Habitually Home-bound

I haven’t written anything in a few months, it’s been bumming me out. I looked back at my last post in April, a month into quarantine and somewhat optimistic. Now looking down the barrel of winter and working from home until at least 2021, I’m having a hard time.

At first it was just managing the stresses, putting out the fires. The kids needed things and there was homework and meals and sudden work deadlines. It was a triage at best for a long while.

Recently we made the difficult decision to put the kids back in daycare, and one of them, back to school in a few weeks. And most importantly, everyone has remained healthy and safe. So things around the house have quieted down. Work deadlines have been met and have become more manageable.

My husband’s been going into the office more. A lot of the time, it’s just me at home with the dog. I’m scared about the winter, it feels a little bleak.

I know there are so many good things about being at home: I haven’t taken the Go Train since March, I get to spend more time with my kids because I’m not commuting, I’ve made more baked goods than I ever thought humanly possible. I started eating better and increased my activity level – I’ve walked around my neighbourhood more times than I can count.

But I guess I’m a bit lonely? I’m used to such a social work environment, and lunching with a close friend. I almost never wear my ‘work clothes’ anymore and I’ve put on makeup less than 5 times. I know I could still do those things, but somehow seems silly to still do a full face of makeup for the dog.

Maybe I was too spoiled before. Maybe I’m too spoiled now. Maybe both? I just feel out of touch, extremely tied to the house and a bit aimless. I worry about a second wave, and think about it often. I’m incredibly grateful that my family and my kids are happy and healthy, I just never thought back in March when I came home that I’d still be here and will be here almost a year later.

Quarantine Quandaries

Daycare workers and teachers are motherfucking saints.

Toddlers resist all forms of sleep, especially nap time.

I haven’t breathed in someone’s cigarette smoke for weeks.

Mornings are much better when you’re not rushing your kids out the door/looking for a lost shoe.

My kids are sweet and smart and funny.

Also, they love to fight.

It’s hard not to eat your feelings.

I can work out in my basement, but need a better workout playlist.

We’re very fortunate to have the technology to stay connected.

This is the most times I’ve ever walked around our neighbourhood.

We are always interrupting dog nap time.

2 people working from home full time is hard.

Being there for the kids and keeping them safe is not.

I don’t miss the commute.

Baking relieves much of my stress, and is delicious.

Going to the bathroom is now rarely a solitary activity.

I always have to share my breakfast…and my lunch.

I miss my coworkers, and wearing my nice-ish office clothes.

I get more hugs and extra cuddles when I seem upset than I would at the office.

Stay home now, so one day we won’t have to.

A Series of Unfortunate Events

It’s been a while since I posted anything, but it’s been a weird few months.

In July I gave blood like I usually do. Getting my blood pressure and other in-take done the nurse eyed me strangely and commented on the size of my thyroid, and she casually suggested I get it looked at.

An ultrasound and blood test later and it turned out I had a thyroid tumour. Who knew? Not me. There were no discernible lumps or symptoms to make me suspect anything.

After a visit to the surgeon, a biopsy, and a week of panic inducing waiting, the biopsy came back benign. I don’t think I’d ever been so relieved in my whole life. But, due to the size of the tumour they recommended I take out at least half.

So, that’s what we did. On the first day of school instead of taking my daughter to the first day of first grade, I went to the hospital and gowned up. I’d never been in the hospital before with the exception of the births of my 2 children. I was scared. They wheel you in there with the most monitors ever and hook you up to all the things. All the while trying not show on the outside how much you’re freaking the fuck out on the inside. Plus to add insult to literal injury, those paper hats they make you wear are the worst!

Once the surgery was over I was ready to put it all in my rear view. And I did, I healed up nicely, took up kick boxing, moving on.

Except that today was my 6-week post op appointment. And it turns out the biopsy was incorrect and it was in fact, cancer.

But, there are a lot of really positive things. Odds of recurrence are low. I’ll have to get it checked every 6 months but really, I’m lucky. I know I am.

But man, I wasn’t expecting that. To have cancer at anytime, but especially at only 35 is frankly terrifying. I don’t even want to think of how long it may have gone unnoticed if not for that nurse (who I promptly left a thank you card for).

I just keep looking at my kids and want to hold them so tight. I don’t know how people with more serious afflictions don’t burst into tears at the sight of their kids everyday.

I guess I won’t be putting it in my rear view just yet. Things haven’t gone according to plan. But for now, I’m going to keep hugging those kids so tight and hope for the best.

