Facebook and Amish people and Sad Clowns? BEST POST EVAH!

This morning, I went counterculture and practically Amish, my mo-fos. 

I deactivated my Facebook account.

"Wunderful-gut."  (Amish people say "wonderful good" when they are happy.  Not that I hang around with Amish people or stare at them when I drive around their buggy on back roads or buy their delectable lard cookies.  You know, they might be Mennonite.) 

I'd like to say I did it for some amazingly noble/ethical/nanny nanny boo-boo reason, but the truth is it just pissed me off.  I would read the status feeds on my homepage and just get worked up about something on there. 

*sigh*  Okay.  I'll admit the truth:  I get angry, then jealous, skip sad, and go straight to full-out depressed. 

A normal person would just not check Facebook that much, but HELLO?  I'm Jaci.  I'm an emotional cutter.  And emotional eater.  I'm just a sad in the pants clown with a hard, cynical shell.

My mom decorated my bedroom with pictures like this when I was three.  Everyone in the family gave me sad clown stuff until I was TEN.  I remember a figurine that had a broken suspender and a handful of juggling balls--frozen in helpless misery.  I would pluck at his suspender and cry...  And you wonder why I'm weird?

I'm online a lot when I'm stuck playing Forbidden Things Monitor during Elodie's awake time.  (She screams if I get up, so...there I sit.)  I check Facebook often, and reading about trips to Hawaii or Bangkok didn't make Floor Duty any easier.  But oddly enough, they weren't the most upsetting...

I was irate over the normal, day-to-day updates of the mundane.  The joy of drying sheets outside...typing out lisped kidisms...turning a global tragedy into a life-lesson for feeling "content"...weight loss updates..."My husband is awesome!" remarks...  I was blocking people left and right, then pouting in the corner wondering what was wrong with me.  Why can't I find bliss in my laundry???  I am the only fat slob not on a diet!!!  Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then he is heard no more; it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.     

Freakin' eh.

I don't want to know the thoughts of everyone I've ever come in contact with, because knowing all that just makes me...DISLIKE THEM.  It's makes me want to brush the dirt off my shoulders and move to a new place with new people--and since that's not going to happen--I hole up in my house and seethe. 

It reminds me of 1998 when I would catch rides home from high school with my (former, pre-8th grade) BFF Joy.  Joy was popular and a size 3 and never without a boyfriend--I was like Daria.

There we are, riding home together.

She was the queen of High School; I slinked down the halls like I was serving a prison sentence.  After a ride home with her, I'd spend the rest of the evening in my room blaring angry music and wondering how two roads diverged so severely in the middle school woods.  F.M.L.!!!

So, Facebook is gone.  I'm too immature and jealous to handle it.

Whaw-whaw-whaaaaaw. 

The End is Near! Repent!

Kevin's job came with a huge perk:  50% off tuition at Pitt for himself...

...his children... 

...and his spouse.

Hells yeah, internets!  I'm going back to school!

(Fall 2012 - when the world is supposed to end.)

I already have 3 years in as a History major.  (Translation: useless degree)  The old plan--pre kids--was to become a lawyer.   

That ship has sailed.

Now I'm trying to figure out what to finish up in.  Pitt is amazingly practical and does not require two years of foreign language for History majors (unlike the evil hag Akron U).  So, I'm really, really tempted to go to Pitt for one blissful year racking up credits toward a fun minor (fictional writing, anyone?) and skating out with a BS in History.

Because at Pitt (unlike the evil hag Akron U) my useless major is ready to go on my useless degree. 

Or should I do the uber responsible thing and work on a second, marketable major.  (Like Accounting.)  I have no real love for math and numbers and anal retentive columns, but I can do it.  It would take 2 1/2 years to finish, but it would probably pay more than whatever odd job I'd scrounge up with my fun degree.  

(Opinions on this decision are welcome.)

((Let me rephrase that:  RESPECTFUL opinions on this decision are welcome.))

Not Feeling the Zumba Love

I tried Jazzercise Zumba last night.  It's fun...I guess?  I don't know.  I'm conflicted about it.

The instructors were ah-mazing--they totally looked like video hoes!  It was almost worth the $5 just to watch them dance.  The rest of us?  Ew.  We bumbled along, awkwardly thrusting and grinding and tripping over ourselves.  I swear I flashed back to 7th grade cheerleading try-outs. 

