Background noise

I am, historically and naturally, weather obsessed.  I track it constantly, I look forward to weather events.  I love storms.  Blizzards, hurricanes, thunder and lightning.  The only thing I really don’t feel comfortable with is tornadoes.  They’re too erratic for my taste.  I don’t really want to be thrown thousands of feet into the air and then back onto the ground.  The rest, though, is fun.

So imagine my surprise when I wake up to read that I should stay home today.  Huh?  But, I didn’t track that storm!  I didn’t know it was coming!  I can’t stay home! I have been so busy with work and not feeling well and going out to dinner that I haven’t been monitoring the weather.  Totally snuck up on me.

I truly cannot stay home.  I have a client meeting today.  I have a couple of scheduled phone calls, and I have a firm-thing about my evaluation process.  And they will feed me snacks.

So instead I’m planning what to wear that will make the trudge home easier.  I don’t want to stay late today – Beloved and I have a plan:  movies and pasta.  I want to be home, in my jammies, as close to 6 or 6:30 as possible.

Right at the peak of the storm.

Public transit tends to be easier to manage in these snow storms than driving.  But I do have some ways to walk, and I don’t think I’m up for it in a suit and high heel boots.

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How low can you go …

I’m feeling more down today than I have in a long, long time.

The closest I ever feel to depressed is just a feeling of loneliness.  I feel intolerant, let down, and as if no one in the entire world is capable of being a true friend.

That’s how I feel today.

I have some issues going on that I can’t talk about with, really, anyone.  They’re intertwined with finances, and there are several people in my life who really don’t want to hear me whine, considering the job I landed, and others who I wouldn’t want to share these details with anyway.

I went out with a friend who went on a weird assault on my daughter … which was pretty fucking catty and hypocritical, considering how many times she’s made a point of insisting we don’t talk about our kids when we’re out together – and considering how she is clearly channeling her own kid’s jealousies and social angst through her 42 year old mouth.  Nothing she accused E of was outside the range of normal 6th grade behavior (which she conceded once the nastiness subsided) … but if I had done the same about her kid, she would have run out in tears.  I wish I had the guts to say something, to call her out on it.  Instead, I let her change the subject.

J spent an hour crying today because she had to miss her first basketball practice.  Reason being twofold:  1)  Well, I didn’t sign her up until approx 12:30 this afternoon, and so she didn’t pack the things she needed, b/c I was not sure that they would let me sign her up late; 2) it overlapped with an extended practice for something else today.  But E’s basketball practice was later in the evening (as in, we just got home), and so J was jealous, and started to cry, and that pissed me off.   I was so happy and proud that I got her signed up, and I wanted her to be happy, too.  Instead, she cried.

And of course there are work irritations, too.  But whatever.

Oh, but I think I can say that I dropped my Blackberry today.  Wanna know where?  onto the T tracks.  So as I’m scurrying to pick it up, I’m hearing the *ding ding ding* of the train’s bell, and I’m totally freaking out that I’m gonna get run over.  I had to pick up the Berry, the battery, and the back cover.  I put it all back together, but it wasn’t turning on.  So I thought it had a SIM card or something, which went up under a track.  So I’m all freaked out that I dropped my blackberry, and that I broke it, and that I’m going to have to pay for another one (which collided right up against my financial frustrations, see above), and I’m sitting on the train stressing over that, and a close friend from law school hops on the train and sits next to me.  I can’t gather my thoughts, I feel awkward and weird, and stumbly over words, and I’m just NOT HAPPY!!!!

Let’s add onto that the fact this a.m., I fell.  Yes.  That’s correct.  I just FELL.  I was going to the train, at 6:30 a.m., and a train came, and I took the first step to run and thought, “no fucking way, I’m not running” and waved the train on.   So I’m NOT rushing, that’s not why I fell.  I went to the little newspaper stand to get the free paper with the daily sudoku and crossword puzzles that I love, and my heel lands funky on a split in the pavement.  It threatens to twist my bad ankle, and my legs just gave out.  I seriously think it’s a defensive mechanism that has kicked in to protect this on-the-verge-of-snapping-into-ten-million-pieces ankle/foot of mine.  I just … FALL.  All the way onto the ground. Fortunately, my suit pants didn’t rip.  but my knee is all skinned and bruised, and I later found out that the lining of the pants DID rip.  How the fuck does that happen?  The part that hits the pavement stays intact, but the inside part rips?

