Parenting with Different Backgrounds

Last night was another fight in the Von Poopenberg household over our kid. Well maybe not fight. Let’s go with discussion instead.  Sure, that sounds better.

Today is the hubs birthday.  Last night, we had a sitter lined up and had plans to meet some friends for dinner and drinks.  We bring V home from daycare yesterday, and while I was holding her, she starts throwing up.  She threw up on me twice, and then again, after I had hauled her upstairs and had given her a bath.  She didn’t have a fever or anything, but I didn’t feel right about leaving her with a sitter while she’s not feeling well.  The hubs suggested that we go to dinner anyway, bring her, because she appears to be fine now.  I vehemently disagree.  As the time ticks away, we try to figure out what to do.  He tells me “I don’t want to leave you alone while she’s sick.”  I tell him I don’t feel comfortable leaving her, regardless of the reason why she is sick.  I tell him I want to stay home to monitor her.  Five minutes later, he tells me he’s going to meet our friends for drinks and will be back later.  With that, he grabbed his keys and left.

I was a bit dumbfounded.  And then I was angry.  So I put the kadiddle to bed, and I end up staying in the bedroom because I don’t want to be far away from her.  What if she throws up again?  Sure, I could turn on the monitor but I don’t want to be on another floor if she needs me right away.  So I lay in bed, reading for awhile.  I try to sleep but every time she rolls over or makes a sound, I sit straight up in bed panicked.  Then I sit listening, straining to make sure she is still breathing.  And still stewing about the earlier interaction with the hubs.

He starts texting me, telling me that “I felt bottled up and trying to understand your perspective when mine was fighting was making things hard on me” and “our perspectives were clashing in my head” so that’s why he left.  He got home later and we had a very pained conversation about it.  He doesn’t understand why I was so worried, because as he said, “If your finger was still attached, then it wasn’t a problem”…meaning in his family, you didn’t get attention for simple sickness.  Only when it was something catastrophic.  He went on to say that he is trying to see things from my perspective but he’s having a difficult time.  And that I’m a first time mother, so compared to his mom (who had 6 kids) I react differently.  So I tell him that from my point of view, when my kid is sick, that is my first priority.  And I’d rather be home with her than out and about.  And then I ask him, “After you’ve thrown up, for whatever the reason, did you feel like doing anything?!?”  And what I don’t tell him is that it felt like friends won out over his family.  That his daughter had thrown up three times, and he still felt the need to go out and have beers, even though he was out with the same gang the night before, and would be going out again tonight.

Our conversation ended with no real resolution.  I feel like we camped over in our corners, respectively, waiting for the bell to ding again for the next round of fighting.  I’m struggling to understand how he’d want to go out still (granted it was his birthday celebration) and he’s struggling to understand why I worry so much about her, when in his mind, she is fine.  I think our different styles of parenting are a positive thing – we both bring different strengths to the table, and that can only benefit our daughter in the long run.  But how do you come to some sort of compromise when you are in opposite corners?  How do you get each other to understand your point of view?

I’m stumped.  And kind of sad about that.  So I guess on that note, let me wish you all “Happy Fucking Valentine’s Day.”  This parenting shit is hard!

 

Well let’s never do THAT again

 

With roughly 120 days until death, I mean our ½ marathon, I figured I should share an update. I’m not doing so hot but keep reading (please).

I did a 5k, in North Dakota, in December, because I’m a moron. Here I thought, “Hey, we could finish in less than 3.5 hours I need to get a time in so we can get in like the fun corral!” or something like that. Robin won’t admit it but she’s a Speedy Gonzales and is already doing like 10 minute miles without killing herself. So it’s me that needs to catch up. She needs consistency, I need to get my lazy ass in gear. So I –was- running two days during the week, thanks to a decent flexing schedule and day care covering my ass, with one long run on the weekend. I say long, but really it just means I go for x distance. So I was doing 20-30 minutes “training” runs and then 2-6 miles on the weekend. I can survive. I will survive… but currently at the pace I’m going the Disney police will be carting my ass off the course and I won’t be a “finisher”… their rule is if you are slower than a 16 min/mile you are too slow to finish “on time” and are therefore disqualified from finishing… here I thought just making it to the finish line is what matter but, this is Disney World and they have a park to open with money to be made… so fuck me.

