Where did I go?

In a nutshell, I went to work. And I kept working. And I worked nights. And I worked weekends. And the Lord said, you shall work for 40 days and 40 nights, and at the end of such forty nights, Moses said, you shall suffer in the desert for 40 years, with a child in need of a tonsillectomy and a husband in need of a job. And so I went to the Seder and drank with Elijah and forgot my cares in a glass of Baron Herzog (Kosher for Pesach).

Alright, minus the desert part, it soooo all happened that way. After a massive blitz at my office with little end in sight to the work (thank goodness), and a chronically sick Captain Kid who is seemingly en route to the operating room, my family became a national statistic with a 30 days notice along with a bunch of other people from his office. Such are the times we live in. And so my family goes. And so this Mediocre Mama shifts to breadwinner, if only for a little while.

And so began my first week of brown-bagging my lunches and contemplating consignment sales and hand-me-downs. Maybe it's all for the best. In this wasteful society, I have been heartened by the trend of reusing and recycling. Let's face it, how far behind is the trend of regifting so I can get rid of some of that ugly crap I registered for when I got married a mere 8 years ago? It's all in vogue and I am embracing it, along with my new status and all the uncertainty that lies ahead.

So begins the next phase of this journey of family and motherhood. Less than 2 years ago it was I who pondered my future and the things that lie ahead. Now it's someone else's turn.

And so it goes, and so it goes...

And the least that I can do? Blog it.

Poops and pail and puppy dog tails.

That's what little Captain's are made of. I don't even know where to start about my shitty afternoon and all the shit that ensued, but I guess I'd best start with the backpack.

Every day when the Captain arrives home from school, I am tasked with the daunting job of emptying the backpack. It's with great trepidation that I pull the baggie from his bad for fear of the contents inside. Will it just be a wet T? Or will it, like today, be 2 pair of totally pooped up underpants?

Now, to me it's a game of what's grosser than gross. You remember the old game. What's gross? A pooped up diaper. What's grosser than gross? Pooped up, hardened, cold underpants. I hate it and I hate cleaning it out. It usually amounts to a stifled gag reflex and a lot of breath holding. Which is how the events of this afternoon transpired.

So while I'm cleaning out the shitty pants, Captain kid decides it's Naked Time. I see the pants and diaper come off and the diaper gets balled on to the floor. But now he's running around the house and his tushy is covered by his t-shirt, so there's really not much I can see. All I know is that my hands are deep in shit and I can't very well chase him in current state. So I finish cleaning out the underpants and grab some bleach and a sponge to disinfect the sink. If anyone out there has a better method I'd appreciate the feedback.

Anyway, seeing as how I'm holding my breath, it somehow escapes my attention that within the balled up diaper is a balled up turd. And even if I had been breathing in the air from the cruded up underpants, naturally shit is a natural mask for the odor of...shit.

So now I finally spot aforementioned turd in the diaper and it dawns on me that he's been running around nude for the last 5 minutes. I don't even know where to start. First stop, swab down the toddler, which he's none too pleased about. Then I run off to assess the damage. But where to start? Thank goodness for Dog, because like pigs sniffing out truffles, she's on the case. I follow her nose and (hopefully) clean up all the skid marks around the living room. But...

Now it dawns on me that I've forgotten about the toddler. So I return to the bathroom and he's picked up the bleached up sponge and is swabbing out the garbage pail (oh thank you Montessori). I clean him up, put away all the cleaning products, and turn around to rinse off the sink. Still with me?

While I'm rinsing the sink it gets quiet. Too quiet. And now I look and he's standing out on the patio holding...a can of cement glue and a power drill. Deviant Dad gets a serious Memo award on that one, I manage to shove the toddler in his crib for some much needed R&R (you know, for me), and now I sit here blogging away and dreaming of being in a nice cozy office next week, away from shit and poop and smart ass toddlers that make me look so goddamn mediocre.

And now...the entertainment portion of our blog. Thank you for reading...

When I grow up...

Remember when you were a little kid and they used to ask you what you wanted to be when you were a grown up? Think back...you're small, maybe drawing with some crayons, eating some paste...that's it, you remember. And so all my dreams came true this week. Yes, folks, it's true. I'm going to be a Land Use and Zoning Manager focusing on Wireless Telecom.

Okay okay, not quite as simple as a childhood dream, but it is actually a lawyers dream and an interesting job to boot with many many of the perks that we lawyers like (translation - no billable hours). I'm pretty excited and I start mid-October, which means the drag race to find a nanny begins. And then, of course, the next phase...how to be a Mediocre Working Mama.

