Change

So tough.

Change. It's a beautiful word.

I took a phone call from my husband this past Monday.  You know what he said?  I'll tell you.

"I got the job."

Well, first he dilly-dallied around for awhile, asked me how my day at the office was going, blah, blah, blah (I could hear the good mood in his voice, and I know what a tease he is)... but then those words popped out, and I said, "You rascal, I knew it."

When we were hanging up, I said, "I love you.  But I loved you before, too."  He laughed.

This two-year unemployed, underemployed, back-to-school stint is almost over, just in time. 

Starting Monday, October 31, I will be going down to part-time work. I'll get to keep the part of my job I enjoy most: writing and editing a publication for the non-profit I've worked for since 2005.

I already have our first day-at-home planned. We're going out for breakfast. We're going to the zoo. I have a project list I plan to tackle while Jude is taking his afternoon nap. I have our first Real Meal from Scratch planned for that night.

I even agreed to iron Jono's work clothes for him.  I don't think I've ironed a man's dress shirt in my life.

Pardon my euphoria, but I won't be able to help the big fat smile I'll have on my face for the next week.  Or possibly month.  Yay.

Congratulations, Jono, and thanks.  (Love, your family)

P.S. A high five for Grandma Lehman, who donated nine hours a week of free childcare to us for two years.  You're awesome.  Enjoy your new "free" Fridays :)

The Date

Jude and I went on a date yesterday while Daddy was in class. The line-up was the library, Uncle Cheetah's Soup Shop, and then home again to read our new books before his nap.

But first, he shoveled the driveway. We couldn't leave in the state it was in.

Before:

After:

On the way to the library, I drilled him on his age and full name. He's one, and his name is Jude Donna Klooster.

After picking out some books, we headed to the soup shop. He helped me sample a few before we settled on a cup of jalapeno corn chowder and a grilled cheese sandwich.

He ate with his feet up on the table, singing the Veggie Tales theme song.

The 30-ish waitress came out once and he became obsessed with her, smirking and practically giving her a wink. He said, "I'm flirting," minus the "r" sound, which makes everyone in his vicinity want to squish his face. I'm just guessing.

Getting to spend a full day with him is so great. He changes quickly, and sometimes I feel like I need to get to know him again on the weekend.

Last night we were reading books again before bed. I could tell he wasn't tired, so we got under the covers and whispered for awhile. He squished my cheeks between his palms and laughed.

It was a good end to our day. He knows how to show me a good time.

awakening

The Little Fam - Christmas 2010
(I am so grateful)

It's the end of the year, and I've been doing some reflecting. There has been no New Year's Resolution-making. That's self reflection, and as important as that can be, it isn't the sort of thing I've been doing lately. I'd like to read more and be more crafty, but at the moment those things seem insignificant.

In some ways this year and part of last year were filled with loss. But I think we're coming out on the other end now, stronger and loving each other more. These were gains.

I don't want to dwell on the losses, but I can't ignore them. Most of it has happened over the past three months, but since last summer, 2009, we've experienced job loss, two cars gone bad, loss of a friend, pregnancy loss, the passing on of Jono's grandpa, lots of sickness thanks to daycare, and some (major) compromise of our ideals for how we'd like to raise our family.

The gains, on the other hand, were qualification for a government program or two (ha), learning how to be gentle with each other, and the trust we needed to generate for one another and for God. Also, a certain reverence for the concept of a part-time stay at home parent. If we ever have this good fortune again, we will never take it for granted.

I am looking forward to a new year. I'm not going to stop eating ice cream, so that's one thing to be happy about. What I'm anticipating is a light that is coming, and it's so bright I can't see what's in front of me. I don't want to see it, I just want to get through it.

Happy New Year. It's going to be good.

Thanks for reading.

i thank You God for most this amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth
day of life and love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitable earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any -- lifted from the no
of all nothing -- human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

- e.e. cummings

Somebody took a naughty pill...

I was convinced the terrible twos would be a myth for us. He was growing up to be such a gentle boy. Not a people-pleaser, per se, but careful and loving.

He still is, sometimes, and I'm sure he'll continue to be somewhere in the future. But for the moment, a lethal combination has taken place. He's two now. He's in full-time daycare. The results? Bad habits and sass. I'm being a little dramatic, but there are days.

