I quit my downtown job; I traded in my “Director” title for a “Regular Joe” title with no management responsibilities and about $30K less a year.  Why would I start over willingly?  The list is long.  It’s close to home (10 minute car ride compared to 75 minute public transit commute,) it’s a condensed work week (four 9.25 hour days compared to five 9 hour days,) it’s in an industry I can be passionate about (non-profit with the aim to provide the disabled the possibility to live with dignity compared to big business with the goal of lining the owners pockets,) and I hope, hope, hope I will be valued.

I was promoted into a management position in my former company three years ago for what I thought was the opportunity to create some great operational policies and procedures.  I expected to be making a difference and my ultimate goal was to increase our retention and employee satisfaction.  It took me a time to realize that wasn’t what the owners had in mind.  They wanted a classic middle-manager to simply tell the troops the bad news when there was bad news and there was lots of bad news.

I want my children to be proud of me.  I want them to tell their friends what I do and where I work makes a difference.  This was not possible where I was.  I don’t know when it happened but I came to realize that the only way to make a difference was to leave and give another organization, a more deserving organization, my energy, time, skills and loyalty.

So, I started looking for the ideal opportunity and I just may have found it.  I sit here on the cusp of beginning the next chapter in my career all the hope and anticipation swirling in my brain.  I look ahead to the opportunity to make a fresh start and to make an impact.  It’s a great place to be.

I only hope that the flaws of the organization (there are always flaws) take their time in appearing and I hope that they aren’t so immense as to make the surrender of my “Director” title and the loss of a good chunk of wage the biggest mistake of my career.  But I won’t think of that now.  Today I’ll think of the possibilities and the potential and the extra time I’ll get with my kids.

A very wise parent once said “The days are long but the years are short.”  Well, the past year went as quick I could have ever imagined and yet was filled to the brim with everything I could have dreamt.  I wanted the year to be busy and full of special moments and great memories; and it was.  When I close my eyes I’m back at the water park with the sun shining on my face and the sound of my son’s peals of laughter.  Or we’re at the playground, or the pool, or the aquarium or just sitting on the floor in my living room playing with toy animals.

I suppose I could be happy to hold those memories with me (a part of me does) but of course I do not feel happy.  I feel dreadful and miserable.  I return to work in two days and I feel totally defeated.  I am an emotional nightmare.

I wanted so badly to stay home with my kids and work on the side.  I tried desperately to make a go of my writing business and I came close – but not close enough.  I have some traction and am getting some great jobs, but it takes a while to get going and I’ve run out of time.  So, on Monday I will get dressed in a suit for the first time in about 370 days and go to work.  I don’t quite know how I’m going to pull it off without sobbing my way through the day. 

I haven’t given up entirely, I plan on continuing to write but it will be hard.  My job requires me to continue education so my list of responsibilities will be long; work, school, exercise, socialize with friends and extended family, my husband, my children and somewhere in there continue with this business that I’ve just started.  I am up for the challenge because I know it’s all about priorities and taking one day at a time. 

Today I’m focused on making it through Monday and when Monday ends I’ll try to make it through Tuesday.  I’m going to look for the good moments in each day and keep my ultimate goal of working from home at the front of my mind.  But the biggest priority, or course, is to do my best to always ensure that my kids and my husband know that they do come first and how deeply I love them. 

I just about killed myself roughly an hour ago.  I raced to cross a major six lane thoroughfare when I should have stopped and waited to cross when it was safer.  You know what you are doing is pretty darn stupid when you hold the wheel and brace yourself for impact.  I could see cars beginning to move but I had already made the decision in my head that I was going and for some reason I didn’t change my mind – like a madwoman I just kept going.

I did this on the heels of a conversation that I had just had with my husband about how women can be subpar drivers (men too, but our discussion was regarding the female persuasion).  Now, I am very much about equality and I don’t say things like that very often about my sisters but its true.  Women generally are not assertive drivers.  They often lack confidence and that can be either totally irritating if you are waiting behind a passive ninny or dangerous if they second guess a manoeuvre mid way through. 