As if that rule alone didn’t sting… there’s this 5k. A “Santa run” all in good fun.

It was not fun

There were Santa’s

There was running

But there was no fun from my point of view, which was more often than not, from the ground. You see, here in the godforsaken land of North Dakota, there is ice… everywhere. The organizers told us that they “did the best” they could in clearing the tracks “but this is North Dakota and we run anyways, just try to be careful”… because being “careful” while RUNNING ON ICE is totally doable right?

Look, I know I’m not graceful, I’ve accepted that. But I WAS TRYING MY BEST NOT TO FALL AND FUCK ME I FELL EVERY SINGLE FUCKING TIME.

Like when I was walking.. I was fine… but I needed to get a time in and the path was all of 5 feet wide for the 430 people on the course so if you got stuck behind someone you’re stuck until the next junction….

I swear to Jesus, I was trying to get a decent time, my 300 pound self was chugging along at a 4 mile pace and staying JUST under my heart rate range limit… and as I would try to up it… I fell… then I’d have to walk until I recovered enough to feel up to running (or until I could get past some group of people laughing and talking about dinner plans)…. Then BAM on my ass again.

On my ass

On my knee

On my elbow, that hurt the worst.

ON MY BACK landing on a fucking rock that knocked the wind out of me and totally fucking embarrassed me as people stopped to make sure I was okay… and then keep running themselves. Which I appreciated, that was really nice of them to stop but still…

And I was FINE with the falling and the pain and the fucking torture of people LEAVING while I was still running because god dammit I was going to finish this with a decent time

I could’ve cheated and finished 6 minutes faster by doing only one loop instead of two in the final section… but I have morals … fucking morals.

SO I get to the finish line ready with my little stub of a paper to hand them so they can record an “official time”… at 53:15 so like 17 minute mile… THERE are groups of people taking pictures and a load of fucking people inside the building that was hosting… but no one at the line… so I walk inside, they hand me a giant fucking candy cane and say “great job you finally made it”… brush it off Ella, they don’t know what it took to get here… brush it off…. I ask “where do I turn in my stub to submit my time, there was no one at the finish line” this baffled woman says “I think they’re done with that part you could go ask them over there”… them over there… okay.. fine… I get this three times… three fucking times… I finally find the table where they are listing out the winners for each category and say, “who do I give this to so I can get my time recorded for online listing”.

I shit you not these words are forever fucking burned into my head:

“We only had someone taking the stubs until about 42 minutes, all the real runners where done long before that and we don’t have enough staff to get everyone that was walking”

How I’m not sitting in a jail cell right now I don’t fucking know.

I was fucking crushed. I know my time wasn’t going to get me into any kind of corral but I wanted something to show SOME improvement and I couldn’t believe someone would say that. The kicker, they had over 100 volunteers… four of which were within the last 30 feet of the finish line high fiving everyone as they passed… but not enough people to have someone scribble some numbers on a piece of paper…

Had I known… my first fall was maybe ten feet from my truck and I went alone, nothing was stopping me from just getting the keys out of the bed of the truck and leaving… nothing… but me. I could’ve gone home and ran in the comfort of my perfectly heated home and only had that one fall under my belt. No embarrassment. No one knew who I was. No one cared if I left. No one was “counting on me”. Like why the fuck didn’t I just leave? Had I not fallen all those time I really do think I could’ve done a 13-14 minute mile, ice and all, fucking HILLS and all. Fun fact, the incline in different areas was so steep my fitbit thought I did 17 floors…

I keep telling myself that had I known the time wasn’t going to matter I would’ve left right then and there, because that was the one that knocked the wind out of me… I don’t think anyone would’ve talked shit for me leaving after that one…

Sigh

So I send email to my doctor the next day because oh now I can’t even fucking walk… like it hurt to stand my legs were so sore. I can’t run until, well this week now, as that was almost three weeks ago. Loads of ibuprofen and positive reading and some yoga and now I think I’m okay to get back into the groove.

But I learned my lesson, never fucking again am I running in the snow/ice with a group that can’t get their shit together enough to record EVERYONE’S TIME.

