Today’s Globe and Mail ran an article on friendship – female friendships – noting that “While the dissolution of a romantic relationship can be hard, the break-up between best friends can be even more difficult.” Perhaps more difficult still is not having the gift of friendship.
I’m not really sure why the subject of friendship is so preoccupying to me lately. If I scratch the surface to ferret out what may actually be troubling me, I suppose it is a few things: recent contact from high-school friends via Facebook; the increasing oppressive presence of my in-laws that has me dying to explode in a safe space with a venomous self-pity monologue about all the crazy ass things they are doing and saying; ageing.
I often chalk up my neglect of friendships to the huge extended family that I have – there are innumerable aunts and cousins about who I know I can turn to for help, advice, solace. They have known me forever, know my family dynamics, are trustworthy, and care. I don’t need to see them or speak to them all the time – but when the chips are down, we are all there for the other, no questions asked. It is the ultimate safety net. But it isn’t only that many of the personal needs friendships fill are for me filled by family…it is also me. I don’t particularly fare well in the demands of friendship. I suspect I internalize too much, feel too hard, empathize too intensely, and ultimately get burned out. I also suspect that the relationship with my extended family, where contact and check-ins are not part of the equation to love and support, means that I am a bad friend…I figure I am there if you need me full stop, but not so much for the casual chat. And the art of the casual chat, it seems to me, is the basis of many friendships.
I suppose too that I haven’t ever been comfortable in groups – circles of women who meet, share, support and have fun. I never was. Even doing gender studies in university and graduate school did not change my aversion to anything that smacked of “group sharing” – I seem to recoil from exposing myself in any meaningful and honest way at all to a group.
So why does the subject of friendship interest me so much lately? Surely it isn’t just because of a few voices from the past, the pressures of in-law cohabitation, or feeling mortal. Maybe it is being at a stage in my life where I am finally quite chuffed with life – I love (while also hating) my career, I have an amazing, funny, smart and drop-dead gorgeous husband who I adore, I am a Mom to the bestest little boys ever - and who ever thought THAT would happen! - my life has become what I never, ever thought it would be. So maybe it is simply that, when I managed through no planning or good management on my part to have everything I long thought was out of reach, I have relaxed enough to wonder how others, how those who long ago or not so long ago crossed my path and whom I remember kindly and fondly, are.
Or maybe, for the first time in my life, I am in sore need for a girls' night out and have no idea how to go about having a girls' night out, unless it is taking Fan the dog for her last walk of the day. Any ideas out there?
Friday, August 28, 2009
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
5 Reasons not to go home tonight….or to school…ever.
5. MIL and Poor Fan the dog are engaged in full out war over tomatoes…Poor Fan the dog is constantly sneaking into the garden to chomp tomatoes right off the vine – ripe or not, it makes no difference to her. MIL is incensed and has set up an obstacle course of slides, basket ball net, patio chairs and various push toys in an effort to keep Poor Fan the dog out of the garden.
4. Topher and Winston are wailing over lack of access to their slides, basket ball net and various push toys.
3. MIL is livid with me and spouse as we care not one little bit that Poor Fan the dog is munching on all the tomatoes.
2. Spouse is already in deep depression over the inevitable approach of winter.
1. I’m out of vodka.
And somehow I have to find the inner strength and serenity to deal with the inevitable approach of Topher’s first day at school. To be honest, it is not some sentimental weepiness or nostalgia that my little guy is now old enough to be heading off to kindergarten. Rather, it is the reality fast approaching that I am now embarking on a career of intercession and mediation between the school system and my spawn, and I suspect this is not going to be fun for any of us. Not Drowning, Mothering (http://notdrowning.wordpress.com) is all too clear in a I’d-rather-laugh-then-break-down-and-cry kind of way about the tyranny of late passes, missed days, school breaks, “professional development” days etc., and while her posts are dead funny, they also terrify me about what is to come. And, although the first day of school has not yet arrived, I have already had my first what-the-hell-was-that conversation with the school.