Perhaps subconsciously I was trying to be assertive to prove that I wasn’t a passive ninny or perhaps I was given to a momentary second of craziness.  Whatever the reason, I went for it.  I floored my decade old minivan and streaked across the intersection, to the sound of my engine roaring and horns blaring.  Phew; I made it.  I immediately started thanking my lucky stars that my husband wasn’t in the van with me to witness my unwise, rash decision to put my life on the line.  I’m also brutally aware of how lucky I am that my kids weren’t in the van with me along for such a foolish ride.

After that I drove like a passive ninny the rest of the way home.

I have re-started on my quest to lose my baby weight.  I had gained about 38 pounds with this second pregnancy.  I gained 45 pounds the first time and ended up losing 57 by the time I became pregnant the second time.  I did it with a lot of hard, hard work and learning to resist temptation.  I put an absolute ban on all things bad for you at work and allowed myself to indulge only at home and only in portion controlled amounts.  If I wanted chips I would buy an individual sized bag of baked ones.  If I wanted ice cream I bought a skinny cow ice cream sandwich for 100 calories.  You get the idea.

With my first baby I lost 20 pounds of weight in the first couple weeks of his birth and the rest lingered for months.  I wasn’t trying too, too hard, but I was walking lots and lots and lots – it just wasn’t enough.  So, when my son was 8 months old and I headed back to work I was determined to shed the weight once and for all.  It took me about four months to lose over 35 pounds.  I felt great.  I was right where I wanted to be and very proud of myself.  About one month later I became pregnant and the only thing I could tolerate the first few months was peanut butter and toast, so that’s what I ate and ate and ate.  I gained 5 pounds right away and the rest just piled on over the course of the pregnancy.  However, I kept telling myself “I lost it before I can lose it again.”  But I forgot to tell myself how hard it is to do!

I say I re-started losing weight because when my baby was just three months old I began dieting and walking vigorously to try to lose some weight.  I felt pretty disgusted with the way I looked.  After my first pregnancy, even though I had gained weight, my tummy still remained relatively flat; not so this time around.  My belly is jiggly and wiggly and I struggle to accept that it’s my body.  The problem was that at just three months post-partum it was too soon to restrict calories like that and unbeknownst to me, until it was too late, my milk supply had dwindled and my poor little girl was not getting what she needed.  In fact, she ended up losing weight; over one kilogram in less than two weeks at one point.  This statement is very hard to write; I still struggle with what I did to her. 

I feel terrible that for vanity I was starving my baby.  But I need to move on from that.  I didn’t know and if I did I would have eaten a chocolate cake everyday and gained 35 more pounds just to keep her healthy.

What I did do was stop dieting, limit my exercise and really I went back to eating whatever I wanted.  So, the 12 pounds I had lost when she was only a few months old slipped back on over the past six months.  Now she’s mostly on solids and my milk supply is healthy but supplemented so I feel comfortable trying again. 

When I started dieting about three weeks ago I wanted to lose 27 pounds.  The first week I was dieting I came down with a terrible bug and lost seven pounds.  I wouldn’t ask to go through it again because juggling two kids and the flu is no easy feat, but I am glad those seven pounds are out of life.  Today, I have exactly 20 pounds to go.  I’ve given myself until my husband’s birthday at the end of April but secretly I’d like it gone in ten weeks – or by my daughter’s first birthday at the end of March.

Wish me luck and I’ll keep you posted!

As I sat down to write this post today I was certain I was going to speak about making cookies with my son this morning – we had a tonne of fun and that was top of mind but as I sit here I realize that saying I made cookies with my son this morning and it was a tonne of fun kinda covers it.  So, instead here are some new year’s resolutions that having been playing around in my mind:

Save more water – take more showers with the kids or climb into the bath with them more often – it really is a bucketful of fun!

Save more money – I suppose saving water will help with this but my husband and I are also going to focus on getting our house more eco-friendly.  We installed a programmable thermostat last year and we recently had the furnace serviced, the ducts clean and the dryer vent cleaned.  Last weekend we wrapped all the windows with plastic wrap and have already noticed a difference with not only warmth but condensation – hopefully the $11 that this cost us will comeback tenfold.  Next we plan on adding more insulation and replacing the one-pane windows with two.  We are also going to insulate all the electrical sockets.  I’m also going to buy closable vents for the kitchen and my office for the times when we aren’t in those areas (they are already in the basement and work very well.)