 

#rantover

ELLA

This girl is on FI-YAAAAAAAAAAAA

Reasons I want to be a MILF

  1. Something about engaging in my marriage and being a piece for him or some shit like that.
  2. Something about being healthy to live long for my child, so I can keep up or some nonsense.
  3. School girl crush syndrome …

Yea… that’s pretty much it. Mostly the school girl crush thing… can’t lie.

Background:

Let’s call them Vinny & Smellson… I never did, but let’s pretend those are their names. Here’s the thing. If my wonderful and blissfully ignorant husband drops dead there are two people I would try to go after, TWO… that’s it. Not interested in meeting someone new, looking forward to the future blah blah blah. Nope, I want to pick up where I left off with two people I never dated in the first place.

I’m lame. Easy to see that, right? But with Vinny I get fucking butterflies and giddy beyond belief, to the point that I can’t even think straight. He made a reference one time to a movie that I could quote every line from start to finish, but guess what, he made the reference and I blanked. Think deer in the headlights blanked. Then for the next three weeks I just played that moment back thinking HOW DID YOU MESS THAT UP!!?!?! Gah… whatever, that happens every time I see him, granted last time was like 4 years ago but still… He’s that guy that I’ll never have but damn the man do I think about him like a LOT.

When it comes to Smellson, it’s a connection. It’s there, I see it, and not sure he ever saw it. Pretty sure he stopped talking to me because I started dating the husband when we were “hanging out more”. He made a comment once of “being respectful to a relationship”, I should’ve snapped back that it’s called DATING, not a relationship just yet. But yea. I miss him. I would’ve married him in a heartbeat but he never even had the balls to date me. He could ask me to move with him and “adventure in the Midwest” but not to fucking date me… Meh, that probably would’ve come if we did move… but I started dating other people and he decided to stay in CA so that never happened… and then look what happens, I end up in the fucking Midwest anyways… kill me now please. What’s funny is he was really getting into fitness when I was leaving, I think I’d be a MILF by now had we gotten together. Damnit!

Now back to the present:

A week or so ago I saw Vinny post something to social media about doing the Kessel Challenge, and laughed because who doesn’t love a star wars reference…. And then I thought… I wonder if that has to do with the runDisney stuff… meh… think nothing of it. Then I see him posting at dive bars in Orlando… what the what? Are you doing a half at Disneyworld right fucking now… omg…. Quick TO THE INTERNET! Sure as shit, if he runs a half/full at Disneyland (where we’re from so that’s feasible) and then the star wars half/full at Disneyworld (where Robin & I shall be) he’ll complete the challenge.

I stay silent on social media while doing the stiffest happy dance for the CHANCE to run into him in Orlando… the fucking CHANCE makes me giddy. How lame is that!?

So immediately I go from 0-90. I was just scrolling through Instagram before bed, but now, no no no… no sleep for me. Its meal planning and workout prep. I ordered cooling towels from amazon (smile.amazon of course) and then some healthy “run” snacks. I have my meals planned out for this week, including lunches. I have my workouts and runs scheduled and ready to go. I started three “challenges” on fitbit with some friends to make sure I’m at least hitting my 10k steps on my cross training days. I went shopping and spent an hour or so chopping, slicing, cooking and packing to make sure my fridge is littered with healthy-ish options for snacking and eating (which is hard because baby don’t like soup so I have to cook separate meals for him).

WHY the sudden boost in motivation… reason #3. The chance to see someone who makes me smile just by proximity. We hug, that’s how we greet. I’m a hugger that is just how I am. To clarify, I would never cheat, this is just so that I can know that I’ll feel good while possibly being around someone that makes me feel like a moron.

I want to know that if I see him at say, mile marker 10, that I will still be: breathing, upright, and not a wobbly fat mess.

Goal SET! I’m ready for this shiz!

Ella

Overachieving badass

No really, my ass is terrible. Also, the worst set up in the world is what I went with when I brought my treadmill home. I wanted it in my bedroom so I could be close if baby woke up AND so I would have to stare at it getting in my way EVERY. DAMN. DAY. Which is working out great. I’m on a tues/thurs/sat running schedule with mon/wed/fri for cross training and Sunday for weights (those are downstairs where I rarely hangout).

