Owning my life & other Nashville lessons that should be in a country song.

nametag 300x300 Owning my life & other Nashville lessons that should be in a country song.I find myself tongue-tied in regards to Blissdom this year.

There’s this wild, wonderful heart-song that has been beating through me ever since I boarded a plane for Nashville & I have not quite found a way to piece it all together.

When I went to Blissdom, I found myself at an awful crossroads in my career.  I lost a job & gained contract work, but nothing felt secure.  I spent nights lying awake, ticking away the 18 months of COBRA coverage & worrying how I would find another job.  How we would get insurance or a home loan.  The anxiety crept up to my throat & I sat on the couch in my doctor’s office & she asked me to define the problem.

“I don’t know!” I wailed.  The control freak in my clashed & battled war on my spirit & everything inside me wound tight for no reason.  Why couldn’t I let go when I finally had everything I ever hoped for?

I have a job I love. It pays well. I am home with my son. I am writing successfully. I have insurance coverage for 18 months. We won’t be homeless.

Four days of wild creativity, of hearing lectures where I was told to admit that I’m a writer, to think of goals & pathways & to be okay reaching for them.  To  sit with others & hear that sometimes, they feel split one thousand different ways & they worry about the uncertainty of free-lancing, but oh, isn’t the free part of free-lancing so wonderful?  Yes, it is.    Jon Acuff spoke of the “reverse Superman” of changing into business suits from conference clothes & my heart hurt at my own memories of soul-blackening work  & somewhere in Tsh Oxenreider’s session about growing with quality, a wave of awesome slapped me upside the face.

Really, there’s no other way to describe it.

I have a job I love. It pays well. I am home with my son. I am writing successfully. I have insurance coverage for 18 months. We won’t be homeless.

I’M GOING TO OWN THIS SHIT.

 Finding myself writing for a living didn’t happen the way I thought it would, but then again, I never dreamed of an @microsoft email address either.  Potentially growing our family on COBRA isn’t something I would have ever considered before but being home with my littles is something I have considered often.  Selling our house & getting a home loan on Doug’s salary wasn’t our idea, but we will learn to live simply & install floors on our own & that will be just one more adventure to take on together.

blissdom collage Owning my life & other Nashville lessons that should be in a country song.

When my friends ask me what Blissdom is, I smile.  It’s fashion shows in the bathroom with a friend that lives an entire country apart & a photo shoot in downtown at night & the words “I am a writer” scrawled across my journal with other notes but mostly, Blissdom is where I come alive.

HeirtoBlair500x150 v41 Owning my life & other Nashville lessons that should be in a country song.

There was no sleep & then there was good news.

If you’re following me on Twitter, you know the personal hell our family of three has been facing for the last two weeks:

Picture 2 There was no sleep & then there was good news.

It’s called a toddler that decided sleep is for the birds.

Picture 1 There was no sleep & then there was good news.

That was at 4am.  He finally conked out at 4:30am.

He has two nightlights.
It’s not night terrors (those have an entirely different cry).
He has loveys.
He’s not hungry or thirsty.
He really doesn’t need to drop his nap because he’s not napping 50% of the time anyway.

Basically?  He wants to eff with us.  Which might be a strong sentiment except I’ve only had one cup of coffee & four hours of sleep.

(also, the difference between a newborn being awake all hours &  a toddler being awake all hours is the amount of noise. when a newborn is awake, at least one parent can sleep.  when a toddler is awake, even folks in china hear him.)

It started innocently right around the time I lost my job & we feel for the little guy because it’s obvious he feels the stress in the house.  There have been a lot of changes in his wee world over the past few months & my heart goes out to him.  First Daddy was home a bit, then we were both at work, then Momma came home & he’s overjoyed but missing his Auntie & why isn’t anything the same anymore?!  But Momma needs her REM cycle back & more importantly, the kiddo does too.  After nights of rocking & rocking & rocking in the small hours of the day & Doug camping out on a pallet in his room, & purchasing a star turtle & giving him warm milk, we realized yesterday that it was time to pull out the big guns.  All three of us were at each other’s throats constantly from pure exhaustion.  I snapped at Harrison, something I very rarely do.  So Doug & I shook hands & decided that last night was the night.

We dusted off our Ferber book & got the stopwatch on my iPhone working.

We turned Harrison’s lock around so that we could lock him in, thereby taking back control of his ability to leave his room.  (shall I pause here & clarify that we still go to him, but it means homeboy can’t sneak out at 3am?  good.)

We took out his workbench & garbage trucks.

I turned off his light at the fan so that he can’t party all night long under a ceiling light.  (oh buddy, did that piss him off!)

& we hit the sack by 9pm.