 

Size Matters, But it Shouldn’t

I grew up fat. Overweight. Obese, whatever you want to call it. And a lot of the time (most of the time), it sucked. Judgment and comments from classmates, cousins, and parents. I once confessed my truest feelings to a boy via love letter (pre-internet, I am old). He told the popular girl (his crush) who told our entire grade. Worst part? He returned the letter and circled the reasons he didn’t like me: fat and ugly. That shit stays with you.

It’s hard to be confident and learn to love yourself anytime, especially when you’re young and especially when you don’t see anyone else who looks like you. I don’t remember ever seeing a female lead in television or movies that looked like me. Who wasn’t the lovable best friend. Who was sought by someone romantically. Who loved their plus sized body and wasn’t made to feel ashamed of it. Who was in charge and the boss, and not insulted for being a ‘fat bitch’ or some other unpleasant iteration. I could’ve used some ladies to look up to back then, someone to relate to.

And while there still isn’t as much representation of the different types of women who exist in this world on screen, I’ve been so happy to see that it is getting better. There’s been a growing number of plus sized female protagonists: Aidy Bryant in Shrill, Danielle Macdonald in Dumplin’, Mindy Kaling and Retta in basically any of their roles, and I am so here for it.

They are smart, opinionated; they call the shots and are not there for comic fodder. Their romantic interests aren’t some joke or cruel bet or whatever ridiculous storyline that often befell the ‘chubby’ girls. Attractive, nice, normal guys like them – and every time I watch them, it’s surprising. It’s still surprising how unusual it is; but a wonderful surprise.

No matter how much weight you gain or lose over the course of your life, those feelings of being the one made fun of, criticized, made to apologize, to try to physically shrink to as small as you can make yourself so that people won’t notice or comment about you – it doesn’t go away.

 

But as a mom now to a growing daughter, whatever her size, it gives me hope that she might see herself represented in a way I never did and feel a self-confidence that I never had. Because things like size shouldn’t define you.

Second Born Doesn’t Mean Second Best

When you have more than one kid, the youngest can feel second best and I’m trying really hard to prove that’s not the case.

As the second born and youngest in my family, I remember how it was. My sister had a baby book and a first haircut lock of hair, I had neither. I was the receiver of old books, old bikes, old Barbie’s. With the second child, sometimes you have to save a buck but as a kid you don’t always understand the reasoning behind things like that.

That’s why I try not to cheat my son for being the second born. His baby book has been (mostly) filled out. I made sure to take the milestone photos and the first haircut, so far so good. But it happens inevitably, with toys and books, blankets. Some things are just more cost effective to use the second time around, right?

Recently, when planning his second birthday I started to realize he doesn’t really have any of his own friends. We hang out with parents we befriended when our daughter was his age and it seemed to happen by osmosis more than conscious thought. We didn’t have to seek out other parents, there were just there.

Maybe it’s because we’re twice as busy this time (ok it definitely is that), but we don’t seem to have bonded the same way with any of these parents. And when I think about how to approach them, it feels a bit awkward. It’s also harder to schedule: twice as many kid activities to organize and clothes to wash and new shoes or clothes to buy.

In July he will be two, I can’t quite believe it. He’s a super funny and sweet kid, and like his sister before him, deserves an awesome party. And a bounce house. Which seems like a recipe for injury and/or disaster to me – but my husband will not be denied.

I want to have a few of his little friends over to celebrate his birthday, so how do I befriend other parents? Do I invite only a few kids or the whole class? Is inviting only a few kids mean? Do I Ieave certain parents a note in their kids’ cubby? Or does that make me creepy?

I really like the parents we hang out and play date with now, but feel that this kid needs a chance to establish himself separately from his sister. I want it to be his party and I don’t want to cheat him. I want him to know he is loved and deserves just as much as his sister, even if he gets a few more hand me downs.

The Spousal Battle for Victory

In April, it will be 8 years since my husband and I got married. I can’t remember exactly when we started making bets, it feels like we’ve always done it. I think it might have been 3 years ago. We’d made the occasional wager before: who was right about something or could predict the outcome of something.

But at some point we upped the ante. The first one I have a photo record of is May 2016 when we made a “no cookie bet.” Simply put no cookies for 30 days. My husband lost. This was a highly contentious loss as there was a debate that on the last day. At dinner time I ate a piece of fortune cookie, not thinking that it counted as a cookie (which in my mind deemed more sweet baked goods).

