Working at not working

I've mentioned my return to corporate America. I've been hesitant to provide updates on that, since 1) it's not that exciting, and 2) you never know who might stumble upon your blog. 

But without getting into specifics, I thought it was blogworthy to mention that what started as a part-time gig is creeping into becoming a full-time gig...or rather, it would if I let it. 

When I quit my former corporate job, I thought I'd stay home for a year, have an epiphany and then go on to do meaningful work and make lots of money...or write a best-selling novel or something. Well, thanks to my good fortune in freelancing, one year turned into 3 1/2 (with momentary lapses into employment here and there).

I never had that epiphany, but I did get to spend a lot of time with my kids...finally enough time that I could actually leave them now and then without feeling horribly guilty (overcoming my overcompensation for being a latchkey kid). 

I always said I'd go back to work full-time when they started first grade. It seemed reasonable enough, right? And yet somehow that day is now quickly approaching (in fact, it's two months from tomorrow) and I still don't want to go back to work full-time. I don't think it's pure laziness, either. It's feeling like there's no way in hell I can keep up with all the other stuff if I'm trapped in an office for 40 hours a week. 

I don't begrudge anyone for choosing to work full-time, mind you. Actually, I'm thinking that families where both parents work full-time deserve some sort of award if they still manage to keep their households and families intact. I know it can be done, I just don't want to do it. Not if I don't have to. Not yet.

And so, when my boss informed me last week that she would be able to bring me on full-time this fall, I fought the part of me that was screaming about being practical and paying off the credit card and I countered with an offer to work 30 hours a week, which will get me home in time to greet my boys as they get off the school bus in the afternoon. 

It's probably not the smartest financial or career move, but it's a happy medium. And it buys me some more time while I await that epiphany...it's coming, I just know it. 

Soccer Mom

I've been driving a minivan for nearly four years, but only yesterday did I become a real soccer mom. 

Yes, I signed the boys up for soccer. I'm trying to do my part to help them overcome their genetic predisposition for unathleticism. 

As with all group activities, I knew it would be a gamble. They played T-ball last summer and although they had fun, they also seemed to take turns having meltdowns at every game. Still, Aidan has been talking about wanting to play soccer for some time and I figured that it would be preferable to one of the more dangerous (and expensive) sports, like hockey or football. 

So we suited them up in their little YMCA jerseys and told them to listen and have fun, and off they went. The first half was just drills and they both did fine, although it took Owen an eternity to dribble the ball around the perimeter of the field, as he muttered "I need to focus!" to himself. 

Then it was time for the match. You know, because 30 minutes of practice seems like ample preparation for a group of 6 and 7 year olds who may or may not have ever played the game before. Aidan got his coveted position as goalie. Owen was a forward. 

And that is where the boys' experiences diverged. Aidan ate up the extra attention as goalie and didn't even seem to take it personally when the ball got past him. 

Owen, on the other hand, lost track of the ball and began to get agitated. Attempts to encourage him to go after the ball only made it worse, as he perceived us to be scolding him for not going after the ball, when he was still busy trying to make sense of the kids running past him in all directions. It was just too much.

To their credit, his coaches were patient, encouraging and even asked us if there was something they could do to make him feel better. I didn't play the autism card - it felt unnecessary. His coaches looked bewildered enough. Plus, the fact that he has autism doesn't make a fit in the middle of a soccer game less distracting for all of the other players. 

At one point, the coach came over to suggest that maybe chess would be a good game for him. She was kidding, but she's probably right. 

I felt bad for Owen because he was so frustrated with himself - we could see that he was struggling between absolutely hating the game and wishing he could play it. But I also felt bad for Aidan because while we were busy comforting Owen, he was still out there making some nice moves, and he needed our attention too. 

In the end, we left with one extremely happy and proud boy (Aidan ended up scoring a goal!) and one sad and frustrated boy who vowed to never play soccer again.