The ass part comes in with the fact that while I’m on the treadmill I have a dresser with a large mirror to my left and a full length mirror directly in front of me. I thought ahead about the full length mirror because I wanted to watch my stride… I did not, however, think of the mirror to my left…

When I look to my left all I can see is my big ‘ole ass bouncing around back there… it ain’t pretty folks… I don’t care how much my husband loves “dat ass”… It’s just bad… thus… bad-ass… I don’t care about my chicken wings, double chin, muffin top, giant belly, thighs that could light a fire… it’s my ass that bugs me. That bad damn ass…

On the overachieving side of things: training is rough. I’m struggling with keeping the “right” pace for training and constantly feel like I should be going faster. That I’m not working hard enough, even though my legs feel like they might snap underneath me. My hip hurts. I feel like I can breathe through the running so I know it’s not my endurance, but it is, if that makes any sense. But this all goes back to my childhood and feeling like I’m not enough, not doing enough, not good enough, etc.

(Physical) Therapy has gone well so far, have some new abdomen routines to work with to keep my core from falling apart essentially. Yay for baby while being incredibly overweight (not true). My left leg is indeed longer than my right but not enough to warrant any kind of “special” or “orthopedic work ups”. Although the physical therapist did say to see how I feel after running for an extended period of time, we shall see what happens in that area.

My first training timed interval run I did an 18:31 pace (per Robin’s awesome math skills) so as of right now I would be carted off the runDisney course for being too slow… let’s improve that number shall we?

So that’s where I am at right now. Will be doing my first “long” run in training this weekend. Wish me luck.

Ella

Exciting, yet Scary Times Ahead

I’ve been told my job has been impacted.  Translation:  Yer fired!  My last day with my current company will be 2/29/2016, which will be here before you know it.  I hate to admit this, but I’ve gotten really comfortable at my cushy, six-figure corporate job.  And now that the reality is starting to sink in, what kind of income loss that will be for our family, I’m starting to freak the fuck out.

What if I can’t find a job right away?  What if I can’t find anything even close to what I’m making now?  What if no one wants to hire me?  What if I bring financial ruin upon our family?  These are just some of the questions that have been flitting in out and of my thoughts these days.  I keep trying to reassure myself that things WILL be OK.  I truly believe shit does happen for a reason.

In terms of what I’m going to do in the future, I’ve stumbled upon two awesome opportunities that leave me feeling, dare I say, hopeful.  The first one is more short-term, but one that both my husband and I are really excited about.  We will be hosting 2 exchange students from Brazil from 11/8 – 12/5.  These are adult students (age 18-35) that are learning English.  I will have to take them to / from class, and thank gawd I have the flexibility with my current job to be able to do that for them.  The coolest part?  Having our daughter be around people from different countries AND building an international “family” of sorts.

The second opportunity is a continuing education class on big data / data analytics.  The job I’m currently in has really strayed from what I’ve done (and enjoyed doing).  As a result, I feel like I’ve lost some valuable brain cells by being in a role that has been less than challenging.  I’m thrilled to get back to something that I really enjoy doing, working with data, and putting it to use in a new-ish career field.  It really is thrilling to see that there is such a need for this AND these types of jobs command exceptional salaries.  More than anything though, I want something with some flexibility.  This would provide that.

The part that freaks me out is that the program costs almost $4k.  That’s a lot of money for a certificate program, but I’m hoping it will payoff in the end.  The other scary thing about this is the thought “Have I got what it takes to do this?”  The program is 10 Saturdays, which involve all-day sessions (from 8:30-5).  That’s quite a commitment my friends.  And it’s a lot of technical information that will be thrown at us in a short amount of time.  I’m so nervous, but at the same time, cannot wait for the opportunity to dig into something meaty again.  Challenge myself.  Try something new.  Learn.  Grow.  Carve a new path for myself.

Don’t get me wrong.  I’m so thankful for this current job.  It’s provided some awesome opportunities for me and my family.  I’ve had a ton of flexibility.  I was able to take 3 months off after having Vivi.  I’m truly lucky, I do realize this.

I feel like the timing of all this (exchange students, program, job ending) is all very serendipitous and that the universe is really looking out for me.  It’s gently telling me, “Hey Robin, it’s time for a course change…time to direct you to your next awesome opportunity.”  I stand tall, hyperventilating from nervousness and excitement about what the future holds for me.

Having My Best Week Ever (not true!)

You remember that VH1 show, Best Week Ever?!?  By referencing that show, does it show my age?  Ah, well, hell….let me tell you the week I’ve just had.