After much debate between our friends, he accepted the loss like a champ and had to spend the day dressed in a shirt completely covered front to back in Adele’s face that I found on Etsy. Since then the stakes of humiliation have increased, but I’ve yet to lose. I know I can’t ride this wave of victory forever, but I have to try!

The most recent losses resulted in him dressed in a bunny costume buying my victory chocolate. Then he had to shovel the driveway dressed as Princess Elsa. I know there have been others, but those are always top of mind. As the stakes have increased, so does the trash talk and the subtle attempts at sabotaging the other. It’s a source of fun and the subject of conversation for friends and even our daughter tries to predict who will win.

Having 2 kids and working/commuting full time is hard. There are so many obligations, chores, things to do, things to remember, things to worry about – and it’s nice that it doesn’t always have to be like that. I definitely feel like I take things too seriously as I get older and this is a nice break from it. We can still be fun, even though our kids think we’re old and lame. And let’s be honest, a little trash talk never hurt anyone, right?

Body Talk

January. Resolutions made. Sales on active wear and gym memberships are rampant. All reminding us to better ourselves in some way. But it doesn’t seem to matter what time of year it is for me. I have such complicated feelings toward my body.

We’ve been through a lot together: a tattoo that I love (that became bigger than first expected) and 2 beautiful babies. Sometimes I like my eyes, end of list. I don’t take for granted the fact that I’ve been able to have 2 successful pregnancies and I am generally healthy – I know I’m lucky in those regards.

I guess I just thought I’d love or at least like my body by now. I just don’t know what the benchmark is that would make me happy, a “there, that’s better” moment. A goal long achieved. I measure myself against most women I see/know and often wish I had what they do: the genetics and/or will power, flat stomach, perfect hair, the power to refuse chocolate. (They made a movie called Chocolat, there’s a reason it’s beloved!) Especially those unicorn moms you see dropping their kids off with their high heels and perfect nails, when I look like a snowy frizz beast. Rationally I know how they look isn’t a reflection on me, but it doesn’t change the fact that it feels that way. Sure I was fat shamed in many different ways by many different people as a kid, including a boy I realllllly liked. I guess that shit stays with you, but I’m in my 30s, I want to feel comfortable in my body. Shouldn’t that have happened by now?

Throughout my life I have lost weight; I actually weigh much less now than I did as a teen. I did Weight Watchers a few times and it worked for me. It helped me lose 45lbs when I was ready to make a big life change and another 40 after I ate my way through my first pregnancy. I was a little more careful the 2nd time. But as you get older, it doesn’t come off as easily.

I hate how I look in pants, and there’s no T-shirt that properly hides the mushy parts that have stretched and changed from having kids. I try to exercise 3 times a week and feel guilty I don’t do more. I do hot yoga and spin class every week (I am a creature of habit) and I feel myself getting stronger and a little bit of muscle tone underneath the bat wings in my arms, and yet.

I don’t feel pretty. Ever. I don’t know why that is. My husband is lovely and tries to compliment me but I never believe him, not really. Odds are a flat/toned stomach isn’t in the cards for me, why do I let it drag me down on a daily basis? When will I be enough for me? Is that even possible?

Oh, the guilt

I realize a certain amount of parental guilt is normal. You can’t say yes to everything all the time, you can’t always get what you want (cue the Rolling Stones song). But man, I wish I could be there for them more. I wish I could control circumstances, like working closer to home. I’d like to work part time, so I could still be there to pick up or drop off from school and they wouldn’t have to be in before AND after school daycare every day. So I have the guilt.

I think with my daughter, I didn’t fully realize what I was missing until she started school. When I had my son and was on maternity leave I could drop her off and pick her up every day. I knew the teachers better. I got to know some of the parents. I felt more engaged in her day to day. Not to say that I don’t take an interest now, but I was closer to it.

And now I’m always rushing. To get them fed, to get them dressed, ready and in the car to get to daycare, to catch the train. After school is more of the same, rush to get home to make the dinner to give the baths and then bedtime. It just feels like there’s never enough time.

I feel like we should be reading together more, going over her letters/words more. She should be proficient in all things that SK has to offer, and maybe she would be if I were there to help her. Oh, the guilt.

The little guy is growing so fast and sometimes it feels like it’s passing me by. He was a baby for what felt like a minute, now he’s running and climbing all through the house. He’s already saying more words and resembling more of a little boy than a toddler each day. I should be chasing him more, playing more and be there more. Oh, the guilt.

