Let's Do Away with Money

I hate MONEY these days. It is the most frustrating thing in the world! For two and something years I have worked full time and gone to graduate school full time. This has been stressful and insane and exhausting, and I'm not really sure how I survived most of it. However, the one thing we never really had to worry about was the big M...money. We were able to save some while spending freely--not that we are extravagant by any means, but groceries, gifts, unexpected costs, and the occasional trip were never a big deal.

This is no longer the case, and I HATE it! Now that we have Miss High-Maitenance Baby aka Scarlett, and because I really need to focus on school if I want to be a rock star (which I do), and also because I am not actually supposed to have a second job with school, and because I would probably DIE if I tried to put any more on plate, we now have to rely solely on my husband's income and my meager Teaching Assistant pay. My VERY meager teaching assistant pay. (Since you could look this up for yourself on UNR's website, I feel free to reveal that it's only $14,000 a year! And we are FORBIDDEN to have other forms of income!!)

In my head, I had gone over and over our budget before I actually left my job, and felt certain that we could get by, even if we weren't saving anything. However, I didn't make any real attempt to monitor our spending until just recently, and now I find that, sadly, I was delusional. What I simply had no conception of was how much everything effing costs! How much we spend on gas! And groceries! And these damned incidentals that keep coming out of nowhere. We just got our registration paperwork for the Rav-4 we bought last year...$322 dollars! WHY?? We are already so in the hole just trying to meet our regular monthly obligations without crap like this coming up every five seconds!

I HATE thinking about money like this. I would so rather be busy than poor. I hate watching every penny only to realize that we are having to take out of our savings every month anyway--and knowing that I still have at LEAST three years left in my program, being forbidden to make enough to get by! I dread the idea of student loans and more debt. I keep going back and forth between trying to reassure myself that we have enough savings to make it, just barely, until I graduate, and absolutely panicking because I really think some savings in necessary in this world--too many unexpected things happen all the time to live paycheck to paycheck.

Why can't we just get rid of money and institute a nice system of trades. Like, I would be happy to make the people at the DMV some delicious raspberry cheesecake bars, or write them a silly rhyming poem, or utilize one of my many other skills in order to register the Rav. Why do they need $322 dollars, just to click a RENEW button in their system! They don't know it, but they would much rather have the cheesecake bars.

Dammit.

The Opposite of Spring Break

It's been one of THOSE days.

One of those days when I panic at how much my life has changed and how unbelievably inefficient I've become.

One of those days when my hysterically crying child has ME in tears.

One of those days when I look back and admit it: I really had NO idea what I was getting into with this baby thing! People tried to warn me, but as usual I was so blindly overconfident (my motto: I'm just going to do what I do until I fall flat on my face) in my multi-tasking abilities that I secretly, deep down, believed that I was different.

Okay, say it with me, people: What cheek!

Ahhhhhhhhh. It's Spring Break, the very phrase which brings to mind images of fit bikini-clad girls partying in places like Destin, Florida, and calls up memories of my carefree college days and cathartic road trips, long gone. Everyone I know best--my mom, my sister, my Emily--are on vacation having lovely times. They are, respectively, getting home improvement projects done, getting amazing exercise, and getting drunk with great friends. I am on the inverse of vacation, the polar opposite of a road trip. My home is a mess, my body is untended and saggy, I am stone cold sober and all alone. Except, of course, for the one I love best in the world, my beautiful daughter, and a houseful and a mindful and an email inboxful of things that I have forsaken for her. NAGGING things. And I don't do them because she wants every atom of my eyes (to watch and laugh with her), my arms (to fly her around the house and support her while she, insanely ambitious two-month old, practices sits, stands, and jumps), and my patience (slowly. wearing. thin.)

And because she's an active baby and an energetic baby she has everything it takes to cry, loudly, lustily, FOREVER when she doesn't get what she wants. Like when she's in her carseat--and I'm in traffic. Or her stroller--and I'm halfway through a walk. Or her swing--and I'm starving and have to pee and my poor dogs need just an iota of love. People say let them cry it out. She DOESN'T cry it out. She cries ME out, every time. And note to certain father-in-laws who imply that this equates to SPOILING: she's a TWO MONTHS OLD. She needs to learn that her mommy is there for her. Besides, half the time I rush to her it's not for her sake (because I KNOW she's fed and dry and comfortable, and just wanting her way) but for the sake of ME and my dwindling Advil supply.

Oh god, the love of a baby is a beautiful, immense, hysterical thing.

The icing on the crap cake today--another long day alone with everyone who usually gives me a break out of town and my husband working long hours--was a trip to my parents' to water their houseplants while they are out of town. It look me thirty minutes to get there and Miss Baby caterwauled at top volume the whole way (I alternated yelling along with her, begging her to stop, and accompanying her with my own tears.) When I got there she would not let me put her down without more of the same so I tucked her under one arm and embarked on watering. As I filled, emptied, and refilled the tiny pitcher endlessly with my one free hand, I counted my dad's insane green progeny for the hell of it...FORTY EIGHT houseplants. (I have FOUR.) And that number doesn't even include the hundreds and hundreds of vegetables he is starting for his garden.

