I Did It Myyyy Waaay...

Frankie (Sinatra that is) makes it sound so easy. Just choose to do it "my way." Yet when you try to fill someone else's shoes, those around you constantly speculate if you can do it as well as she did, wonder how much you will change their jobs and hope (well some people anyway) you'll fall flat on your face so the big bosses can see they really deserved the job. To complicate matters even further, the person you replaced didn't retire or leave the company. No, she simply got promoted and (with all good intentions on her part) checks in every few days to see how it's going. Yet, you continue to try to do things "your way" since "her way" just doesn't make any sense to you.

Welcome to my work life...

Now, let me begin by saying I love my new job. It is a great new challenge that keeps my brain hard at work at all hours (not so good for a restful night's sleep, but I am sure I'll get used to it). But my predecessor's presence lurks around me...always. She is great with people - always has a kind word and remembers everyone's husband's name, childrens' names and life stories. She writes personal thank you notes following almost every act of kindness. She treats every meeting as an opportunity to cater an event. I am just not built that way. I do not do small talk. I believe personal lives should remain personal. And I still haven't even sent my parents their anniversary card (going on 3 weeks now).

But...and this may sound pretentious however I am starting to really believe it is true...my predecessor didn't do her job as well as perhaps she should have or could have. It was a position she held for over 25 years. I am sure complacency set in at some point. There are tremendous gaps in her work, not to mention no computer files (yes, that's right folks...none. She handwrites most her memos). Glaring flaws confront me everyday, ones I know she must have seen, but instead seemingly chose not to ruffle feathers or chose not to work very hard. Because she is as nice as she is, I prefer to think the best of her.

However, here I am eight weeks into this great job trying to patch some of the gaping holes without ostracizing too many people (including my predecessor) at the same time. How do I fix some of the most pressing problems without sending the message to her employees that their much beloved former boss often dropped the ball so they are wasting their time doing some of the things she asked of them? That's tough news to break without all the home baked cookies and spinach quiche to distract them. I guess I will try to "wow" them with common sense first and try to address those areas that will help make their lives a bit easier.

If not, there's always Entenmann's chocolate chip cookies and Dunkin Donuts coffee. I guess I should go to a stationary store too (just in case of emergency).

Boy Crazy...

My sister-in-law and niece are visiting for a long weekend. My niece is 10 years old, going on 21. She wears mascara and blue eyeshadow, has a boyfriend, has a cell phone and has that "I'm on the edge of puberty" attitude. She is this fantastic girl who is in the often ungraceful process of shedding her childhood skin. All she wants to talk about is boys and who is hot and who is not. She loves the Jonas brothers (Nick is the hot one by the way). As she pages through her generation's version of Teen Beat, she floats into her fantasy world where everyone loves her and she always gets the hottest guy (that would be the aforementioned Nick Jonas). And I, trying to be the good aunt, listen intently to all her stories about what would happen if she met the Jonas brothers and why she needs to have a boyfriend even though she is only in 5th grade. But what I want to say (and do whenever an opportunity presents itself) is there is a lot more to life than boys. Yet even in this post-feminist movement world where women are equal (and probably your boss), she stares at me with exasperation and bewilderment when I ask what else she is interested in besides boys and shopping.

As she continues on, I find my eyes glancing at my own two year old Princess, and I wonder who she will be at ten years old. What world will she enter? Who will her role models be? How crazy will she get about boys? It is a little nerve wracking to contemplate.

So tonight rather than worrying about all those questions which I cannot control right now, I tiptoed into Princess's bedroom, hoping she wasn't yet asleep. Thankfully, she wasn't. I asked her if she wanted to rock in the chair with me for a little while, and she eagerly nodded her head. And so we rocked - back and forth, back and forth - while she told me stories about her day and what we will do this weekend. And I, trying to be the good mom, listened intently and snuggled her tightly. All the while, though, I was thinking that someday Princess will be ten...but tonight, thank God, she was wonderfully, fantastically two (without a hint of boy mania in sight).

You Spin Me Right 'Round

Well, I am on the working mom carousel today. As I have to do on many days, I left for work before Princess opened her eyes (it bums me out everytime). When I got to work, I dropped my stuff in my office and ran out to do two observations, back to back. Returned to my office to find 12 new e-mails (two with the high priority exclamation point) and three phone messages. Believing I only had 20 minutes until my next appointment, I quickly addressed the most pressing, and then dashed off to an elementary school. Patiently, I waited for my partner to arrive at said school only to find out we miscommunicated on our days so she thought our meeting is tomorrow. While lingering at the school, though, I thought about Princess and what she was doing now (gymnastics class, I think). That palpable "mom guilt" swirled around me as I saw other brown haired, brown eyed little girls skip through the school's hallways. Ugh...yet no time to wallow; it's back to the high school to comb through hundreds of pages of curriculum, four years' worth of department meeting agendas and school board policies as I attempt to do my part to prepare for state monitoring. Several people come and asks questions. I find out one teacher I observed is in tears because she thinks the lesson was terrible (it wasn't). I send a "don't worry, it was fine" e-mail. A few hours (and two Advil) later, it's off to my "new administrator" cohort/support group where I stare at a clock and eagerly anticipate picking up Princess.