Save more time – I never have enough of this resource.  I’ve decided to save time by saying no.  I’m going to say no when they ask me to manage the daycare festival – but I’ll be happy to make some baking instead.  I’m going to say no when they ask me to organize the walk to fight breast cancer at work – but I’ll be happy to raise money and participate on the day of.  I’m also going to say no when my mother asks if they can stay for a couple days again this month (a couple days usually turns into 11 or 12 out of every month where I basically cater to them while they sit on the couch and talk about how nice and relaxed my home is) – but I’ll be happy to have them come for two days every quarter and send them lots of digital pictures in the mean time.

Save more energy – Honestly, I have yet to figure out how to work this one into my 2010.  Does anyone have any ways that they are saving energy this year?

My kids started daycare this month.  We found a great group childcare centre that’s nice and close to home, has outgoing, energetic but grounded teachers and a warm welcoming feel.  What more could I ask for?  A cheaper price.  Well, the price is steep, but the rate is actually the norm.  $1,000 per month for my baby and $750 per month for my pre-schooler (oh man is he really a pre-schooler already???) making our monthly daycare payment higher than our mortgage.  Ridiculous.

I was chatting with a Program Director for the Vancouver chapter of the Child Care Resource and Referral Centre and she made a comment that made my jaw hit the ground.  She said “You’ll spend more on childcare per child than you will on university per child.”  What?  “No way,” I thought, but when I did the math – she’s right.  At least with post-secondary education I’ll be able to contribute to an RESP over time to pay for it.  I didn’t start saving for our children’s daycare fees when I was 12 years old so we scrap it together month by month.  My husband and I are totally 100% middle class so if we struggle (and we do) I wonder how lower income families survive.

Not for a second do I think that the cost of daycare isn’t worth paying for.  I need to ensure that my children are cared for with the highest devotion and I am willing to pay for it.  But it is too costly.  In the end the people who do care for my kids aren’t paid enough.  They make $14 - $16 per hour.  When was the last time someone who makes $28K a year was able to get ahead? Add this to the fact that it has been shown that 85% of the operating costs of any daycare centre go to staff wages and what you end up with is outrageous fees for parents, underpaid staff and daycare centres that are barely able to buy new toys year after year.

Okay, so there’s the problem.  What is the solution?  I’m not certain but it does involve government intervention.  We need subsidies (greater than those minimal ones in place right now) or we need longer parental leave.  With subsidies you’d have a whole bunch of people (mostly women) back in the work force that could take their paycheques home to spend locally thus generating a stronger economy (stimulus package not required) and with longer parental leave you have more spaces available, the long-term cost to the parent is less and therefore the quality of care will rise.  This is because the child will be home with a loving nurturing parent longer.

Makes sense to me…

Can I brag about my family?  I really don’t do it often enough.  I have two great kids and an awesome husband and I sometimes downplay that.  I don’t want to appear boastful.  But why not?  My husband and kids deserve to be highlighted every now and again.

My beautiful daughter is such a happy baby.  She is so very complacent and content most of the time.  When she cries, I know I need to respond immediately because it is so rare.  I know she must really need something.  She sleeps though the night (she was sleeping 13 hours at 8 weeks) and falls asleep for her naps without a fuss.  Her laugh is one of the sweetest sounds I’ve ever heard.  It truly is infectious.  When I look into her striking blue eyes I wonder what is going on in her head; it seems that she is always thinking very hard about something terribly important.  Is it too early to say that I think she is smart?  No? Then, I think she is smart, smarter than the average eight month old anyway.  I miss her when she sleeps longer than usual.  Her brother usually takes a good long nap in the afternoon and that gives us an opportunity to hang out together and when her naps run longer than usual, I get anxious for her to wake so we can spend some time together.  I look forward to watching her grow up.  She already seems so curious (reaching and reaching and reaching for something that she wants to check out so very badly) I can’t wait to see where that curiosity leads her.  I’m looking forward to the ride.

