There’s a storm brewing in our house and a fight upon us…and the conflict is being fueled by the marketing juggernaut that IS the Disney Princess collection.

I’ll preface this by saying that I’d vowed from the beginning to keep my home turf safe from junky mass-marketed toys; my oldest had an Elmo book, when she was little, and kissed Elmo in the book—but didn’t watch the show (or any tv, in my perfect mom days) until she was 2 1/2. And I don’t even think Elmo is bad. The toys in our house were wholesome award winners and played with lovingly, with small cartoon birds flying around our heads, gentle music surrounding us, and learning opportunities abounding. At least that is my recollection.

So then the Disney princesses arrived, and began a slow but all-consuming takeover, dressed for battle in (junky) dresses and 3 inch (if you measure to scale) high-heeled shoes. There is a bit of inevitability to this process, I suppose, when one is the parent of three girls, but here I’ll add that my husband is the main provider of princesses and their gear.The books arrived first with tales of love and marriage to the point that no one could mention a friend without saying “I’m going to marry [fill in name]”. No one in our house could date, or just be friends—it was all about marriage. With no understanding of the concept as they were marrying uncles, girlfriends, and in one case I believe a stuffed tiger. I hated the books and refused to read them, but they now seem the least of my problems.

The miniature little dolls were the next big problem—a, the children couldn’t dress them because their PARTS were too small, the DRESSES too tight-fitting, and children’s HANDS don’t work that way. So I was constantly dressing and undressing little rubber dolls and picking up shoes from here there and everywhere.The kids threw them aside, however, when the Barbie-sized princesses began their invasion—complete with full wardrobes, falling-off shoes, impossibly small accessories, and floozy hair. My dad summed it up in an email after Christmas; brand-new Aerial was missing, and I sent a note to my family asking if they’d seen her around in the wrappings, and his email came back “I saw the ho”. What he meant to say was “I saw the horse she came with,” but this was a clear case of the freudian slip and I think in fact the message was more correct than he knew.

And the horses, the HORSES. They turned my manly husband obsessive compulsive as he searched all over for a horse for each kid’s doll, paying Kmart something like $40 in shipping (maybe I exaggerate) to get us a Belle horse (‘because she’s really hard to find’) The horses, which provide no visible means of transportation as the dolls CAN’T SIT ON THEM WITHOUT FALLING OFF, do nothing but stand around covered in silver manes and jewels. That is they were covered in jewels until they began shedding them to remain stuck (possibly forever) to the kitchen floor.

What I remember at that age is loving Little House on the Prairie books and sure, I watched the show, too. But this wholesome activity did not involve 1000 plastic parts, high-heeled shoes, dresses that ripped if one looks at them wrong. And if Little House did have dolls, I’d venture to say they’d be modest. That is, I’d never expect Ma or Laura (doll-form) to be lying around flashing their lady-parts all over. My house is indecent with naked ladies since the kids can get the dresses off, but trying to put them on means stiff arms poked through torn holes in cheaply made gowns. Last night while watching the Biggest Loser I dressed 4 dolls because there’s only so much naked flesh a person can take.

The dolls provided a teachable moment, of sorts, the other day when the girls began lobbying for MORE princesses—they needed Jasmine, they claimed (who we found to be elusive even in the flesh on our visit to Disneyworld; a fellow 4-year old patron offered the opinion that she was dead, another byproduct of stories that inevitably involve killing and such, even if it is evil stepmothers). And they needed a prince, since only one is in our house. I’m not talking about my husband, who does remain the single male figure in this house of girls, but Snow White’s beau who came in a set and who flounces about in a manly tunic (my husband laid down the law that he stays dressed, less from a sense of modesty than from his cheaply made boots and cruddy pants that are impossible to get back on). “We need more boys” the girls claimed, for their princesses, but I pointed out that the lesson to be learned is that your girlfriends are who’s around to count on, and they didn’t need a man. I think the lesson perhaps was over their heads.

To sum up let me alleviate any lingering worry and report that the “ho” has been found; my obsessive husband launched a house-wide search that never turned her up (this from a person that loses his wallet, his shoes, anything not attached to him at a given moment) and we thought she was gone forever. But a game – a wholesome game, in fact, of “pretend we’re camping”, a game worthy of Little House – involved pulling out the sleeping bags they got for Christmas, and it turns out that Aerial, ho or no, had merely crawled in for a long winter’s nap. Even I found myself excited at her return. And ten minutes after she turned up, I picked her naked self off the floor.