Sprint to the car...drive too many miles to pick her up.

Big, big, delicious hugs from Princess. Breathe....

But only for a second.

Drive home. Change clothes. Make dinner. Empty dishwasher. Eat dinner. Play outside. Play inside. Feed dog. Bath. Strawberries (for Princess). Stories. Bed. Turn on the sprinkler for new sod. More kisses. Bed. "Rub my back Mommy." Bed. "Daddy's still at work baby girl." Bed again. Turn down the monitor's volume to make it easier to do the tough love approach to bedtime. Sleeping Princess.

Blog...and a glass of red wine. I think I earned it today.

Back to the Coffee Shop

Yep, I totally stink at balancing work, home and blog!! My world is just starting to get some rhythm back to it, so I hope to do a better job of posting here. Three posts a week is my new goal. Let's see who can keep me honest (thanks to Bookgirl whose friendly "where the heck are you?" message prompted this entry). But I have to warn you...baseball playoffs are only a week away, and they do take up a lot of my free time in the evening (my Yanks need me, you know). Plus, hello, new TV shows! I've got sitcom romances to catch up on. It is difficult to keep track of all my imaginary flat screen friends on How I Met Your Mother, The Office, Scrubs, 30 Rock, etc. But I promise to try to give equal attention to my real flat screen blog friends!!

Speaking of favorite TV shows, do you know they are turning Sex and the City into a movie? Now, of course, I kept up with all the talks preceding the start of filming - Sarah Jessica was in and then holding out, Kim Cattrell wanted this sex scene and not that, Kristen Davis just wanted to have a job doing something else besides bad Loreal commercials - you get the picture. The thought of a continum to the finale (which I still have saved on my Tivo, almost 3 years later!) made my heart twitter. The possibility of catching up with the girls at the coffee shop practically brought tears to my eyes.

And now they are actually filming it in NYC. Go to Bookgirl's blog for visual proof (they are shooting scenes in her building!!).

And now, I don't know. I am having second thoughts. Shouldn't a TV show end on the TV screen?

I fear they are going to screw it up. I worry they are going to twist the plot too much. Do I want to peak into the "married with children" lives of Miranda and Charlotte? Not really...I live that each day. Do I want to watch Carrie marry Mr. Big? Absolutely not (and if they do I promise there will be an entire entry devoted as to why this is a terrible choice). They picked the right ending the first time. Great books leave you wondering...great tv shows should too.

So don't kill the magic, Darren Star! If it turns out the last season was all Carrie's dream or the characters go to jail for their questionable morals, I promise you will hear from me. Please don't ruin my imaginary flat screen TV friends lives by stretching their little worlds onto a huge movie screen. Bottom line - don't f*ck it up.

Yet, if Ross and Rachel should happen to make a cameo at the coffee shop (they must have moved uptown by now), at least then I'd know how they are doing too.

Itchy, Itchy

Recently I have been involved in several conversations about relationships - what makes them work, what causes them to go wrong, etc. Most of my friends fall into two categories - single yet desiring marriage and married but wistfully recalling singledom. Most in the married category have been betrothed for 6 or more years. They have started to glance back into their early twenties, wondering what could have been if they have turned a different corner. What if they had moved to California instead of stayed in New York? What if they had gone to College A instead of College B? Yesterday one of my closest friends eloquently speculated, "What if I hadn't been such an insecure prick who felt the need to have a girlfriend since I was 13?" What if?

These questions can make your head spin, and I know my friends in the single category wrestle with them as well. However, when you are one half of a married couple these inquiries are taboo, as if by asking them you are proclaiming the imminent downfall of your marriage. Not true (well about half the time it's not true since our divorce rate is over 50%). Instead, I believe it is a very natural rhythm for a relationship; some have even called it a seven year itch. Around the six or seven year mark in a relationship you start to really realize (maybe even accept) that what drives you crazy about your spouse is just not going to change. You understand that despite the hours and hours of conversations (some heated) the person to whom you have given your life is going to possess this negative trait - forever.

For example, I am an anxious person. I try to manage it, suppress it, and contain it. Yet there are times when I just cannot do so. Before we travel, for example, I slowly unravel my cool exterior to reveal my twitching self who must pack every blanket, medicine, and tidbit for Princess or else I am uneasy. During these times I have been unreasonable, moody and unapproachable. My husband and I have had endless talks about my anxiety. He, Mr. Laid Back, hates when I am so tense. Sometimes, he finds these harried episodes of mine funny, which just ticks me off even more. So now as we move into our seventh year of marriage he confronts the very real possibility that yes, this is who I am. This anxious, control freak person is the one he said "I do" to, and now he needs to know if he can really live with it. Perhaps he peers backwards into a time in his life when he could just be carefree, when no one lingered over him asking if he packed the baby's monitor or "if we should bring the nasal aspirator?" What if he had pursued his original dream of being a personal trainer? What if he had moved with his parents to Florida? What if he had never taken that catering job and worked with me? What if?

