Apr
24
Once when Riley was a little over two years old we made the regrettable decision to make a family trip to IKEA, probably because we needed something for the endless remodel that was going on at the time. We tried to be strategic about it and parked near the exit instead of wandering all the way through the labyrinthian confines of the store to pick up our stuff from the warehouse section, but the instant we got inside I knew it had been a Terrible Idea. Looking back on it, I don’t know why on earth I didn’t cram Riley in a stroller and push him along instead of letting him run free, but run he did, as though the very IKEA air had suddenly made him crazed, filled with a sort of madness brought on by affordable Swedish furnishings. He bolted all the way from the checkout lines straight back to the stored furniture, with me—bulbously pregnant at the time—chasing awkwardly behind. I shouted his name but it only seemed to spur him on, and when I finally caught up to him I had to corner him like a wild horse between a display of EKTORPS and KARLSTADs. I tried to distract him, calm him, even offer him a ride on one those flat carts, but he was having none of it and I was forced to pick him up, at which point he went completely boneless and started shrieking.
While JB rushed to make our purchase, I carried my screaming, flopping, kicking child past endless aisles of GRUNDTALs and KROKENs with what seemed like a thousand pairs of eyes fixed on me, all the way past the jars of lingonberry and whimsically-shaped watering cans and out the exit and into the truck, and which point I dwarf-tossed him into the backseat, slammed the door shut, and leaned against the window to enjoy a brief, hearty bout of hysterical weeping.
Later, I may have eaten my own weight in frozen meatballs to help soothe the pain.
That’s probably not the worst public outing we’ve had with one of the kids, but it sure ranks up there in my mind. I tell you this in the hopes you’ll share one of your own stories, and I don’t normally toot my own horn but I think this is a GENIUS idea because I’m about to fly across the country with a 3-year-old and who knows what’s going to happen, it could be like Snakes on a Plane except with a preschooler (“Enough is enough! I have HAD IT with this motherfucking kid on this motherfucking plane! Everybody strap in!”), and if so I know reading some of your only-funny-in-retrospect tales will make me feel better.
Apr
23
I’ve heard three separate people complaining about the economy lately and saying that if things don’t improve they’ll have to get a job, ewwww, and while I only caught a snippet of their conversation and thus had no context (one was via Twitter, and it wouldn’t be the first time I completely misunderstood what someone was saying there) and really shouldn’t jump to any conclusions, can I just say it makes me sort of crazy to hear that, probably because I can’t view that sort of statement objectively at ALL, because oh what a tragedy to have to work for a living and maybe spend several hours a day doing something that’s not exactly rewarding in every sense of the word let me check oh yeah it seems I am FRESH OUT OF SYMPATHY ON THAT SUBJECT.
On a similar note, I have to tell you how much I dislike the term The Man. When I was first talking about going back to work after Riley was born, I can’t tell you how many people chastised me for even considering leaving my baby just to toil away for The Man, which 1) what does that even mean? and 2) hey, here is my left nut, I would like to cordially invite you to suck it until you choke on the short hairs.
(Yeah, so I don’t actually have a left nut. Creative license, baby.)
The only nice side effect about this scary economy is the fact that I think it’s actually dampened some of the more ridiculous stay-at-home vs working-mom bullshit out there, because I don’t think too many people are in a position to criticize other folks who need or want to work for a living any more. You know, especially if the choice is to Stick It To the Man . . . or raise a family in a house with, you know, electricity.
I have been spending a lot of time lately thinking about how to incorporate more of what I love to do into my career—how to find the motivation and passion, and how to break the cycle of feeling discouraged and trapped. I know it’s not fun to feel as though you’re working just to earn a paycheck, like you’re putting in your time at a place you don’t love instead of pursuing the things that really make you tick. At the same time, for most of us that paycheck isn’t just a nice side effect of our jobs, it’s the thing that helps pay the bills, save money for our children’s college funds, provide medical care for our families, and makes it possible to acquire a few of life’s luxuries such as food.
If financial circumstances are forcing you into a situation you’d rather not be in, hey, I get that. It sucks. But just think how many thousands of people would LOVE to be working for The Man right now. I try and keep this in mind, because it sure makes me think about what I could be doing instead of complaining. Like standing in line at the unemployment office.
In other news, Riley and I are leaving on Saturday for the DC trip I mentioned earlier (sponsored by THE MAN! Well, Hershey’s), and I am crossing every finger and toe that he gets over the last of this virus that’s been affecting him with the sort of behavior that I see Heather recently called “the grumples” which is far more kind than the words I’ve been using lately to describe my beloved boy, unless “that whiny asshole” can be considered a term of endearment? No? Well, anyway, wish us luck, and if you’ve got any last-minute travel tips, I’d love to hear them.
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