Back in June, the school sent an information package to parents and one of the pieces was a letter that outlined how the little sweeties would be introduced slowly to school. Part of this entailed me (although why I assume it has to be me and not spouse is something to save for another post) bringing Topher to school for a one-on-one classroom visit, AFTER which, the helpful information form written by the school clearly said, he would have the chance to attend, in a small group, school for 3 mornings over two weeks. Note this is to be AFTER the one-on-one visit. So blow me down if the school hasn’t buggered up the dates and times so that he starts attending school BEFORE he has his one-on-one visit.
I’m thinking, despite not being and educational specialist, this is not what they intended. But for the last 3 months I have tried unsuccessfully to reach the school to sort this out. Of course, being summer, no one is at the school to sort this out…until today. And blow me down again, but they don’t seem to be able to get a handle on the concept of BEFORE and AFTER…nor see the need to follow the procedure they have so clearly outlined in the ever-so-helpful information package.
So, here’s what I say: first time I get sent off to the office for a late pass, the first time I am late handing in a parent consent from, the first time I forget to call the attendance office to inform them Topher will be absent – and catch crap from the school for such infractions, I will haul out this coffee-stained, vodka drenched information package, wave it hysterically in their faces and yell “Cast not the first stone!!”
Now, I’m pretty sure I am not heading into this with the best of attitudes. Those who knew me during my own days at school will know that I have a perverse love of going up against the administration. But honestly, am I going to entrust the education of my son to a system run by adults who still are shaking on the concepts of BEFORE and AFTER? This does not bode well at all…not for any of us unfortunate to be thrown together in the education of Topher…
4. Topher and Winston are wailing over lack of access to their slides, basket ball net and various push toys.
3. MIL is livid with me and spouse as we care not one little bit that Poor Fan the dog is munching on all the tomatoes.
2. Spouse is already in deep depression over the inevitable approach of winter.
1. I’m out of vodka.
And somehow I have to find the inner strength and serenity to deal with the inevitable approach of Topher’s first day at school. To be honest, it is not some sentimental weepiness or nostalgia that my little guy is now old enough to be heading off to kindergarten. Rather, it is the reality fast approaching that I am now embarking on a career of intercession and mediation between the school system and my spawn, and I suspect this is not going to be fun for any of us. Not Drowning, Mothering (http://notdrowning.wordpress.com) is all too clear in a I’d-rather-laugh-then-break-down-and-cry kind of way about the tyranny of late passes, missed days, school breaks, “professional development” days etc., and while her posts are dead funny, they also terrify me about what is to come. And, although the first day of school has not yet arrived, I have already had my first what-the-hell-was-that conversation with the school.
Back in June, the school sent an information package to parents and one of the pieces was a letter that outlined how the little sweeties would be introduced slowly to school. Part of this entailed me (although why I assume it has to be me and not spouse is something to save for another post) bringing Topher to school for a one-on-one classroom visit, AFTER which, the helpful information form written by the school clearly said, he would have the chance to attend, in a small group, school for 3 mornings over two weeks. Note this is to be AFTER the one-on-one visit. So blow me down if the school hasn’t buggered up the dates and times so that he starts attending school BEFORE he has his one-on-one visit.
I’m thinking, despite not being and educational specialist, this is not what they intended. But for the last 3 months I have tried unsuccessfully to reach the school to sort this out. Of course, being summer, no one is at the school to sort this out…until today. And blow me down again, but they don’t seem to be able to get a handle on the concept of BEFORE and AFTER…nor see the need to follow the procedure they have so clearly outlined in the ever-so-helpful information package.
So, here’s what I say: first time I get sent off to the office for a late pass, the first time I am late handing in a parent consent from, the first time I forget to call the attendance office to inform them Topher will be absent – and catch crap from the school for such infractions, I will haul out this coffee-stained, vodka drenched information package, wave it hysterically in their faces and yell “Cast not the first stone!!”
