My 33rd birthday (not 34th, honey) is rapidly approaching. My life is very different at nearly-33 than I thought it would be. If you'd asked me ten years ago, or even five for that matter, if I would be a stay-at-home mom, I would have laughed in your face. That was never in my grand plan, but it turned out to be the right thing for me and for my family. Most of the time, our younger selves have no idea what our older selves will need or want.

What's funny is that as hard as I've tried to find a new identity for myself other than my former career, I can't seem to shake it. I guess I'd be stupid to expect people to jump up and down and congratulate me on my achievements as a mom. It doesn't take a license or a degree or any measure of experience to make a baby. Most anyone can do it, so I shouldn't expect people's jaws to drop when I say I've done it. And it's not like I'm winning myself any Mother of the Year awards either. I'm just an average mom doing the best job I can do for my son.

So forgive me if rubs me the wrong way when someone finds out what I USED to do for a living and gets all googly and drooly on me. I don't go around advertising it. I'm proud of the work I did, but I think I sound like a jackass saying, "I'm a stay-at-home mom, but I USED to be an executive producer in television news." It would be demeaning myself and the work I do now to continue to identify myself with the work I haven't done for two-and-a-half years.

Today, some very well-meaning, very sweet ladies found out what I USED to do and they wanted to chat...a lot. I understand the fascination some people have for TV. I really should give these ladies a break. They didn't mean to hurt my feelings at all. They were just being nice. My old job is interesting. My current job is not as interesting as it is common. They're moms, too. They've never worked in TV, and it sounds exciting. The problem with those conversations is that they remind me that I do still have a little bit of a complex that I'm not "succeeding" the way I used to.

Measuring success as a mom is a tough thing to do. Ultimately, most mothers have the goal of raising happy, healthy, brilliant children. That goal takes years to reach, and it's hard sometimes to mark little successes and pat ourselves on the back for them, because there's always more work to do. If your kid gets potty-trained, he still has to learn to read and ride a bike and swim and on and on. When you can say, "Man, that was a great newscast," you can relish in a job well done for a little while. You might even WIN the ratings or an award or a beer from your friends.

I guess what I'm having a hard time dealing with today is that no one except my family gets excited about what I do NOW. I liked having people ooh and ahh over my job sometimes. It was some measure of validation. I'm learning to let go of that need. I'm learning to accept that this portion of my life is important. It's not going to win me any accolades or awards or a paycheck. I have to get my validation from within and know that I can always do something that will earn me those things another time. Hopefully, at some point in my life I'll come to a peace in which I don't need any of that. I'm slowly inching my way there. It is a journey afterall.

On a small tangent...if I were a little crazier and a little less confident in my life at this point, I might be utterly unglued right now. My husband SORT OF got a baby-daddy letter in the mail today. I'll let him tell you about that, because it's a real gem. Check in with him for his adventures in paternity.

Labels: Career, Life Lessons, My Journey

I've been very fortunate in my life that I have never had to work in a customer service job. I got my first job in TV news when I was 16, so I went straight from babysitting to the world of "professional" journalism. I never waited tables. I never worked at MickeyD's. The most contact I ever had with The Public in the working world was in field producing special news stories or live shots. That was usually in a tolerably controlled environment, so I never really had any issues.

The worst thing I ever had to do in dealing with the public was answer emails and phone calls from idiots, sociopaths, and/or unnaturally angry people. I always tried to treat those crazy Mo-Fos with respect. They ostensibly are human beings, and you never know when some crazy ass person could give you the best story of your life. I was, however, forced to give some complete jerks what my friend coined Crotch Phone, but they were never the wiser (envision, if you will, a person angrily thrusting the mouth piece of a phone into one's crotch region in a gesture of absolute disgust--a silent but cathartic response to some moronic spewing).

Today, I got my first ever experience "working" in customer service. I volunteered to help my friend out by working the front desk at her fitness center. I am a very Type A worker. I want to make sure everything I do is done properly and professionally, even if it's volunteer work. I was actually very nervous about this "job," because I've never even had to make change. Handling my friend's actual cash money freaked me out. What if I short-changed a customer? What if I short-changed the cash box? I was very serious about getting it right.

There's one member at the center I see all the time but I've never spoken to personally. She's an older lady who still wears her workout clothes from the 80s, pantyhose included. She first accosted me this morning about making sure she got credit for attendance. There was apparently some problem over the weekend, and she was still fired up about it. She's one of these people who attends several classes a day, every day. The center gives prizes to people when they reach certain milestones up to 200 classes in one year. This woman surpassed 300 classes a month ago, so the numbers no longer matter. She just likes to complain.

