My Questions Now

One of my favorite quotes:

I beg you...to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer...

Rainer Maria Rilke, 1903

So, in the spirit of Rilke (ha ha!), here are the questions I’ve been asking myself recently – some profound some silly:

1. What should I boldly say “yes” – and courageously say “no” – to right now?

2. What do my children need from me at this moment?

3. How come Zane never has enough socks? We’re forever doing laundry…

4. Why is hemp milk so expensive? Why does oat milk suck when you heat it? When will I be able return to the joy ‘o soymilk?

5. How can I hold my family so that we move into this next chapter gracefully and with courage?

6. How do I parent two children gracefully?

7. What’s my preoccupation with being graceful? Life is messy.

8. How do I let others help me? What help do I need?

9. How can two children of the same parents be so different?

10. Has ZZ’s cancer returned? (Thankfully - the answer is “no” to this one.)

11. What will SRH’s next job be? What is his is Work?

12. Will it be in Columbus, Ohio?

13. Am I pulling my weight?

14. What can I have to eat?

15. How will I tell the story of this part of my life in 5 years? 10 years? 20 years?

16. Which is the right school for Zane?

17. Okay, we’ve found it…the right school. Will Zane get into this school?

18. Who do Scott and/or I have to sleep with to get Zane into this school?

19. What’s next for us? (Besides sleeping with school administrators…)

20. How come having a water fight in the kitchen at the end of the night makes everything okay?

Okay, so there are some of my questions. I’d ask for the answers, but if I’m to believe the quote above, I must live my way into the answers. So that’s what I’m doing...living into the answers, y’all.

What are some of your questions?

Nursing Mother/Working Mother

Hoover and Nursey McNursesALot

With Zane I had a child who LOVED to eat. The boy was a hoover vacuum cleaner. A gourmand of the life’s nectar that is breast milk. He was a good, regular eater - predictable, even.

With Eily, I have a child who LOVES to nurse. She likes the breast milk, but more importantly, she likes to be snuggled up next to me eating directly from the Mama Tap. What is predictable about Eily is that she’ll want to nurse at any and all times and she is not discouraged by…say…a room full of colleagues…or having just eaten 10 minutes before…or her mother’s self-consciousness.

So I work with some pretty amazing people who are completely open to our nursing during meetings, phone calls, idle chit chat. But seriously, they must be thinking that I’m a bit of an exhibitionist – Eily nursed during two of my meetings last week. For the record, Eily attended exactly two of my meetings last week.

Now thankfully, I have someone coming in to provide childcare during the two days a week I work, - Memo to self: keep the working to two days a week!- but things happen. I utter things like, “I can come to the meeting if I can bring the baby.” People, say “yes”, and the next thing you know, there’s a meeting, a baby, and a partially exposed booby.

And don’t tell me that I can cover her up with a blanket. This is theoretically possible, but when you’re nursing for pleasure, your baby wants a view. And I suppose I could move her onto a schedule, but I feel like we’re already moving in that direction and I’m really comfortable (on the 5 days a week I’m not working) letting her lead the way on this. Call me child-centered.

Or a fool.

But I’m not actually looking for advice here. I know what I’m going to do: I’m going to keep nursing my child on demand. I’m going to feel a bit squirrelly about it when it happens in professional situations. I’m going to be discreet, and I’m not going to apologize. AND…I’m going to blog about it to receive affirmation and support.

(cue affirmations and support)

I'm Trying to Think Here!

I may have mentioned this before, but SRH has – on occasion – made the following comment to me, It must be hell to be in your head.

And though this might sound a bit harsh, he’s actually just commenting that I have so much going on in my head at any given moment, he’s not sure how I function through all the chatter. And truthfully, neither am I.

And it’s been a particularly high-chatter time in the old noggin recently. I attribute this to the pregnancy and the whole working-for-myself transition, but the origin of it really doesn’t matter.

Anyway, I thought I’d try to blog about it so that other people can share my hell. Lucky blog reader.

At any given morning these days, here’s the conversation in my head:

Me: Okay, so what needs to get done today?

Baby in the Belly: Uh…I don’t know what your plans are, but you better start off whatever you’re doing with some protein. I’m trying to grow some gray matter here.