Now, I’m pretty sure I am not heading into this with the best of attitudes. Those who knew me during my own days at school will know that I have a perverse love of going up against the administration. But honestly, am I going to entrust the education of my son to a system run by adults who still are shaking on the concepts of BEFORE and AFTER? This does not bode well at all…not for any of us unfortunate to be thrown together in the education of Topher…
Friday, August 21, 2009
Done and dusted on a Friday night
I am exhausted. Exhausted from navigating the emotional minefield that comes with having my in-laws living with us, exhausted from the antics and drama two small boys have managed to dream up today, exhausted from fighting the bureaucracy at work and exhausted from keeping the household running, my marriage intact, and my fridge full of food. I have nothing left to give, no energy left to fix hurt knees or hurt feelings, to plan for tomorrow or to care for anyone's needs. I am officially void of pithy stories, humerous view points, sage opinions on the state of the world...not that I have ever been a wealth of any of these things, but it is nice to dream.
And I am officially out of good books to read. It is a perfect storm.
And I am officially out of good books to read. It is a perfect storm.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Far too much angst for a Monday....
Why do I work? It is a question that is in the forefront of my mind at the oddest of times, and to be honest, hovers quietly in the back of my mind most of the time. Today, it is right now squarely at the forefront, largely because of the most recent post at one of my regular blog reads, the Mama Bee (http://themamabee.wordpress.com/)
There is no one reason – and the reasons have changed and shifted over time. Like just about every woman, I work because my career provides an intellectual outlet – provides challenge, community, experiences, and allows me to make a contribution. It has also ensured that I was independent – able to feed, house and clothe myself. But married now with two young children and a husband who is professionally successful, as well as able to support the family financially as the sole income earner, I am continuing with my career. Why? Why isn’t mothering enough?
In part, there are in the back of my mind the experiences I had seen and heard, primarily of women friends of my mothers…one who returned home one day to find her entire family home striped of its contents except for her and the children’s clothing, the house listed for sale, and the bank accounts frozen or emptied. Her husband was missing – well, not really missing it turned out, but on a plane to Saudi Arabia with his girlfriend to a medical posting. He, apparently, had grown tired of their marriage and his life and had quietly planned for months this “escape” while also ensuring that he would not lose a single asset or dollar along the way. She spent the next years in poverty, struggling to find the joint marital assets and to support herself and her high school aged children. As well, there is was my own grandmother, who had similarly been faced with building a life as a single mother to a young daughter and 4 nearly (but not quite) grown sons when her husband drained the limited family savings before leaving with another woman – and my grandmother had to find any kind of work available to a poorly educated woman during the 1940s and well into her 70s. The fear of real destitute poverty was, I know, never ever far from her mind.
So I suppose these examples made a deep impression on me - I don’t want ever to be unable to support myself or my children – to worry about the next mortgage payment, grocery bills, or paying for swim/soccer/hockey/music/art classes. And to make sure that doesn’t ever happen, I am unable to place myself in a position where someone else earns the financial resources that provides for the family. I have to be able to pay for it all, or else I would panic…really and truly.
I am also a better mother for working and having a career – solely because I am a happier person…I like competition, I enjoy coming out the other side successful on a difficult negotiation or issue, I thrive on being busy, pushed, and contributing to public life in addition to the contribution made as a mother. But all my reasons for working and mothering are mine alone – they are a product of a highly personal experience and exposure to women who found themselves vulnerable, through no fault of their own, and found their children also vulnerable as a result. So do I support the idea of the “collective” suggested by Mama Bee? Intellectually, yes I do. The more women (who are also mothers) there are in senior positions, whether in the private or public sector, the more likely it is that doors will open earlier and more welcoming to our daughters, nieces and friends; the more likely it will be to see women taking longer parental leaves, to see work places and the market shift to be more accepting of different kinds of work arrangements. But in my heart, I know I work because I must…for my own intellectual and emotional well-being and to ensure the economic well-being of my family. And because my reasons are so intensely personal, I cannot step over to the Mama Bee’s position that would suggest another woman’s choice to leave the career path “contribute(s) to the negative view of mothers in the workplace.”
There is no one reason – and the reasons have changed and shifted over time. Like just about every woman, I work because my career provides an intellectual outlet – provides challenge, community, experiences, and allows me to make a contribution. It has also ensured that I was independent – able to feed, house and clothe myself. But married now with two young children and a husband who is professionally successful, as well as able to support the family financially as the sole income earner, I am continuing with my career. Why? Why isn’t mothering enough?
