Understated Hyperboles

Oof.

It appears I am the only one consulting Dr. Google.  Point taken, Innernets.  I do not need to see a doctor, I am just recovering from a nasty cold.  That is all.  No worries or fears. Except for my lack of writing style. (Psst!!! For those of you who did think that last post was entertaining enough, we need to set up some playdates.  Soon! I need more friends who are as warped am I am.  For the record, I totally blame my dad for my twisted sense of humor.  It's an Oliver Thing..)

This is probably a good point to redirect your attention and as such, I will post about my tarantulas, instead.

Awhile back, I began receiving trollish comments on my Flickr account regarding Sofia's cage. I received a message where the commenter stated that Sofia's cage was too small.  Then, the commenter asked if I was stupid or blind (at least they were politically correct enough to be mutually exclusive about the matter.)  Then, I received the following message "ciao are you italian? I would like some information about your spider because I would like to purchase it"  At that point,  I blocked It (no, trolls do not deserve gender designations.)

While I was willing to concede that Sofia's cage needed to be taller, she was acting perfectly fine and seemed about as happy as a spider could be happy, I suppose.  A sign that a tarantula is distressed is when they pace around their cage - and Sofia rarely does that. 

Anyway, I did recently upgrade both of the tarantula enclosures and am happy with the results.  It was a little stressful, though.  Let me be clear - Sofia and Madison are arboreal tarantulas, which are not an aggressive sort.  I do not question my safety with them and am not afraid of being bitten.  Okay, maybe I am a little afraid of being bitten, but that is really a fear on my part and not grounded in much truth. Overall, the Common Pink Toe (avicularia avicularia) and the Antilles Pink Toe  (avicularia versicolor) have really, really low incidences of bites.  No, it is the opposite - I am concerned with their safety. I do not want them to escape and get lost or fall from a tall height and get hurt. Or worse, become a victim of Lucy or the cats.

So.

Transferring Sofia is a no-brainer - she is so easy-going and laid-back, I have always called her the Pink Toe of the Cheech and Chong set.  Pink Toes have a reputation for being nervous Nellies and she is not. I was able to just tip the old cage into the new cage, then nudge her rump.  She resisted and climbed onto the old cage lid, but did not freak out over the ordeal.  Once she saw that I had transferred all of her pipes, bongs, Zig Zags and velvet pictures of Jim Morrison - she was good to go and happily scampered into her new home. Maybe "happily scampered" is a slight exaggeration on my part, but I think we have already proven my penchant for hyperbole, have we not?

Now, Madison?  A different story. Sigh.  She is a skittery, scattery sort of thing and she is frocking fast.  During transfer, she decided to head for the expresso machine and it was a bit of a dickens catching her.  I mean, I understand the need for coffee, but she was being ridiculous.

I am still amazed at the fact that not only am I a tarantula owner, but that I really, really like them.   I would really like to get another spiderling (specifically, a Green Bottle Blue), but X has reached his limit.

This whole spider thing all began with Nic Bishop's Spiders book - it was a book that Arun spied at Border's and he begged for it.  We took it home and for weeks, read it over and over and over.  Then, we would read it again. The first few readings, I was so queasy to my stomach and totally squicked by the molting spiders snaps.  But really, the photography is simply stunning.  And I felt myself drawn in.

Honestly, it was nice to expand myself into a new hobby, I was just so very bored with myself.

And more importantly, it was one of the first moments as a parent where my child taught me something, rather than the other way around. Thank you, Arun. 

I owe you one.

Tarantulas fit right into the theme of a dusty bookcase dedicated to Mystery Girls.  Nancy, Trixie, Kinsey?  We salute you.

Around these here parts, it is Halloween all damned year .

Making my troll proud.

Gettin' All Fancy-like With the Digital Macro Settings

If you look closely, you can see she still has a piece of her last molt stuck to her AND her carapace did not come off, either (the carapace is the dorsal part of the exoskeleton of the cephalothorax.)  I am a little worried, but am hoping it will all shed in her next molt.  Since she is still a spiderling, it is likely she will molt again in the next few months.  As opposed to Sofia, an adult, who molts only about once a year now. 

Photographing Sofia is so much fun because she is so laidback about it.  I can get really close to her with no worries of her running off. 

I love the new cork piece I put in her cage, it really accents her colors.

Toe Pick!

Can you see how her toe is a bit "clawed"?

Paging Dr. Google. Code Black!