Keith Richards (my errant, but benign, liver tumor): Not so fast there, you saucy wench. I’m still in effect down here on your right side. I haven’t been getting much air time now that the princess is on the way, but I’m still here and you don’t want me to… (unidentifiable garbling)

Me: Are you threatening me, Keith? Because I’m pretty good to you. I haven’t eaten 14 sausages in a row for years and I have drastically reduced my consumption of red meat - all to give you more room.

Baby in Belly: Can I have some shrimp?

Keith: She doesn’t even like seafood, bambino. Now eat some melba toast and shut it.

Exhaustion (a ubiquitous new player on to the scene): Well, if we don’t get something to eat soon, I’m going to have to insist we go back to bed.

Me: What? No! We’ve only been up 15 minutes! Okay, let me think. What is protein-rich, low fat, won’t expand my stomach too much – see, I’m taking care of you Keith – and can be fixed in the next two minutes?

Baby in Belly: What about taking care of me? I’m your long-awaited, much anticipated second child. You went through Clomid to get me lady. Don’t mess it up now. FEED ME.

Keith: Baby, you weigh, what, a pound and a half? You’ve only been bigger than me for the past month. I was here before you and I’ll be around after because – unlike the party planned for you on or near June 18 - there aren’t any plans to evacuate me from her body.

Me: Shhhhhhh…both of you…I’m trying to think.

Looming Project A: I don’t have much to say about breakfast, but I should remind you that you have some outstanding emails to attend to. And I don’t have to tell you that this is a big project, and you’re new to the team. And you did quit your job to do exactly this.

Baby: HUNGRY!!!!

Looming Project A: And you really should take on some of that “to do” list you wrote out last Friday. It was over page long – all stuff that you’re paid to do.

Keith: Speaking of pay, I did mention that that’s what I’ll make you do should you decide to break your fast on oatmeal or somesuch, didn’t I?

Me: Oatmeal? Keith, oatmeal is low fat and fiber rich. It’s good for me – and you and the baby. We all win.

Keith: Yes, but it takes up an uncomfortable amount of room in your stomach while it’s digesting. All in all, I’m not a big fan of the oatmeal these days.

Baby: And oatmeal doesn’t have much protein. I’m totally down with protein – and I mean the animal- meat kind of protein - these days. I think it has something to do with the very important neural connections that I’m trying to develop this.very.second.

Me: Heading to the kitchen as we speak guys, hang in there.

Exhaustion: Ohhhh…I’m sorry. Not quick enough, Zany Mama. I’m going to have to dock you two hours this morning. Come on, let’s go lay down.

Me: Okay…okay. Let me just get some breakfast, get Zane to preschool, do a bit of work, talk to the contractor, and then….Crud. Then I’ll have to eat again. But I promise to meet you after lunch.

Exhaustion: Don’t worry. I’ll be here.

Keith: As will I!

Baby: Me, too!

Looming Project A: I’ll just sit quietly over here, but you know you’ll have terrible guilt and recrimination later if you avoid me.

Me: I hear all of you. Now leave me alone. I’m going to go eat a smoothie followed by a lean but nourishing slab of ham. There. Everybody happy?

Interesting. Several sources of this conversation reside in one small space - 24 weeks

Please note, the above exchange does not represent the views and voices of:

• Possible Exciting Project X
• Sciatica
• Old Job
• Upcoming Work Trip
• Kitchen/Bathroom/Office Remodel
• CRankiness Associated with Pregnancy (CRAP)

I will, no doubt, share some of their input at a later date.

We Interrupt this Bloggy Vacation…

...to say that today I quit my job. And not like quitting my job last June – that time when I walked into my boss’ office and she said, “Oh my god. Are you quitting? Don’t quit. Just don’t quit. Okay. We can work something out, just don’t quit without trying to work something out.” And I was all, “Okay.”

Nope. Not like that at all.

Today, after months of being overwhelmed and exhausted and feeling pulled between my day job and this consulting stuff that seems to be going somewhere, I decided to quit.

Well actually, it wasn’t today that I decided to quit. I’ve been percolating on it for a while and told myself about 6 weeks ago that if I got one more consulting gig, I was going to quit my job.