This is going to be a major. Not only will this be a serious job with often serious hours, I'm going to be a good 30 miles from home, which means I will be assuming the role of Beta Parent and Deviant Dad will be the Alpha. It is more than for the best, and a much more comfortable lifestyle for sure, but I don't doubt the posts that are to come and the difficult adjustment we are certain to weather. In many ways, it will be harder for me and than it will be for him.

Though I often pick on the hard stuff, I must boast for a moment about the Captain's ability to adapt to any situation that we've thrown him. Maybe it's because we've thrown him so many curve balls (travel, living abroad, school, new homes and beds, different foods) that he's been so capable of dealing with change. Or maybe it's that he's 2 and hasn't quite the attention span or ability to focus on the past like we do. I suppose we'll find out soon.

I know, I shouldn't go sappy with this post because I really do neurotic and self-deprecating much better. But if I said I wouldn't miss him it would be a lie. And if I said I wasn't relieved it would be a lie, too. To be sure, it's all been a journey; the next journey is to find myself again. If you've seen her, please forward her to Mediocremama.blogspot.com. We offer COD but the sender assumes the responsibility for damage.

Cobwebs and dust bunnies.

If you've noticed them on my blog, you wouldn't be alone. I thought I'd be a blogaholic when the Captain went to school, but it turns out not so much. There are many reasons, most of them psychological and all of them having to do with my job search. But the time has come to clear out the tumbleweeds and getting back to what I do best...productive procrastination.

Anyhoo, let me just enlighten my faithful reader(s) as to the recent developments of my life:

1. I interviewed for a great job, was told I was going to be offered it, and still after 4 weeks am being hung out to wait (at this time I suspect I'm waiting to be told it's not going to happen) and that is what I do, like a loser, by the phone, waiting like a girl waiting to be called for a 2nd date;
2. Captain Kid is loving school and keeping his teacher busy. Montessori has given him manners and he now clears the table and throws out trash. They have not yet cured him of his habit of torturing Dog, but he can put together a lovely floral arrangement for her to say he's sorry;
3. Deviant Dad turned 32 yesterday so I can now breath easy for the next 9 months and don't have to listen to his stupid jokes about me being "old;" and
4. The Captain has been through 2 head colds, as have we, and I've been nursing a sinus infection for the last week-and-a-half.

So in the net, not all that much has happened in the last month, yet I don't even know where the time has gone. The Captain turns 2 in just a couple of weeks and we are busily planning his birthday party, to be held at the casa de grandparent in a couple of weeks. And as for me, I'm back to square one on my job hunt, which is depressing the hell out of me, expanding my waist line, and emptying my wallet. I think what kills me most is that I dropped $85 on a pair of victory shoes when I thought I had a job. I'm all dressed up with nowhere to go.

But alas, this is not all why I decided to blog again. I decided to blog because of yet another less than mediocre mama out there that's making me look bad. I refer to This Blog, which details one woman's journey of homemade gourmet lunch boxes. She (a) makes it look easy, (b) makes it look delicious, and (c) made me feel really bad as I let the Captain munch on cheerios and an ego waffle at lunch time. Take your time and look through, but don't do it on an empty stomach.

Sigh. Thank god Britney's out there to make me feel better all the time. If I don't say it enough, I heart Britney!

“Temptation, frustration, so bad it makes him cry."

Ah, just a little school song to set the tone.

Yes, the Captain is off to school. Only 2 days in and 1 morning crying-jag down. "I think I'm gonna like it here."

The first day sorted out so so. A new pair of shoes and a brand spankin' new backpack to start things right. It took a few shots with the new pair til it was a meltdown-free affair, but the Captain is taking change in stride and looks rather outdoorsy in his new stride rite extra-wide shoes. Naturally the Deviant Dad didn't get new shoes to honor the Captain's first day of school, so we're still using his ailing flip flops to open beer.





My biggest concern about the Captain's first day is that naturally he decided to mark the occasion by coming down with a head cold. Of course, the parent handbook details the shape, color and precise location of discharge that would preclude a child from attending school, which sends me into a panic because as the "volunteer" parent I have to get my arse over to the school for the first 2 days. After a few alarmed phone calls to a "Friendly Mom," I decide to dope the Captain up on some contraband narcotics and send him off on his first day.

