Vacation After the Vacation

Disclaimer: there is a full-on whine below. If you can't stand that sort of thing, I recommend you just skip this post entirely.

Traveling is one of the things my husband and I really enjoy and our family recently returned from a nine day trip away. It was heavenly. As has been the case lately, with my daughter getting older, the trips just keep getting better. She is a champion car traveler (sometimes more patient than me) and a real treat as she embraces all our outings when away. As mundane as running to the grocery store ("There's Harris Teeter!!") or seeing the sights (this trip it was a replica of a 16th century sailing vessel which she deemed "just like on 'Arial'!"), she enjoys it all.

As is the case with most business owners, especially those working from home, the lines often blur between personal and professional time. I've written plenty of other posts about the overlaps in my life. I tried something new this trip and attempted to clear the work responsibility decks in hopes I wouldn't have a load of commitments while away. It worked! I was able to blissfully disengage from my working world, answering a minimal number of emails and spending very little time attached to my computer for the week. It really made for a relaxing getaway.

What I didn't factor in was my transition back to real life upon our return. Oy! Those first two days of assimilation were insane! On our last travel day, I checked my email at 8 a.m. No problems. When we got home at 4 p.m. that afternoon, 63 emails in my inbox. 63! Suddenly everything seems urgent. ugh. Gone are my feelings of Zen. And let's talk about the laundry. Piled to the rafters. And the cat fur balls tripping around the floor like little hamsters. Nothing in the fridge. Dirty bathrooms. Zen? Did I really feel Zen four short days ago? So now I need a vacation from the transition back from my vacation. sigh.

Squandered?

I was working at a coffee shop the other day, preparing for a next meeting, and two women came in with their young children. They looked like this was the very purposeful outing of the day, a time to get together with a friend and to get the kid out of the house. The two kids were young enough that they were just learning to navigate the whole self-feeding world, purposely putting hand-to-mouth, and hoping to catch some food in the process. Very adorable.

I had a momentary pang- did I miss the boat? Did I squander my stay-at-home days with my daughter? Did I forsake that kind of organic flow of the day for meetings, preschool, and other commitments? Have a I rushed too quickly back to the working world?

Oh, but then I remember: I had those days. I wasn't very happy. It was a little bit maddening and I felt like I was constantly searching for my higher purpose (I couldn't quite ever settle into the thought- and this is strictly for myself and not others- that the only thing I was supposed to be doing was raising my daughter, as important as it was... and still is; it's my own hang-up). And I also now remember: I still have those days. At least two days a week I am free to meet friends for lunch. And I don't have to change out of stretchy pants if I don't want to. We can change princess clothes as often as needed. And I am sole controller of our "flow" those days.

I am excessively grateful that I have had the choice, to work or stay home with my daughter. I know too many who don't have the choice and fully realize the challenge of that. I am also excessively grateful that, on most days, I have this incredible balance that feeds all parts of me.

But I just wonder some days, what would it be like to be with my daughter everyday, all day?

Just A Minute

"Just a minute" is a phrase that runs rampant through my life... and causes me no end of grief. There was a time when it used to be an innocuous placeholder- "Just a minute and I can answer your question, give you my thoughts on that, address the next issue, etc."- but now it is an encumbered phrase in my life. The first layer it carries has to do with working at home and time spent with my daughter. "Just a minute" is most often uttered when I am trying to answer a client email or some other computer-related task and pay simultaneous attention to my daughter. As in, "Just a minute, honey. Mommy needs to answer this one last email before we..." I suppose it is the equal peril of the work I do and trying to fit too much into too little time (more on that later). In that particular circumstance, the uttered phrase is followed by stabs of guilt coursing through my body, wishing I didn't have to put off my daughter a minute longer. Can I appease myself by saying it is a beneficial lesson in patience for her? She seems no worse for wear... The second layer it carries is annoyance. I am a person that prefers to execute tasks in a sequential manner. I think better- more clearly- when an issue or project is addressed in its discrete parts, from beginning to end. The constant interruptions do nothing for my productivity and feelings of satisfaction. There was a recent study that reflected that people do have less concentration and perform less well when multitasking. It does nothing to solve my current problems of having to split my day into slivers of work and home life. But it does validate my feelings on a certain level.