Then about 4 days later, I got another gig.

And then 3 days after that, I got another one.

But was I convinced? Oh no. For you see, I am from the School of the Formerly Poor, where each lesson ends with the phrase - Do not ever leave a regular paying job.

So I hemmed and I hawed (is this how you spell that?)…and I dithered and I dathered (which I’m quite sure is not how you spell that)…and I talked it over ad nauseum with SRH.

And after much dismay and deliberation, I decided to go for it.

Today.

Today I quit my job.

And if it was the worst decision of my life and puts my family in the poorhouse and my children’s lives in jeopardy, I can always get another job, right?

So,This is Cool

At my dinner table this evening were folks from North Carolina, Bolivia, Australia, South Africa, and Hungary.

We talked about climate change and possible transformative action around the issue.

I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.

Did I mention that they serve dessert every night in heaven?

Hello, eh!

So, I’m out of the country right now.

(I’m in Nova Scotia, so I’m really barely out of the country, but it felt like a dramatic way to begin a post.)

Anyway, I’m trying something new – I’m going to blog about work a bit.

I usually don’t blog about work because, well, that’s not what we’re all here for. For me, blogging is actually a bit of an escape from work, but since I’m going to be gone until Saturday and I have no idea what’s happening at my house (what you don’t know, can’t burn down the house, right?), I thought I might just give a few quick updates this week.

I am here - at a conference with an incredible group of people talking about amazing topics that are really important. (ah, hyperbole!) So it was starting to feel a bit “inauthentic” not to talk about this really cool thing happening in my life. Especially since I typically bore you with health crises, rants about occupational therapy, and my love of steak.

So, I do find it difficult to articulate what occurs for me when I go to these types of gatherings – it’s lots of deep conversations and connecting to people that I wouldn’t meet in any other context. And there’s lots of me going, “OMG – I can’t believe I’m here! Okay, okay, play it cool Dr. J. You can run with the big dogs. Anyway, they like you, you like them. Just don’t tell them about your encyclopedic knowledge of all things celebrity, and it will be all good.”

In trying to figure out what to write about my experience here so far, I thought I’d just give you a couple of quotes from the conference that are sticking with me from today:

“What if we created a world that was biased toward wisdom and compassion?”

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Everywhere I look, there is another of my favorite people.”

Okay, the last quote was from me, but it’s true. I’m like a kid in a candy store – and I’m totally on a starburst high!

I think I’ll try to post a few times from here – we’ll see how this blogging about work goes. I’m struggling to find a witticism or self-deprecation in this whole experience, but I’m sure I’ll get there.

Stay tuned.

A Virtuous Letter

A Picture of My "Happy Place"

Dear Patience,

I know you haven’t been hanging around here much lately, but I’m asking for you to spend some time with me tonight.

I know. I know. You come around every single morning when I’m trying to get Zane ready for preschool, and you were stellar with the whole potty training thing. And to be fair, you’re also a pretty consistent visitor whenever SRH’s parents make their way up here from Alabama.

But really, they only visit a few times a year, so it’s not like you’re working that hard.

Okay. I’m sorry. That’s not true. You’re around a lot. You’re here way more often than kindness or cleanliness. You’ve bailed me out more than a few times recently when lack of nutrients made me homicidal, and yes, it was you who gave me the brilliant idea of family movie night when I just couldn’t face one more bath time.

All true.

So why am I asking again for you virtuous presence this evening?

Because I have a dinner tonight with work colleagues, dear Patience, and I may poke someone in the eye with a fork if you don’t join me.

Yes, I am well aware that you are stretched to your limits by any and all fraternizing with academics, but this is part of my job and you simply must come along to keep me sane – and employed.

Plus Pat – can I call you Pat?- you should remember that you actually do like some academics, just none in this particular group.

Remember that time when they – the folks we’ll be dining with this evening - called everyone in my job class “flunkies”? Yeah, that was awesome. And you were expert when you helped me keep my cool as I explained that this attitude toward folks who aren’t faculty might be hindering their recruitment efforts. See, I patiently explained as you held my hand, flunkies don’t like being told that they’re flunkies. They prefer that we actually pretend that they’re real people.

One of your finest moments, Pat. Truly.