The reason I'm partially blaming Donna's house is Carmine. Carmine's dad left his mom and he's a little angry. I don't mean to make light of that - it's just the way it is for him.

Carmine takes out some of his aggression on the younger kids by hitting them, and he is habitually disobedient and sassy with Donna. When Carmine lashes out, Jude sits there in part shock, part worship mode. Then he comes home, has a meltdown, kicks, swats and yells at his parents, mostly "no" and "mine". Mona gets bossed too, but it rolls right off her. She's a little sassy herself.

Donna claims he's almost perfect in her care, and that he's happy all the time. Perhaps she's suffering from relativism, although I do think Jude is a very good boy over there - sometimes he's better in groups. I'm grateful for that. But lately, when he gets home, something shifts. Maybe he's blowing off steam and stress from his day. Maybe it's his age, I don't know. He's extra naughty right now and I'm adjusting to the idea of my new sassy son.

The other day I put a new photo of him up by my desk at work with a classic, smirking look on his face (yep, that's the one, just above this post). It partly makes me miss him and partly makes me cringe. There's an undeniable naughty glint in his little eyeball. I guess we could call it "personality".

He does still have a hint of compassion in his heart, and I'm nurturing it like nobody's business. When he swats at me I'm either very firm or I pout a bit, depending on his mood. If I pretend to be sad about it, he'll say "Okay Mommy?" (i.e. are you okay?). Then he'll usually let me hug him. How is it possible to go from full-on frustration to having your heart melted in three seconds?

Oh, my dear boy. I love you. But seriously, cut the sass. Mama's tired.

Dutch Women Don't Get Depressed

I found this article fascinating. American Women, what do you think? Be brave.

It's Dutch for "Poop"

My dad babysat Jude for an entire work day last Friday. A short scene:

[Me, calling home from work on lunch break]:

"Hi Dad. How has Jude been?"

Dad: "Oh, good. Getting to spend a whole day with him is different. He's just so... koosy."

Me: "I know. I wish I could be with him in the mornings. It's his best time of day."

Dad: "I've only had to change one poopy diaper, and that one just had a small, round little poopelcha in it."

Me: "Oh, really?"

Dad: "Yep. I brought the diaper to the toilet to shake it out, but when I opened it up the poopelcha was gone."

Me: [Silence] ..."The poop wasn't in the diaper?"

Dad: "No, it must've fallen out somewhere."

Me: [Silence] ..."So there's a piece of poop upstairs and you don't know where it is."

Dad: "I guess I'll have to go back up there and find it."

Me: "Yeah. Do that."

It was hiding in a crack on the changing table.

Ten (More) Things

I may make a habit out of this.

Ten Things:

1) This picture:


2) A garage that matches the house.

3) Week-nights dreaming on the front porch with Jono, candles lit, bug spray on, his nice-smelling cigar leaving a wispy trail in the air...

4) The pathetic and funny "mm, mm, mm" sound Jude makes as he tries to lift his leg over mine and get past me into the living room with his milk. Naughty.

5) His bedtime, when he lays on my chest and lets me sing to him. We blow each other kisses and wave through the crib bars as I leave the room. It's the best.

6) Heirloom tomatoes that ripen in spite of our shady yard. Also, in spite of its ultra-tiny-ness, our garden can still produce fresh greens and tomatoes that take me three seconds to turn into a salad for dinner.

7) Mulberry trees. Yum.

8) Brett moved back to Michigan!

9) Cool breeze on my mostly downhill (bike) ride to work this morning. And the other day, jumping in the kiddie pool in my underwear after a sweaty ride home. Baby napping, iced drink brought out by hubby. Oh yes.

10) Short work weeks. Yahoo.

Your turn.

Ten Things

"Ten Things" is something I got from a blog I read called Soule Mama. The point is to post ten things you're thankful for during any given week. They don't need to be big things (house, husband, son). In fact, small things that seem inconsequential - maybe even hardly noticeable - are the best. Things that add even a wee bit of light.

Here are mine this week.


TEN THINGS:

1. A little boy of mine who smirkily says, "Oh, Mama" when I goof off. (If he was a teenager, you could cue the eye-roll.)