In part, there are in the back of my mind the experiences I had seen and heard, primarily of women friends of my mothers…one who returned home one day to find her entire family home striped of its contents except for her and the children’s clothing, the house listed for sale, and the bank accounts frozen or emptied. Her husband was missing – well, not really missing it turned out, but on a plane to Saudi Arabia with his girlfriend to a medical posting. He, apparently, had grown tired of their marriage and his life and had quietly planned for months this “escape” while also ensuring that he would not lose a single asset or dollar along the way. She spent the next years in poverty, struggling to find the joint marital assets and to support herself and her high school aged children. As well, there is was my own grandmother, who had similarly been faced with building a life as a single mother to a young daughter and 4 nearly (but not quite) grown sons when her husband drained the limited family savings before leaving with another woman – and my grandmother had to find any kind of work available to a poorly educated woman during the 1940s and well into her 70s. The fear of real destitute poverty was, I know, never ever far from her mind.
So I suppose these examples made a deep impression on me - I don’t want ever to be unable to support myself or my children – to worry about the next mortgage payment, grocery bills, or paying for swim/soccer/hockey/music/art classes. And to make sure that doesn’t ever happen, I am unable to place myself in a position where someone else earns the financial resources that provides for the family. I have to be able to pay for it all, or else I would panic…really and truly.
I am also a better mother for working and having a career – solely because I am a happier person…I like competition, I enjoy coming out the other side successful on a difficult negotiation or issue, I thrive on being busy, pushed, and contributing to public life in addition to the contribution made as a mother. But all my reasons for working and mothering are mine alone – they are a product of a highly personal experience and exposure to women who found themselves vulnerable, through no fault of their own, and found their children also vulnerable as a result. So do I support the idea of the “collective” suggested by Mama Bee? Intellectually, yes I do. The more women (who are also mothers) there are in senior positions, whether in the private or public sector, the more likely it is that doors will open earlier and more welcoming to our daughters, nieces and friends; the more likely it will be to see women taking longer parental leaves, to see work places and the market shift to be more accepting of different kinds of work arrangements. But in my heart, I know I work because I must…for my own intellectual and emotional well-being and to ensure the economic well-being of my family. And because my reasons are so intensely personal, I cannot step over to the Mama Bee’s position that would suggest another woman’s choice to leave the career path “contribute(s) to the negative view of mothers in the workplace.”
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Of pork and other things...
For those of you (all 1 of you) hanging on (or benignly disinterested in) my every written word, let me put you out of your torment. Yes, I did it.
The pulled pork was surreal – sensuous, melting, slightly sweet and spicy – gently bathed in home made sauce (two kinds, choice was up to the diners), swaddled in lovely, doughy, fabulously unhealthy white flour rolls and accompanied by creamy, slightly sweet, coleslaw. It was sublime. And for the first time in 5 months my father-in-law did not look up from his plate to utter his only words at dinner which are always “And now, what is for dessert?” – he was simply too sated, too enraptured by the pulled pork to even remember the word dessert.
Topher, of course, had his usual whole wheat macaroni and parmesan cheese. Winston, of course, ate what ever I put in front of him but did keep scanning the dinning table for any signs that the previous night’s wild mushroom risotto was making another appearance. How I could birth two such different children in terms of food preferences is a mystery to me. For the past year, Topher has eaten nothing but: raisin toast with peanut butter, cheerios, oatmeal, dry raisin bran, grilled cheese, berries, spaghetti with parmesan (fresh grated, don’t you know because he won’t eat any other kind) and whole wheat macaroni with parmesan. Throw in the occasional home made pizza (with ONLY kalamata olives and mozzarella, go figure) and you have his complete diet. Meat has never, ever passed that boy’s lips. Ever. Not. Even. Once. Vegetables, well, I have managed to sneak in the odd carrot or two. Winston on the other hand is a serious carnivore, a flesh-food gourmand. Steak, chicken, pork, shrimp, fish (but not salmon), hotdogs, hamburgers, sausages, bacon – you name it, he scarfs it back. The more flavour, the better – dinner with him is a serious of frantic efforts to stem the tide of angry screams when he has run out of tzatziki, garlic-lime-chilli pepper crusted shrimp, sharp cheese, steak with teriyaki, grilled vegetables, and risotto.
