The Pink Elephant: The Little Things

The Pink Elephant: The Little Things: Every morning I am greeted in the living room by our two dogs Nina and Jaco. They grunt and snort, rub their heads against my unsteady morni...

The Little Things

Every morning I am greeted in the living room by our two dogs Nina and Jaco. They grunt and snort, rub their heads against my unsteady morning legs as I travel to the kitchen to start the tea water. Though he tries to contain himself, Jaco will usually jump up and pat my belly one paw at a time until I push him down and tell him in my most unconvincing voice, "No jumping."

I will always let them out the front door, even though Aaron and I spent gobs of money building a large fenced in yard for them in the back. Their morning ritual, much like my own, is predictable. They run west about 200 feet to a cluster of sagebrush that I have surmised must house rabbits. They sniff each brush and Jaco pees on a few, which, if it is a rabbit's home, is a very rude thing to do. They then run south, to the neighbor's driveway where they chase away at least 20 birds. When Nina was young she cleared out the entire neighborhood of birds. She would deliver them to the doorstep or sometimes into the house if she had managed to soft mouth the bird successfully. She has either lost ability or interest as the birds are left alive.

They then run southeast, where they stand on the collection of hay bales that holds Aaron's archery target. They overlook the valley and decide everything is in order and head east, down the hill, through a thicket of sage, and across the field to their favorite place of all. Grandma's house. 

They will usually stop at an old, rusted pipe that lies alongside the driveway. Nina will take one end and Jaco the other. Together they will sniff and snort and utterly terrify the creature that lives inside.

When they arrive at grandma's house, Nina will lift her paw and hit the screen door with force. The screen door will hit the front door and will notify grandma's dachshund, Hanz, that company has arrived. Hanz will bark obnoxiously and grandma will come to the front door, two biscuits in hand and give one to Nina and one to Jaco. Jaco will invariably try to eat Nina's biscuit as well but grandma will remind him to share.

In the summer months, grandma will leave the door open so the dogs can visit while they eat their biscuits. Today though, they were given their biscuits and told to return home, which they do after they've finished their treat on the front porch.

Before they head up the hill, they stop at the rusty pipe and remind the critter that their day is drawing near. The dogs then disappear in the sage brush momentarily and then one by one, I spot their tails and then their bouncing ears, and eventually their entire selves. Next, I hear a knock on the front door.

They are always panting and excited when they come back in. They look pleased with themselves and like they know something I don't. I play dumb, fill up their water bowl and take a sip of my tea.

Women!

Over Ellis' door hangs a sign that reads:

Here's to good women.

May we know them.

May we be them.

May we raise them.

 

 

It was given to me when I was six months pregnant by my mother-in-law. She's a good woman and she raised two good women as well. This is comforting to remember right now as I am faced with yet another woman who, bless her heart, does not seem to be a friend to other women.

 

This may be an unpopular post. I may look conceited after this and perhaps I may expose some of the stories I tell myself about why other women don't like me. This will be embarrassing and terribly exposing and yet, I feel compelled to write about it because I know I'm not the only woman who has dealt with this.

 

So here goes. I am pretty convinced that there are two types of women. The kind that help other women and the kind that do not.

 

I have been lucky to know a few of the former. I have also had the opportunity more times that I care to, to learn how to interact with women who do not have my best interest at heart, who do not want to see me succeed and who will actually hurt me to help make themselves feel better. Even though this happens on a personal level as well, I am speaking mostly about my professional experiences. Particularly with women who could be mentors. They are older, they are "wiser", they are more experienced, they could teach me, make me better, their legacy could live on in the good work that I do because of them. This is sadly, so rarely what happens. I can count on one hand, the women who have helped lift me up professionally. The women who have knocked me down, diminished me, fired me, made me doubt my abilities are too numerous to count.

 

I can not, for the life of me, understand why we do this to each other. Don't we see that competing with each other is the big lie. We are so fierce, so powerful, so brilliant in all ways, we will never reach the heights we seek if we kill each other off. What are we fighting over? Money? Power? Oh God, men? Really?

 

I am dealing with a woman at work who is angry about my age and my achievement. She is jealous and sabotaging wherever she can. I feel powerless to address it because it seems so insane to me. I can't help but feel sorry for her because it must feel so lonely to look at other women as the enemy.

 

I have been spoiled by my current boss. She has lifted me so incredibly high. She has inspired me in so many ways. Before her came Laurie and Susan. Before them, my professors. Before them, my mom who is such a fierce champion of women, their behavior has driven her far into her cave for solace.

 

I suppose all I can do is continue to love women and raise Ellis to do the same.

 





Weaning

Learning to breast feed was, as my dear friend Laurie said, "The first dragon you and Ellis will slay together." Man, was she right. I don't know what was more difficult: my pregnancy, my longer than  The Brother's Karamosov birth, or discovering, that despite my naïve assertions that all things related to motherhood would be easy for me, I didn't have the faintest idea how to feed my baby.