So here’s what I need from you tonight:

Please help me refrain from curling my lip when they start to talk about how incompetent every other person in the whole universe is including their secretaries, students, and fellow female academics.

Please curb my nostril flare when they talk about husbands, vacations, and kids who winter in Aspen.

Please keep me from screaming “Not everyone at this table is straight!” when they pretend not to notice that such talk of husbands et al. completely excludes the one lesbian at the table.

Please allow me to handle with graceful aplomb the way they will ignore me throughout the entire meal unless it’s to express disapproval that more people from my university aren’t attending their conference tomorrow.

I know it’s a lot to ask, but if you can do this, I will be forever grateful. And maybe I’ll take you out for dessert afterwards. You’ll certainly deserve it.

Thanks in advance,

Zany Mama

Back from Boulder

Yep, I'm back. The neglectful mama who was away on a trip while her son was at the hospital and then on a psychosis-inducing drug has finally returned to tend her family.

The family actually seems quite fine. Zane is great and coming down from his 'roid madness. He was very glad to see me, and I was too. (Glad to see him that is. Not glad to see me. I have been seeing me constantly over the past five days).

It's good to be home. We've got company in town until Sunday so posting will be spotty, but I know that some folks have been checking back here for updates, so I wanted to say a little something.

Thanks for all the kind thoughts that have come our way during this most recent illness.

I'll post soon - and it will probably involve a semi-amusing story about hot springs and naked men.

Yes, I'm Leaving On a Jet Plane

Written yesterday…

I am ashamed to say that this blog is the way that some of my friends keep up with my life. I feel this shame not because I don’t appreciate that they see the blog as a place for friendly facts and updates and the occasional story about how I flash unsuspecting papas at the swimming pool. But rather, I’m ashamed because I really should pick up the phone every now and again or update people in person. I’m also a bit chagrined because sometimes when I relate a story to my friends a quick flash of Didn’t you read my blog? goes through mind.

(As an aside here, SRH had a blog for almost a full year before I started reading it regularly. How weird is that? Who doesn’t read their partner’s blog? Now that I also blog, I think my past behavior could only be labeled as utter lunacy).

But back to my point: I kind of stink at the whole keeping in touch thing.

So yet again I’m going to use this blog as an announcement space for those of you who are wondering why I didn’t call you today to tell you how Zane’s hearing evaluation went.

In short, it didn’t. We didn’t have it. In other words, it went fine for an appointment we didn’t keep.

I haven’t mentioned it, but Zane has been sick all week. Monday morning he woke up with a cough. By Monday afternoon, he had a fever. By Monday night the fever was 104.3 degrees. It came down pretty quickly, and he’s been hovering between 100-101 degrees for the rest of the week. Not the best scenario, but we were pleased that his breathing, while aggravated, was not really progressing to troublesome.

So I took off work all this week, and Zane and I hung out at home – making messes and watching train videos.

He had been getting progressively better until last night. He was up a good part of the night coughing, and we had to give him several breathing treatments.

By this morning, he was coughing non-stop so I figured that I’d better cancel the hearing test and see what the doctor had to say.

The doctor had to this to say, Hey, I bet you’re just glad you don’t have to take him to the ER this time.

Yep, I am glad. Good point, really. Not having to go to the ER is always a positive thing, but what I’m less glad about is that Zane’s back on Orapred – an evil, vile, madness-inducing drug that happens to save his life a few times a year.

It sucks really. And while I hate to rip off my partner’s blog, SRH has the best description of what Zane is like on that particular medication. (See Insane Little Man)

I can’t say it better than those pictures.

A second not so good thing is that I’m writing this particular post while flying to Boulder, CO for a conference. Oh, there’s nothing like leaving a sick child. Unless it’s leaving the sick child on a powerful steroid, which will cause a frenzy of uncomfortable and unmanageable symptoms but will hopefully keep him out of the hospital.

Mother of the Year? Anyone? Anyone?

In summary, Zane really is okay. He’s on a crazy dose of medication that has done us well in the past, and it will start to take care of his breathing within the next 6 hours or so.

In another summary, the hearing test that he didn’t have today was inconclusive so we’ll have to do it in another week or so.

