Wiser This Time Around

I'm typing this in my classroom.  There's a little less than half an hour until I officially begin my new teaching job.  It's strange to be back... because I taught here in 2005.  And oh yeah, it's also my alma mater.  First student, then teacher, then teacher again.


I have no idea why I'm in a science classroom.

Driving here, I was thinking about the person I was when I was last here.  I was in my mid-twenties, fresh out of graduate school.  I moved back home from Europe and was living with my parents.  I taught at another school, too.  I also tutored and worked as a hostess at two restaurants for extra cash.  Where did all that money go?!

Around that time, I fell in love with my now-husband, Bruce.  We used to go out with a big group of friends almost every night.  He was living with his parents.  After some months we quit all our jobs and started fresh in Chicago.

Here I am again.  I joked to Bruce earlier, it's like 2005 all over again except now we both live with his parents.  The other day I watched the movie The Vow, the one where Channing Tatum plays a husband who has to get his amnesiac wife, Rachel McAdams, to fall in love with him anew.  I'm a sucker for love stories and anything set in Chicago.  It was pretty much the first movie I've seen in its entirety since the baby was born.  Anyways, at one point Rachel McAdams' character says she gets a do-over on life.  That's what this feels like.

This time, I'm going to save my money and pay off the debts I incurred during those irresponsible party years.  2012 is the new 2005.

She's Got What I Want

I was having a typical marathon phone session with one of my best girlfriends, Lorelei, not too long ago.

"So what else is going on?" I asked.

She hemmed and hawed.  "No, nothing, really..." She trailed off in the way that I knew immediately something else was definitely going on.

"What?" I pressed.

It turns out she had very good news that she and her boyfriend put an offer in on a house and were accepted!  This would be the first home purchase for both of them.  She was super excited.

"Why didn't you want to tell me?" I asked, after congratulating her.

Basically, my friend didn't know how to tell me she was buying a house because of my situation.  Like saying, "Guess what! I'm getting married!" when your friend has just been dumped.  She didn't want me to feel bad.  She had every intention of telling me, but at the time I was in particularly sad slump.

This, of course, made me feel bad.  I would never want my friend to diminish her happiness because of me, and I told her so.  "From now on," I lectured lovingly, "I want to hear everything.  I will live vicariously through you!"  She's kept up her end faithfully and so have I.  I can't wait for her to own her own home - she lives in San Diego and I'm going to see this new place as soon as I can!

If you couldn't tell already, when I do watch TV, I spend a lot of time watching those home-buying shows on cable.  I love looking at houses.  Maybe it's a remnant of my childhood.  When I was eight, my parents decided to move to a new area.  We looked at bright, spacious model homes and old, dark homes with suits of armor in the den (no kidding).  We saw big yards with willow trees in the country and small yards with young trees in subdivisions.  Eventually they chose to buy a plot of land and build their own home.  It was the perfect place in which to grow up.

My mom and I like to go on house tours in historic neighborhoods.  We're actually going to one in a few weeks.  I can't get enough.  I drive around and look at houses; I have since I've had my license.  To this day, whenever I go to someone's home for the first time, I check out the architecture, layout, yard, and decor.  I focus on the features that appeal to me.  You will hear me at a dinner party complimenting the hosts on some painting or their granite countertops or the original crown molding.  I'm all about it.

So I was thrilled to accompany my sister-in-law last weekend on her house-shopping adventure.  We viewed the three townhouses that were her major contenders.  Each had its own excellent features.
 

I want an open-concept kitchen so I can cook and hang out.



This house got a lot of light from all the windows.



This neighborhood had so much attractive green space.



I thought this private patio would be perfect for drinking wine or tea and reading!

I felt honored that she asked me to go along.  Though the decision is ultimately up to her, she made me feel like my opinion mattered.  I really enjoyed the day.  At one point, the real estate agent said I should think about getting into the field.  I've thought about it, believe me!

 

Did I spend the day secretly moping because I live with my in-laws, months, if not years (dear God) away from owning my own home?  Nope.  Did I pretend  a little that I was the one buying a house?  You betcha!

 

You know why I'm so glad for my friend Lorelei and my sister-in-law?  Right now it's their turn to celebrate.  Someday it will be my turn.  Someday Bruce and I will be the ones looking, putting in an offer, and clinking champagne flutes when we get our keys.  Our home is out there.

 

And then everyone can be glad for us.

Here I Go Again

My makeup's on; my pants are in the dryer.  My work bag is packed.  Soon I'll be on my way.