2. A handy bowl when he threw up his breakfast this morning (again).

3. When same little boy sweetly asks for help. "Help?"

4. My man, who made me crock-pot white chili AND cleaned the bathrooms this weekend.

5. The pleasant whir of our motor-less mower as I cut the grass for the first time (yes, in almost 8 years).

6. The cool breeze that has been moving across Michigan for the past few days. No humidity whatsoever.

7. Days at the office where I spend no more than a few minutes in stress mode.

8. Getting paid to poke around on social networking sites...for a good cause.

9. An afternoon of mindless labor. Hours spent stuffing envelopes for a mailing over trying to save the world is some kind of relief.

10. The (somewhat) new ability to center myself and let it all come down around me. If I was left with nothing, I would still have my life and my God.

Anything you'd like to share? :)

The pic demonstrates taking pleasure in little things: Ella's poofy neck would make your day too.

munch, munch, munch...

The dough, rising. I used a mix of bread flour and whole-wheat. Forgot the salt, and they still turned out.

Divided into ten future bagel mounds.

One of the fun parts was rolling them into six-inch lengths before wrapping them around my hand to form the ring.

Then this guy woke up from his nap. I kept him happy by giving him his rubber ducky and yogurt to dip his Cheerios in. (Kid loves to dip.)

Final product: sea salt and sesame seed bagels. I guess one of the secrets to good bagel-age is the boiling of the dough before you bake them. That's why they're so chewy.

It helped that I had said I would make these bagels because then I was actually forced to do it. I am notorious for getting super excited about a project like this and then dropping it on a Saturday afternoon in favor of reading, sleeping, etc.

Be warned: you must have a 3.5 - 4 hour block of time to make these. They don't take four hours to actually make, but the dough takes two hours to rise, and then there are two 20-minute intervals where you must let it "rest" before moving on the next step.

Luckily, my new ReadyMade magazine had just come in the mail, so I devoured that while the dough did its thing.

Good news: they are magically delicious. I had Jono's dad and step-mom try them at our picnic yesterday, and Jan said, "These are the best bagels I've ever had! You can't get them this fresh!" (I can always count on her for enthusiasm.) We are munching happily over here on this fine Memorial Day.

If anyone has any bagel recipe shortcuts, I'd love to be enlightened. Otherwise, this working mama will need to save bagel-making for long weekends or rare, random bursts of baking ambition ;)

"Donna's Darlings"

So Jude is in day-care now. I never thought I'd say those words, but there they are.

We knew this was coming. So far Jono has been swinging the SAHD thing and full-time school with some help from Aunt Kathy and Grandma Lehman. But now his school-work is increasing and he hopes to get an internship soon; we need more child-care.

Jude is a little clingy at drop-off, but doing well with it. I struggled with it the first week, fighting mental battles with myself, including feeling like a failure because I'm unable to take care of my son during the day.

It's more what "day care" apparently symbolized to me than anything else; frankly, it's only part-time and it has been good for him so far. He actually sees other children on a regular basis, which is a huge improvement from before. We were starting to worry about the confused looks he would give our two-year-old neighbor when she approached, because he obviously had no idea what she was.

Our day-care lady's name is Donna. She was a tip from my co-worker Paul who sent his boys there for years. He told me the kids still ask about Donna even though they don't go there any more, and they send her cards on Easter.

He did warn me about a couple things: "Donna is old. And her house is tiny. But you'll love her." We do love her. She calls her in-home outfit "Donna's Darlings" - straight out of the 50's just like her (and I mean that affectionately).

She takes her job very seriously, but is laid-back and gentle with the kids. She notices and remembers every detail of what Jude did during the day, how he reacted to this or that, what his little personality is like. (The other day she told us, "He has an amazing attention span for a kid his age." *Brag alert*) She takes the kids to the library, lets them play outside, plays them lullabies at nap-time and reads to them. She even visits the fire department every other month to make sure the car-seats are installed properly in her minivan. Sheesh. The woman is a gem.

He has little friends now. Their names are Carmine, Manny, Skyler and Peyton. Three out of the four are at least two years older than he is; Peyton is a few months younger. Whenever Jono drops Jude off, three-year-old Carmine is at his side the second his toddling feet hit the floor. He tenderly puts his arm around him, pats his back, and says earnestly, "Hi Jude," with a little bit of precious inflection in his voice. I guess he's the perfect age for them: smaller and more helpless (making them feel strong and big), yet old enough that they can relate to him on some level.

