Archive for July, 2008

reprieve from the (shit) storm

July 23, 2008 at 12:03 am · Filed under and here we go again

Years ago, I owned these shoes that were so beyond repair that Matt used to call them my “broke down palace” shoes.  “Oh no,” he’d moan, when he saw me putting them on, “please not the broke down palace again.”  He was sick of hearing me whine about the pain the broken shoes caused me, and I was so reluctant to let them go.  ”but I LOVE them” I’d say.  “But they’re BROKEN” he’d retort. 

Since then, anything broken, defective,  malfunctioning or damaged in our lives is referred to as “broke down palace.”  Like the toe I busted a few weeks ago, smashing it on the side of our banister, causing me to show my little baby what mama means when she yells MOTHERFUCKER really loud.  Also, like our  car that chose to die its final death in the Loblaws parking lot recently – in the middle of a heat wave, with 2 screaming kids, bags of groceries, and one pissy husband, I might add.  And finally, like my basement, which became the ultimate broke down palace a few weeks ago when a giant rain storm ripped through Toronto.  The already crappy drains were pushed to their limit and let in a river of backed up sewage under the sub floor of our basement.  (You see? I’m not joking about the shit storm).   Once the plumber got in and took a look at what was going on down there, he very forcefully encouraged us to vacate the house immediately because of the risk of inhaling methane gas.  (note: these kinds of warnings do wonders to a panic-prone mother who immediately upon hearing said warning by the plumber will burst into tears because she is sure her new baby has now been damaged somehow by the days he spent breathing in methane gas.  She will proceed to pack up all of their belongings in 15 minutes and lay them all over the front lawn, giving the neighbours a good show in the meantime). 

And so, we hightailed it outta there, rented a car (remember, ours was broke down palace), and drove up north to my parents’ place.  It was decided that I would spend a week or so there with the kids while Matt returned to Toronto to “deal” with the basement (read: contact the proper people while also enjoying nights out with his friends).  Now, I’ll be the first to admit I am lucky:  my parents retired to a lovely little town called Southampton, just north west of Toronto.  It’s small and idyllic, and many many people cottage up there in the summer.   And while I tend to go a little crazy up there sometimes (the clean air, the niceness, the leisureliness of it all somehow can GET to someone after awhile), I was able to leave broke down palace life behind and see this every morning:

 

Nothing like a view of beauty to make you forget (for the time being) the river of poo at home. 

(full disclosure: this picture is not my own, but one taken from a public tourist site for Southampton.  I would have inserted my own picture, but alas the camera is also living the broke down palace life.  Of course).

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we interrupt this program…

July 12, 2008 at 1:48 pm · Filed under real human friends

…of dramatic sighs and shaking heads to bring you this cute baby:

Thanks for all of your comments on the below post.  I have much more to say about it (of course), but wanted to remember my joy in life today.  And he definitely is part of that.

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The nature of a unbalanced balance.

July 5, 2008 at 2:07 am · Filed under Working it

When I started this blog a few years ago, I had a hard time coming up with a title.   It was during the eye of my anxiety storm, a period in my life when I felt emotionally unbalanced and perhaps a little frail.  And so the idea of a playing on the word “unbalanced” life appealed to me.  Since then, my life has progressed a bit beyond the panic attacks (though I have accepted that anxiety will always be a part of my life) and into a new chapter of frantic parenting and general exhaustion.  The unbalanced nature of my life is now something entirely new.  That is to say: it’s not the anxiety that is kicking my ass anymore – it’s the constant struggle of my work/life/family balance.  It’s the elephant in the room each time Matt and I discuss who goes to work and who doesn’t.  It’s the age old, I-can’t-believe-we-are-still-discussing-this conversation of working moms everywhere: how come I work double duty?

When what has been dubbed “second wave” feminism found its wings in the 70s, the idea of “equal pay” and working moms was just being born.  The gains we have seen in the last 30 years surrounding the discourse of mothering and working have been substantial: it isn’t deemed taboo anymore to suggest a woman can have a career AND a family.  And that’s no small feat.  Changing the general attitudes about women who work outside the home was certainly a win for feminism

But what we all soon discovered was that while it’s fine for mama to work from 9-5, she continues to come home to her second job each night.  Her second job that requires thankless invisible hours of work.   And I’m not just talking basic chores here, like laundry and dishes and bedtime stories and baths.  It’s the un-categorized work of searches for childcare, planning family outings, figuring out who is staying home when the baby is sick, sorting through the mail, making sure my 5 year old has a lunch for camp the next day, budgeting the family finances, buying presents for birthday parties, organizing play dates, etc etc. 

And don’t even get me started on breastfeeding.  I’m a card carrying b-feeder, it’s true.  But sweet Jesus, do I get frustrated with the fact that it’s another one of my responsibilities.  It’s something else only I can do.   I get frustrated when certain people say “oh, I think he’s hungry!” in that sing-song voice that tells me it’s my time to take over again.  And all I can think sometimes is “gee, that’s convenient for you, isn’t it?”

I have a great partner in parenting.  Matt is hands down, a hands-on parent.  Who is involved in the management of our household in more ways than many fathers and husbands are.  But while I am thankful for my team member, I still l feel like I’m the last one running in the relay race. The one who has to bring it all home for the team, and make up for any lost time.   And it’s not even Matt’s fault, really.  It’s both of us.  When Alice is sick, we BOTH assume that I would be the one who stays home.  When birthday party invites are given to Alice, it’s me who physically takes the invite to file away in my brain.  It’s my hand that reaches out first.  I need to hold back more, to let him hold out his hand perhaps.

When Matt and I were first living together, I was a fast and furious feminist card-carrying member.  I was fresh out of Women’s Studies and tutorials about creating equal spaces for women.  And so, when the reality of our domestic life slapped me in the face, (he never cleaned up, nor did his laundry back then), I did what I assumed was the logical thing:  I handed him an invoice.  For domestic work hours rendered while co-habiting.  And my argument was that if we were going to start sharing our money (and that was just around the corner), then I should receive a larger portion of what we called “free” money each week.  I was obviously doing more work, and so if there was a profit coming home it should go to me.

Of course, this was before I learned the fragile nuances of being in a relationship, and how best to communicate with your partner.  We had some wicked fights back then about who did what, and why I was pissed off that the the kitchen was a holy mess.  Again. 

Fast forward to current days, and we are much more of a partnership.  We respect what each other brings to the team, and the obvious domestic duties are far more equitable.  But it’s those invisible tasks that I mentioned before that drive me round the bend.   Why have I backed myself into this corner?  How have I changed my own attitudes of what was expected over the years?  Why is it my job that comes second when time is an issue?

I love my family, but GOD I need a break.

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