Emmie's sleeping.  I am debating whether or not to wake her and feed her before I go, or if I should have Bruce give her a bottle when he gets home.  Nursing and its issues* are not the only things on my mind in these last moments before I officially return to work. 

I am nervous, because teaching is much like performing, though harder, in my opinion.  I acted on the stage for more two decades of my life.  When you're teaching your audience is only kind of looking to be entertained.  Simultaneously they are looking to get an education, while tired, bored, and restless.  Let's be honest, we judge our teachers. I have to be personable, reasonable, knowledgeable, and fair all at once.  Plus, I can see my audience - the lights are on.

I'm also sad, because my maternity leave is over.  In the last post, I was all empowered and ready to go out and conquer the working world.  But facing the next 30-some years of my life is daunting today.  I still count my blessings, because as unstable as my job is at times, it allows me the opportunity to be home with my child more than most working mothers.  Mega-plus, we avoid paying for childcare.

And I can't wait to get paid!  Regularly!  I'm looking forward to seeing the dollars in action.  For the past three months (damn, has it been that long already?) I've gotten depressed because our financial situation hasn't really changed.  Even though our rent is lower here, we are still scrimping to get by, paying the minimum towards our debt, trying to make it to the next pay day.  It's about time for some freakin' CHANGE.

That's the dryer ringing.  Deep breath...

*For an enlightening view on breastfeeding and the contradictions of American society, read Mom-101's post and the discussion that follows here.  One of my concerns about going back to work is not having a place to pump.  Which means that Emmie won't be getting the nutrition she deseves.

New Chapter

At the end of 2011 I had my first child, my daughter, Emmie.  I also stopped working as a college English instructor.  At that time, my family lived in a rented townhouse.

In 2012, every moment I grew more into my role of mother.  While this was happening, Bruce and I decided for financial reasons to move in with his parents, my in-laws.  And so here we are.

Yesterday was Bruce's father's official last day on the job.  He is retired now.  Though his plan is to get a part-time job, the hard years of work are behind him.

We are both beginning a new chapter in our lives.  On Monday I go back to teaching after a longer-than-expected absence.  The time I got to spend solely raising my daughter was a blessing.  I will now have to learn the precarious balance of motherhood and career.

Since I've been substitute teaching at night for the past few weeks, I know what to expect.  I'll take care of Emmie during the day.   Bruce will come home and I will leave.  I'll teach and drive home in the dark.  I'll wake up, bleary-eyed, and start a new day.  I've been attempting to write my syllabi and prepare with Emmie here, so I already know how difficult it will be to retain any kind of focus on work when I'm at home.

The new me is going to put in the hours being the best mom I can while earning what I can to benefit my family.  I am joining the ranks of so many other strong women.

I am proud to say the pages of my future will be called, "The Working Mom Years."

My Dream House

I spend a lot of time thinking about it.  Once I drew a picture of it - maybe not the best representation, though!  You know how on the HGTV house-finding shows the buyers always have a wish list?  Here's my family's:

*3+ bedrooms.  Bruce's & mine, Emmie's, and one for Future Baby.  A guest bedroom would be spectacular.

*2+ bathrooms.  Because not having to wait/going in after someone has gone #2 makes everyone's day better.

*A fenced-in yard so we could get a dog and just let it out the back patio door on cold winter mornings.  Also so that the kids have a safe place to play.

*Bruce: A sports den.  Or, a basement with a bar for him to show off his pint glass collection.

*Me: A basement to go to during severe weather warnings.

*Me: Virginia Woolf said all a woman really needs is "A Room of One's Own."  More than anything, I long for a little study with a desk at which to write and work, where I'd have shelves to display my books like they deserve.


Right now I've cleared a workspace in my in-laws' dining room.  A.k.a Minnie's bath house.

 I want to believe my dream can be reached one day.  What's on your wish list?  Comment below - I'd love to hear from you!

In-Laws: Love, Hate, or Homicide?

Recently I was checking out a baby website's community forum when I came across a woman seeking advice on how to cope.  Due to circumstances beyond her control, she had to move in with her husband's parents for a certain amount of time.

Overwhelmingly, the responses were along these lines: "DON'T DO IT!"  "You're an idiot!"  "Run while you still can!"  One reader said she would rather inflict tortuous bodily harm upon herself than live with her in-laws.

I felt increasingly embarrassed as I read them.

Even though I knew I shouldn't.

A quick Google search revealed the Everest-like levels of animosity towards in-laws that's out there.  One website, entitled ihatemyinlaws.com, is a place for people to vent their (often murderous) frustrations towards the ones who gave life to their spouses.