The last layer is the feeling of resignation. One of the phrases that has served me well as I navigate the waters of parenthood is, "It is what it is." And that most appropriately applies to this situation. Working part-time and out of my home some days allows me to be with my daughter. Having time with my daughter means that I will often be completing tasks in interrupted increments. It is what it is. There is also another kind of "just a minute," often uttered while talking to a friend on the phone, when my daughter has asked me a question or requires me to address a need. As in, "just a minute, I need to assist with the potty, help with a princess dress change, switch a DVD, etc..." Again, I feel guilty that I cannot provide my undivided attention. I like to be the friend who can listen, reflect, respond. But some days you're lucky to just get me on the phone. Period. And luckily, I have wonderful friends, most of whom (all of whom?) understand this circumstance. Every so often the irony hits me: professionally, I often counsel clients on issues of time management and life balance. But, like the shoemaker whose children have no new shoes, my own life balance occasionally suffers. I know that this is a time-limited circumstance. In a few short years I will be lamenting these days of unstructured time spent with my daughter. Until then, "just a minute" will serve me well.

Unfinished Business

Among other things, my husband got me Amy Winehouse's Back to Black (alas, no Us Weekly, but this will do) for Christmas. That was December. It's now February. Have I listened to it? No. I was made more aware of this fact by my husband who told me he listened to it the other night, after I had gone to bed and proclaimed it very good. I've walked past it occasionally and looked at it longingly, thinking, 'I really should listen to this.' But haven't. Oh, and I didn't mention that it has 'explicit lyrics' which really limits my listening opportunities.

As much as I love music- and I do; it's a centerpiece of my life- something else is generally taking precedence. First, are the available times I have to listen a CD with 'explicit lyrics' (and I'm dying to know just how explicit they are...) I usually listen to music one of two times- in the car, driving around on errands, or up to Cleveland for work. Almost always, I am traveling with my Constant Companion and little ears do not need to hear explicit lyrics right now, especially when she has a true gift for memorizing and singing songs almost verbatim. Although she is developing a real penchant for Randy Newman-- so funny to hear those sardonic words emerge from such a little mouth. I must admit, the occasional Liz Phair slips into the playlist, but we try to keep it clean... for the most part. Likewise, listening to a CD for the first time when running around town is just not satisfying. It doesn't pay proper respect to the continuity and flow that makes up an artist's vision on an "album." The only other time I regularly listen to music is at dinner which we usually eat as a family. Also not the most opportune time to listen to the edgier stuff. It's Buckwheat Zydeco, Alison Krauss, Dixie Chicks, Moulin Rouge, Dwight Yoakam, Wilco and the like.

I have other priorities during the time I am generally alone in the house. First, there is always some kind of work "thing" to attend to. Emails to answer; client notes to address; consulting projects to complete. And then there is my TV habit. As much as I love music, TV is my siren song. Recording programs throughout the week guarantees that there is always a backlog of shows to watch. And whereas my husband has his alone time late at night, that is not my preferred hour. My time is early in the morning, most mornings waking by 6 or so to have an hour or two before the rest of the house springs into action. Call me crazy, but it just doesn't feel right to listen to explicit lyrics at 6 a.m.

Thing is, I hate unfinished business, loose ends. I have a hard time with loose ends. And, on a certain level, that CD I walk by, sitting there on the stereo, is unfinished business. Maybe I'll be able to listen to Amy Winehouse when I go on one of my twice yearly road trips with a friend... Or perhaps it will have to wait until my daughter is older (14? 15?) at which point I still won't be able to listen to it because then I will need to be a role model for her. sigh... I will mostly likely be listening to Amy when the album is considered a classic, if it ever achieves that status. And if it doesn't? I probably will have wasted a lot of angst on nothing. Story of my life.

Who Needs Another Kid?