What did hypochondriacs do in the good old days, before digital barbarism reared its ugly head clogged with 0s and 1s?   

It sucks when you get sick or have weird symptoms.  It is not as if Dr. Oz will come knocking at your doors with a tidy black bag chockful of instruments designed to inflict a variety of torture.  I am sure that privilege is reserved for America's Official BFF, the girlfriend of all of us.   Lordy no, the rest of us have to consult Dr. Google, that frightening dark overlord of medical mysteries.

Every time I get a cold, my sense of smell goes south.  Currently, it constantly feels as if I am smelling rancid, sour coffee.  Per usual, this will last for a few weeks, then I will be back to smelling the roses again.  Dr. Google informs me I probably suffer from parosmia.  There is no cure or treatment and I probably have a brain tumor, but it is probably benign.

So, yesterday,  I am at Pet World in Lawrence picking out new enclosures for the tarantulas (Sidenote: I have found myself with a Flickr troll from Italy proclaiming animal abuse for putting Sofia in such a small enclosure.  Of course, I am utterly frightened of trolls and always eager to do their bidding.)  After we purchased the  enclosures, we were hanging out at the store waiting for the 4pm tortoise feeding.  I noticed my nose was running - not a marathon, but a full sprint.  Odd, I thought (and disgusting!)  I put my finger on my lip and discovered I was bleeding. And I did not have any tissues.  Well, of course, I did not have any tissues becaue I am That Mother Who Never Has Tissues.  While trying to suppress full-on freak out mode, I strode through the store hissing at my little entourage to follow me.

I am not sure where I am going with any of this, except to say that at least Dr. Google accepts my current health plan.  So, there is that I suppose.  Good thing, because I am now quite certain that my brain tumor is malignant.

Dr. Google assured me it was so.

Guilty as charged.

Thank you for not allowing that last post to devolve into a bitter debate as to which lifestyle is better.

Thank you.

It was inspiring to see comments and emails rolling through my inbox that were respectful and thoughtful.  Ideas were expressed that added to the conversation - certainly, my post cannot stand on its own without your comments.  And I would not want it to. Yes, not everyone agreed with me and a few of you were a little disjointed to see me write in great detail how I would not enjoy the life of a "working in an office" mother.  I cannot blame you.

I was left wondering to myself why on earth I would write a post that could be deemed inflammatory and which would surely hurt a few of my friends. Why would I potentially alienate loyal readers and longtime friends?  In the end, I decided that I simply needed to work those words and emotions through that sausage grinder in my head.  I am glad I did publish that post because after writing it, my conviction to fight for my staying home was even stronger.

And my reasons for standing strong were in writing.

However, in reflecting upon that post, I also realized how incredibly guilty I feel about staying home.

Last month, I took the kids to a nearby botanical garden and we had a lovely afternoon.  At one point, we spent well over 30 minutes at the frog pond, watching frogs and turtles.  We moved to the bigger pond and as the kids dug in the dirt and threw rocks in the pond, I watched huge hawks floating by, down low.  Really low.  It was one of those gorgeous late summer afternoons - bright, sunny with a coolness in the air and very slight breeze.  I normally despise sitting in the sun, but that afternoon the sun felt loving and warm on my bare arms. 

Sadly, that sweet afternoon was tainted with a slight sense of embarrassment.  I felt bad enjoying that spectacular afternoon while Manoj was struggling with some work-related things that day.  You see, these outings are not uncommon - nearly every day, I am doing something enjoyable with my kids while my husband deals with all sorts of work-related crap.  We live in an area that has a plethora of parks, nature centers and gardens in addition to a wonderful zoo and children's farm.  They are mostly free or reasonably priced and we take full advantage of them throughout the year.  It still strikes me as pure insanity that I could have so much fun doing something that is supposed to be work.

I have a bachelor's degree AND a master's degree in accounting.  I am a licensed CPA.  And sometimes, I do wonder if it was all a waste.  After all, I hope to never go back to that life, even later when my kids are in school.  And yes, it is difficult to stomach that I am not explicitly contributing to our family's bank account.

My greatest wish would be for all mothers to have that sweet luxury of choice.  It does not seem fair.

And perhaps, on some level, it is not. 

In the calm, there lies the magic.

I have written several versions of this post and have sat on it for days.  Tweaking.  Rewriting.  Hemming. Hawing.  I am so very tempted to pepper it with small apologies, amends and excuses.  To tone it down, to temper it.  For fear of offending someone.  But to do that?  Would simply water this down to a syrupy, goopy mess.