My arms are sore. I need a long, hot bath. I need a martini. I need a DO-OVER on spring break, please.

But even as I write this what I need most is my sweet little everything, the person who has replaced ME in my own heart (at least most of the time), and who OF COURSE is sleeping peacefully now that Daddy's home.

Site for Squidge

My dear internetty friend EmilyPie helped me create a website for Squidge! I didn't feel like I could get away with shameless boasting and bragging on this site...you know, the kind that older relatives are okay with, but friends secretly get irritated with?...so now it gets its own webspace! Watch out internet. Just kidding. Here is the link if anyone is interested!!

http://www.babysites.com/sites/squidge/

Squidgy-O

Untitled from Mario Colombini on Vimeo.

Re-Stancing

Last night my husband and I "Skype-d" with that overseas friend of ours who is headed for monk-hood, the one I mentioned the post before last. (Skype, for anyone who doesn't know, is a lovely little free online messaging system that has voice and webcam connections. But probably everyone already knows that, because I'm usually the last to know about these techy kind of things!)

He talked a long time about the choice he was making before we said much, and then he asked us if we had any questions or concerns--almost like it was Mario and I about to make this choice instead of him. At first I was determined to uphold my state of stasis, to maintain my congratulatory tones, and keep any objections buried, subverted.

But hearing him describe the life he would be embarking on made me remember traveling in Southeast Asia and seeing the monks in Thailand walking the streets, with their shaved heads and robes the color of curry or saffron, and thinking about how they had to shy away from females that passed them. On buses, they would step carefully to avoid even the briefest, most perfunctory touch. The respectful world traveler in me, knowing the rules they abide by, was always careful when in proximity to give them space and distance. The mischeivous feminist in me, however, was always tempted to reach toward their bare arms.

So I asked our friend if he would ever be able to hug his women friends again. He responded that no, he would be able to hug Mario, but not me. In his new world, even the most innocent and friendly touch from a woman becomes something to be feared. What about your mom, your sister, I asked? He wasn't sure but said he would probably go ahead and hug them regardless of the rules. Then I asked him if he would ever be able to hold my daughter--at what age do girls become women and women become a threat?--and he didn't know that either.

Resentment was creeping into my voice at that point. Our friend--who has always been a bit of a playboy--responded to my tone by saying he would be learning to treat women as equals rather than objects.

But my heart rejects anything that forbids the loving hug of a friend, frowns on the cuddling of a cute baby girl, and constructs the female gender as such an insidiously evil threat.

I'll take my spiritually unenlightened life, thanks.

Incomprehensible

We got the horrific news last night that a very, very close friend of my brother-in-law took her own life yesterday. I haven't known too many people to die in my life, and I have known even fewer to suicide, but I do know what a confusing melange of emotion it evokes. Sorrow...sympathy for those most affected, in this case my brother-n-law...confusion, lack of comprehension...guilt...and most of all anger and resentment. I know depression is not a rational thing (I don't know her reasons really, but I can't imagine anyone taking that action from a state other than depression) but to a rational person it is just...unavailable. Beyond some black curtain. I can't make my mind meet it. I just can't imagine how anyone could make that decision knowing there is even one person left in the world that loves you.

My husband was very upset last night when he found out--this is someone he has known for close to twenty years--so I came home from my class early to be with him. We sat in silence for awhile and held our daughter between us and I kept looking at her, at her perfect face and beautiful eyes and warm little body, and thinking that, years ago, this woman's mother held her the same way, loving her with all her heart, and dreaming her life where sadness happens but all the good things triumph.

If life were certain mothers could pledge never to let these things happen to their children, but it's not. It's not so I can only hope with all of my heart that my beautiful Scarlett, my sweet little love, will never, ever know that kind of wild despair.

The Road More Travelled

A good friend of my husbands', who has been living and working overseas for the past two years, has just announced that he is renouncing his wordly possessions, as well as contact with Mr. Happy, to join a Buddhist monastery in Thailand.

And yes, he's serious.

To all of us, this news came out of left field, although I don't think any of us were really all THAT surprised. In the email he sent out announcing this, his reasons were very well laid out, pre-empting all the potential "but what about" questions that were guaranteed to come his way from those who love him (because of course when we love someone, we want them to live like us, to value what we value, right?) His time overseas has intensified his interest in spirituality and achieving some sense of peace and balance in the tumultuous world has become a priority.

Reading his email, I feel like my tongue was silenced...my "but what abouts" were stolen before they became words, my thoughts were shhh-d before they became objections. His absolute confidence that this is the right thing has put me in a state of statis where acceptance and doubt meet and invalidate each other. I literally have no response (very odd for me).