And then, tonight, the event which I think sealed my mood and brought me closest to tears — I’m walking home, of course looking down at my Blackberry trying to e-mail my sister, and I jam the same fucking foot against yet another uneven spot on the sidewalk, and I feel like I’m going to BARF because it hurts so bad after this morning’s fall.  And the tears didn’t come from pain – they just came from frustration.  Why ANOTHER thing going wrong?  Why?

Yeah, so I think today sucks.

Just to prove that not everything in the world is horrible, I will end this note on 2 positives:

1.  I finally, for the first time in 2 weeks, went to the gym today.  It was good.

2.  I got word of my swearing in.  It’s on Tuesday the 27th.  It will feel so good to be admitted to practice and to have a bar number.  I’ll get to be a full fledged grown up, then.

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Beloved says there are worse things.

And I suppose he is right.

But when did we see Wicked? Early October, right?

ONE MONTH LATER

J is in the shower.

E is in her room, huddled with a black witch’s hat on and the soundtrack insert in her hand.

“Defying Gravity” is coming from both mouths, at high volume, in very different parts of the song.

What have we done?

E is begging to go see it in New York.

It’s like she’s 2.

“Again! Again!”

(which for her, at 10 months, was “Ah Dah! Ah Dah!”)

I wish my kids would stop singing.

Beloved tells me there are people who wish their kids would stop playing video games, and others who wish their kids didn’t watch so much t.v., and others who wish their kids would stop drinking and running away from home.

That perhaps my kids constantly singing songs from soundtracks isn’t so bad.

But … I think they’re (or at least E) bordering on obsessed.

___________________________

Today, I was productive. I did unbelievable (for me) amounts of work. Wanna know what I did?

• Cleaned out my medicine cabinet. It’s now 60% empty.
• Purged summer clothes from the girls’ drawers (pulled the winter clothes from storage yesterday, while J had a friend over – a friend who could take the items which have since been out grown, so it worked out well. They were also both eager participants in the process, which also helped. E appreciated having the whole thing taken care of while she was out of town).
• Did 9 loads of laundry. Which was exhausting.
• Scrubbed the bathroom with bleach. We usually use natural cleaners, and I often assign the sink and the toilet and the sweeping to the girls. But every now and then (in my mind, in my plans – once a month; in reality – twice a year), I do it myself with the powerful cleaners. Today was that day. I last did it the DAY before the bar exam. Maybe two days before. Which is only 4 months … even a little less. Maybe I’m getting better.)
• Cleaned out the coat closet floor. This entailed much throwing away. Much space-finding for bags (I’m addicted) which have not been used in some time. It was hard.
• Sorted through our “extras” – which for us is hats, gloves and scarves. I got rid of singles, of those things which were too stained to salvage, of gloves that no longer fit the growing hands in the family. I washed the fleece which seems to be a cat-fur magnet. After they were washed, I went over the more stubborn items with a lint brush. This took at least 2 hours (the lint brush stage). I am so determined that our things WILL NOT have cat fur on them. WILL NOT.
• Cleaned out under the bathroom sink. It was gross. I filled an entire garbage bag with almost-empty shampoo bottles that I felt, while a student, were too precious to throw away – that I may need them during those days where the loan money had run out and so had the shampoo.  It’s nice to feel that I can now confidently say that when next we run out of shampoo, I can buy some.
• Took J shopping at the Gap, and bought her jeans that fit; even without the sea levels rising (she’s a 10 Slim, for the most part) and a super-cute dress. I bought Beloved some socks. I bought me black gloves to go with my work-coat, and a grey hat. I bought me funky blue and green striped gloves and a matching scarf to go with my not-work-coat. I bought E nothing. She was in NY.
• Took J out to lunch at a new place in town. We had a good time.
• Before the store and lunch, I dragged J to Starbucks with me. I got her a hot cocoa so she didn’t feel like I was a selfish bitch of a mom (I also tricked her BFF and her yesterday into thinking that I was the nicest mom in the world for taking them for hot cocoa after a frigid soccer game, when in reality — it all comes down to my addictions). I later felt a bit conspicuous, walking through the Gap with my Starbucks cup, and my 9 year old child following behind me with her own 9 year old sized Starbucks cup. Hmmm.

I think I will next read Nice Girls Don’t Get the Corner Office, because I am a MILF.

But in the meantime, the family is going to eat brownies – in acknowledgment of E’s excellent progress report 3 weeks ago (oops, we lost track of time) and watch Star Trek … after I vacuum.