When Bruce and I first started turning over the idea that we'd move in here, I got a lot of support, but also fielded concerns.  An acquaintance tried to 'warn' me by relaying the story of a friend whose marriage was basically ruined because the couple moved in with the wife's parents. 

A close friend of mine said more than once, "I don't have a good feeling about this, Annie."

On vulnerable days, I've actually skipped social engagements because I couldn't deal with admitting that Bruce, me, and Emmie moved here.

In our culture we tend to view our in-laws as outside forces.  They are conniving, or ridiculous, or plain annoying.  Media often portrays these relationships as humorous, something to roll your eyes at, as in Everybody Loves Raymond.  More commonly, they are represented as something to avoid, a potential threat to marital happiness.

In other parts of the world, parents and in-laws alike are revered for their wisdom, respected for the efforts they put forth to raise their children.  Multi-generational living is the norm.  My family in Thailand lives all together - my grandparents (until they passed away), brothers, wives, and children.  I often think of my Auntie, who cooked for her husband's family every meal, when I need strength.  She is the topic of another post entirely, though.

You know this isn't easy for me.  But I don't hate my in-laws.  Sure, they drive me crazy sometimes.  Any roommate would.  Even Bruce does once in a while, for cryin' out loud, and I chose to live with him forever!  His family is a part of him.

Not that I want to live here forever.

So what I want to know is: Would you ever live with your in-laws?

Heigh-Ho, Heigh-Ho

I just got home from substitute teaching a night class.  My in-laws are out of town this weekend.  It's just me, Bruce, and the baby (who's already in bed).  Life is good.

Let's par-TAY!

In all seriousness, though, I've been feeling more like my old self lately.  Even though I've been subbing here or there all summer, working the past couple nights made me comprehend that I'll be working for real again very soon.  I'll be getting out of the house, having grownup conversations, and bringing home some bacon.  Our situation will seem so much more bearable.

Thank goodness, because there are going to be some changes around here.  Currently my FIL works from home.  He works in a spare bedroom upstairs that has been converted to an office.  It's right across from Emmie's room.  I'm used to it, for the most part, but it was pretty awkward for a while.  Imagine - your baby is screaming, writhing while you're trying to change her, which is frustrating on its own.  Meantime you're worrying if it's disturbing your husband's father.  Whatever you do, he's right there. 

You're never really alone.

Well, Dad (I call him this, because I call my own father something else) has been pretty unhappy with his job for quite some time.  Everyone in the house has been affected by his misery.  He's decided to retire early.  That's great for him. 

What does it mean for me?  Well, it means now when I'm home during the day Dad won't be in his office.  He'll be on the couch, in the kitchen, passing in the hall.  He'll be everywhere.  We get along fine; he's a nice guy and a wonderful grandfather.  But that's too much time with anyone you don't sleep with/didn't give birth to.

Luckily he's going to try to get a part-time job.  We all know, however, how easy it is to get one of those nowadays.  I haven't mentioned this before, but I applied for a bunch when I found out I wasn't going to be teaching this summer and I didn't even get a call.  Not one.

The other thing that's happening is that Bruce's car is officially dead.  We had a mechanic check out the weird brake thing and it turns out that the wheel bearing needs to be replaced.  It would cost in the range of $400 - $800 to repair.  That's a sizeable portion of what the jalopy is worth.  We were told that to keep driving it would be considered a "safety issue at this point."  So we have to get a new car.  Regardless of the fact that we can barely pay our bills as it is.

This all was too much to stomach until recently.  I had a good weekend, but then I got sick and sorry for myself all over again.  I got well and then I worked.  I put on makeup; I carried my professional-looking bookbag.  I said goodbye to everyone that lives here and walked out the door.  I stood at the front of the class and people, adults, listened to me.  They took notes on what I said.  I got paid for it.  On the way home, I blasted girl-power CDs and rolled down the windows.

I texted Bruce an epiphany I had today: We're not going to be so poor when I start teaching again.  We might be able to afford a car payment.  We might be able to save a little.  We can do this!  Plus, I'll be doing my own thing on a regular basis.  I will have a purpose beyond the confines of these walls.

I used to *jokingly* curse the women's movement for fighting to go to work.  I'd be at my 9-to-5 office job, bored out of my mind, shaking my head, thinking, "What were they thinking?  Working sucks!"

I get it now, ladies.  I get it.  Thank you.