I will say this, my intention is to not hurt anyone with this or to be argumentative. However, this is my life and I want specific things for my family.

And so, this post will stand.

The other day, my friend Rita wrote an eloquent post about women being sadder now, than they were 40 years ago.    I cannot even begin to recap it or add any value to it, but it struck home with me.

Actually, it punched me in the gut, then smacked me around for good measure.

When it comes to women being sadder now, the presuposition is this: because we are cramming more into our lives than ever before, our lives are in chaos and this is leading to women being sadder than 40 years ago.  

And I agree.

Rita writes:

 For women and men, multi-tasking creates chaos, inattentiveness to detail and that general feeling of brain-fried malaise that descends on me personally every day as I drive home after being battered for eight hours by buzzing phones, 105 business e-mails, 105 personal e-mails, four meetings, six deadlines and 18 visits to my desk from co-workers needing an answer to a question.

And it sucks. Not being able to give something or someone your full attention sucks. I remember early in my career a mentor told me the best thing I could do for my mental state was give myself time to work. Give myself time to get something done correctly. Do less in each day, and do it better.

Rita's entire post resonated with me because it encapsulated why I do not want to have an office job.  Ever.  When our kids are in school, I am hoping to do something part-time, low-key. I never want to go back to the life I led before I had kids.  Leaving my house by 7:30am, sometimes getting home by 6:00pm, if I was lucky there were no emergencies and when the Traffic Gods ruled in my favor.  Sometimes working weekends.  Expected to answer phone calls in the evenings.  Last minute trips.  At my last job, I missed an OB appointment because something came up.  And yes, I take full responsibility for missing that appointment.  That is part of the problem with my working.  When I work, I want to give 100%.  And I would not be able to do that now, in this current life.  Furthermore, not even my family would be getting 100%.

And most importantly, I would not be getting 100%.

I have a job, folks.  It is a full-time job and it is not just about taking care of our kids, it is about taking care of our home.  Our life.  It is sad the term "homemaker" went out of style, because that is the truest definition of my job these days.  I am so much more than just a stay-at-home-mom, dammit - I am making a home for us while my husband is working his tail off to create a business from scratch.  Where is the shame in being called a homemaker?  

If I were working in an office, I would not be getting what I need for me and my sanity. As my life is now, I am able to carve out time for myself, here and there.  Time that I need to recharge and inspire me to be a better mother, wife and person.  I simply do not see how that would happen if I had an outside job because I would want all of my non-work time to be for my family. I cannot imagine coming home at 6 or 6:30 and us trying to get some sort of decent, healthy, non-boxed meal on the table.  Then, trying to get the kids to sleep by 8:30 so that they can be up in time.  The thought of only having a few hours each evening with my kids makes my chest ache.  And the thought of trying to cram their childhood into the weekends makes me ill.  Truthfully?  I don't enjoy going to the zoo, the children's farm, museum, parks, etc on the weekends because it makes me sad to see all the families trying to cram in quality time.  Furthermore, how we would even have time to do all those fun things??   On weekends, we would be too busy getting everything else that needs to be done to keep our household going. 

Every single Monday, I read a lot of Ugh, It's Monday posts from over-tired folks who spent their weekends running around.  In my life now, I like Mondays.  I love getting our week started and planning our activities.  We run around during the week, then lay back on the weekends. 

Where is this leading?  X and I have discussed my getting an outside job.

We are not struggling for money, although we are worried about money, like most folks are these days. So please, do not misunderstand - This is not That Post.  Actually, our situation is not bad.  It is actually good since we are standing at the precipice of a Great Thing.  And for that?  X needs to ramp back on the consulting and focus on the Great Thing.  And for that? More money is needed.  So, without going into too much detail into our finances, it would behoove our little family if I went to work so that X could concentrate on that Great Thing and we could stem the hemorrhage of our accounts.  And let me be clear: This a Great Thing in which I wholeheartedly believe and support.  An awesome Thing that a Famous Big Coffeehouse is implementing on an industry-specific scale.  A cool Thing that X knows will work on a larger scale.

And we are trying to figure this out without my having to go to work in an office.

Because that? Would be chaos.  It would drive me insane.  And while of course, Manoj would have to pick up a load of household duties around here, that would just further tighten the squeeze on him because he is already quite busy as it is.