My treasured son is so very, very intelligent.  He is only just 30 months and knows every letter of the alphabet.  He also cracks me up.  He is one of the funniest people I know.  He loves to dance and sing.  Any music will move him, but his particular favourites are dance (especially the 80’s retro stuff) and the theme from Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.  Obviously his tastes are diverse and eclectic.  He also loves to swim.  He has been jumping into the water all on his own for months, screaming with laughter every time.  He also loves to throw rings to the bottom of the pool and while he’s not quite diving down to grab them he certainly puts his mouth and nose under to get to them.  His excitement at bringing each to the top is infectious.  Right now I think his favourite thing to do is mimic every word I say.  This morning when I kissed him hello I said “Your skin is dry” for hours this morning I heard that sentence over and over in his sweet little boy voice.  My favourite interaction with him has to be what we call “Yes I ok.”  He will cough or sneeze or bump into something and if we don’t ask “Are you ok?” the moment it happens he will repeat “Are you ok” until we do.  When we do ask “Are you ok?” he says “Yes. I ok.”  I melt every time.  The road with a two year is not easy but I love every second we spend together the good and the demanding.

And last – but never least, my sensational husband is pretty much unbelievable.  He truly is my partner.  We parent together.  I came down with the flu and was flat in bed for two days.  Not for one second was I worried about the kids or did I have to tell where something was or how to do this or that.  He knew the kids schedules, what to feed and how.  He put them down for naps and bathed them and the days went without a hitch.  That’s equality.  He is also my partner in life.  I know he will always have my back.  He gets quite mad when he deems I haven’t been treated properly – whether it’s at my work or perhaps by a friend – he gets very incensed.   He tells me all the time how much he appreciates what I do around the house and how beautiful I am.  I am carrying extra baby weight still and feel pretty low about it.  The other day I said to him if we lived in a different era where Rubenesque women were deemed attractive I’d look great.   He didn’t miss a beat and said “You do look great.”  And the funny thing is he isn’t just saying that.  I think he thinks I’m still hot.  I know without thinking about it how much he loves me.  He tells me all the time, but more than that he shows me all the time.

I’m pretty lucky.  I should say it out loud more often.

I took part in a walk to save Midwifery this morning.  I’m not a crusader.  I pretty much belong to the school of passivism and therefore this is my first rally.  Obviously, it’s something I feel strongly about.

The school of Midwifery at UBC is facing a funding review and if that review isn’t complete in time the program will be cancelled effective this fall.  I think that is outrageous.  First of all this program is the only of its kind in the west. (So, we need this program)  Secondly, 5,000 women in BC gave birth using a midwife last year and that number increases every year. (So, we need more midwives)  Thirdly, this costs the government about 600,000 per year to run the program. (Peanuts, well not peanuts, but minimal compared to say the Olympics.)

I feel quite strongly that women and their families need to have choice.  And by limiting the number of midwives, you are limiting our choices.  The government needs the population to procreate at a rate of 2.1 (so each current Canadian needs to produce 1.05 children) in order for our society, country and economy to remain stable.  That’s just stable – in order to flourish and thrive we need over a million babies born each year. Last year in BC there were about 45,000.  When the rate drops below 2.1, like now where we are sitting at about 1.5, immigration is where we fill the gap.  I wish I knew the stats for sure – but I do know that it costs our government a heck of a lot more to have a new Canadian immigrate to Canada that to have one be born here.

The government should be doing everything they can to help families have babies.  If you live in BC write your MLA and lend your assistance to this issue.

To find your MLA’s contact info: http://www.leg.bc.ca/Mla/3-1-1.htm 

So, it looks like I’ll be going back to work in March.  Full-time.  Downtown. Commuting 14 hours a week.  The kids are enrolled in daycare.  In order to secure spots I have to enrol them part-time starting next week.  The promotion I was promised has come through but not at the compensation that makes this exciting.  The compensation is fair but it doesn’t knock my socks off.  It certainly doesn’t make me want to hand my kids over to veritable strangers for care 9.5 hours a day Monday to Friday. I feel pretty damn defeated.