It would be really easy for me to say that I'm just not going to subject Owen to organized sports anymore. I could make that decision for him out of my intense desire to protect him from feeling scared or getting hurt. But I don't think that would be fair. It feels too much like letting the autism dictate what he can and can't do. If he decides he doesn't like sports, well, hey, he'll be in great company, but it's not my place to decide for him...even if it means I have to hurt right along side of him when things don't go well. 

So, next week we'll go back to soccer and maybe he'll play or maybe he won't. Either way, maybe he'll at least pick up enough knowledge of the sport to help him survive gym class. Here's hoping.

To Write

For those of you who aren't regular readers of Michael Ruhlman's blog, I recommend checking out his latest post. Usually he writes about food and cooking, but this one is about writing, or, more accurately, his stance that the term "writer's block" is really just an excuse for laziness. 

I think he's probably right - and I say that knowing that I am among the laziest of writers - although I don't know that I agree with his implication that choosing to write "The Making of a Chef" in the four months before his wife warned they would be completely broke (they had an infant and he had just graduated from chef school), was an act of superior self-discipline that should be commended. It sounds more like self-centered stubbornness to me and I don't think there are many mothers who would make the same choice in that situation. But, I digress...this wasn't meant to be a criticism of Michael Ruhlman - I actually like the piece. (Plus, obviously the whole thing worked out well for him and his family.)

It's not the first time I've heard the recommendation to set a daily word limit and make yourself meet it, even if what you write is crap. Perhaps it's the combination of hearing it again paired with him hitting the nerve of still being able to do it even with other pressures and responsibilities upon you, but this time I feel like it's something I could actually do. What will I write? Well, let's hope that reveals itself somewhere in those hundreds of words that I promise myself to produce, starting...soon. 

Sunshine on a Cloudy Day

It's been dark and stormy since last night (when my little Owen came crawling into bed with me because he hates lightning) and I have been sick with this chest cold/fever/crap since Wednesday, so this morning I took the kids to Edinborough Park, our local, gigantic, indoor playground. 

When the boys were two and a half, I took them to this same playground and ended up having a panic attack, as I was sure that I had lost Owen somewhere in the maze of nets and slides for eternity. (Note: The playground is enclosed to prevent escape, but this did not comfort me.) I don't know whether I was more scared that I really wasn't going to find him or that he would realize he was lost and end up crying, alone, traumatized for life by playground equipment, but it was gut-wrenching enough that I didn't take them back for a year. 

A year later it was only slightly better, as I grappled with either having to climb through the 37-foot-high monstrosity with the kids (not as fun as you might imagine), or hover at the bottom, biting my nails and hoping they would eventually emerge from one of the six million slides and tunnels. If the boys hadn't loved it so much (and if winter wasn't so long and depressing), I would have just sworn the whole thing off, but instead I kept going back for more, hoping I would get braver right along with the boys. 

During all of these visits, I silently cursed (and envied) the moms who were lounging around the perimeter, leisurely sipping coffee and reading books, seemingly unconcerned with the black hole-like qualities of this play structure.

Well, today, I got to be one of those moms! After remembering to stop at Starbucks on the way (there is nothing but overpriced vending machines in the play area) we arrived at the park. I told the boys to stay together, and they were off! And there I sat, sipping my carmel macchiato and reading my book, trying not to notice the throngs of parents anxiously searching for their children or, worse, yelling up at them, trying to get their attention from 30 feet away. 

I had to stop myself from snickering when the mother next to me turned and asked, "Excuse me, but where is the Starbucks?" as if there was a beacon of hope in this chaos. "I stopped on the way," I shrugged, as she dejectedly sipped her $2 bottle of diet cherry cola. 

And so, the park that I once feared and loathed has become my ally...a peaceful place...a solution to the conundrum of how to entertain children on a rainy day, without TV, while simultaneously being able to read several chapters of a book of my choosing.  