So dinner tonight, now that I am famished and thinking about food will be: cedar planked Atlantic salmon, boiled new potatoes tossed in butter and herbs, cucumber yogurt salad and grilled vegetables very lightly tossed with a roasted tomato dressing. If someone is crazy enough to expect dessert after this, they can wash themselves a peach.
Oh yes, and I did the shopping for afore said undergarments. A near-mortgage payment later and I am hoisted, pert, comfortable and quite pleased with myself. Bra Chic. Highly recommend it. Highly.
The pulled pork was surreal – sensuous, melting, slightly sweet and spicy – gently bathed in home made sauce (two kinds, choice was up to the diners), swaddled in lovely, doughy, fabulously unhealthy white flour rolls and accompanied by creamy, slightly sweet, coleslaw. It was sublime. And for the first time in 5 months my father-in-law did not look up from his plate to utter his only words at dinner which are always “And now, what is for dessert?” – he was simply too sated, too enraptured by the pulled pork to even remember the word dessert.
Topher, of course, had his usual whole wheat macaroni and parmesan cheese. Winston, of course, ate what ever I put in front of him but did keep scanning the dinning table for any signs that the previous night’s wild mushroom risotto was making another appearance. How I could birth two such different children in terms of food preferences is a mystery to me. For the past year, Topher has eaten nothing but: raisin toast with peanut butter, cheerios, oatmeal, dry raisin bran, grilled cheese, berries, spaghetti with parmesan (fresh grated, don’t you know because he won’t eat any other kind) and whole wheat macaroni with parmesan. Throw in the occasional home made pizza (with ONLY kalamata olives and mozzarella, go figure) and you have his complete diet. Meat has never, ever passed that boy’s lips. Ever. Not. Even. Once. Vegetables, well, I have managed to sneak in the odd carrot or two. Winston on the other hand is a serious carnivore, a flesh-food gourmand. Steak, chicken, pork, shrimp, fish (but not salmon), hotdogs, hamburgers, sausages, bacon – you name it, he scarfs it back. The more flavour, the better – dinner with him is a serious of frantic efforts to stem the tide of angry screams when he has run out of tzatziki, garlic-lime-chilli pepper crusted shrimp, sharp cheese, steak with teriyaki, grilled vegetables, and risotto.
So dinner tonight, now that I am famished and thinking about food will be: cedar planked Atlantic salmon, boiled new potatoes tossed in butter and herbs, cucumber yogurt salad and grilled vegetables very lightly tossed with a roasted tomato dressing. If someone is crazy enough to expect dessert after this, they can wash themselves a peach.
Oh yes, and I did the shopping for afore said undergarments. A near-mortgage payment later and I am hoisted, pert, comfortable and quite pleased with myself. Bra Chic. Highly recommend it. Highly.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
It ain't Paris, but it will do for now....
For reasons that defy simple, short and sensible explanation, I am getting ready to head home from work very early today and indulge in two things that I have wanted to do for a very long time.
The first is to shop for a very expensive, very pretty, and very magical (ie supportive without looking like steel girders) bra. One with no purpose what-so-ever (ie not maternity or nursing) other than to enhance where enhancement is need, reduce where reduction is needed, and lift spirits along with…well, you can fill this part in yourselves.
The second is to try making pulled pork. On the bbq. With a spicy rub and sweet, sticky, spicy sauce to mop onto it. Accompanied by heaps and heaps of coleslaw in a ridiculously fattening creamy dressing. This alone should kill about 4 hours of time and about 6 weeks of a regime of early morning walks and one martini evenings.
Yup. Lingerie and pulled pork. These are the things that will make me happy today. Not world peace, just lingerie and bbq pig. I’d hang my head in shame to be so shallow but the image of shredded pork on a floury, fresh roll with creamy coleslaw, the sauce dripping down onto my plate – and of course, of my newly swaddled chest – just keep over-riding all sense of proportion. And I may just have a second martini tonight…
The first is to shop for a very expensive, very pretty, and very magical (ie supportive without looking like steel girders) bra. One with no purpose what-so-ever (ie not maternity or nursing) other than to enhance where enhancement is need, reduce where reduction is needed, and lift spirits along with…well, you can fill this part in yourselves.