But I like working. I have friends there I really enjoy and care about. It’s a nice environment and I feel part of a team. It’s hard to carve out adult time on evenings or weekends with 2 kids as well, but I try to do a spin class and a hot yoga class every week. So I have the guilt.

I love my kids, but I love myself too. So I have the guilt.

Continuing On After a Brief Hiatus

I can’t believe it’s been a year and a half since I last laid eyes on this blog. So much is different unfortunately not the financial side that my last post lamented about but, still a lot! My son was born and that kept me pretty busy. Now he’s walking, starting to talk and climb everything. His older sister is growing up, no longer a baby faced little one, but a girl. So smart, so funny, so much her own person. It’s crazy.  A different job.

While on maternity leave I went back to work a few weeks early to accept a new position at a different company. It wasn’t an easy decision, I’d been at my last role 6 years and really liked the people. But the new position has been good for me, better location, and my new coworkers couldn’t be lovelier. I still don’t seem to be able to break through a certain type of role and move up, despite best efforts but I am hopeful that will come with time. Workwise it’s an interesting time for me I guess. We’re not having any more kids, which means I can focus a bit more on what I want my work life to be. Not that I couldn’t before, maybe it was just an excuse but not to but now I don’t have that to hold on to. I’m trying to build up my confidence at work and remind myself of my worth. Which can be hard in a way, it’s not like the economy or the job market has been thriving and in many ways I know I’m lucky to have any job at all. But I try to remember that just because that’s true, it doesn’t mean I shouldn’t want to do more. I want to learn, to grow and to challenge myself to take on new responsibilities. So I hope I get a chance to do that at some point.

I’ve also been thinking about what makes me happy lately and trying to do more of those things. Hence the resurgence of blog posting. I’ve been submitting posts for other blog sites off and on for a while now and I really enjoy it. But there’s something really freeing in bearing your soul (or as much of it as you want to share) in a personal blog and putting it out there with no expectations or approvals needed. I just feel lately like I’m constantly worried about things I can’t seem to control. Our new Premier, the US President, what seems to be a continuous back slide of people’s rights, freedoms and ability to understand and support each other. Climate change. The economy. Any and all of these selfish politicians who don’t seem to care about what’s happening to the planet nor the people who inhabit it and only seek to serve themselves. The news is just horrendous. I can’t watch it anymore. I feel such anxiety about where things are headed and I don’t know what to do. I try to do what I can on a personal level. I vote, I give blood, donate to charity, believe in equal rights for all and that anyone should be able to love anyone else. I recycle, compost, don’t idle my car, and try to minimize our family’s waste.

So, to counteract the impending doom feeling that threatens to engulf me on a daily basis. I’m trying to do things that bring the joy. My family, hot yoga, friends, blogging. Maybe a vacation, if we can find the money? I am hoping to set myself a personal goal of blogging at least once a month as something I can do for myself. Even if no one else ever reads these posts except me, even putting the words out into the universe feels good.

Fumbling with Finances

It’s Friday night. There’s a husband and daughter I adore sleeping upstairs and a baby kicking away in my belly, but all I can think about is money. When I was young I always thought when you were an adult you made enough money to do what you wanted and needed and that was that.

But of course it’s not really like that, especially in this economy. I’ve created many detailed spreadsheets and built out various scenarios, trying to anticipate any cost that we may incur. I spend so much time (almost every day) updating and worrying over each pay cheque, it’s started to take over my life.

Now with baby number 2 on the way and a recent need to replace my husband’s car on the horizon, I just don’t know how I can make it all work. How do people make it work? I guess some people make more money, and certainly I wish that I were in a position to strive for a new and exciting career status (ideally one that came with a salary increase) but as I type this reaching over my 8 month pregnant belly, it’s not an option.

Should we ride this car into the ground, even if I think it’s potentially not the safest to be carting around 2 kids? Our work schedules are too different to accommodate downsizing to only one car. Should we have not had a second child and bought a new car instead? Is it either or, not both? I know people who make less than we do get by and likely don’t even stress as much as I do. But between commuting and daycare, I’ve run out of ways to stretch the dollars. I worry if I make big decisions without exploring all the potential pitfalls that we’ll become swallowed up by both the debt and stress and that’s not good for us or our kids. When does being an adult become easier? How can you avoid getting swallowed up by the stress while still being fiscally responsible? Is that even possible anymore?