Written this morning…

Do you notice how positive the above post is? Oh sure, I was worried a bit about Zane, but he was on the right medication, and his doctor assured me that my traveling was not going to be a big deal. I hated leaving him, but I was feeling confident that by the time I touched down, he was going to be well on the road to recovery.

You see where this is going right?

To avoid an overly involved explanation, Zane ended up in the ER last night, as he just wasn’t getting better. As you might guess, I have never felt more worried or guilty. This was made no better by the fact that I soon got out of cell phone range, and I couldn’t find any place with wireless access so that I could check out flights home. I got lost several times on the way to the resort – which I knew had wireless access and phones so I was desperate to get there, and I couldn’t find out what was going on with my child. It was a terrible, terrible night.

About midnight in Colorado (3am in Columbus), SRH and I finally got a hold of each other, and he let me know that Zane was starting to do better.

We talked again this morning, and Zane is doing great. (Oh, sweet relief!) The Orapred has finally kicked in, and his breathing is managed. SRH assures me that there is no reason to come home, and in fact has warned me against it as we have a little boy who is sky-high on steroids right now, and it ain’t a pretty sight.

So here are the lessons learned for me:

1. Never schedule a trip where I have to take a plane during the months of October through March. Yes, this might seem extreme, but it just isn’t worth all that we went through last night. I should have been home. I wanted to be home, and there was no way to make that happen.
2. I should always carry a pre-paid calling card. I knew the resort was in a secluded area, but the word “remote” doesn’t even begin to describe where I am right now. We are truly a far piece from any town, and it is truly a miracle that there is internet access.
3. This whole mothering and working outside the home thing is challenging, and sometimes I’m going to make the wrong decisions based on what seems like really good info at the time.

In yet another summary, Zane really is fine. He truly, truly is. I’m starting to be fine, and SRH is stuck at home with a maniac.

The Benefits of Fish Oil

Once a month, I gather with a few women who are in senior level positions where I work. I did nothing to deserve the invitation to these small gatherings; I get to go simply as a function of my position.

(Some people get to go to Sweden on business trips or eat at fancy restaurants on their company; I get to regularly hang out with really fabulous women. One adjusts.)

While I feel a wee bit intimidated by the august and dignified personages who attend the gathering with me, I’m also aware that they are also just really nice women who, incidentally, have managed to achieve A LOT in their careers.

And although I am at least 20 years younger than every other woman in the group, they are also unequivocally kind and welcoming to me. Which is why I was mortified to hear the following come out of my mouth last evening:

Yes, but you have to get the kind that doesn’t cause fish burps.

Some people can truly find their niche in any discourse and make advantageous connections while engaging others in pleasant conversation. Me, not so much.

The Power of Speech

Interlude One

Yesterday, I had one of those parenting moments where you stand outside your body a little bit and think, Really? This is what my life is? Wow, I wouldn’t have called that ten years ago.

It happened right around 8:25am and, of course, it happened around the potty. Zane was throwing the perfect 3 year old tantrum at the perfect time – 5 minutes before we had to leave for preschool. These were the words that defused the situation:

It’s okay, Zaney. The potty won’t hurt you. I promise. Mama won’t let the potty hurt you. (less sniffles)

Do you want to potty like papa? (small nod) Okay buddy, go ahead and stand up. Mama will help point your pee-pee.

Tantrum over.

(Is the offer to hold a penis a universal way to stop a tantrum in the male of our species?)

Interlude Two
I have mentioned before that I have, at times, not been taken seriously at work by colleagues outside of my immediate office. I attribute it to a number of things: I look young. I’m pretty short, and I’m a woman of color. I know - who would take anyone of that particular combination seriously? I mean, really.

But in an effort to publicly support me, my boss will occasionally ask me to do some high profile speeches. I hate it when this happens. Hate it with the fire of a thousand suns.

So I pretty much hated yesterday.

To be fair, I only had to do an introduction, not a full speech. But it was in front of hundreds of people, including the top two women at the university. And my boss. And several colleagues that I highly respect.

So I did it – and it went okay. And as I was making my way back to my seat, I said under my breath,

Well, at least I didn’t puke.

