Thanksgiving

Sofia is 72 hours out of the OR and climbing on furniture, shaking her booty to High School Musical, and eating turkey like a Pilgrim.

When we brought Sofia home from the hospital, she and her sister hugged so hard I lost my breath for a moment.

Tomorrow Pete will lug the 15 rubbermaid tubs full of Christmas flair out of the basement.

My wineglass is full and the DVR is loaded.

Game on.

I picked the wrong week to quit sniffing glue.

Perhaps I should elaborate, lest my 3 faithful readers suffer from concern that I am somehow on the wagon. Don't worry, Monica. I am doing my best to prove that liquor stores are recession-proof.

But honestly, the dread and fear won't go away, no matter how much I dull it with alcohol or sublimate it with loud music, exercise, caffeine, food. Nothing works.

Sofia's teacher came up to me this morning and asked that I keep her informed next week. Then she said that Sofia has seemed a little off this week, crying at weird times, kind of weepy. She talks about the surgery very matter-of-fact but I think she is picking up on our unease. Poor thing is trying to put a brave face on. She's my girl in so many ways.

From what I have heard, the surgery takes about 4 hours. I could sniff a lot of glue in 4 hours.

Perspective

I am totally losing my shit.

Less than a week now until my sweet baby goes under the knife and I am a wreck. I can't even talk about it without getting teary. And this is so unlike me - I am usually such a cool cucumber...rational and calm. Right? But not when it's my kid.

So tonight we dropped Emma at CCD and then headed to Target, the happiest place on earth. I needed paper towels (not a one left in the house, see my previous post about my domestic management challenges...) and we also needed to pick up some underwear for Sofia post-surgery. The incision is about where a C-section incision would be, and I spoke to another mom who's daughter had the ureter reimplantation surgery and she mentioned that she had to buy underwear several sizes larger so that it wouldn't irritate the scar. So that was our mission.

But of course, it's Target, you never go there just for the items on your list, so I told Fia that we were going to also pick up a treat for her for the hospital. And good sport that she is, she said "yeah mom, and you can give it to me in the hospital when I wake up."

Oh my sweet, precious child. Yesssss! Mommy will give you anything you like, anything in the world.

And then she says, "And mom? When people visit me in the hospital? They will bring me treats too, right?"

And I say "Of course they will, sweetie."

And she says, "Mom? Can you write a note for that? To make sure people know that they have to bring me treats?"

And I said, "How about this? Dear Friends and Family...If you come to visit Sofia in the hospital please remember to bring her a present."

"That's perfect, mom."

At least one of us is staying focused.

Unforgetable

One of the few constants in my life is my unyielding superiority in the field of parental blunders. I forget to pack water bottles in lunch boxes. I almost never host playdates. The nanny knows more of the kids' friends' parents than I do...in fact she does host playdates. We constantly run out of yogurt and I never buy the right kind of cereal. My pancakes are nowhere near as good as daddy's even though they come from the same damn box. I even missed Sofia's first birthday (just by a few hours, I was on an airplane...at least it was flying toward her and not away).

But yesterday I outdid myself. It was the 6th and final day of the living hell I like to call "The nanny goes to Mexico." When she brought up the idea of a vacation, I played it so cool. Of course she should take the week off. They are my children after all. I can handle a week of juggling bus stops, preschool, acting class, dance class, lunches, homework, laundry. I'll even take them for a flu shot. My full-time plus job? I'll squeeze it in there, no problem.

Last week started OK. They were off school Tuesday, so I took the day off and took them rock climbing, to a friend's house for lunch, to the flu shot clinic, and to the polls (they both voted for Brocco!) I even managed to meet an old friend for dinner that night. Easy peasy. Then I woke up the next morning half dead with what I assume was a reaction to the flu shot. So add to the work/kid juggling act a truckload of Zicam, kleenex & vitamin C. I got through the week in triage mode, and managed to hit the one deadline that I had no leeway on (all other projects got stuck in neutral). And then it was yesterday. My last day sans nanny. Piece of cake.

Typically, Mondays are hectic for me. I usually start with my favorite gym class of all time - cardio sport. It is hard to explain, does "ultimate death match for 30-something moms" make any sense? You just have to try it. So normal Mondays start with putting Emma on the bus, dropping Fia at preschool, hitting the gym for 90 minutes of sheer exhiliaration, then rushing home to prep for weekly staff meeting and all the other crap I do for a paycheck. Sofia has lunch bunch, and the nanny usually picks her up at 1, brings her home, and manages the kids while I work. Simple. So yesterday, I got it all right...right up until 1:15. Sanne walked into my office for our staff meeting at 1:30 just as the phone rang. I looked at the caller ID - Room 2 Grow. Hmmm....oh shit. I pick up the phone "Oh crap, Miss Carol, I totally forgot. On my way." I could hear the disdain in her voice. Miss Carol is in her mid-60s. Raised 4 kids. Has been running her own preschool for 20 years. I bet she never abandons anyone.