The thought of putting my kids in daycare physically makes me ill.  The thought of someone else hanging out with my children for 8+ hours a day makes me jealous.  Angry.  Resentful.

No, this is not a screed against the evils of daycare.  I am sure preschools and daycares are nice places to hang out.  I even suspect my kids would like hanging out in one for a little bit - after all, they do enjoy their little school two mornings a week.  But for a long-term situation for 45+ hours a week?  No way. I am their mother and nothing will convince me that someone else could nurture them better than I could  Nothing will convince me there is a better option than me for taking care of them. 

Nothing.

So, we will figure it out.  We will make do, we have several variable expenses that can be cut and our fixed expenses are reasonable.

Truthfully, it has been difficult for Manoj to understand why I am adament about no full-time daycare/preschool for our kids.  And why would he?  His mother was always there for him.  He does not know what it is like to not be home and to be in a place where the folks may or may not want him around.  He does not know what it feels like to be sick and still have to be carted off someplace because his parents had to work and could not stay home.  He does not know what it is like to be bleary-eyed because he had to get up at the crack of dawn to be driven to the babysitter when really, he just wanted to be home and watch cartoons on his own TV, on his own couch.  He has never seen a babysitter smile at his mom, then pretty much dismiss him before his mom had left the driveway.

I know how all of that feels.   And don't even get me started on how it feels to be a latch-key kid.  The loneliness of walking into an empty house.

My children will be starting kindergarten before I know it.  My children will think I am an out-of-date goofball before I know it.  My children will want to hang out with their friends instead of me before I know it.  This part of their childhood is so very fleeting.  Every day something new happens, and oh sure, it is not always exciting.  But truly,  I relish the quietest, simplest of moments - be it doing shopping cart donuts in the Costco parking lot. Or creating operatic librettos out of our grocery list.  Or taking our time while running an errand because they happened across a creepy crawly on the sidewalk.  Or doing nothing in particular at all, just sitting in our own yard and watching the clouds.  I do not want to rush this period of their life running around, in a hurry all of the damned time.

And I do not want to miss it sitting in traffic or a cubicle.

Specifically Random

I am sitting on a post.  I think it has the potential to induce cringing and eye-rolling.  It is also one of those Staying vs. Working posts and those make me itchy for some reason.  While I do not think it worthy of steam spewing from the ears, I am still not comfortable hitting publish just yet.  So, I will sit on it a bit more.  Like an egg.

At BlogHer, my roomies and I discussed our writing styles - Rita and I are firmly in the camp of writing a draft, then poring over it, whereas Blondie and Average Jane say they dash things off and let them go.  Which astounded me because it sounded so brazen and liberated. I simply cannot do that and I rarely write a post and hit "publish".  Well, except for this post, oddly enough.

Today, I did something I call Accidental Shoplifting. As you can guess, I got to the car and realized an item had snuck its way through without being hoisted onto the conveyer belt.  Sorry 'bout that, Jesus.  Darn it.  Well, since I have children, I feel compelled to be some sort of moral and ethical role model (the nerve!  I know!)  And yes, I feel a greater obligation to Do The Right Thing and march back to pay for it.  I did do that once when Arun was smaller and spent a good 20 minutes "making a point."  I ended up with a clear conscience and a screaming baby past his naptime. Now?  I have faith in the Universe that at some point, Costco, Target or Whoever has overcharged ME for something and that this is the Universe's way of restoring the Natural Order of Retail.  Lightning did not strike the car on the way home today, so I think we are all good.

In other news, I have been working on two very important projects this week while Team Chaos is in school expanding their minds and working their way into Ivy League futures.  I am working on Operation Paper and Operation Junk.  These two projects consist of me taking boxes, marching through every single room in our house and compiling ALL of the stray paper into one (or two or three) boxes, then sitting on the carpet and making my way through it - filing, shredding, etc.  Sadly, I actually came across unopened birthday cards (thanks CPAMom!!)  Even more sadly, I am an Aries which means I have an April birthday.  Operation Junk is a similar process except it involves all the random doodads that seem to fester in every single corner and nook in our house. Oh My GOD.  How many paperclips and stray post-it notes does one household need?  Not that many, I can assure you.

While I am excited about getting my house in order, I am sad to report that this makes for a very boring blog.  I am not Swistle, who manages to make de-cluttering look like a carnival ride of fun.

Squee.