*shudder*

Latin music?  Meh.  It's not me.  Salsa moves and snappy footwork make me feel ridiculous, not hawt.  Especially when the instructors are just going for it (without directions) and the rest of us are standing there confused, sometimes sticking a foot or arm out but mostly just swaying self-consciously and muttering "What the hell?"

Hip-hop?  Hells yeah!  I can grind and drop it low.  Mmm-hmmm.  But...uh...I need a guy.  And a beer bottle in one hand.  And a sweaty make-out session.  So when a "normal" song came on (sorry, I have no love for the salsa crap) I missed Kevin and thought, "We should go out this weekend!" 

(Bwahahahaha!  Yeah right.) 

It was fun--I mean, as far as workouts go.  (It beats jogging on a treadmill.  Again.)  I might take a couple classes here and there to shake things up, but I'm not going to be one of those people with a fanatical gleam in my eye and My Spot!  THAT'S MY SPOT DAMN IT!!!  I'VE BEEN COMING SINCE AUGUST AND I ALWAYS STAND RIGHT HERE! 

And despite the club music and FUN! THIS IS FUN, RIGHT?!? vibe, I couldn't help but remember that I was in a room full of sweaty, middle-aged white women and we were all adding yet another exercise fad to our belt.

I think I'll stick to workouts in my basement.  (I need to be near the damn washing machine or laundry will never get done.)  Besides, aren't there a bazillion dance-themed workout DVD's out there?  I need to add a hip-hop one to my growing collection of never-used good intentions...


 

The Mommy Mystique

"Should I work?"  "Is my place 'in the home'?"  "Being in the home stifles me...is that just woman's lot in life?  Suck it up?"  "But how will my choice look to my daughters?"  "What example am I setting as a modern woman/mom/human being?" 

Angela as a 30 year old mom is...me.  Ugh.  Pathetic.  Someone give me a granny skirt and a grungy flannel.

I'm full o' the angst.  For over six years I've struggled to find peace with my choice to stay home/work and trying to find some balance between motherhood and...just being Jaci.  I'm so tired of it.

Kevin looks at me like I am making a big deal out of nothing.  "If you want to work, go to work.  If you don't, that's okay with me."  Ummmm.  Yeah.  Thanks for the I'll-support-you-whatever-you-do attitude, but that's not the answer I'm looking for.

I don't think he gets it because fatherhood hasn't rocked him to the core of his identity and given him endless options on ways to combine the personal and the professional.  After a two week paternity leave it was back to the only option he has--career path.  He can't relate to my nail-chewing and search for "Who am I and how do I combine all this into a fulfilling life?"  He retained who he was and simply added "Dad" to the long list of letters trailing his last name.

(There are no letters trailing my last name--er, actually, his last name.  Wait...)

It doesn't help that Motherhood has become so charged in our culture.  It feels like SAHM has been elevated to some goddess level.  Listen to any conversations about this and you'll hear plenty of working women say, "Oh, they have my respect!  I don't know how they do it!" and SAHM's declaring that they are doing "the hardest job there is".  Today, the ideal Mom is part Martha Stewart, part fun-loving babysitter, all "My Life IS My Kids".

"Look, Mikey!  Mom's high!  Let's steal her wallet and wait for the ice cream truck."  

 
Even more disturbing, working moms are supposed to long for the financial freedom to be at home.  If you're working, you better have a good reason for it (like paying the bills).  Women who stand up and say, "I can afford to stay home, but I like working," are given the stink eye and are accused of not loving their children enough.

Search Google Images for "working mom".  All the pictures have a mom staring at a computer while the baby either smacks the keys for attention...or just dangles as an appendage.

Betty Friedan identified The Feminine Mystique of the 1950's housewife:  feeling lifeless and trapped in society's stifling ideal of what a woman/wife/mother should be.  I just read the book and--it's still apt.  (APT, I say!)  I checked it out because it was mentioned in Mad Men and I'm relating way too much to Betty Draper.

Scary.

That led to a quick jaunt through all three waves of feminism to "catch up" on where We Women are.  (My mind is goo right now because BIG WORDS!  BIG IDEAS!  I've spent the last six years only using my mind to figure out which Wiggle I'd do if someone put a gun to my head.)

Oh, wow.  Uhhh...maybe blue?  Wait.  Let me see the gun again.  Will death be instant?  'Cause that's a factor here. 