As I walk up to the front door to pick Jude up, five round faces usually pop up in the picture window by Donna's kitchen table, most of them chewing pleasantly on crackers. At first it was so strange for me to see my baby in there with a bunch of people I didn't really know. But lately I can see their mouths form the words, "Jude's mom" in excitement through the glass, and Jude has a smirk on his face. When I walk through the door I get loud, enthusiastic reports of his activities from them.

"Hi Jude's mom!"
"A bus went by and Jude said 'bus'!"
"Jude doesn't like grass!"
"Jude can talk! And walk!!"
"I sat by Jude at lunch!"

Peyton just slobbers and smiles continuously.

It's a good by-product of a somewhat challenging situation. We're grateful for Donna. And Carmine, Manny, Skyler and Peyton. They're starting to feel like Jude's other family.

The Long, Slow Wean

Jude decided to wean himself from breastfeeding yesterday.

It wasn't as sudden as that sounds, I guess. We cut down at nine months when I went back to work, and he started losing interest over a month ago. For the past week we'd just been going through the motions.

Yesterday I was finally able to admit to myself that he had more or less turned down both of my offers. My production is low now, and he doesn't have time for it. The toys on the floor are competing for his attention, and I'm not quite as colorful or fun to throw around the room as they are.

He is telling me it's time.

Meanwhile he's a real champ in the solid-food department. He stuffs his face and stores it in his cheeks for later. I'll see him chewing something an hour after dinner and fish it out in a panic, only to realize it's the same piece of corn he'd been gnawing on while we cleared the table. Naughty.

Last night I put both of my nursing brassieres into the wash for the last time. They have been loyal and dear under-garments over the past year, and throwing them into the laundry basket felt sad. Jono admitted he felt weird about it too, probably because it means Jude isn't so much of a baby any more.

My goal was 12 months though, and we made it. I feel good about it. Yay for us :)

Working Girl

It's official. As of September 1, I was back to being a working girl.

This is nothing new. I've been working since I was 13. But I've had a golden nine months "off" now (all stay-at-home and work-at-home moms are laughing with me now), and it's time I started getting paid.

The first couple of mornings were the hardest. I didn't know when it would hit me, but suddenly it did as I gave Jude to Jono and turned around to grab my bag of work stuff. Hot tears. When Jono saw my face, he got them too. As I went out the door I waved. Jude stared at me with his mouth in typical Cheerio mode. His chubby arm stayed by his side.

By the time I sat down at my desk things were okay. How I felt about things this week changed by the hour.

When I got up those first couple of mornings to bacon and eggs on the table, I thought "Hmm. This is above and beyond." When I was making good progress on something at work I would think, "Hmm. I can see how some women can't do the stay-at-home thing." When I would get home and Jono would be making some exotic Indian dish for me, I would think, "Hmm. Not bad." When he cleaned up afterward, baked some blueberry muffins, made a batch of cookies, and packed me a mid-morning snack for the next day I thought, "Hmm. This is crazy. My husband is Susie Homemaker. And I LOVE it."

Then night would come, darkness would fall and I would start to get a little anxious. I worried Jude wouldn't reach for me any more. I worried my relationship with him will change; that I'd start feeling differently about him somehow, and that it wouldn't be as good. I worried about becoming the "secondary parent". I worried I'd lose confidence in parenting him because I don't see him all day.

This morning I woke up and it was low-drama Friday. I smooched Jude's cheek goodbye and left the house cool as a cucumber. After work I pulled into the driveway and he was in the front yard playing with my mom. I turned off the ignition as fast as I could, hopped out and peeked at him over the roof rack. He gave me the Cheerio mouth again and the bright little eyes starting to recognize and anticipate. We smiled big smiles at each other.

I scuttled around the back of the car, threw my bag and travel mug onto the sidewalk and ran for him -- he was doing the quick, excited breathing he does now when he sees me -- I scooped him up and it was like that moment in the movies when two people are embracing after running across a golden wheat field in slow motion. Except that one of us is a full-sized adult female and the other one is a short, chunky infant who can't walk.

Within seconds of our reunion, he started whining. To nurse of course. I am his personal milk-cow. But it's a sound I like to hear. Bubba still loves his mama.