Over the past summer I have struggled to truly accept something about my husband. He is a workaholic. He claims he isn't, that it is just the nature of his business. And it is, but it is a business in which he chose to make his livelihood, thus feeding this addiction. Our conversations about his job are like the movie Groundhog Day. The same discussion recurs over and over: I say, "You work too much." He says, "It will get better soon." I say, "You said that last year and now you are working more." He says, "You knew this when you married me." I say, "You said you were going to find a new job." He says, "Well, I didn't. I love what I do. Why can't you support me?" And then the "talk" usually comes off the hinges and moves into the unpleasant, unfamiliar realm of a "fight."

After the wistfulness of college days and innumerable options fade away, we, the itchy married ones, realize that turning different corners would have only lead to different problems. Instead, we must begin to face new "What if" questions, ones that focus on the future rather than our pasts. What if I just accept this about my husband? What if we don't eat dinner together most nights like I want us to? What if I just accept this about my wife? What if she loses it every time she forgets to pack extra diapers? What if?

I guess we just don't know. Can a anxiety ridden woman and a workaholic man have a happy, fruitful marriage? And who wants to deal with it if the answer is no? Ugh...not me. That would be too painful to face. But what if?

So Mr. Laid Back, can you hand me that back scratcher over there? I think we've got an itch.

Can Someone Hand Me a Towel?

If you didn't read my previous post, this one won't make sense until you do. I'll give you a minute....

Whew. It was a long one, but as you can probably tell I was having a bad week. I did turn down the new job. Surprisingly, they came back with a counteroffer, a guarantee in writing, and a few other tidbits. While it was not the total package I desired, it was a strong gesture of good faith. So I'll do the job for a year, and then I can decide if I want to continue in that position or return to my old one.

So, someone hand me towel. The Big Boss wants me to wash the egg off my face.

One Chicken, Two Chickens...

I am a bit beside myself this evening (a tremendous understatement). In July, I wrote a post about my "secret" promotion, which now is far, far from secret. At my school district's administration meeting yesterday, my colleagues were openly congratulating me. One person even gave me a hug. What these people did not know was I had just left a meeting where I learned that what I thought my salary was going to be is no where near what I was going to be offered. Yet during a preliminary meeting in July, I presented what I wanted as a salary, and no one made any indication that I was not even close.

Since yesterday I have consulted a lawyer and had a second negiotiation meeting, all to no avail. Th big bosses want me to take this newly created job (absorbing the full responsibilities of someone's previous job while also fulfilling my current responsibilites) when my take home pay increase will equal less than what I spent on first car, a 1986 Dodge Daytona (w/ t-tops of course). It is a huge job. It is a shitty offer. I have 24 hours to make a decision. But I will give you a preview of how the phone conversation will go...

"Hi Very Friendly Admin Assistant...is Big Boss available?"

"Sure, Working Mom. I'll put you through. Oh, by the way, congratulations on your new job! I think that's wonderful."

"Ummm...Thanks Very Friendly Admin Assistant."

"Working Mom? It's Big Boss. How are you today?"

"Good, good. Listen, I know you are busy so let me cut to the chase."

"OK, great."

"You have offered me what basically constitutes my dream job, one that will challenge me and thrill me, a job that I will somehow work even harder than I already do to make sure I am successful, therefore making our school district successful. During all of our discussions you have given me some truly fantastic compliments and assured me that I am the person you want to do this job. At each meeting, you stated that you are fully confident that I am the individual who can make this supervisory model work. It has all been so kind of you to share that with me."

"Well, Working Mom, all the school administrators feel that way. We know you are the person for this job."

"Again, Big Boss, thanks. But you see, Big Boss, I drive a Ford now, and I really have no need for a 1986 Dodge Daytona. Nor do I need a new Pottery Barn throw rug (the big one). And I certainly don't need those extra funds to splurge on a Prada bag (not retail price, of course but we all know I love Ebay). It just doesn't seem fair to my colleagues for me to accept this district position, which oversees the curriculum development and implementation for over 7,000 students, professonial development training for approximately 200 teachers, direct supervision of over 35 department members, and then flaunt the fact that I was able to use my raise to buy a pair of used skis for Princess."

"I see."

"So I am going to have to say no to my dream job. I'm sure you understand."

Okay. It probably will go more along these lines....

"I have carefully considered your offer, taking numerous factors into account while doing so. Since it is a job I want to do and one I know I would love, you can imagine how difficult it is to me to say no. I can't do it. My bottom number is still thousands away from your best offer. The position is worth more than that. I am worth more than that. And the additional time I will spend away from Princess is worth more than that. I also know that while you have promised me you will not dissolve my current position, by turning this job down I am destroying any additional possibilities for career advancement here, at a school I really love. But I stand by what I said yesterday; the salary offer is unfair and unreasonable. And as hard as I have tried to do so, I cannot justify accepting it, knowing how much it will cost me and my family."

And then I will hang up the phone and cry. Or I might wait until I get into my car (that is where I have been doing much of my sobbing these last two days). I don't know. I'll be on pins and needles waiting to see how long I can control the lump in my throat.

So a lesson, my friends. When you count your chickens, make sure everyone involved in this exercise is counting eggs in the same coop, or you might end up like me...with slimy yolk all over your face.