And while my boss didn’t hear me, the Very Important Person sitting to my right did. And while she was WAY too dignified to fall out of her chair, she did get quite a chuckle at my expense.

Interlude Three
Zane’s talking, and talking, and talking does have some benefits. He has recently starting responding to terms of endearment and asking for kisses. So sweet.

But today, he stunned me when he said – completely unsolicited -

I love you, mama.

This may be the highlight of my life.

Stinky to Stellar

I had an interesting weekend – was very busy – but nothing really happened that lends itself to full post, so I thought I’d write up some of this weekends events on the “stinky to stellar” continuum.

Let’s start with the stinky, shall we?

Stinky
I had to work all weekend long – both days. I haven’t had to work a weekend in forever, and boy did I resent it. (Geez, give a girl a cushy three-days-a-week job for one year, and she goes all mental when she is actually asked to work a Saturday). In an effort to have fairness in reporting, I should add that this meant that I only had to work two days last week and that I will only be working two days during this upcoming week, but it also meant that I saw very little of SRH and Zane this weekend. I happen to like both of those characters very much, so it kind of stunk up the place.

Kinda Stinky
At my all day meeting on Saturday, there was a woman – a work colleague - who doesn’t like me. And I don’t mean “sort of” doesn’t like me. I mean, she has trouble looking at me without a sneer on her face doesn’t like me. And here’s the thing: I am quite sure that I must remind her of someone - Maybe the girl who got her spot on the cheerleading squad in 7^th grade? - because I honestly have never had a conversation of more than 5 sentences with her. I just could not have said/done anything that would deserve the clear enmity with which she looks at me – or doesn’t look at me, as the case may be.

Because we’ve formed a sort of agreement, she and I. As long as I don’t make her acknowledge my presence, by greeting her for example, she doesn’t have to put a fake smile over her pained expression and pretend to everyone else that she can tolerate me. So it works out like this: She just pretends to NEVER see me, even when we’re in the same room for an ENTIRE day.

It only rates as “kind of” stinky, because although it’s uncomfortable, I somehow think that it bothers her way more than it bothers me.

Neither Stinky Nor Stellar
I met a bunch of new people during the day-long meeting on Saturday – several of whom have only been names on emails up to this point. So I’m meeting one such person, and she says to me,

Oh, Zany Mama, yeah. I know your name. I applied for your job, actually. But you got it instead.

Hmmm…wow…I don’t really know what to say to that. So I think I just said something about “better luck next time slugger” or some other such nonsense and made a quick exit.

Kinda Stellar
Sunday I spent all day with women students of a leadership program that my office is collaborating on. I think the students are all really remarkable women – way more together than I was at 20 and 21- but I’m always really aware of how much older I am when I spend time with them. I haven’t been in undergrad for 10 years. (Yikes!) But as I’m talking to one of the course instructors, she says,

Zany Mama, do you mind if I ask you how old you are? I mean, I figure you must be almost my age since you got some of my references earlier. (She had referred to a Jem Doll, and I was the only person in the very young group who got it).

I should add that the woman who asked me was 25 years old. When she found out that I was 32 she just couldn’t believe it. In the sweetest way, she said,

But you just look so youthful!

Oh dear one, even though that is kind of a backwards compliment, I’ll take it. If you think I look under 25, I don’t care if you think that age 32 is old. I just don’t care -any affirmation of my continuing vitality is welcome and appreciated.

Stellar
We took the students to one of those adventure recreation/team building type of camps –and it was fabulous! I have only done something like that one other time in my life, and it was fun, but this time was just spectacular.

I really got to know the girls better, and I really pushed myself physically to do some of the challenges. As some of you may recall, I was quite injured during my labor with Zane - as discussed in this post - so climbing up rock walls and belaying for girls who are heavier and bigger than me was just a really physically empowering experience.

But the best part was the “Pamper Pole”. Although I’d never heard of it before, the pamper pole is a telephone pole that a person climbs using staples for foot and hand holds. Once you’re about 30 feet in the air, you maneuver yourself to standing on top of the pole – without any hand grips. Then you have to turn your body 180 degrees before jumping off to a trapeze about 8 feet away. It is just really challenging emotionally to make yourself stand up in the middle of a pole with nothing around you. (Again for purposes of full disclosure, you are wearing a harness. So you most likely will not plummet to your death should you fall, but it’s still really hard to jump out into the air with only four virtual strangers belaying you).