The Upside

I woke up today feeling much better.  Physically and emotionally.  This last week has been, not a rollercoaster per se, but more like a teeter-totter of feelings.  They rotate around the same fixed point (living here) and one side goes up while the other goes down.

Sometime in the middle of last week I was feeling particularly low.  I just couldn't handle it.  There's been a lot of stuff going on around here that doesn't necessarily involve me, but affects me nonetheless.  After all, you live not only with the people, but their moods, too.  And I am particularly sensitive.  I needed to get out. 

I was sitting on my bed, distraught.  Before I could think twice, I text messaged my two girlfriends in the city, Jeanette and Veronica.  "Can we have a girls' night soon?  I'm so sad lately."

Immediately my phone rang - Veronica.  You gotta love your GFs.  If you have even one friend who stands by you like that, count yourself lucky.  Just the fact that she reached out to me so quickly lifted my spirits.  Jeanette called shortly thereafter.  We arranged for me to go out to Chicago on Friday night, as long as it was okay with Bruce. 

Of course it was okay with Bruce.  In fact, I think he was relieved for me to go have a break from his family, the responsibilities of wife- and motherhood, and the pressures of being poor.

It was my first time leaving Bruce and the baby overnight!  Bruce was eager, I think, to show that he could take care of Emmie all by himself.  I have to admit, I was a little nervous about being so far away from them for so long.   I can't remember the last time I spent a night without Bruce.

I rode the train out to the city early Friday evening.  I read, Tweeted, and looked out the window at the passing towns.  I love seeing all the little downtowns, the shops and restaurants and people.  It was a warm evening and everything was vibrant.  It was dusk as the train pulled into the city.  The lights from the skyscrapers were sparkling amidst a cerulean-pink sky.

Jeanette and Veronica picked me up at the station.  We just stayed in at Jeanette's condo, sitting cross-legged on the couch, talking and talking.  I did most of it.  It felt amazing to just let it all out.  They kept saying, "What else?"  And, "Tell us more."  They sympathized.  They encouraged.  It was like free therapy - with my own personal cheerleaders.

The next morning Jeanette, her fiancé 8-Track, and I woke up and drove back out to the suburbs.  We went to 8-Track's parents house to swim.  Bruce and Emmie met us there.  Veronica came later.  It was so relaxing and awesome for us to all be together.  Hey, hanging out at someone else's parents' house is still escaping mine!

On Sunday, Bruce's parents went to a party.  I made Thai boat noodle soup for the first time - a Sunday staple in my family.  We pulled out Emmie's highchair and ate on the patio.

Boat noodle soup is similar to Vietnamese pho.  It's called this because it originated in the famous floating markets of Thailand.

Friends, swimming, and comfort food.  I really can't complain.

Mothers Don't Get Sick Days

Be glad you're reading this rather than hanging out with me... since I've come down with a nasty cold.  Actually, the whole house has.  Bruce's father got it first, then he passed it on to the rest of us.  More people in household = more chances to get sick.  Luckily Emmie seems unaffected as of right now.

It's my first time being sick and a mother.  Even though my body is begging me to go back to bed, I am sitting with her in the living room drinking tea while she plays.  Boy, I can't wait until naptime!

So I'm going to just take it easy and do my best to take care of me.  I have lots to tell about: my first night out without Bruce or the baby, my FIL's impending retirement, and car-buying craziness.  That will all have to wait, though.

Because I have to go blow my nose.  Again.

Cat Scratch Fever

I'm sorry to report that Minestrone, the cat, is still not having an easy time living here. 

One of my in-laws' cats, Sasha, is old and crochety.  For whatever feline reason, she hates Minnie.  Now, the litter boxes are downstairs in the basement.  Sasha hides in the shadows, and when Minnie sneaks down the steps - Meow! Hiss! Raow!!!  Fur tufts flying up in the air, paws out, kitty Ultimate Fighting.

We tried moving one of the litter boxes up to the ground floor.  Minnie would go in there and avoid Sasha.  But then Bonita, the dog, started eating what was left in it.  Ewwww!  So we put the litter box back downstairs and this morning there was a nice surprise on the bathroom rug.  Apparently Minnie would rather go outside of the litter box than brave another round with Sasha.  The funny thing is,  Minnie has claws and Sasha doesn't.  She could kick Sasha's tail if she wasn't a pacifist.

Minnie is a lover, not a fighter.

What are we to do? This cat situation doesn't make it easier for me to feel 100% peaceful here. It doesn't help that my MIL relays every cat incident that unfolds.   Every time I hear about another battle, I feel sickened - almost as if the cats' actions reflect my own inner turmoil.