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Shopping for kids.

I took E shopping today. She’s going to NYC for a show and a fancy-pants dinner, and she is going to a dance, and we’re going to a friend’s Bat Mitzvah.

We went to Macy’s, but the stupid store didn’t have a kids’ section.

So we went to Bloomingdales, but I was scared. I’d seen dresses for her there in the past when I went with a friend, but they were all pushing $200, and I didn’t find that to be the best use of my dollars. I pay just about that for suits for myself — not for a dress for a kid who will GROW in 1/2 a minute, and whose sister is almost as tall as her (which means I can’t look forward to it functioning as a hand me down).

She ended up finding a dress (tunic?) which was $38, plus 25% off. We got some leggings, and I said, “fine.” For NYC and her school dance, I thought it would be fine. I didn’t think it was dressy enough for the Bat Mitzvah, but we have time for that.

But then we went to another store, and I saw the world’s most gorgeous dress.

She wrinkled her nose at it. She said no.

Then she showed me this black formal dress … it had a ruffled skirt, and diamond (fake) edging. She said, “if you flip this around a little bit, it’s just like [friend she’s going to NYC with]’s dress.”

What????

I told her there was NO WAY she could wear a tunic-like-dress and leggings if her friend was wearing something like THAT.

So I made her try on the dress I liked.

I actually made her try on both dresses I liked.

Fortunately, the $316 one was too big in the 12, and too small in the 8, and they didn’t have a 10. (I wouldn’t have bought it – I swear).

But the one I really loved was right around $100, and she looked so gorgeous in it, even she couldn’t argue with me about it. She ended up loving it, too. (I tried to take pictures, but the flash kept making it too shiny, and doesn’t do it justice – so I found this one on the internet.)

It’s in my closet now. I don’t trust their closet.

Problem is – it may be too dressy for the Bat Mitzvah, although perfect for her NY evening. And definitely too dressy for the school dance. So, while I was hoping to get her only two outfits (one for NYC which could also be used for the Bat Mitzvah services and the school dance, and a second for the Bat Mitzvah party), now I think I’ll be getting, like, 4.

I need to check with my friend (mom to the Bat Mitzvah girl) to be sure that E wouldn’t appear to be “showing up” the party girl.  I’ve seen her dress, and it’s probably on par with E’s.  Not dressier, but not more casual.  E’s perhaps looks a little less dressy, only b/c the party girl’s dress looks older.  E’s empire waist, I think, makes it a little more innocent, and a little less formal.

My other major difficulty with an 11 year old with big, wide feet: shoes.

We went into Stride Rite, where they sell Borns and other fancy-pants (to me) shoes in kiddy sizes, and the woman told me, “you really can’t shop for her here, anymore. She’s too big.”

How do I buy shoes for an 11 year old? I don’t want her to wear high heels. I refuse to allow it, actually. I also don’t want to spend $100. But if I go into the adult realm, I’m struggling to find her something that doesn’t violate both of those rules.

Oh, the hardships.

In the meantime, I got J a sweet little brown dress with white polka dots, and found 15 different choices of shoes – little brown ballet flats, regular flats, Mary Janes, you name it.

But not for E.

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The pants it is

Okay. Y’all made it clear – I need to get the pants. I shall do that.

Shoes are still complicated. The problem is the foot injury from 2002 that I perpetually complain about and fret over. I can’t wear the cool and sexy heels that are out there, because they hurt my stupid foot.

I know I should go and get the damned thing looked at. I think of some kind of Asian manipulation options … but I get scared, or tell myself it’s “fine.”

But it does affect my shoe choices.

But the clothes I buy and the look I enjoy requires heels.  Not only that, but if I wear pants, and if they fall right with heels on, they don’t fall right with flats on – so I can’t do the “shoes in my bag and sneakers on my feet” deal during the commute.  I’d be walking on my hems.  And my pants would look like shit.

So I’m looking at these, because this brand tends to work for me. The toe-part also should work for me – less coverage of the toes and top part of my foot often means pressure on my sore spots.

I wish I had good feet.

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Grey and black and blue

Oh, this feels good.

I have 3 new suits.

They’re all very, very pretty.

Two of them are pants, and one of them is a skirt.  Ann Taylor has corresponding pants … should I get them?  Is it really useful to have a skirt and pants that match the same jacket?  Or will I not want to wear the skirt, ever.  Or the pants, ever.  Depending on which ends up my favorite.