But I can't help thinking about the state of his life right now, and how it is at such a polar opposite from ours, mine and my husbands'. He will be giving up, while we will be trying to acquire. He will be foregoing worries, while we court them, worrying constantly about how we will live and support our daughter on way less income than we used to have. We, quite honestly, will continue to WANT money, sometimes quite desperately; it will (or should) cease to be of value to him. His focus will become entirely vested in the personal as ours has suddenly shifted to thinking incessantly about someone else, our daughter, and far less about ourselves and the state of our own beings. In fact, the time when we can seek silence to truly hear ourselves think will be long in coming, if at all. We will continue to eat after noon, will wake up at 4:30 only if our little one is crying for love and attention, and will beg food at the doors of others only if we need to borrow an egg or some sugar from my sister next door, which we will use to cook some delicious, unnecessary, indulgent creature comfort. We have a family now, and we will have love and companionship and comfort but not, in all likelihood, spiritual epiphany.

Our paths, here, truly diverge.

Interesting, isn't it?

Ode to the Best Idea Part II...with a Caveat

(Warning: This post is perhaps a little TMI, so don't read if you are someone easily bothered by over-disclosure!)

As of last Wednesday, Scarlett was six weeks old. Which meant...da da da dum...time to resume MARITAL RELATIONS. This, of course, is according to The Official Rules for Post-Baby Conduct, as posited by some distant authority figure who was NOT a new mom, or if so was a miraculously fast-recovering one, because let me tell you, between lack of sleep and a lingering concern about the general state of things Down There, I wasn't exactly itching (hmm, perhaps a poor verb choice there) to resume such relations.

But, I have a husband. And he's a guy. And guys need loving or (we secretly fear) they will leave us for some younger, hotter model who is still adventurous and eternally in the mood and whose stomachs do not resemble a deflated beach ball and whose nether regions have NOT recently been violated by the ejection of a (albeit mini-sized) HUMAN BEING. Just kidding. But really--my husband is a great husband, and I knew it would mean a lot to him for me to give it a go.

So yesterday we carted the baby next door to my sister for an hour, because no way in heck would a) Squidge let us put her down for even the short (hey, it's been awhile) amount of time required and b) even if she did, no way would I be able to concentrate. (And there's my caveat: that's one time it would have been nice if babysitting hadn't been QUITE so convenient, but them's the breaks). When I came home, Mario took me by the arm and led me down the hall. I told him I felt like a sheep being led to slaugher, which earned me a swat and an "Oh, THAT's romantic."

Anyway, long story short: WE DID IT. And I survived. But I still think whoever set up that six-week expectation is slightly crazy. And at least we beat the stats, by a few days: I saw somewhere online that the average couple resumes that activity at seven weeks after the baby. So there ya go. We may be boring new parents who have no life, but now we are officially on the MORE wild and crazy range of that scale.

Still...I'm secretly hoping no one offers to watch the Squidge until AT LEAST next weekend!

Squidge Pics

These were taken with my mom's iphone. Goodness, but that smiley one is cute! Too bad the last day hasn't produced very many of those cute faces...I didn't get to bed until after 5:00 last night, and crankiness seems to be the order of the day today as well. Good thing she's so cute that it makes up for it!

REALLY Multi-tasking NoW1

Ha! I just figured out that I can nurse baby at my desk in the office (provided the window, which faces the street, has the shade drawn of course, or the neighbors would really get a show!) Don't know why I didn't try this earlier. So here I am, wearing a robe and underwear and not much else, with a baby propped on a Boppy proped on my lap, typing away! Score! Even better, I actually shaved my legs today since it's the weekend and my husband is home and that means I can actually luxuriate in my shower without having to feel guilty that Miss Needy is squawking pathetically beyond the glass, and crying REAL TEARS . Oh, life is good on a Saturday (or would be if I didn't have a meeting at 3:00pm for which I have nothing done!)...

I don't want anyone to see my baby today or they'll think I am a bad mommy...poor Squidge's face is all scratched up! Yesterday several of my relatives came to town to see her...several JEWEL-bedecked relatives. I don't know what it is about my dad's sisters and mother, but they are serious jewelry mongers, particularly my grandmother, a woman who trips around the world bargaining for stones and then comes back and has them set in solid gold, precisely to her standards. And, because they are all such gorgeous acquisitions, she likes to wear all of them at once! Anyway, like many women these gals are particularly fond of big stones set in non-baby friendly prong settings, and in the course of getting passed around and loved on, I'm guessing someone's ring or necklace snagged Squidge's little face. She never cried about it and I didn't notice the scratches until after the rellies were gone, and they are already fading, but it still makes me sad!

The good news is that she was amazingly sweet and happy for the whole visit and gave her great-aunties such big lovable smiles that they fell right in love with her. She is really starting to go through extended happy periods which are just beyond cute. Hopefully later today I'll be able to post some great smiling Squidge pics...my mom has taken some amazing ones lately and we're going to get them from her.

Okay...back to the stuff for the meeting I'm not prepared for...sigh.