It helped.  I'm seeing the arguments for staying home vs. working as more than just a personal issue, and it's nice to read an educated opinion without all the PC mouthings of "Whatever you decide to do, that's okay!" because that's not an answer.  At least, not to me.  I don't want to be patted on my head and told, "You're good enough, you're smart enough, and doggonit, people like you!"  I want a little more truth (and thought) than that.

I found opinions saying that SAHMs are "opting out" of society and running back to the safety of home to bake bread, homeschool, and dig even further into that 1950's model our grandmother's stifled under (Pioneer Woman?) while others upheld the right to stay home or work as one of the biggest victories to come out of Feminism...there is no clearly defined mold that we have to squish ourselves into.  I read a lot things that made me mad, made me laugh, or just made me think.

In the end, I think working vs. SAHM boils down to one basic question:  "What's your motive?"  Not the excuses/reasons/issues we hand society to explain how we're spending 40 hours of our week--I mean the real motives you only admit to yourself.   

I had to lay myself open and honestly ask, "Jaci, did you opt out?  Did you grab a SAHM ticket to escape your crappy j.o.b.?"  Yes, internets.  Yes, I did.  In 2005 when I said to Kevin, "Let's try for a baby!" I was absolutely miserable as a bored no-longer-newlywed stuck in Retail Hell.  Finishing college wasn't an option at that time...but having a baby was.  So I grabbed the only escape cord dangling in front of me.

No regrets!  I love my daughter, and I gave myself over to my new career as her sun and moon and stars while the universe laughed at me and said, "Ha!  You still have to work part-time retail to pay the bills!  SUCK ON THAT!"  So, yeah.  Kind of shot myself in the foot with that one.

Then the MIL moved to town in 2008 and a whole realm of possibilities opened before me.  A babysitter?!?  A job?!?  Maybe even school?!?  A real career?  I was so overwhelmed I was shaking and puking on the carpet like a nervous chihuahua.  I had put all those old dreams away, you know?  I locked them up and focused on my baby because it was too painful to remember that one last, final year of my Bachelors was always just out of reach.  Now the universe was saying, "You want it?  It's yours," and I didn't know what to do with that.

What do I do with that?  It's such a weighted choice now.  I'm not 19, fresh faced and dreaming only of myself!  I'm a 30 year old Mom who has to choose to invest the family finances into herself to maybe, just maybe, return an investment in a career that's going to profit everyone.  What major do I finish in?  What career will have the most child-friendly hours yet still be fulfilling for me?  Should I even bother with school or just find a decent office job?  Am I just being a selfish cow?  What if I'm stupid now and can't keep up with the classes?

Then the nightmares start...those ridiculous dreams where I haven't gone to class and I don't know where class is but there is a test and SHIT I'm going to fail.  And Kevin gets in my face and wants to know what major I'm going to finish with and "Are you SURE that's what you want to do?" and I say yes, no, I don't know, GAWD, I WASN'T AROUND TO SECOND GUESS YOU WHEN YOU GOT YOUR MASTERS SO BACK OFF.

Then I do nothing but putz along in my current state of part-time everything and cry when census forms come and I check Highest Education Completed:  High School while Kevin checks Post Graduate. 

So what's my motivation NOW?  Well, I'm not "opting out" anymore.  I want my own career because I'm not satisfied by motherhood alone.  And I realize that the work I'm doing right now--as Mom--is not something any illiterate moron with a vacuum cleaner and a handful of baby butt wipes could pull off.  It's important work!  And I'm never going to be able to shrug it off or hire it out, even if I manage to one-up Kevin with the letters trailing my name. 

I have to be Mom, and I have to be Me.  Duality.  Balance.  All that jazz.

So.  For the first time in six years, I'm at peace with my motherhood.  I'm not wrestling with the ridiculous Mommy Mystique found on every page of Redbook...and every channel of cable...and every film with a Mom role...and internet message boards where women bash each other...and even the Mommy blogs.

I know myself.  I know my motivations.  I finally figured it out.

Oh, You'll Get Socialized (and other milestones)

Did I tell you that Elodie is a butt scooter, not a crawler?  It's totally hilarious and never fails to entertain me. I want to buy a video camera just to capture it, because...we don't own a video camera.  I know.  Parenting FAIL.

And Elizabeth...enrolled for Kindergaaaaaarrrrrten!

Oprah's screaming it and I'm being slain by the Spirit in the aisle of Harpo Sudio.

Oh joy!  Rapture!  Non-sarcastic squees!  Even Elodie is butt scooting toward Elizabeth's forbidden Polly Pocket crap in pure excitement. 