The Washington Post recently ran an article talking about leisure time – as studied by an expert, and written by a working mom (I know, I know, all moms are working moms) who had no leisure time. In fact, in order to prove she had no leisure time she volunteered to be a part of a study on leisure time and it took her about a year to find the time to do the study.

Here is a link to the whole article.

I read the article, I read the comments, even read reaction by another blogger, Marissa Levin, who writes for the Examiner (here).

My thoughts come at a time when I’m trying to work on controlling my temper – in my continuous drive towards self-perfection (ha!) It’s actually because I know I yell to much, especially when my 6 year old mini-me runs around bellowing as well. It all got reinforced by my mom who wrote me a note to pull it together after I yelled at Christmas (this after YEARS AND YEARS of blaming Christmas conflict on my sister, who was absent this year – but who to be honest is the usual source of conflict. Just kidding).

So in this temper-control mode I know that I have to make sure I’m not working too much. Because that is when I get stressed and yell. Especially since my stated goal is to be around to spend time with my kids – and the article here raises an interesting point. It mentions that over the years we are not spending LESS time with our kids – in fact, we probably spend more. I know for me, I am constantly stopping what I’m doing to play Go Fish or Crazy Eights or watch an Annie show. My mom didn’t do this as much – we played on our own more (and could, out in the yard, unsupervised, without the marauding band of kidnappers that we fear are out there today). I told my twins today, in fact, the the benefit of having a twin sister was that they always had someone to play cards with and they looked at me blankly, then played half a game before one threw all the cards at the other.

Obviously a big part of the leisure time thing is choosing that time and also defining what is leisure time. If you’re “doing work” but on facebook for an hour (I would NEVER do that) is that work? Or if, just as an example, you were hypothetically my husband and at work emailing your friends for 2 or so hours about football, The Sports Guy, Jersey Shore, and then playing Mafia Wars on facebook – is that leisure time? Should it be counted as so?

All right, also, another thought I had (these are more “thoughts” on the article than a well-organized response) is I know, personally, I need to a, develop a hobby and then b, do the hobby. That would be qualified leisure time. But in the interim I’m fitting it in, and while sometimes that means extra stress, I know that I’m not able to sit restfully and watch television (I can’t watch Jersey Shore restfully or not restfully) without doing something…knitting, working on the computer, reading, something. So does that mean it’s not leisure time? To me, it is, and I’m still able to sort-of relax. Should I be dedicating time to doing nothing or only things I wish? Sure, I guess, but I feel lazy when I do that. I’m better busy; I guess the balance is “busy” vs “too busy” and that is a slippery slope.

Now that I’m working from home I have more time to spend improving my children’s lives (!) and the intervention, it seems, comes non-to-soon as my six year old has turned into a hoarder.

Have you seen those people on tv? Matt Lauer was talking to one a while ago on the Today show, and I watched  in disgust with my own (at the time) secret hoarder as she ate breakfast before heading to the bus – never guessing she was actually looking for tips!My mother and I went to her bedroom to help her “organize” – it was a disaster area. She likes to play games that include making little tableaus of dolls with blankets, etc all over her room so there is no floor space available; she likes all her books to be laid out in various piles all over her bed; on and on. So we tried to buy her some shelves and boxes (in fact, she got these from her grandma as a birthday gift and pointed out “This is NOT what people usually get as a gift”.)

We started going through her boxes and found the following (only the weirdest are listed):

1. A candy bar wrapper that she had saved for its glow-in-the-dark properties

2. A spice bottle filled with water

3. The end of a loaf of french bread (disgusting) that we threw away, in the sink, and which she then saw had sort of reconstituted with the addition of water and which she then WANTED BACK

4. Three random plastic toys that belonged to a set she might someday get, she thought (she won’t)

5. Two popped balloons

6. Ripped wrapping paper from a birthday gift that she was going to re-use

7. A bunch of old newspapers – it turns out that these were comics given to her by Daddy when she was in the hospital over the summer, so she wanted to save them.The last bit of reasoning is sort of cute and in fact, she had REASONS for everything she saved. But put together as a collection filling her room (and arguably attracting rodents) the whole mess was gross and a bit scary.

She wants to hold on to things that are important or have some meaning to her, but it’s everything. I know that sometimes I am the same way – saving each picture every kid draws, every single school assignment – but it so quickly becomes overwhelming that now I am rash, and throw things away the second they come through the door. In fact I got a special trash can behind my “main” kitchen trash can – it’s a two-can set in a pull-out drawer, and I think some people use the second for recycling but mine is kid stuff I throw away that I don’t want the Hoarder to pull back out of the trash. For the most part  she forgets what I throw out – though she did pitch a fit when she went back to find the previously mentioned ripped wrapping paper.

