that they are the only people in the world who are right. It made me sick to hear specific attacks made. It made me sick to hear someone call someone else a liar, even if she was a bit eccentric. It made me sick to realize that, as Americans, we still don't embrace agreeing to disagree. We convince ourselves that we MUST recruit everyone to our side of the aisle, even if it means dragging out personal artillery - God, faith, emotion, specific attacks.
I left feeling as if I'd been a voyeur watching the dark characters of night through a lighted window, coming away with a soul stained by the ugliness of it all. I felt as if I had crossed into a secret enclave of rabid eccentrics, and it no longer mattered what political side they claimed. Indeed, it no longer mattered that it was politics at all. What mattered was the lingering feeling that I had entered into one side of the darkened shadows of American politics, faith and government.
Politics is still fascinating to me, but I am sill not anxious to identify with a party, an ideology or a cause. It reaffirmed that I stay safely in my observant neutrality.
Or, I move to Canada.
I spent three days in DC attending a political convention for a client. I have always remained painfully neutral on paper regarding politics, so I can easily slide between one side and the other, voting my mind, feeling beholden to no one.
Going to this convention was not neutral. However, I approached it with a sort of open mind - going to test the waters again. I've been disenfranchised with politics and parties of late. As a friend said on Sunday, "I'm too passionate about politics to be this apathetic," which describes me exactly.
I left feeling as if my political ideologies had been crushed to smithereens. I left feeling almost personally attacked. I left, tempted for a moment, to do a radical about-face and run screaming to the other side of the aisle, before realizing that if I attended one of THEIR political conventions, I'd likely feel the same way.
It happens when you mix religion and politics, I guess, or try to.
During the course of a few workshops and interactions, I heard my religion condemned. In vicious, bold strokes, the panelists and attendees painted a picture of what the party's membership encompassed. They made it clear that as a member of this religion, I was not fit to hold the same political ideologies because I didn't share the same fundamental belief in God. They made it clear that they didn't tolerate diversity of theological ideology. They mocked someone challenging a tenet - in front of 100 people. They mocked another person for daring to label certain actions as religious and cultural bigotry. They insinuated that if one didn't believe the same way he or she was Godless, a liar and a poor excuse for an American.
I left, feeling stunned, shaken to my very core. When the emotion passed, I regained sanity and the realization that it was all just rhetoric and pomp. I've seen the other side do the same thing, though it's never been personal to me.
It made me sick. It made me shrink and wonder what happens to make people so convinced that they are the only people in the world who are right. It made me sick to hear specific attacks made. It made me sick to hear someone call someone else a liar, even if she was a bit eccentric. It made me sick to realize that, as Americans, we still don't embrace agreeing to disagree. We convince ourselves that we MUST recruit everyone to our side of the aisle, even if it means dragging out personal artillery - God, faith, emotion, specific attacks.
I left feeling as if I'd been a voyeur watching the dark characters of night through a lighted window, coming away with a soul stained by the ugliness of it all. I felt as if I had crossed into a secret enclave of rabid eccentrics, and it no longer mattered what political side they claimed. Indeed, it no longer mattered that it was politics at all. What mattered was the lingering feeling that I had entered into one side of the darkened shadows of American politics, faith and government.
Politics is still fascinating to me, but I am sill not anxious to identify with a party, an ideology or a cause. It reaffirmed that I stay safely in my observant neutrality.
Or, I move to Canada.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Priceless
One last-minute ticket to DC: $450 (paid for by client).
Two trips to Starbucks for cups of hot water for "Mother's Milk" tea (so Baby Girl doesn't starve when I return home): $5 (for the two muffins I bought to assuage myself of any guilt for feeling cheap).
Discovering you're related (by marriage) to a good friend: Priceless.
As it turns out, Oliver and I are third cousins-in-law.
It's a small world.
Two trips to Starbucks for cups of hot water for "Mother's Milk" tea (so Baby Girl doesn't starve when I return home): $5 (for the two muffins I bought to assuage myself of any guilt for feeling cheap).
Discovering you're related (by marriage) to a good friend: Priceless.
As it turns out, Oliver and I are third cousins-in-law.
It's a small world.
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
So if you are in Virginia, you MUST read this
I am coming to Virginia.