And he did great. Until his 2nd day. It seems that after the first time of abandonment they "get it" and go mental on subsequent occasions. And so he kicked and screamed and panicked this morning whilst I pranced into the front office to take on the mighty tasks of garbage disposal and recycling. Ah well. When your only real job in the last year involved shit and laundry you don't feel all that picky when someone gives you an important task like garbage removal.

And so I thought all was lost and that my brain would wither away during my volunteer time until I ran into Friendly Mom in the toddler drive-through pick up line. We chat for a moment and it turns out that in addition to having our kids in the same class, we're both temporarily SAHM's/Lawyers looking to re-enter the workforce. We agree we have much in common and exchange hand signals in the international code of "call me." I drive off feeling pretty good and the Captain's waving bye-bye rather contently at his teacher.

And then it hits me.

Have I joined the Momtourage?

Note to self...get a job and then get a new camera.

I feel that ever since my camera broke en route from France back to Spain that I am missing out on both documenting and sharing my most mediocre of moments. Tonight's mediocre highlight? Childproofing the cabinets. This one goes to the Dad.

Now, we've never had to do this before. Back in Spain the kitchen was in lock down mode and we had all the confidence that he couldn't bust in there, what with the broken doorknob and all. So I grant you, we are in new territory here. But today, after the Captain reached into a drawer and grabbed the items nestled next to the steak knives; I knew it was time.

I should mention that our house is old. Dirt old. And the cabinet work? To describe it as piecemeal would be charitable. In fact, it is actually hanging by a thread. Which is exactly why as Deviant Dad pulled on that thread the entire cabinet began to unravel. There were many swear words uttered and lots of loud noises. To be sure, the best part was the "oh fuck" that came after a bit of drilling. Not only do we now have a broken piecemeal, piece of shit cabinet, we have a counter top with a hole in it from the Dad's drilling.

Oh, it's all good fun. And honestly, we do need new cabinets. But we are a long away from redoing the kitchen, so all I can do is admire my punctured Formica and look at kitchen and bath magazines like they are porn. Amend that note to self...get a job, get a camera, get a new kitchen. Crud.

Catch 22.

It would seem to in all ways defeat the purpose of being home with my child that it now seems I need full time help to watch him while I look for a job. Which, of course, is further complicated by the fact that we are sans 2 salaries and can't seem to afford hired help to watch the Captain while I look for a job. And naturally, this is the price that one pays for moving 200+ miles away from home. Sure you avoid the random Sunday morning drop-in from the in-laws and who doesn't love that? But I do find myself envying friends and family who have grandma up the road. Not that that isn't it's own catch 22.

It does seem that by moving away we have all but secured our privacy and we aren't as beholden to the grandparents as many of our friends find themselves. One such friend, I'll call her Dori, who's mother watches her wee-one whilst she and the dad are at work seems totally at the mercy of grandma. There is no question she and her husband get an invaluable service from her. But such is the way that grandzillas are born.

And then there is the position that Deviant Dad and I find ourselves in. All grandparents are safely tucked away in NY, lying in wait and enjoying those few weekends that we let them out of jail to visit with the Captain. But the conversation goes something like this...

They - We'd love to come down for a weekend.

Us - We'll have to see. Things are pretty busy.

They - You could go out for an evening and we'll watch the Captain.

Us - Well...hmm...that's mighty tempting.

And so it's baited. They throw the finest piece of sushi on the end of a fishhook and reel us in. They know our weakness. They count on it. And this is how grandparents play their game. The trouble is we love it. Free, dummy. But there are those irritating strings they attach. I know I'll do it to the Captain one day, and thus the vicious cycle continues. But given the many career appointments I need to attend to next week and the constant distractions the Captain is providing me with during my job search...it kills me. Can you taste the sushi? Mmmm. Wasabi.

And so, I leave you with the immortal words of the late great Sam Levenson, a humorist circa 1960's and actual distant relative of mine, who once wrote the following:

The reason grandparents and grandchildren get along so well is that they have a common enemy.

Sadly for me, I lost my remaining grandparents this last year. So now it's 5 against 2. The odds are stacked against us.

Job blows.

It dawned on me the other day that though I have Internet up and running and though I could probably squeeze in a few precious moments to blog it out most days that I am just not feeling the love. Perhaps it is the 700 channels of television that has distracted me. Maybe it's the vast number of English speakers surrounding me. Who am I kidding? It's the job search.