I think she wants to hold on to her childhood, all of it, and in many ways so do I. But not in the form of a moldy piece of old bread.

The title of this refers to my 2010 resolution. Devoted readers (I don’t even know if my mom’s on this list, I doubt it) may remember that I made a promise of trying to blog a bit more frequently, but based on the entirely cruddy ending of 2009 (which began and middled as cruddy too) I felt it was best to keep my mutterings to myself. I know that 2009 was very few people’s favorite year, but I think I ended up feeling even sorrier for myself by blabbering about how “2009 stinks, 2009 stinks”. It therefore became even more self-fulfilling (and stinky).

But here’s the problem: my kindergarterner, who is a mirror of myself, started walking around complaining about EVERY little thing, too. All the bad parts of school were discussed ad nauseum over and over. And I finally sat her down and said that she needed to STOP complaining about everything! Especially old grievances – she brought up the other night how I’d given away one of her birthday gifts (a Bratz doll that wasn’t allowed in our house) OVER a year ago. The doll was even replaced (not by me, by my husband) but she still was complaining – not because she was still mad, but because complaining was becoming her go-to!So I discussed staying positive and only talking about the good things and realized that of course it was advice I should be taking. I’m being tested as “for better, for worse” has also turned into “for lunch” as my husband job-hunts from home, and together our family develops cabin fever in record-setting cold.

But if the sunshine doesn’t start with me it won’t so I’m hoping my pollyanna ways will begin to rub off. At least I can write about it to hold myself accountable!

The latest manifestation of my ongoing figuring-out-what-I’m-doing-with-myself is this weird thing that as I drive my kids around – most recently, to a series of doctors appointments with a soundtrack of holiday tunes mixed with coughing, awesome – I keep peering into offices big and small and I am fiercely jealous of what is going on in there.

Offices big or small – I’m in the ‘burbs of NJ so we’ve got them all, from pharmaceuticals to a spiffy new L’Oreal headquarters to small obscure who knows what they do offices – I go by them and I wonder what the staff is up to, and imagine the fulfilling life I could be leading if I went there everyday.

How absurd. The last “real” job I had was in a similar office park and I made it a point to spend as little time in said office as possible. I hated it – from the stupid gossip to the even stupider office I had (they moved me into an old mailroom with no windows and cords hanging randomly about). As I figure out what kind of a job I should pursue, if/when I pursue, I’ll make it a point to limit office time, I think. So why the envy?

I guess it’s the set schedule? The something firm to do? Is it that I know that whether the folks are doing something or not, they’re getting paid? Is it that they are wearing something other than jeans and a sweater, that they have a reason to put on makeup? That they are in CHARGE of something?

It’s also grass is always greener – I know that, sensibly. And to be honest, as I’ve spent the past couple weeks really disengaged from all work and trying to be a better mom to my kids, I am feeling a sense of peace and feeling the stress ebb from them. Also starting to feel boredom set in with a feeling of what’s next.

I think in all honesty though only the constant soundtrack of three coughing kids could make a NJ office park look like good times.

Today was one of those proud moments of parenting when I knew that all the sacrifices I’ve made in my career and my life—the decision to stay home for a while with the girls and do whatever work I could to make some dough, but putting them first…the counting pennies and canceling gym memberships to be able to afford this decadent lifestyle of playgrounds and making sure they have what they need—oh, all those decisions really came home to roost today.

For today, after an utter and complete breakdown at the Michael’s because I wouldn’t buy her clay, my angelic 5-almost-6 year old, who I lose sleep over every night—she’s not being challenged at school. She needs more playdates. I need to not do x or y or z right now so that I can do (fill in the blank) for her. Well, that very same perfect child (not) had an utter and complete temper tantrum, highlights of which included her streaking away from me at the store to get to the clay, yelling “I’m not leaving this store without the clay” and then when we left (leaving all items behind unpurchased, carrying her out while the twins followed faithfully), her taking off her seatbelt and yelling “I don’t care about the law, I want to yell at the law” in some sort of weird Johnny Cash-channeling moment. So following this—I didn’t engage—I put her in her room having taken some of her primo toys and resolved to leave her there perhaps forever to make up for all the warnings and other times the didn’t get dragged up to her room.