So that's that. I'll be back to laughing hard when I watch The Office. As everyone knows, that show was made for people who work in one.

Overwhelmed and Wallowing in Self-pity

Sometimes, when I'm feeling annoyed about my life, I get sick of comparing myself to others and telling myself that I'm relatively lucky. Sometimes I just want to feel sorry for myself.

Like last night, for example. I let it all come down, I got good and cranky, and I bitched for awhile. I just needed to. I know our problems right now are tiny, stupid and not worth worrying about compared to people who have just lost a parent or child, or to someone who can't walk, or to someone who has a terminal illness. I know this. But last night I lost that perspective for a few hours.

Jono is losing his job. His work has been patchy ever since this past Winter, when he started having a few days off here and there because his crew couldn't find work. While this was happening, he started thinking about going back to school again - something he'd been wanting to do for years. He wants to get a Masters degree in Public Administration with an emphasis in Urban Planning.

We sat down and tried to figure out how we would pay the bills and take care of Jude under those circumstances. After going over every other option we could come up with, I came to the conclusion that even though I was formerly committed to staying home with the babe, cooking from scratch, and all that other good stuff that constitutes simple, healthy living, the only way Jono could pursue this goal would be for me to go back to work full-time to put him through school. We're hoping, of course, this translates into a better job for him that fulfills him more, and once that happens we can continue building our family and pursuing our values of simplicity and all that.

If Jono gets into school, the current plan is for him to become a full-time student and a part-time stay-at-home dad (otherwise known as a SAHD... for those of you who love acronyms). We figure we will need to hire out some daycare when Jono has an important exam or a day-time class, but for the most part, Jude will continue to be cared for by one or both of his parents, which is important to us.

Sounds good, right? So what was I feeling sorry for myself about? It's just a change of plans is all, and I needed to adjust my expectations for the next couple of years. I know I will feel guilty for leaving Jude for eight hours a day. I know I will feel conflicted on a daily basis.

There's also a little salt in my "OCD" wound right now as we try to finish up our disaster-area of a kitchen and the paint job on our house (why we start major home projects in the middle of our already chaotic life at the moment, I don't know). In my miserable, self-pitying state last night I said to Jono, "I'm frustrated right now because honestly, I don't ask for much. I don't want new stuff or a bigger home in the suburbs, or a huge career, or WHAT HAVE YOU. I just want to take a nap once in awhile; I want a kitchen where my stuff is where I can find it; I want to live in a place where there isn't broken glass sitting on top of my books by the windows you're fixing; I don't want to move ever again when I'm nine months pregnant; I'm sick of endless home projects; I just want to hang something on the wall; I want to have time to sit outside and do nothing once in awhile; I want a peaceful life..." (insert violins here).

Jono was good enough to comfort me, even thank me for committing to going back to work, and then convinced me to take a load off and watch an episode of The Office with him on Hulu. God bless him.

I'm more or less over it this morning. It's amazing what a semi-decent night of sleep can do for you. I still want to take a nap instead of logging paid hours while Jude sleeps. (This blog is one of my few indulgences. I really should leave it alone and take that nap...). But, there's light here.

I am married to someone who works harder than anyone I know, and he's the best dad ever to our son. At least he has goals, and they're cool too (urban planning is fascinating and good planners are needed badly in our cities). Some women go back to work full-time at six weeks post-partum, and I'm about to finish my 8th month home with Jude. I have a good part-time job at a non-profit, with a great boss who is willing to take me back full-time very soon in a bad economy. We've had so much help getting into and fixing up our house from our dear families. We could never have done it on our own, which I guess is a good lesson in interdependence.

If Jono can get into school, graduate in a couple of years and get a good job, we'll be in great shape because our home expenses are so low. And eventually I'll get to be home again for awhile, I hope, and continue with my psuedo-Amish lifestyle of gardening, taking care of my kids, getting good, local food & canning it, drying our clothes on the line, writing for fun, spending my days hiking around outdoors somewhere with the bambinos, small-scale activism and other reverse-evolutionary activities ;).

I still struggle with feeling like I'm not a true feminist at times (or that feminism threw the baby out with the bathwater), but mainly, that's what makes me happy right now - so I'm over it. As much as I enjoy my desk job, I don't need one to feel fulfilled. I hope that's okay.

*Sigh*