I haven't introduced you to the other members of our cozy family- the cats. We have two: Rufus P. Kittykins, the Mayor of Kittytown, and Candace (Candy) P. Kittykins. Adorable... when one isn't responsible for their care, feeding, and entertainment.

The winter is an especially challenging time in regard to our furry family members. Both are indoor/outdoor, enjoying the benefits of both. When the temperature plummets, the Mayor becomes a complete wimp about setting foot outside. It's quite theatrical really. He stands at the door, tap, tap, tapping with his paw to be let out (my husband and I imagine him saying, 'Hello? I'm waiting. People, I'd like some attention here. Can anyone hear me?') We open a door to let him out. He shivers. Shrinks back. Cowers. Looks outraged that we would even consider allowing him to go outside. And he turns and heads back to warmer environs. But it doesn't end there. He is not content to be merely indoors. He now must be entertained. There is a constant lament, following me around the house and, God forbid I sit down. Then, he jumps on my lap, thinking my only concern for the afternoon or evening is to administer various spa treatments.

Candy is slightly less demanding. She will still go outside in snow and colder temperatures. She prefers to be outside. However, when inside, her demands are even greater. We think she was separated early from her mother (both cats were strays my husband "relocated" and adopted during a move several years ago) and has certain habits that indicate that. One is that she kneads and drools excessively when on one's lap. And I mean excessively. You could drown. So there's a cleanup factor there. And, because she is outside so often, she has very dense coat of fine, fine hair. And it sheds everywhere. It's the kind of hair that floats through the air, choking you.

Others have asked why not invest in a cat door so that the cats can let themselves in and out the hundred or so times the whim strikes daily? No can do. The complicating factor is that we live on a ravine, home to various forms of wildlife (deer are walking through as I write). Raccoons have become our new cat friends. We have a sun porch where we leave the door cracked open so the cats can come and go- eating, sleeping, and taking refuge as needed. We once left the door open past dark. Next thing we knew, Rocky and the Kids had moved in. Although incredibly thoughtful- they actually unroll the cat food bag, retrieve food, and re-close it- it creates a kind of cross-species mayhem. So that door must always be closed at dusk. And we are resigned to being slaves to the cats. Many days, I think they require more care and attention than our daughter. She, too, has learned to answer to their whims. If she only knew how to turn door knobs a bit better...

So, really, who needs to have another kid around the house when there are these other family members to attend to?

Some days...

Some days I wonder why I even do this juggling act.
Some days I think the things I do or the money I make are hardly worth the effort.
Some days it feels like two steps forward, one step back (at least it's forward motion...)
Some days I wish my daughter could dawdle through her morning- every morning- to her heart's content.
Some days I feel like I would be a more gentle parent if we had fewer places to be.
Some days it just feels complicated.
Some days I'm just exhausted.

And some days it works.
Some days I make a difference in a client's life.
Some days it's like a well-choreographed ballet.
Some days I notice how much my daughter loves the time she spends with her Grammy and Papa.
Some days I'm so proud of how independent she is becoming.
Some days I notice we get along better when we spend some time apart.
Some days the work I do gives me great joy and satisfaction.
Some days it feels easy and right.
Some days the balancing act is all worth it.

Some days...

Damn Groundhog

Damn groundhog. Saw his shadow again. If anyone can remember a year in recent history when Puxatony Phil hasn't seen his shadow, can you please comment? He's so adorable, but really. We hold onto this false hope every year. Maybe this is the year... Two more weeks of winter, instead of six? Could we be so lucky?

Winter this year has been unkind. With snow/rain showers starting in late October, then ice in November and December, and snow- endless snow- in December and January. An added insult has been the number of client appointments I've had to cancel because of bad weather. When I don't work, I don't make money. But so it goes. I cannot control the weather (nor should I even attempt to try).

So I curse Phil. But he's so damn cute also. I can't disassociate thing real thing with the one depicted in Caddyshack. Diabolical but so cute!

The sun is out today and it is predicted to be in the upper 30s/low 40s this weekend. For that, I am thankful. But six more weeks? Really?