It's a funny sort of thing, but being a lawyer not only sucks the life out of you but searching for a job as a lawyer has a similar effect. I think in part that I've just been out of the game too long and, let's face it, a year of talking about shit and doorknobs hasn't made it any easier. No, I don't believe that parenting makes you inherently stupid. But I find myself reaching up my legal ass (as lawyers often do) and pulling such crap out for these cover letters and interviews; it seems like a lie.

But I think it's more than that. I've had more of my share of job missteps and mediocre career moves; I'm not eager to screw it up again. And then the real truth sets in: how do you find that career move that fills your purse, fulfills your soul and doesn't leave Captain Kid sans mediocre mama. When every decent job you look at is more than an hour's commute away, how can you contemplate a job with 50 hour work weeks?

So you will have to forgive this lapse of silence over the last month. It's not you, it's me.

But for the record, I can report that the Captain is doing just great in his new environs and that Dog is back in town, once again being harassed daily by her tormentor. His latest hobby is attempting to run her down with his little riding car and stabbing her with a fork; both incidents resulted in arrests for reckless driving and assault with a deadly weapon - possible possession of a controlled substance as well - his cheerios were confiscated at the scene and are being tested as we speak.

I'm about 10 cm's.

There's nothing like trying to check your e-mail/blogging when you've been fully dilated. In my case, I had to drive a good hour in this state, fully cognizant of the road signs yet not so certain about what my dashboard was displaying. This all after driving a full hour to my doctor's appointment in, I kid you not, a hail storm. No, I'm not so mediocre as to have done this with the Captain in the car. But I did leave him with an unassuming girlfriend who has a toddler of her own and managed one of the most dumb ass displays of my life in her presence. For the record, this did not occur while my pupils were dilated, which makes me feel like an even bigger dork for doing it. But long story short, I kicked the rocking horse, totally by accident, with the possible consequence of a broken toe. I don't know for sure yet, mostly because I need to wait for the throbbing to stop and, more importantly, tonight I guzzled down a bottle of this stuff to kill the pain:




.
There was a purpose to this story? Other than an utterly irresistible opportunity to squeeze a line in about being blinded with science. Oh wait, I remember. First, I think I owe my readers an apology:

1. I hope I haven't given any false expectations about my ability to blog. We have Internet, but no computer (still en route to the State's). Technically this is my husband's office computer. Which is also deeply cutting into my porn hobby, but such is life.
2. My blogging is going to be severely hindered by my job search, because any five seconds I get with a computer and an Internet connection must belong to my prospective income or lack thereof (naturally this ad seems tempting - ADULT NIGHTCLUB #1 Club in Maryland seeks Dancers up to $1000.00 Nightly. Flexible hrs, must be 18 yrs or older. Also need Announcers & Floor Staff. McDoogals 410-437-2834 - but honestly I am not that good a dancer).
3. Finally, I just want to state for the record that my ability to double shift should in no way be misconstrued as something you should rely on. My computer will be here shortly...please expect additional misplaced exclamation points soon.

So, the point of it is this...when one is so drunk, in pain, and so blind that a job search is not an option, blogging suddenly becomes feasible. I would suggest to all my loyal readers that you not try this at home, but hobbies and creativity can flourish in the most dire of circumstances. More blogging to come, I promise, but it may require a lost finger or partial-brain lobotomy to keep up my former pace. And I resent any insinuations that I've already had one; admit it, you were thinking it.

Mama if that's moving up then I'm...

Moving out.

As I sit here typing (minus one shift key thanks to a mild temper tantrum the Captain had yesterday), I can't believe I've lived in Spain almost a year to the date and that, sadly, I'll be back stateside in a little more than a month. The Captain was just a wee-Private when we left home and had literally just started to crawl.

Why is that, by the way? Is that the Murphy's Law of toddlers...if you are packing up your entire house and not baby proofed then your toddler is certain to start crawling? It was fabulous.

Anyway, though our departure will be soon, I am certain that our next adventure will give me mucho to blog about (assuming we can get Internet connections where we're heading). This is how the plan is shaking down if we can swing it...

1. Dad works for the next couple of weeks;
2. We attempt a meet up with friends in the south of France for about 5 days;
3. Back to Valencia to pack up, rest up, work and chill;
4. Two weeks traveling around southern Spain by car;
5. Fly home or possibly to my parents house a few hours from home to steal their automobile in the night, seeing as how we sold all our worldly possessions when we moved;
6. Move back into house (which is rented out until June 30th);
7. Dad goes back to his home office; and finally
8. The Mediocre Mama finds a job.

Eek.