Somehow we all survived and we became so good at breastfeeding, as we turned the corner on two years and my friends stopped eating out with me for fear I might whip out my now numb to the world breasts, I started to think, "Oh shit. How am I going to slay this dragon?!" I don't pray very often, mostly because I'm too concrete of a thinker in a lot of ways so it's hard for me to pray to something that I haven't quite figured out but I did pray when Aaron got hurt and I prayed when my mom's heart was under duress and I prayed that I would win when I found those skinny, black corduroy True Religion jeans on eBay, and to be totally honest, I prayed that Ellis wouldn't cry when I decided it was time to wean her. Listening to her cry is my least favorite activity. It literally hurts my heart.

So imagine my surprise when she suddenly stops latching on and she starts taking "sips." A term she coined by the way. So I took notice and starting quantifying her sips. Day one, she got 5 sips per breast. Day two, four. Day three, three and so on until the milk was, "all gone." She seemed to enjoy the process and I think she cried maybe once and it was nothing to write home about. I couldn't BELIEVE my luck. Was this possible?! Could something this scary really be so easy? Oh I'm goooood!

Then yesterday she started to pout, cross her arms and tell me that she wants to be left alone and she's mad at me. My response, though difficult because I want to cry now, is, "OK honey, I love you so much. I'm here when you're ready to cuddle." "NO!" is usually her retort and then she comes around after about 10 to 15 minutes. So my concern is that a) I have traumatized beyond repair, b) she now has attachment disorder, and c) she is going to hate me for the rest of her life.

Any thoughts on this would be helpful. Please don't collude my distorted thinking though by agreeing that I have ruined my child. Really, I'm just interested in words of encouragement and praise.
Many thanks.

And no, I didn't win the corduroy pants. I refuse to pay the same amount as a new pair of pants for a pair that someone else's vagina has already touched.

Tests

There are many tests in life, like when Aaron asks me what I think about him traveling to the Congo. Or when you get pulled over and the officer asks you, "Ma'am, do you know why I pulled over?" This by the way, is perhaps my least favorite rhetorical question. Well officer, I'm assuming I was breaking the law and since I suffer from a variety of maladies, I can only guess I was either speeding, swerving or flipping off the asshole in front of me. Since I'm not drunk and I'm up on my anger management, I was most likely speeding. 

Anyway, I digress. The other kind of test in life is the kind you have to take to get letters after your name. I am currently studying for my LISW exam (I know, ironic, considering the latter paragraph). I took a practice exam and I didn't pass. Then I took another and I didn't finish because I could tell I wasn't passing. The first one I took at 10 pm. 170 questions. The second I took after 2 beers. This is my qualification for failing both.

Needless to say, my confidence and unwarranted bravado has since left me. Here I am, staring at my tall stack of study materials realizing that I will actually have to put effort into this.

As Ellis would say, "I don't yike it."

Parenting Woes

This is how self-absorbed I am: I didn't even think to worry that Aaron and I would have trouble coming to an agreement on how we want to parent Ellis. Didn't even cross my mind. Upon looking deeper at this, I realize its because I totally and completely believed that he would just follow my lead. I am, after all, a licensed social worker. People pay for my clinical opinion. I'm also a trained Love and Logic parent. And besides all that, I'm lovable, convincible me. Well, as you've no doubt guessed, that's not what's happening.

He is much more of a disciplinarian and I pretty much let Ellis be Ellis as long as she is not in danger of serious injury, burning the house down, etc. He's concerned I have no boundaries and I'm concerned that he doesn't know how to pick his battles. For instance, Ellis and him got into it last night over a napkin. Dad wasn't sharing. I had to leave the table.

So, I don't know what to do except keep negotiating and having even tempered discussions. We were both blessed with parents who love us so we can't screw this up too bad right?

I think if we can both give in a little. If he can learn to pick his battles and let her be herself more often than not and if I can hold her accountable when she is being a stinkerpotimous, then maybe we can strike a deal. I feel like Congress right now! No shutdown possible though. Gotta' keep this ship afloat.

If only I were Swedish

Is it unreasonable for me to expect that my house be spotless? I have a toddler and I'm not the cleanest person on the planet and either is Aaron, so I guess it is unreasonable. Still, I crave a Pottery Barn/Restoration Hardware/Some Amazing Minimalist House in Sweden sort of décor in my home and no matter how badly I try, I just can not actualize it. Can you tell I'm having a bout of OCD tonight?

Speaking of OCD, Portland is way too dirty for me to live in. It's dirty on purpose, I realize, but all the same, I would have to be put on large amounts of Zoloft to make that work. And I can't rock the trendy glasses and I can't bring myself to call everyone "friend." It's a nice thought, and I tried it when I ordered some eggs but it just didn't come out right. Like when I try to roll my R's, that never comes out right either. Since my soul mate Jehan is there I will visit and drink copious amounts of wine and beer and wear my new Hunter boots all the while keeping my wannabe Swedish opinions to myself.

Did you know the key to a clutter free home is clear counter space. It does actually work but where, pray tell, do I put all my shit if I can't put it on one of my counter tops? Maybe I need to embrace the chaos in my life. Glory in the mess. Pretend I'm Diane Keaton and I get cuter the more disorganized my life becomes.

That's all I have to say tonight. I'm going to take a sleeping pill, which is actually just fancy Benedryl I found out (nice one Doc) and go to sleep now. Cheers.