It was both terrifying and exhilarating – and I did it! I didn’t catch the trapeze when I jumped, but I made myself climb the pole, stand up, and jump out into nothingness!

It was a truly fabulous experience.

Overall, the weekend was more stellar than stinky, so I'm trying not to be too sour grapes that I didn't get much time with my boys.

A Lesson Learned

When asking a colleague to take care of something for you – something that is their job, mind you, not a favor that you are asking them to do - do not be overly-colloquial in your email requesting that they handle it. Phrases like,

I don’t have a clue what this woman is talking about. Any information you know would be appreciated cause I'm lost.

just don’t look good in the forwarded email your colleague may choose to send to said woman.

Not good at all.

It's Just Like a Puzzle!

I’m not one to wax eloquent about my hatred of things mundane and neurotic – I’m looking at you, SRH – but recently one of my hatreds has been so in my face all day every day when I go to work, that I must tell of it and hope you won’t think less of me.

I’m not referring to my hatred of all things cheesy or my hatred of asymmetrical clothing - but good gracious does a shirt with just one spaghetti strap honk me off. No, every day for at least the last three weeks at work, I have had to deal with perhaps my most serious nemesis…numbers.

I hate numbers/math/data with my whole heart and soul. I don’t hate them in the stereotypical way that women are supposed to hate math, you know the "I can’t do numbers. I’m leaving it to the big, strong mens to figure out" kind of way. No I CAN do numbers. I just hate every single second of any time I spend doing a math or number-related activity.

When I decided that I didn’t want to be a therapist anymore, I went to see a career coach who had me take some a fabulous self-inventory which assessed my interests, style, blah, blah, blah. The instrument indicated that the very worst profession for me to be in was law enforcement – no surprise there, I am a bit of a softy. I cried when Sister Mary Robert finally found her “voice” in the Sister Act movie.

The other profession way down on the list for me – at only 1 point higher than being a cop – was being an accountant.

Interestingly enough, my mother is an accountant. The chick digs numbers. She actually said to me once when I was complaining about math homework in high school, Don’t you just feel so good when you find the right answer to a math problem? I mean, it’s like solving a puzzle. If you work at it, you’ll come up with the right answer.

Uh, yeah. She said that. I’m sure I scowled my best adolescent sneer and said something like, Well, golly gee, that’s a nice way to look at it, but you just have to turn around and do another stupid problem. When you’re done solving your “puzzle” Suzy Sunshine, there is always another one left to do.

Anyway, back to the current hatred-inducing situation. My office is responsible for putting out a type of status report on what’s happening for women at the university. It’s completely data driven, and since there are only 2.1 people employed in my office (I’d give you the math on how that’s possible, but, well, I hate math), I have to do a lot of the number-crunching and interpreting data needed to pull together my pieces of the report.

Yeeaahh. I totally suck at that. Not only do I suck at it, but it brings up quite uncomfortable feelings of insecurity and fear of failure, since I seem to be the only person who is aware of just how badly I stink at the whole numbers thing.

So every day for the past three weeks, I have been working with this number stuff and talking with a wonderfully generous man over in the office which gives me the raw data.

Me: So, what does the number 4 represent?

Him: It means you have four of one object, more than 3 and less than 5.

Me: So what does 5 mean, then?

Him: It means you have five of a certain object. Let me pull up the chart you’re looking at and we’ll go over it together so I can explain it to you better.

Me: You are a god among men.

It’s true. I was saved in this project by the kindness of one benevolent soul in IT who gets numbers and took pity on a poor, ill-equipped, math-illiterate social worker who somehow got a job which requires analyzing data and trends affecting women in higher education.

The good news is that it’s all over. I turned in my pieces of the report today, and I can say goodbye to looking at those data sets for another year. Yippee!

So imagine my surprise and chagrin when, at a meeting today, I heard these foul words leave my mouth, Well, I think we can’t go forward until we know what the data shows us. It seems to me that we need to do some analysis of the numbers and then we can credibly formulate an action plan.

Oh, sweet gerber baby, I have gone over to the dark side.