He's 5!

When the hell did that happen?

J is 5 (well, truth be told, he's 5 and 2 months). That means that kindergarten is looming upon us. That means I have to grow up and be an adult. I don't think I'm ready. Ladies in the PTA scare me. Do you watch Desperate Housewives? Did you see Lynette take on the bully PTA lady?. I'm not as ballsy as Lynette. Sure, I talk a good game. I can puff up with the best of them. But when it comes right down to it. I. Am. A. Wimp.

Kindergarten registration is next Tuesday. Next Tuesday! I'm not ready. I have to have things like his immunization records (he's had three pediatricians in 5 years - any chance, all his records are in one place?) and his birth certificate! What?! I think it's in our safe deposit box.

Because we live in a fairly well-off suburb, I'm assuming that there will be all these perfectly-coiffed and manicured mothers stepping out of their SUVs with all the appropriate paperwork in color-coordinated binders. They'll know exactly which door to enter the school and which hallway to go down to find the right room. They'll already have all the appropriate forms filled out and checks in hand. Me...I'll be a bumbling idiot. I'll forget that I have to pump until about 30 minutes before registration starts. I'll come racing in with breastmilk stains on my shirt and likely, my nursing bra, will be unlatched and one of my colossal breasts will be flailing around in the wind (what a picture, no?). I'll go in the wrong door and get hopelessly lost trying to find the office. I'll probably get detention.

I hear all these horror stories about school. Moms who keep their precious Juniors back because they're sure he can't handle kindergarten. Moms who bully the principals into getting their kid into morning (or afternoon, whichever is better) sessions. Teachers who are scary. I mean, how am I supposed to navigate all that and still be a semi-sane mom?

My parents were very hands-off when it came to school. If I got detention or otherwise in trouble, it was assumed that the teacher was right and I deserved what I got. If I needed help on homework, they pointed me in the direction of the Encyclopaedia Britannica. My mom did help with math but only to explain terms or to check my work. But never...and I mean never...would they have done my homework for me. They had better things to do than their kids' homework. And more importantly, it was my homework, not theirs. They attended parent-teacher conferences and open houses and recitals but I don't think they ever volunteered in our classrooms (a fact that I'm sure I greatly appreciated as I got into junior and senior high school). And my mom could have done so. She was a stay-at-home mom and/or a work-from-home mom for my entire childhood. She just didn't feel it was necessary.

I'd like to be the same way but I'm sensing from friends that have older kids that that's not the way that it is anymore. A colleague routinely, and I mean routinely, does his son's homework for him. The kid is 10 and, I think, should be responsible enough to pack his own backpack up every night and make sure his homework is in there. He doesn't. His parents do it. This colleague told a story one time about how a teacher admonished his son for not having a particular piece of homework in his bag. My colleague was indignant and called the teacher and proceeded to blast her because she should have been yelling at him, not his son, as he packed his son's bags. Um...when is he going to learn personal responsibility?

Anyway. The registration is on Tuesday. I'm quite sure that it will be anti-climactic but still...I'll be up worrying about it until then. (Well, I'll be up but that's probably because we're trying to get A to understand that while we love her dearly, her presence in our bed is really starting to affect our marriage negatively and it's starting to affect my psyche very negatively and we would really appreciate it, please, if she would start sleeping in her own crib. Or at least start out there...I do really enjoy those early morning cuddles and nursing sessions).

Random things I think about

I was reading Indigo Girl's post about ODP v CDP (of which I am most definitely a CDP) and I started thinking about an old boyfriend who was an ODP! Horrifying. He used to call me into the bathroom to chat while he was ... taking care of business. And while he was, and I'm sure still is, a nice guy, I resolved to never ever ever date anyone again who was an ODP. Luckily, my sweet husband is a CDP and in fact, we're both CD Pee'ers as well....and that's how you really know if you're compatible with someone.

Then that got me thinking about work. I work in your basic office park building - five stories. Male and female bathrooms on each floor. I have NO idea what men are like when they use a public restroom to take care of ... um ... #2. Women, however, would just as soon pretend that they're doing anything else in the stall than pooping.

There is nothing worse than getting to the bathroom to take care of business and finding out that the bathroom is not empty. Worse still is getting to the bathroom, finding it empty, getting ready to ... well ... release and then someone comes in. And then, the waiting begins. If you're lucky, the other person just needs to pee and will be done in a jiffy. If you're not, you and she are going to have to duke it out, so to speak, to see who can outlast the other one. I've yet to lose. Then I start giggling wondering if anyone's ever sat there so quietly for so long that the motion-sensor lights in the bathroom have turned off and left them sitting there on the throne in the pitch black.

These are the things that amuse me.

As an update: I declined to interview for the position that the headhunter called me for. I told him that if they'd consider some type of flex arrangement, I'd be happy to talk to them but that I really didn't want anything full time right now. They clearly weren't interested because he then asked me if I knew of anyone else who could fill the position.

My new nail guns...ain't they purty?

I get to be a Jane.

My sweet husband got me a nail gun for Valentine's Day. And not just any nail gun - a whole nail gun kit that comes with a brad nailer AND a staple attachment. I'm so excited. I'm running around trying to figure out what I can nail first...he's hoping it's him (yuck...yuck...yuck)

Are you a Jane?

I soooo want to be a Jane.

www.be-jane.com

I seriously want a table saw or a nail gun for Valentine's Day.

What do I want to be when I grow up

So I get a call from a head hunter who had previously recruited me for a job with a tech company in Boston. This was in the fall and they were all "Hurry up and get up here. Have to meet you. Want to interview you." So I did.

And it was no small feat. I had just returned from maternity leave with no vacation days to my credit. B was going out of town. M was only 4 months old. I'd never left her overnight. So, my Dad drives from Connecticut to Pittsburgh to watch the kids. B goes out of town. I leave on the absolute last flight out of Pittsburgh to Boston. Get in around midnight after the Red Sox won their division championship. Pump with a pathetic breast pump in the hotel. Interview all day the next day (pumping in between interviews!) and then take a flight back. And then....nothing. That's right...nothing. Not even a "Thanks. We hired the other candidate." Nothing.

So, the head hunter calls because they have a position open that would report to the position for which I'd previously interviewed. In all fairness, the first position was kind of a stretch for me in terms of experience so I don't know that I'd feel weird about working for a woman with whom I competed for a job.

But here's the thing. Since I interviewed with that tech company I finagled a new work arrangement at my current job. I work 3 10-hour days and have two days off. And I like that. I like having two days to get all those nitpicky things done around the house that need doing. You know...laundry. Drycleaning. Grocery shopping. Cleaning. I don't know if making a whole lot more money is worth it.

In other news.

J makes me laugh.

J: "Mom, can I please watch Buzz Lightyear.

Me: "J! No. I'm sick to death of you sitting on your bum watching tv, or playing video games or playing computer games. You need to move around and play. No more tv!"

Cut to 5 hours later.

J: "Mom. Could we watch a Buzz after dinner?"

Me (exasperated): "J!"

J: "What? I'll stand up."

Me: "Huh?"

J: "You said you didn't want me sitting on my bum anymore"

There was a little girl

Who had a little curl
Right in the middle of her forehead.

And when she was good, she was very, very good.
And when she was bad, she was horrid.

So the story goes, anyway. And so now, I blog.

If a person blogs and no one reads it, does it mean anything?