She yelled down at me a series of sweetness-es and then capped it with “Santa doesn’t like you, Mommy—no one likes you”.

This is obviously absurd. A little funny. Mostly absurd.

But it also sucks. Because as I continually question what I’m supposed to be doing and what’s the right call, it makes me feel like “What am I doing here at home?” Maybe they’d be better without me! There’s no appreciation here. There’s no appreciation, necessarily, elsewhere in the working world—but at least there is money!!

A 6-year old shouldn’t make my decisions—to be sure. But nor should she rule my life. And I guess my struggle now is how much power I am giving her. I’m struggling with the balance of staying home for me, for them—and where the right thing is for all of us.

Any answers out there? 

I’m not talking about this in the sense of the guy who keeps telling everyone his social security number. 

Of late, I’ve been involved in a number of conversations that all surround what I know is my hardest hurdle: who am I when I am not working if I’m not just Mommy (or Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy uttered incessantly and unceasingly 24-7 without a single “Daddy” interruption, always at various volumes but typically loud enough to wake the neighbors and their dogs).

A Detours alum emailed me asking for ideas about how to handle this loss of identity when you used to think of yourself as someone in a company and someone at home. I was giving it lots of thought, and spent the weekend talking to the mom of a friend, who retired 8 years ago – she said, the hardest part for her was not having anywhere to get dressed up to go. That made her feel less of herself. And that less of yourself is what so quickly develops into a loss of self confidence in general and completely.

That’s been the hardest struggle for me – I feel the same, why shouldn’t I pull on the same old jeans or whatever? Why bother with makeup? The problem is this slippery slope quickly leads to “Why waste money cutting my hair?” and not one month ago an intervention was called so I could cut off my WAY too long hippie-style ponytail!

It’s strange and hard to explain, why we tie ourselves to our jobs – even jobs we don’t like. When I was working at my last spot, I thought of myself as a mom first and then a marketing director. I worked full time (but with telecommuting option) but never considered myself a full time worker – in fact, considered the job a stopping point (a four year stopping point but) – never part of my career. Thus, it was all very up in the air and I could take from it what I wanted without letting that be my definition. I resisted getting business cards, because I didn’t consider it a “career job” and didn’t WANT to identify myself there – but it was almost as if by looking down on the job, I could identify myself and my place in the world (as someone who was “x”, but just doing this job for now – and if it wasn’t quite up to my level, well so be it – because I was only doing “for now”).

My sister advised me the other day that this ongoing identity crisis is because it’s my ego, wanting a title and the definition. Let me be clear that any ego I had was left at the door so long ago. I took so much cr*p in order to keep a job that gave me that telecommuting option – for instance, I once flew out on a 2 day 2 night trip to California to supervise a photo shoot at the Ritz (I know, this doesn’t sound THAT crappy) but was told to be sure to stay in my room and not join anyone for dinner because they didn’t want anyone to know I was there. (Right, it was a room at the RITZ! but it still was sort of insulting to basically be told to wear a bag over my head while in public). My office? Summarily pulled one day, no reason, and I instead got what used to be a closet re-made into an office; there wasn’t an outlet for my computer so (I’m not lying) a cord was draped across the doorway and plugged in via extension cord outside the door. I tripped ALL the time.

As an aside this isn’t even my WORST office! At my prior identity-sucking job I was moved down to an office that had been closed and locked because of mold infestation – not after it was cleaned, no, merely because it was the only one there so the mold and I hung on the 4th floor while my staff was on 11!

Ego? I gave it up. I knew that a lot of what I was doing, I did because I liked the work – and I liked any chance at flexibility to be with my kids, because they were a priority. It wasn’t about some title – because I never had what I felt I deserved, in part because my kids WERE the priority. So then why is it so very difficult to be defined as a mom – when I didn’t want to be defined by the job that I had?

Ironically, one year post leaving the last “real” job I had, I am getting calls at a rate of 2-3 a day because they are involved in planning for a business conference that I planned with a staff of 1/2 (ie, me and 1/2 a person – I had her part-time). Ego? I was doing mail merges and stapling agendas, stuffing packages of information and checking names on registration spreadsheets while having conference calls with Senators and football players who were speaking (I mean that last part was actually sweet and ego-gratifying). So now there’s a staff of 15+ inside and outside all working on this event and these calls should make me feel good as they beg for advice or talk about the mistakes being made.   