The second is to try making pulled pork. On the bbq. With a spicy rub and sweet, sticky, spicy sauce to mop onto it. Accompanied by heaps and heaps of coleslaw in a ridiculously fattening creamy dressing. This alone should kill about 4 hours of time and about 6 weeks of a regime of early morning walks and one martini evenings.
Yup. Lingerie and pulled pork. These are the things that will make me happy today. Not world peace, just lingerie and bbq pig. I’d hang my head in shame to be so shallow but the image of shredded pork on a floury, fresh roll with creamy coleslaw, the sauce dripping down onto my plate – and of course, of my newly swaddled chest – just keep over-riding all sense of proportion. And I may just have a second martini tonight…
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Why I may give up reading the morning newspaper....
There is blessed little time in the morning to do much more than scrape peanut butter onto toast, forget where I put my coffee mug, shower and dress for work, navigate the toys cars, trains, diggers, dump trucks, and front end loaders littering the living and dining room floors while tottering about in one high heel shoe, evade the baby's sticky fingers as he comes barreling towards me yelling, flailing a peanut butter covered Goodnight Moon in my direction, find my car keys and then back out the driveway waving like a maniac at two sad little faces as I head off to work (and hot coffee). But the thing I love, absolutely adore, need beyond all reason, are the few precious moments after the peanut-butter-on-toast scraping and before the toy-obstacle-course, when I stand idle at the kitchen counter looking at the morning paper. The last two mornings, however, the morning paper has run stories that have shattered my reverie, destroyed my inner calm, and left me cross and muttering far too early into my day.
Here's why:
#1. Lisa MacLeod's evidence in trial of Ottawa mayor was dismissed because she was commuting to Toronto, ‘leaving her husband and child in Ottawa'...Lisa MacLeod is a young female politician who commutes to her job at Queen's Park (Toronto) from Ottawa (5 hour drive or 1 hour flight) and leaves her husband, Joe, and four-year-old daughter, Victoria, at home. Mr. Justice Douglas Cunningham of Ontario Superior Court said this is a big distraction for the 34-year-old woman and as a result he felt he could not accept her evidence as corroboration of the Crown's key witness in the recent high-profile, influence-peddling trial of Ottawa Mayor Larry O'Brien.
#2. Catherine Bailey, a successful City lawyer drowned herself after struggling to balance the demands of motherhood and her high-pressure job, a coroner's court heard today. Mother-of-three Catherine Bailey, 41, was found drowned in the Thames near Richmond Bridge. The South African-born partner in a City law firm had only recently returned to work after the birth of her third daughter.
#3. Female managers face more harassment, study says... Male co-workers target female supervisors as a way to equalize power in the office.
Sigh.
Here's why:
#1. Lisa MacLeod's evidence in trial of Ottawa mayor was dismissed because she was commuting to Toronto, ‘leaving her husband and child in Ottawa'...Lisa MacLeod is a young female politician who commutes to her job at Queen's Park (Toronto) from Ottawa (5 hour drive or 1 hour flight) and leaves her husband, Joe, and four-year-old daughter, Victoria, at home. Mr. Justice Douglas Cunningham of Ontario Superior Court said this is a big distraction for the 34-year-old woman and as a result he felt he could not accept her evidence as corroboration of the Crown's key witness in the recent high-profile, influence-peddling trial of Ottawa Mayor Larry O'Brien.
#2. Catherine Bailey, a successful City lawyer drowned herself after struggling to balance the demands of motherhood and her high-pressure job, a coroner's court heard today. Mother-of-three Catherine Bailey, 41, was found drowned in the Thames near Richmond Bridge. The South African-born partner in a City law firm had only recently returned to work after the birth of her third daughter.
#3. Female managers face more harassment, study says... Male co-workers target female supervisors as a way to equalize power in the office.
Sigh.
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