Elizabeth needs school.  She needs the routine of "Today, I'm am going here for 3 hours.  I will do x, y, and z.  I will see a, b, and c and they will all play with me.  Today will be exactly the same as yesterday."  She thrives on that, not my schedule of "Uhhh...I work today so get dressed you're going to Grandma's," followed by "Why are you up and dressed at 6 am?!?  We're not going anywhere! I'm off!"  And since her little friends all go to preschool (yes, ALL) she's an isolated, bored, spastic mess.

Wait...that sounds familiar...

Ravings of a Mad Housewife circa 2008.  I was so bored, I took this picture of myself during Elizabeth's nap time and used it as my avatar.  Then I read Gone With the Wind out loud and cut all the vegetables for that night's roast on a BIAS.  It was too much excitement for one day.

Anyway.  Before last week's Kindergarten Orientation I was totally beating myself up for not putting her in preschool.  Not because of the whole "socialization" crap...

Janis: Why didn't they just keep home schooling you?
Cady: They wanted me to get socialized.
Damian: Oh, you'll get socialized all right, a little slice like you.

...but because I was afraid she'd be behind.  I mean, those preschool kids probably come out READING for cripes sake.  What else could they be doing all day?


Ummm...not reading.  The kindergarten curriculum looks exactly like the curriculum Primarily Kids Preschool was trying to sell me when Elizabeth was 2 1/2.  Writing her name.  Pre-reading.  Story time.  Sharing Time.  Learning "math" by using a calendar and charting the weather. 

I sat there and wanted to scream out, "Wait!  So Kindergarten is just...free preschool?"  Yes, Jaci.  Yes it is.  Now stop beating yourself up for teaching her the alphabet at home with kindergarten worksheets purchased from Sam's Club for $15.  She will be fine.

Now, back to Elodie butt scooting across the carpet.  Ha!  Classic.

I hear "Are you okay?" a lot. It's starting to disturb me.

People don't get me.  My ideas/opinions/thoughts/jokes/sarcasm are all wrong and when I voice it, I get the look.  And I sit there and think, "Srsly?  SRSLY.  I'm the only one who thinks this?  Mmmhmm.  Whateva."  Then I get kind of scared and wonder if  I'm just surround by un-like-minded people (just made that word up) or if I'm just un-minded (bonus--there's another).  What if I really am the only one who think this? 

I'm calling people who don't get me Beige.  Beige cars, beige clothes, beige walls in their cookie cutter beige houses, beige ideas, beige conformity, beige family pictures with everyone in beige on a BEIGE SANDY BEACH GAAAAHHHH!  

Traditional.  Conservative.  Status Quo.    

I envy beige.  Beige looks...serene and happy and conformist and "good enough".  Beige is warm and comfortable.  Beige is content.  I want Beige.  I chase Beige down like he's my high school boyfriend--I know he's an asshole and we don't work, but he's all I've ever known and I think I need him.

I don't like feeling outside the box.  It makes me sad in my pants--and angry--then back to sad--then I eat Reese Peanut Butter Cups and surround myself with a hundred crinkled wrappers because Woe! I cannot be Beige and just fit in.  I can't even fake it.  (Obviously.  Everyone keeps asking me what's wrong.)

Wow. Even they are beige.

Maybe because I look beige, people expect me to follow through with that?  And they get weirded out by my bait and switch?  Maybe if I had pink streaks in my hair and a sleeve tattoo, all the Beige's in my life would smile indulgently and say, "She's a little kooky!  Wait, let me get my Sense of Humor out before I talk to her...just...let me...get this stick out of my ass...there!  I'm ready."

I'm kind of like this guy:

But society wants me to be this woman:

And the only way I can combine the two is through humor and sarcasm and spells of cynicism.  And yes, sometimes I'm a little pissed off because I'm in a hard season of my life (2 kids under 5, remember?) and my days are long and monotonous and I feel like a Mom-Flop because I don't have cutesy printed tissues in my purse to wipe the snot off my baby's face and I forgot to pack a bottle and why am I overwhelmed by this and weeviling my nails to bloody stumps while other moms are pulling snacks out of their coordinated bags and how did I get here?!?

It's hard to control my face (apparently) and sometimes that anger and disgust flashes across and people ask me if I'm okay...

Yes.  I am okay.  I'm just not Beige, and it's bothering me.