But I don’t care that much. The job’s behind me and the identity piece of it is gone. I’m not bitter about being gone (thank goodness since the HR director from there, in an ironic twist of fate, is the class mother for my kindergartener and I see her quite a bit!!) Shouldn’t it make me feel good that – at least in retrospect – it was recognized what a great job I did? I don’t know but I guess it’s what have I done lately? And whatever it is – that “lately” – got in good shape, planned these events, was a good mom, (I think), started a consulting biz – still makes me constantly question that identity. 

I am so interested in hearing from others that are dealing with this at any stage. I want to hear what works and what doesn’t to make you get your confidence back and to make you not question your choices or what you’re doing.  

I took the kids to the zoo today – in a fit of good planning made sure it was the hottest day o’ the year so they were sweaty and grumpy by the end. One of our zoo-going-friends actually stood in the mister till she was full-on soaked and we thought “More power to ya”.So then we bought them McDonald’s ice cream (one dollar) on the way home and I found someone’s old Daily News on a table (free) and read this GREAT story about how CBS in NY kept a woman sports anchor.The long and the short of it: Ryan wanted to spend more time with her kids. Instead of firing her for this egregious sin – she said she would leave and only work VERY part time for national CBS sports, instead of CBS NY also, in order to spend more time with her 7 and 4 year old – her boss worked out a schedule that gave her local and national time and let her work 3 days for NY local news and  2 days for national sports, on a part time schedule. She’s thrilled, they’re thrilled – and in a very competitive industry where no doubt they could have found someone else to fill her spot, I take my hat off to CBS to come up with this solution for a working mom. Here’s the link to read more.  Also if anyone knows Sam Ryan I’d like to be in touch to have her come speak at an event… 

shall we? Because mine’s not calling me back and I’ve HAD IT. As recent posts have pointed out I’m trying on for size (“we’re” trying on for size) the one-permanent-income, one consulting income route. I’m the consulting income and it’s a bit touch and go. I’m sort of constantly worried about dough, thinking about money, saving here and there (except I still buy iced coffees because I love them).

Manis-pedis? So 2005. I line up all 40 toes, the girls and I, and slap some Brucci ($1) nailpolish on and we are set. Housekeeper? Puh-leeze. Let her go when I was still working – though truth be told that was more because I simply  couldn’t take that the house was messed up within 4 seconds of her leaving and I think I‘ve even blogged about that??  Is my house clean? No. In fact my neighbor, who was watching the twins in their vagabond days, swept my kitchen with a garage broom AND IT WAS AN IMPROVEMENT. My couch smells (“Don’t let the children eat on it-that’s why”, my husband says. That ship has SAILED out to a stinky harbor). 

All right. So we could definitely LIVE on one income, but we’ve decided to do more than live on that income – we’ve decided to “improve” the old home. And that is the cause of my stress. The initial estimate to blow out the kitchen and bedroom was over $250k and cooler heads prevailed (that one income, after all, is not the income of Derek Jeter or in fact ANY Yankee–or even a utility infielder). But we decided we could do the kitchen over and even the bathroom, to make them up-to-date and more important, usable as we currently have 1.4 inches of functioning counter space in the kitchen.

As every penny is counted, we shopped around and found a contractor and thought he was great and then the new twist is he never calls me back. EVER. And my husband keeps saying “Well, you can call him again – it’s ok to call him multiple times in a day”. REALLY? Why should I? I mean my initial thought was “I can do this my SELF” and I was told by all and sundry that in fact, I could not. And as I tried to imagine trying to wrestle a new bathtub in and upstairs with only a squad of 3 under-6 Brucci-pink-pedicured helpers to assist, I had to concede the inevitable, that I would indeed have to call in a professional.

So my point is – professionals call back. And work with you, and listen. And as I search for consulting work and develop this conference and take work on that is less than what I’m worth (sound familiar?) and even consider, for the billionth time, finding a fun-and-non-draining bartender gig (I consider this half seriously) I think: is this even worth it?

At the gym the other day, Oprah was talking about ways to cut down on your spending or economize. I think all of us, likely, are doing that or have done a lot of it – and it means different things to different people. Thinking twice about new shoes; canceling all but basic cable; buying cheaper wine (I did that for a while. I stopped doing that). There’s 18 zillion things you can do to save dough (tell me if you’ve got a good one! Would love comments on this blog beyond the spam that seems to get through the filters!) But I daily go back and forth between “I can save money and spend time with the girls” and “I want money and want my life…vacations, no debt, the whole nine yards that I had when working”…of course there are sacrifices a lot of us make. I wonder if everyone has the same feeling of constantly counting the pennies. 