I got a pretty awesome workout going back & forth to his room last night, calmly telling him to “Get back in bed, it’s night-night time.”  Tuck him in, give him a pat on the back, & close the door behind me.  I’m hoping that tonight it won’t take 2 1/2 hours for it to sink in that Momma ain’t fooling around.  Also, this is what we woke up to this morning:

photo 1024x764 There was no sleep & then there was good news.

I think it’s fair to say he was pretty ticked that Harrison Rave 2012 was thwarted.

____________________________

& in good news, the reason that Momma can’t hang at 4am anymore is because I got an offer from Microsoft as a contract for their marketing department.

SAY WHAT?!

It’s a contract so I’m still on the hunt for a full-time job with bennies.  The great news is that the contract is on my terms as far as how many hours I work per week & when the contract ends & they fully understand that I am still looking for a job.  So Harry is with his Auntie a few hours per week so I can log in some hours at home & take conference calls & keep interviewing with other companies.  What’s that you say, Charlie?  WINNING.

Photo 3 There was no sleep & then there was good news.

Remember how you didn't want me as an admin? That's cool. Microsoft thinks I'm worth bringing in to their marketing department. So have a seat, please.

Don’t worry, it’s not all sad-sad-unemployed-sad-sad-dramz around here.

So today, I hit up the dentist because HELLO, insurance runs out in one week & I’m making all the popular pit stops.  Dentist, eye doctor, birth control, & of course, the psychiatrist who desperately needs me to bitch on her couch for an hour.  I dropped Harrison off with his auntie for two hours while I got my teeth scrubbed (he had been asking for her & considering she was a daily fixture in his life for two years, he needs some Auntie time).  Then we hit up the craft store because a) it’s time to get my Pinterest on & b) The Momma’s birthday is coming up & I’m on a budget.

Let me just say that I can stand in a board room or jet across the country, but I turn into a complete wuss once I step through Michaels.  All those women with glue stick burns on their fingers, willing to cut a bitch over the last vial of Martha Stewart glitter?  THEY TERRIFY ME.  Same thing with fabric stores.  Also, the strangest thing happens that once I hit the first aisle, I completely forget what I was there for.  Confidence takes a crash & burn so I stand there in the aisles, completely overwhelmed by the choices in felt.

In short:
Before Michaels:  BIG SPARKLY INSPIRATIONAL UNICORNS OF HAPPINESS!

After Michaels:  I WILL NEVER ACHIEVE ANYTHING GOOD IN MY LIFE.

yeah.

I’m standing in line with Harry in the push cart & a matronly lady turns to me.

“Is your mother’s name Karen?” she asks.

“No,” I say politely.

“You look like my friend Karen, so I figured you must be her daughter,” she explains.  I shrug.  Raleigh is a pretty decent-sized city.

“With two children, I figured you had to be her,” she persists.

Is this lady drunk?  I only have one child in the seat & I’m pretty sure the firstborn’s that were traded for Christmas Cricuts weren’t eligible for the 40% off coupon.  Like I said, I’m on a budget so if it’s not on sale, it’s not in my cart.

“You know,” she says.  ”With your boy & the one on the way.”

oh.

shit.

Awkward silence abounds.

Does this lady not know Rules of Feminism #253: Don’t ask a woman if she’s pregnant unless the fetus is 75% down the birth canal with a hand waving?

Smelly Feet vs Baby Kicks for Weirdest Post-Pregnancy Side Effect

Three words make the the Weirdest Thing Ever About Life After Birthing A Baby:  phantom baby kicks.

Yeah, they’re still happening two years later.

So I’m sitting there at my desk, happily tapping away at expenses & BAM! there’s a flutter in my uterus area.  It’s enough to make me take pause & freak the eff out that OH MY GOD, I’M GOING TO BE ON “I DIDN’T KNOW I WAS PREGNANT.” 

But then I remember that I’m already doing that female thing (send nachos & wine!) & we are staunch supporters of the Trojan man & there is simply NO WAY there is a bambino kicking away in my uterus.

But still.

Totally trippy.

I got angry & ranty.

Which apparently is good for writer’s block.

Also, I don’t know if bile actually “chunks,” but I was typing furiously.

Dear Silver Fox,

For so many years, I swooned over you, applauded you, admired your journalism, & calculated the many ways to seduce you.  You are a smart hunk of fine man-meat. But I think I’m going to end this relationship and trust me, it’s you.  Not me.

Listen, this horrible battle between stay-at-home mothers and working mothers is just old and pathetic and so message-boards-circa-2009.  Nobody wins that war — we all just end up with cat scratches and hurt feelings to lick.  Then you had to sensationalize it by adding the title, “Are Stay-At-Home Moms Lazy?” and I swear, chunks of bile rose in my throat…

you can read more about why I turned down an invite to seduce Anderson in a coat closet.

Stealing is for losers. Copyright 2008-2012 Beth Anne Ballance