Beloved homeland (okay, not really, but possibly - and it's not the frontier).
I am coming TOMORROW as in 25 hours from now I will be landing.
I am FREAKING OUT. FREAKING OUT. FREAKING OUT.
I booked my ticket 30 minutes ago. I opened my big fat mouth, made a recommendation to a client, and *poof* just like that I'm leaving on a jetplane.
AAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHH.
On one hand, I'm excited - it's Virginia, there isn't as much snow there. I get to see at least one friend.
On about 12 other hands, I'm panicked, terrified, and anxious.
Do I leave Baby Girl here? Do I take her with me? If I do, whatever am I going to do with her for the time I'm working at a convention? But I'm not coming home until the end of the weekend. Four days is a long time to be gone. I'm panicked at the thought of leaving her and panicked at the though of bringing her. I don't know how to fly with a baby. Good grief, the amount of stuff she required for a DRIVE four states away was enough to confine us to a small travel suitcase, because she and her entourage of stuff took up the entire car.
I don't have life insurance. I've never not had life insurance. Why this even bothers me, I have no idea.
I don't have ANY clean clothes. As in I'm wearing the last pair of clean dress pants I have right now.
I HATE FLYING. As in deathly afraid of flying. I usually have MONTHS or at least WEEKS to panic. I have - um - 16 hours.
Someone tell me that this is a good thing.
And those of you in VA - I might have time for a quick hello. And! I could return Oliver & Kristin's handy-dandy rubbermaid container they lent us the morning we left for The Frontier (if I'm not so panicked that I forget to pack it).
AAARRGGGGHHH.
Wait, I already said that.
Beloved homeland (okay, not really, but possibly - and it's not the frontier).
I am coming TOMORROW as in 25 hours from now I will be landing.
I am FREAKING OUT. FREAKING OUT. FREAKING OUT.
I booked my ticket 30 minutes ago. I opened my big fat mouth, made a recommendation to a client, and *poof* just like that I'm leaving on a jetplane.
AAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHH.
On one hand, I'm excited - it's Virginia, there isn't as much snow there. I get to see at least one friend.
On about 12 other hands, I'm panicked, terrified, and anxious.
Do I leave Baby Girl here? Do I take her with me? If I do, whatever am I going to do with her for the time I'm working at a convention? But I'm not coming home until the end of the weekend. Four days is a long time to be gone. I'm panicked at the thought of leaving her and panicked at the though of bringing her. I don't know how to fly with a baby. Good grief, the amount of stuff she required for a DRIVE four states away was enough to confine us to a small travel suitcase, because she and her entourage of stuff took up the entire car.
I don't have life insurance. I've never not had life insurance. Why this even bothers me, I have no idea.
I don't have ANY clean clothes. As in I'm wearing the last pair of clean dress pants I have right now.
I HATE FLYING. As in deathly afraid of flying. I usually have MONTHS or at least WEEKS to panic. I have - um - 16 hours.
Someone tell me that this is a good thing.
And those of you in VA - I might have time for a quick hello. And! I could return Oliver & Kristin's handy-dandy rubbermaid container they lent us the morning we left for The Frontier (if I'm not so panicked that I forget to pack it).
AAARRGGGGHHH.
Wait, I already said that.
Friday, February 01, 2008
Out to Get Me
Himself and I have a friend who is a serious collector of German WWII artifacts, including manuscripts, books and other paraphernalia of Hitler (truth be told, I think it's more for the shock factor than anything). Since he was career military, he always sent his wife to buy things like Mein Kampf and instructed her to use cash, so it couldn't be traced (paranoid, much?) and the government couldn't come after him.
I feel like I must have forgotten to use the same amount of paranoid caution in my life lately, as I am up to my eyeballs in government-generated hate mail.
A sampling of what has awaited me over the past few weeks:
* A letter from the state of Virginia indicating that indeed I owed them for an ENTIRE YEAR's worth of personal property tax on my car, even though I changed my address and let them know I had moved as of 5 June 2007 (necessitating that I pay 42.7% of the tax, not the entire tax, like they are claiming). We are now arguing over my figure vs. theirs, which says I must pay through when everything was converted to a Frontier address/registration.