Decisions, decisions.

I counted in my closet … once I get some alterations done, I will have 7 suits.

Sounds like enough to me.

Over the next few months, I’ll work on shirts for underneath and some classic jewelry.  I may even go on a shoe hunt.

Shoes are so hard for me.

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Superwoman Me Not Be

Yesterday, I said how today was the day I had to get my picture done.  I had spent a lot of time picking clothing which I felt was my best.  I spent extra time on my hair.  I picked out my favorite jewelry.

Then I got to work and found out my picture is tomorrow.

But I wore my good clothes today.

I get paid on Friday.  I swear, I am not coming home until I have at least two more suits in my hand.  I am going to Ann Taylor at Faneuil Hall, and I am BUYING SUITS, goddamnit.

I can’t believe I fucked that up.  Now I have to wear tomorrow the same thing I wore on Monday.  How lousy is that?

And I bought new clothes last night (NOT suits) which I thought would be fun to wear tomorrow.  Instead, I have to wear a boring repeat-suit.

Grrr.  Argh.*

*$10 to anyone who can guess where “Grrr.  Argh.” comes from.  Sis is excluded from the contest.

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The One-Two Punch

First, I’m just exhausted.  I think I can do everything, but I may be wrong.  Because I’m pooped.  Of course, this week has the added stress of being a transition phase, which means I’m not wrong, I’m just pooped.  I can do everything.

Today, I can work 10 hours, keep track of my 11 year old as she goes to and from soccer practice, keep a 6:15 appointment to visit an apartment, run home, change my clothes, hop on the bike, ride to Gap (because I promised J I would go back and get her a “picture day” outfit she had picked out on Sunday), try on 5 pairs of pants, 2 shirts and a sweat – buy 2 pairs of pants, 2 blouses and a sweater, as well as J’s clothes on sale, ride the bike back home, eat dinner with the family, discipline my 11 year old on account of her leaving school work in the school (no, homework in the school, if it were school work, it would belong in the school, and no discipline would be required), reprimand said 11 year old for goofing off in the library instead of getting her work done, try on new clothes for Beloved, cuddle with 9 year old, talk to a friend on the phone, call my parents to say happy anniversary, clean the kitchen and write this blog post.

Almost as miraculous as yesterday.

But man, am I pooped!

I also feel infinitely better because I have some new clothes.  I didn’t even spend that much.  They aren’t suits, but I think there will be plenty of days where that is fine.

Not tomorrow, though, because I have a formal photo shoot.  You know, for the website photo.  Ick.

I am amazed at how pearls can dress up an outfit.  I think I want more pearls.  Mine are the itty-bitty “fresh water” pearls and they’re a double strand.  They’re pretty and all, but I want a single strand of the round pearls.

____________________________________ 

Second, the apartment sucked.  Something about this town – almost all the apartments are chopped up into tiny rooms.  Why?  Why do they do this?  If they knocked down the walls, the space would be so much better.

This place said it had a “separate dining room.”  Uh, right.  If a dining room is like, 4×4.  And what dining table do we sit at?

The kitchen sucked.

The “bedrooms” which would have been the girls would barely fit a bed.

And what’s worse – the landlords (240 year old husband and wife) were clearly meddlers.  They wanted to hear the rundown of my after-school arrangements, to be certain the girls are “well-cared for” before they’d approve us as renters.

Interesting.

They also said, “We tend to rent to a lot of doctors.  We have the driveway plowed in the winter.  What does your husband do?  Does he need to leave early in the morning?”  See, I was so busy trying to figure out how one question connected to the next, I didn’t even think about it when I said, “In our family, I am the one who would have to get out early, but we don’t have a car, so we’re fine.”  But later I was irked that they assumed that “my husband” was the professional and had very important things to do while I … what?  Cleaned house in a business suit? (Which is what I was wearing at the time).  Vacuumed in my heels?  Wore pearls while making stock from the carcass of a chicken?  Carried baby diapers around in a briefcase?

So, I’m sad.  Ish.  I mean, not really.  I’m pooped, you see, and moving while pooped would be even more poopful.

So, whatever.

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No words

I now have a moment to blog.  But I have nothing to say.  Of course there’s a ton of stuff swirling in my head, but now that I’m employed, I feel cautious (overly?) about almost everything.