Last Thursday – Sunday:  We have had a trip planned to LA for several months so of course I get sick right before we fly out.  Thanks for sharing your germs from daycare kiddo!

Monday:  Work from home because I’m feeling like absolute crap and guessing my coworkers will be happy that I’m not going in to the office to “share” this with them.  Went to doctor and confirmed that I have upper respiratory infection and because I’m still nursing, there’s not really anything I can take unless I want to dry up my supply.  Bonus/plus side?  My doctor was pretty hawt.

Monday Night:  Husband tells me that his work trip, which was supposed to be a day trip on Tuesday will now last until Friday.  Wake up in the middle of the night and I feel a lump in my boob.  Don’t give it much thought as I roll over and go back to bed.

Tuesday Morning:  Work from home again because I’m still not feeling great/hacking all the time AND am pretty sure now that I’ve got my second case of mastitis.  My right boob is throbbing anytime I move around.  I’ve been trying to hand express to get the milk out, and also put moist heat on it, but not really helping much.  FML.

Tuesday at 11AM:  Jump on a “catch up call” with my coworker, boss, and director to find out that the latest reorg puts me, my coworker, my director, and about 10 other people of our 25 person team out of jobs.  I was expecting this, but there’s something to be said for hearing someone tell you “Congratulations – you’re getting laid off/let go/bye Felicia!”  We were told our last day would be 2/29/2016…a day that occurs once every four years.  What a special occasion!

Tuesday at noon:  Mastitis is confirmed with slight fever and boob that is all red and inflamed.  Call dr. to get prescription for antibiotic since I’ve been here before…thanks to my friend Angela for that suggestion because I’d have probably waited until I felt like complete and total shit, requiring a middle-of-the-night ER visit.  Add finding new daycare to the to-do list because of massive issues.

Tuesday evening:  Talk to husband and have total meltdown on the phone, complete with ugly crying, repeating “I can’t adult any more today”.

Wednesday morning:  Still at home, took a sick day because I need to rest AND because I no longer give two shits about my (soon-to-be-eliminated) job.  My idea of “relaxing”?  Cleaning up my shit sty of a house.  Relaxing fail.

Thursday:  Finally go in to work and virtually no one in our department is there.  I get it, with the happenings of this week, but we have 5 months until our last day…it’s a little early to start checking out everyone, isn’t it?  Leave work early myself to enroll daughter in new daycare.  Go to pick her up from daycare that we are about to fire and the ladies ask me, “Did you not bring any food for Viv?”  Um, what?!?  You didn’t feed her all day then and I see hardly any milk has been drank.  Oh even better – they fed her food that we didn’t authorize, and they sound unsure of what they fed her.  Let’s just hope she doesn’t have allergies to anything because I don’t know WTF she ate.   Please, please, PLEASE dear God do not let me lose my shit.  If I end up in jail, it will be a solid 24 hours before the husband can bail me out.

Friday:  Inform daycare that we are pulling our daughter from them.  Best part?  When I pick her up a few hours later after working a short day, they even fuck up packing up her supplies.  I was missing two bottles full of milk THAT THEY DIDN’T FEED HER.  Husband had to stop on his way home after his flight landed.

Friday Night:  Drank a beer and listened to my husband tell me all about his wild night during his business trip.  I got to hear how they were out until 3AM, their dinner bill for 9 people came to $1,400, they went for drinks later (that was $500 alone), and lastly, but surely not least, they ended up at a strip club.  I honestly don’t care about the strip club part, but way to regale me about your adventures when I’m stuck here, sick, and managing to (barely) hold down the fort.  I love my husband deeply but sometimes I want to slap his fucking face off.

Saturday Morning:  As I write this blog post, I’ve been awake since around 3:30AM.  I’ve fed and clothed the baby, changed 2 diapers, walked the dog, got showered, and am currently writing out my grocery list.  I went upstairs around 7AM with the baby, and the husband was still half asleep.  He’d been sleeping for about 11 hours, and when I mentioned that to him, he replies, “So?!?”  And then commented about how he was making up for my lack of sleep.  How thoughtful, huh?!?

Conclusion:  I need to buy a lottery ticket because my luck has got swing back up at some point, right?!?  It HAS to…that’s what I keep telling myself.