There are days when I miss when my boys were babies. And then there are days like these.

Panic at the nerd camp

The boys started science nerd camp today! To see all these little brainiacs arrive, carrying armloads of broken electronics, which they had lovingly stockpiled over the past year so that they would have more parts from which to realize the inventions of their little imaginations, filled my heart with joy. 

Plus, I knew my socially awkward children wouldn't have to worry about bullies. 

But, as with every new camp or class or lesson, came the dreaded question of "Do I tell them or not tell them?" about Owen's diagnosis. I've mentioned this question before, but it still remains an area of uncertainty for me. Take today...

We arrived at said nerd camp and met the boys' group leader, a maybe 18-year-old named Eddie. In this case, I'd already disclosed Owen's diagnosis on the many forms we were required to fill out in order to register him for camp, so I said to Eddie, "Maybe you already know this, but Owen has high-functioning autism." Honestly, I figured that in a science camp for gifted and talented kids, autism (or at least Asperger's) would be a familiar concept. 

The look of panic on Eddie's face suggested otherwise. Shit, I thought. Shouldn't have said anything. 

"He'll be fine," I continued. "All it means is that he gets spacey and might need some extra reminders - especially during lunch...I don't want him to run out of time and not eat." (This actually happened at a different camp last summer.) 

The color seemed to be draining out of Eddie's face. "He'll be fine," I repeated. "If he's not fine, you can call me," I offered, trying to make him feel better.

Well, apparently as I kissed the boys goodbye, Eddie had time to gather his thoughts, because on my way out, he came up to say, "I'll make sure he eats." Ok, good. Maybe next time I will just say he gets distracted during meal time and keep the autism out of it. 

It's not that I don't want people to know or that I'm trying to "pass him off" as typical, it's that I don't want people to freak out. Nothing about Owen requires any freaking out. 

And so I'm still left unsure about whether it's really worth it to tell people. Could a scenario arise in which knowing Owen has autism would help a person who clearly knows nothing about autism, help Owen? Or am I just setting him up to be treated differently unnecessarily? 

I don't know the answer to those questions. What I do know that both boys had a fabulous time at camp. I did, however, find a barely-eaten sandwich in the lunch box this afternoon...only this sandwich belonged to Aidan. 

One down, 39 to go

I mailed my Be the Match registration kit back today, which means that I can officially cross #40 off my 40 by 40 list! (Coincidentally, our friend's daughter came home from the hospital today, as she is thankfully responding well to chemo.) If you're interested in joining too, remember you still have until June 22 to join for FREE!

What to do next? Well, obviously there's Hawaii (#4), which I fully intend to book this summer for travel this winter, although we won't be there over Christmas (#32)...I think we'll have to spend the following Christmas in Key West, eating key lime pie (#25). I was thinking that if I sent everyone a postcard from Key West, that could count as the year that I gave everyone homemade gifts (#24), but my husband informed me that unless I make the postcards, it won't count. So much for killing three birds with one stone. 

Perhaps I should start planning my Thanksgiving trip to Las Vegas (#3 and #16), where I'm pretty sure I could also accomplish #17...

Morimoto, we're expecting your call

First I pleaded for your votes, then I bitched about the management of the contest, and now I'm here to tell you that we finally have some closure on Welch's Ultimate PB&J Challenge.

Today (4 months after entering), we got a letter informing us that we didn't win. It told us that the winning video had been posted at Welchs.com, along with "some of Welch's favorite video submissions." Turns out that includes us!

So, you know, next time you're browsing the Welch's site for the latest jelly news, check out our video (again). You have to scroll three over from the winner to see ours, so the boys have dubbed us the 4th place winners. (I adore their positive spin.)

Please note: The Welch's team chose the shot of my awesome plating as the thumbnail. I might have gone with the adorable children but, you know, the way I smeared that jelly on the plate was pretty artistic.

Thanks again to everyone who voted! Better luck next time.