I rush to the school, blurting out to the teachers and Sofia "I am so sorry...can't believe I forgot my own child." Miss Denise shoots me a "you fucking moron" look and says in perfect preschool teacher happy voice, "It's Okaaay. You were stuck in traffic. Sofia wasn't worried." All the while shooting daggers at me. Poor pathetic mother. Doesn't even have the decency to cover up her stupidity with a nice white lie.

Next time, I'm going to Mexico with the nanny.

Caddyshack

A text from my brother this morning reads...

"I am officially board certified. You can finally stop asking if I am a REAL doctor."

Oh, little brother. How sweetly optimistic.

I will believe you are a REAL doctor only after you pioneer a surgical technique to reattach the hair you amputated from my Barbies' heads in 1977.

Or buy me a Mercedes.

Soccer Mom

Last night at 8pm, a time at which any reasonable 38-year old tired, working mom would be settling in with the remote control and a blanket...I was putting on shin guards.

Last year, for the first time since I was 11, I walked onto a soccer field. A co-ed, indoor soccer league. Last season I was mediocre at best, and our team was a little worse than mediocre. I had decided I wasn't going to put myself through it again - the time commitment, the bruised legs, the bruised ego. But then somehow there I was, lacing up my damn cleats with a bunch of other suckers. And despite my pleadings to move my tired legs back to defense, I was playing left forward again.

So we got absolutely killed last night, 7-0. We actually played OK in the first half, it sort of fell apart in the second half. I choked about 3 times with shots on goal that just didn't make it, but overall I think I played fairly well. The beauty of the sophomore season.

What really killed us last night was a complete lack of leadership. We had no clearly communicated strategy. There were several new players who hadn't been there last year and had no idea how to cover their position, about the pace of 6 on 6. There were 8 people on the sideline at any given time, all shouting out different directions to a field team that just never found its groove.

This strikes me as a timely metaphor for an extremely frustrating project I'm involved with. I have spent the last two months on an extremely fast-paced, challenging and interesting policy issue, with a looming deadline set by the legislature. A project chock-full of operational and technical challenges, which we have systematically faced down. I have put together an amazing team with just the right skill sets, and we've done some great work. The problem is, the client. The individual who has the last word on this project is completely and utterly lacking in the ability to make a decision. She is paranoid and controlling, but also ambivalent and second-guessing. Unlike my soccer team, we have had game plans. But they are continually shifting, and the shifts are not always well communicated to the players on the field. There's only one coach on the sideline, but she's whispering to herself. As a consultant, I can advise but I cannot decide, and so I am left constantly reacting and trying to translate this tenuous and tentative directive into actual work. I finally make a shot on goal, only to find the client has somehow moved the goalposts. Or the game has shifted to hockey, and now I need to learn how to skate.

Oh well, bring it on. I may be running in circles, but at the end of the day, it's all billable time.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

I have nothing against change, but I loathe transition.

So autumn typically leaves me somewhat conflicted. I love the clear, crisp air and the vibrant colors. But I find myself grumbling when it comes to digging through the old rubbermaids in the attic to try to find a pair of gloves, a warm hat. Transitioning out the girls wardrobes, trying to find that one box with all of the tights and sweaters in it. Fighting with Sofia every morning because she still wants to wear a tank top and flip flops. And then struggling to dress to kids for a day where the temperature gains and loses almost as much as the Dow.

I love the fall, but it is the ultimate in-between, and I find it so hard to stay in the present when all of a sudden we are booking the calendar for the holidays and looking for pre-season deals on ski gear.

I think the in-betweens are exacerbated this year by the impending election. Only two more weeks of living in limbo, afraid to even believe that it is possible that the 8-year winter could finally turn to spring. (mixing seasons, mixing metaphors...I told you, the change of seasons throws me off). Emma's school is participating in Kids Vote this year, which means she can come to the polls with me in 2 weeks, and cast a ballot herself. Curiously, she had settled on a candidate before either Pete or I could get to her. She likes "Arrocco Bama" because "he wants to let new people into this country and John McCain wants to keep everybody out." Her words, her interpretation of the teacher's explanation of immigration policy. When she asked me why I was voting for Arocco, I chose an issue that I know she understands and cares about - the environment. We talk a lot about endangered species and about global warming, so I told her that Mr. 'Bama had a better plan to reduce carbon emissions and combat global warning. She loved that. And then I sealed the deal by mentioning that Sarah Palin likes to shoot wolves from helicopters.

So only 3 more election cycles (2020!) until Emma can cast a real vote. Hopefully, she survives the many transitions to come with her left-leaning ideals intact. Then we will finally be a "blue" house, instead of Pete & I splitting our vote, stuck in between.