So quick moral is: I know at some point I can go back to work and get a real (non bartending) job which will pay off our home equity loan or put the kids in college (they are 5 and almost 4 so we’ve got time). I know I need to stop obsessing over money. I enjoy days such as Friday when I spent an entire day with the girls at the park and the beach for a grand total of $6.37 worth of ice cream (I don’t count the iced coffee expense, it was on my Dunkin Donuts card). And in the meantime, if the contractor doesn’t call me back, I’ll install the damned tub myself – even if I do break a nail. 

As mentioned in my last post, I’m trying to blog more often – more reflections, perhaps less “lessons”.

Also mentioned was my two week sojourn in lovely Overlook Hospital which, not for nothing, IS a nice hospital and I have nothing but wonderful things to say about, especially, the nurses who made our rough time far better. 

So two weeks in the hospital isn’t anyone’s idea of a good time. But I must admit to a silver lining in this black cloud – it was me and my newly appendix-free daughter in a room where we could read and talk and watch shows and chill but not be distracted. I brought my laptop briefly but I couldn’t work; I had my iPhone to email but I didn’t all day – and it was freeing to just ignore life as I focused on my sweet 5 year old who was still wearing her pain on her face.  

I am lucky I wasn’t working and could focus on her; she refused to talk with the residents or even acknowledge, in certain cases, that they were talking to HER. I described her pain, I changed her bedpans; I got fluids in her and walked her down the hall. She’s 5, I’m her mom, I felt like that was my job. And I just blocked out the rest of life.

And that was sort of refreshing. Less so for my almost-four-twins, poor things,  who we gave two sticks and a bandana with a teddy bear in it to, and dropped off at the station to hit the rails, traveling vagabond style.

I am kidding of course but not by much. We now are talking with positivity about their “Adventures” (said sing-song like) but poor sweet girls, they got dropped at our family’s lake house for 2 nights with my wonderful uncle who they sort of knew (and know well now!) and his dogs – they aren’t dog fans. I rowed away as they held hands and waved goodbye. They came home for a night with daddy and then went off on another “La la la ADVENTURE” with my brother, THEIR uncle, who they adore – a great weekend visit but of course they missed Mommy and even called their sister to tell her how much they missed her, in their convoluted way (We also heard about the dogs…”There is a black dog here who licks ourselves each time he sees ourselves!”. 

Note misadventure here – dear teddies and tiger were left in Connecticut, so the hobos were now absent their comforts! And their travels continued…Another great-aunt. A dear friend. Another night with daddy. Holding hands, these sweet girls went through it all and sure, in one of their hospital visits one smacked the other with a box as the box-smackee threw a puzzle right back but let’s be clear: they were SICK of each other and who could expect anything less? Point is thank God they were twins so they had each other and thank God for my family and friends who I counted on (up to and including an old friend who smuggled Cabernet into the hospital like a prohibition-era pro!)

So I quasi-ignored the “other” children and totally ignored life and I focused on this little appendix-less 5 year old to get her better over two weeks. And then, we came home.

All the children were mine again and were so needy (of course). The lack of the appendix has made my oldest seem all the older and much more in need of love and help; she’s still not quite herself. The twins need me more than ever. And for a week I closed my eyes and didn’t even want to think of work. And I read trashy books and thought how easy it would be to ignore the world FOREVER.

Moral coming? I’m not sure.

Yesterday I buckled down and did a bunch of stuff; today I did some more. The children still chased me as I found closets to hide in for conference calls but as LITTLE as I wanted to get started I felt better and better the more I did. That’s something? 

I also got a note from my sister in reaction to my last blog telling me that I should stop letting my “job” define me and my importance. Let me clarify that many of my prior jobs constantly reaffirmed to me in word and action that I was not important (a for instance: my old boss had me fly to Boston in case she needed me in a planning board meeting and then had me sit in her office for the entire day “just in case”. I flew home at the end of the day, having done nothing. Oh, so important).

So I don’t know if the jobs made me feel IMPORTANT but there was a sense of structure (and a sense of being paid!) And that is the struggle I’m dealing with now. So more to come.

But Princess-No-Appendix and I looked at each other that last day o’ the hospital and said “I don’t want to go” “I don’t want to go” – for the escape from life and pressure (and for her, because of the Wii). I just need to get to a life that I enjoy as much as the “life” of the hospital – 6 am wakeups (6:05, 6:10, 6:15, and on – “How’s the patient???” said with sunny Resident cheeriness), vending machine food, and all. That shouldn’t be so hard. Right?