Then I have stories to tell about my kids, and about trust issues (which they have earned, and show me over and over that they’re trustworthy people), about their growing and maturing, and I think, “I can’t – they’re getting too old, I can’t share those things about them.”  You know, sort of how when they’re babies and you’re giving them in the bath it’s fine to snap a picture, but by the time they’re – I don’t know – 5?  It just feels wrong.

_______________________________

The sharable:

We went for a walk today – just us chicks – to the fun part of town in order to run our several fun errands.  We started at Starbucks for my caffeine infusion* and so that I could cave at the girls’ begging and change my “no” to a “yes” as an answer to their request for food.  I did not get them a frappucino, though.  Well, either did they ask.  J wanted a cake-y thing, and I had originally said it was okay for them to share.  But J was in a chocolate mood, and E in a “lemon loaf” mood, and so they could not agree.  Rather than saying no to everything, I just got them each their heart’s desire, and in anticipation of their ensuing thirst, I had them grab some organic chocolate milk.

We then took our sugared, caffeined selves over to T-Mobile.  E got a phone.  I am jealous of the phone, and on Tuesday (when my bank day has passed, and when the fun, nice boy who helped us today is working again) I am going to upgrade my own damned phone.

Which is reckless.  I haven’t decided yet what I want to do with the work-PDA and whether or not I want an iPhone (those two decisions are intertwined).  And if I upgrade my phone, it results in a renewed 2 year contract.  So I should really think on this more, and not be so easily swayed by E’s better graphics.

We then went to Gap, because E had a ridiculous amount of $$ on a gift card from my mother.  She made good choices, and got cute clothes.  J picked some as well, which I put on hold.  For one bank day.

Then we came home where E curled up with her cell phone manual and I turned on football and plunked some quarters, clothes and soap into some machines.

Boring day, eh?

I also spent time stressing over my wardrobe (or lack thereof).  I decided a couple of weeks ago that I am an old frump, and that regardless of pounds shed, I’m just not a trendy kid who can wear clothes from Gap or Banana Republic.  I was looking today at some classic styles, and realized that if I were to follow this path, I would not be able to afford to move.

Why is it so hard to get dressed?

* I had given up Starbucks in recognition of my dire financial position over the past few weeks.  Now I’m only one bank day away from freedom, and 4 bank days away from freedom plus.  So I’m back to my triple venti non fat lattes.  Mmmmm.  ALSO!  I learned over the past few days that regular coffee just doesn’t cut it for me.  Wanna know why?  I don’t like coffee.  If I drink a regular cup, I just don’t get the caffeine my body desires (please remember, my sacrifice in order to make full time work and mothering work is sleep.  No sleep does increase caffeine requirements.)  If I get a triple venti non fat latte, I can have 3 espresso shots super-efficiently delivered.  I also get the protein from a LOT of milk, which allows me to skip breakfast without feeling too-too bad about it.

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Drycleaners are Losers

I mentioned in my earlier post that I had no time to try on my outfit which I’d designated as my “first day” outfit, to be sure all was well and that I was happy with it.  I decided shortly after hitting the publish button that I would make time.

I put on the skirt, and thought, “crap, I thought it fit well enough, but now it seems a little loose – beyond just “not tight” and into “frumpy” territory.”  It’s lower on my hips, which makes its knee-length fall just at that pooey part of the calf, and it’s just not 100%.

I can deal, though.  When I put on my cashmere sweater, I still looked slimmer than I am used to seeing myself in a skirt, and I was happy once the shoes were on.

But then I put on the jacket.  And buttoned it.  It was crooked, and pokey outy.

The fucking drycleaner messed up the lapel.  And it was 2 p.m. on a Saturday afternoon – the drycleaner is a chain that sends its stuff out to a central location – they don’t do the work on premises.  It looked like CRAP.

Fortunately, my sister, the do-it-yourselfer in every single area, is in town.  She’s coming tomorrow.  I knew that if I gave her an iron, she could fix it.  I called my mom to whine and warn her and my sister that they have an Assignment for tomorrow.  They agreed that it sucks.

Then I showed Beloved, and he thought perhaps it’s because the jacket is too big now, too.  I didn’t think it was that much bigger than it should be – but when he took a tuck in at the back, the lines seemed so much better.

Damn it all to hell.

Why can’t they pay me BEFORE I work?  So I can go buy clothes that fit?

Hopefully Mom and Sis can make it wearable, and I’ll just take it off as soon as I can on Monday.

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