* A letter from the state re: my application for Baby Girl's insurance, since mine is cost-prohibitive (to the tune of 25% of my take-home salary) and Himself isn't employed. The letter was to let me know I needed to contact them for an interview by January 29 in order to complete my application (which took me two hours to fill out).
* A second letter from the state (see above), letting me know that I had missed my interview period and would now need to submit a new application. Postmarked January 30. It arrived January 31. Imagine the confusion when I opened this one first.
* A memo from the Social Security Administration, regarding our re-application (for the SECOND TIME) for Baby Girl's social security card. It let us know that we had used up two requests already - and that there are only three allowed per year, ten per lifetime (including new card requests for marital name changes). In other words, in the first 20 weeks of her life, we've used up 20% of her social security card requests.
* A jury duty notification from the county courts.
I'm waiting for an audit notice from the IRS - it would be a fitting tribute to the rest of my 2008 hate mail collection.
I am trying to decide if I should feel popular, loved or loathed. What I do know is that I am irritated beyond belief.
I feel like I must have forgotten to use the same amount of paranoid caution in my life lately, as I am up to my eyeballs in government-generated hate mail.
A sampling of what has awaited me over the past few weeks:
* A letter from the state of Virginia indicating that indeed I owed them for an ENTIRE YEAR's worth of personal property tax on my car, even though I changed my address and let them know I had moved as of 5 June 2007 (necessitating that I pay 42.7% of the tax, not the entire tax, like they are claiming). We are now arguing over my figure vs. theirs, which says I must pay through when everything was converted to a Frontier address/registration.
Why they hate me: Himself moved out here a full six weeks later than I did, never let VA know he moved, and converted all of his vehicle info to a Frontier address/registration the same time I did - and they only charged him through June.
* A letter from the state re: my application for Baby Girl's insurance, since mine is cost-prohibitive (to the tune of 25% of my take-home salary) and Himself isn't employed. The letter was to let me know I needed to contact them for an interview by January 29 in order to complete my application (which took me two hours to fill out).
Why they hate me: The letter was postmarked January 28. It arrived January 31. There are several things wrong with this, including mailing it the day before one has to call (and they are "conveniently available between 8:30 a.m. and 4 p.m. M-F") and the fact that I LIVE in the state capital, meaning the letter took 3 days to rattle around the city mail system before it got to me.
* A second letter from the state (see above), letting me know that I had missed my interview period and would now need to submit a new application. Postmarked January 30. It arrived January 31. Imagine the confusion when I opened this one first.
Why they hate me: This letter conveniently only took overnight to travel the 5 or so miles from the state office to my home. In a quirk of new physics laws, bad news apparently travels faster than good or neutral news.
* A memo from the Social Security Administration, regarding our re-application (for the SECOND TIME) for Baby Girl's social security card. It let us know that we had used up two requests already - and that there are only three allowed per year, ten per lifetime (including new card requests for marital name changes). In other words, in the first 20 weeks of her life, we've used up 20% of her social security card requests.
Why they hate me: We haven't had to request new cards twice because I've been sloppy or irresponsible. We've had to request them because they have never arrived to begin with. Not only that, I am still trying to see if her social security number has been used anywhere fraudulently.
* A jury duty notification from the county courts.
Why they hate me: In 11 1/2 years of being a registered voter, I've received three jury duty summons - all in the last 9 months. One for federal court, two for county. The first arrived during a transitional job period where I wasn't sure where I'd be employed, I was also pregnant and puking and needed to eat every couple of hours. My OB wrote a true (but convincing) letter to excuse me. The second arrived mere days before I left VA and moved to The Frontier. The third arrived the week after Himself lost his job - I don't get paid if I'm out for jury duty, and I am the only income. The $50/day the county gives you for compensation isn't enough to pay the rent. The funny thing is, I'd actually LIKE to be on a jury - if they could call me at a point and time when I'm not in the middle of being pregnant, having an employment crisis or moving. Oh yeah, and I work primarily on a Mac - the website qualification application for jury service (or to request a waiver) only works in Explorer. Gaah!
I'm waiting for an audit notice from the IRS - it would be a fitting tribute to the rest of my 2008 hate mail collection.
I am trying to decide if I should feel popular, loved or loathed. What I do know is that I am irritated beyond belief.
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