The woman came back a while later and said she wanted to order shoes. I had never done such a transaction before, and I was, admittedly, a little nervous about it. However, I was painstaking in my first service challenge. I carefully recorded the size, color and style of shoes she wanted. I took her money and gave her a receipt. I thought I had done everything properly. Ummm. Yeah.

She came back again a while later and asked the former owner for the new owner's cell phone number. The woman then left her second class early, which I've noticed she often does. She stays just long enough to get "credit" for being there. Whatev.

When the new owner's cell phone rang just as the class was letting out, I had a suspicion it was That Woman. When the new owner started explaining the attendance issue, I knew it was Her. She then started talking about the shoes. This conversation went on for way longer than it should have.

Before I left, my friend thanked me and gave me a gift for helping her out. As far as I knew everything was cool. Something, though, told me to give her a call and just make sure that I had done everything properly. It was my first time doing anything like this, and she's more of a perfectionist than I, so I thought checking in with her was a good idea. Well, I wish I hadn't called her, because now I hate people again. Apparently, that evil woman was calling to complain about me. She told the new owner that I just didn't seem to care about her shoe order, and that apparently offended her.

Exactly how much are you supposed to fucking care about an old woman with bad hair and makeup in 30-year-old workout clothes ordering a pair of high-top dance shoes? I mean, seriously. Was I supposed to jump up and down and congratulate her on an excellent life choice? Was I supposed to tell her that those shoes would help support her barely-moving body better than any other? Good thing you are buying these expensive high-impact dance shoes for your inexpensive, no-impact so-called dancing self! Way to go, sister!

I learned sometime around the time that I turned 30 that---much to my chagrin--I cannot control the world. Some of those smaller things that I spent so much time worrying about stopped bothering me. I hope upon hope that when I'm pushing 70 I don't get all riled up about stupid shit. I hope that I'm in a Happy Place where I've come to appreciate the gift of life and the numbered days I have left. I hope I will have some empathy for others and not expect the entire fucking world to revolve around me and my shoe purchases.

Whew. That felt good. I haven't had a good rant in a while. I needed a new nemesis. I had tired of my old one. Thank you, Old Evil Beeatch. 'Preciatecha.

Labels: Customer service, Mama Rant

I have a sick little guy, so this post might be short-lived. It doesn't help that it's storming here for only the second time in months, so the thunder will likely be an impediment to the boy falling asleep. That is if the sore throat, headache and fever aren't enough to keep him awake.

It's been a crazy couple of weeks here. What else is new, right? My parents have been visiting for a week, so I've barely been on the computer at all. I certainly haven't taken the time to write anything here.

I got exactly zero done on my To-Do list while my parents were here. My sick little man was enjoying their company, but he wasn't comfortable enough to venture too far away from me. The idea of having someone else watch him so I could work pretty much died on Day One. I do appreciate them coming, however, and I do think it was a positive experience for My Little Sunshine overall. That's really all that matters. All the other stuff will get done...eventually...or not at all. I'm learning to let go a bit.

We had a big week. The 4th of July festivities were rocking around here. My little guy led the neighborhood bike parade. He took the job very seriously, holding down his post for a full 45 minutes before the parade started. That's the longest my child has ever remained in a single position. EVER. He thought it was a race, though, and he left all the other kids eating his dust. He stopped a couple of times to let them catch up, but as soon as they did, he was off again.

The water games became another proving ground for the boy, who decided he was going to win every last one of them. He almost did. Three out of four isn't such a bad record. He has certainly come by the competitive spirit honestly and without coaching. It's one of those innate things that will be both a blessing and curse in his life.

I really don't have time right now to give a full rundown of my time away from blogging, so I'll just leave you with one...er...highlight.

Scene: July 5th, Mt. Otis driveway
Time: Dusk

Mrs. Otis lights a three-foot wooden sparkler for Sunshine to "celebrate" the already-past holiday.

Sunshine runs and hides.

Mrs. Otis pulls out the little spinny, colorful, globy thingies and lights one.

Sunshine runs and hides.

Mrs. Otis pulls out the little black pellets that grow into snakes. Sunshine loves snakes. He still runs and hides.

Mrs. Otis tries one last thing in the bag of tricks: a little cardboard tank that spews sparks.

Sunshine stands next to the driveway, utterly unimpressed, and says:

"I need to call my daddy. I need to tell him that my mommy, my grandma, and my poppy have made a really big mess in my beautiful neighborhood, and they're in deep, deep trouble."

Mrs. Otis: "Well, Sunshine, sometimes it's fun to make a mess. We're going to clean it up in the morning."

Sunshine: "I'm very disappointed in you, mommy. You made a really big mess of my beautiful neighborhood, and I'm telling my daddy."

He did.

I guess the 4th of July (or 5th as it were) is not really his thing. Good thing his birthday is coming up.

Labels: family, Holidays, My Little Sunshine Memorable Moments