The bottom line here is that I have to work.  I don’t want to, I need to.  This, to put it as eloquently as I can muster right now, really sucks.  I love my kids but more than that I love being with my kids.  I have friends who are glad to go off to their jobs and take a break from their wee ones for the day.  As they put it – they just aren’t cut out to be SAHMs.  I am.  I am cut out to be my kid’s Mom full-time.  I am also cut out to be a writer.  I love writing. I love trying to sell articles and I love the thrill of getting an acceptance call or e-mail.  There haven’t been many, but there have been enough to get me going. I know I can do this.  I know I can write and make some kind of living at it.  I also know what I can make at it isn’t enough.  Even if the kids weren’t in daycare at all and I worked seven nights a week writing and trying to sell articles I wouldn’t make enough to cover our expenses.  My husband and I have run the numbers 10 times in the last month and it just won’t be enough.  Yet.

I want desperately to wallow in self-pity.  Woe is me – I have to leave my kids and I don’t want to.  The temper tantrum my body and my mind want to have would rival that of my two year old when I tell him no and he throws himself on the ground in Superstore.  I’d like to throw myself on the ground screaming and sobbing.  But I can’t.  I’m the adult and I am the professional business woman.  So, instead I’ll dust off my suits and squeeze into one of them and put one foot in front of the other and head off to my big downtown job every day.  And I’ll miss my kids desperately and I will cry on my husband’s shoulder whenever I feel like it but in the end I’ll leave them at daycare and go to work.

But I will not stop trying.  I will find a way to put in 50+ hour weeks at work plus commute time and still spend time with my kids and my husband and my friends and even my dog not to mention exercise and on top of all that I will write.  I will continue to sell articles.  I will continue to build my business to the point where my dream becomes a goal; an achievable, doable goal.  One day I will stay home with my kids and I will write for a living.  I have to believe this to be the truth.  I have to or I’d be forced to throw myself on the ground and cry like a two-year-old.

If I had to choose my least favourite month, I would easily say November.  I enjoy warm weather and hot weather and that month is too far away from the next spring and summer also the warm sunny days of fall disappear with November when the Vancouver rain socks you in and the days are dark and short.  I have always thought the song Cold November Rain was appropriate for Vancouver. September is one of my favourite months.  The weather is warm and the days are still long but the craziness of summer has passed and life comes a bit more slowly.  Summer isn’t a tucked away memory; it is right there top of mind.  October is also beautiful with the sun continuing to shine nearly every day.  Each year I expect the weather to turn in October and each year I’m pleased with how long the rain holds off. 

Today dawned grey and wet.  I glanced at the calendar.  I have one week of October left but you wouldn’t know it for looking outside.   My kids and I had plans to hit the family drop-in centre up the road, I figured with the rain I’d better drive.  As we were getting ready to head out I glanced out the window again.  It was coming down in sheets, hitting the sidewalk out front of our house and bouncing back up again.  I can’t imagine it raining any harder than it was.  So, I’m not sure why it struck me to walk to the drop-in but that’s what I decided.  I started bundling up the kids in rain gear and a waterproof stroller cover.  I grabbed my rubber boots and slicker and we set off. 

As we set off down the street I held my son’s little two-year-old hand tightly in mine.  As we approached a particularly enticing puddle I felt him pull against my hand.  I grabbed a hold a little tighter.  I have never let him walk unaided out in the world of cars and busy streets.  Although we have tried many times to teach him the urgency of “Freeze,” he has yet to completely grasp the concept.  As he struggled against my hand, the puddle calling to him, I decided it was time to let go.  I let his tiny hand slide from mine and he went straight for the puddle, jumping and splashing like a, well, a kid set free.  With one eye on him and the other on traffic along the road I surveyed his level of risk as only a mother can.  Minimal, I decided.  I breathed a bit and let him keep on running ahead of me.  He bent over and picked up a big huge Maple leaf, bigger than his head.  He squealed and searched for another.  His enthusiasm was infectious.  I was enjoying this wet, sopping walk far more than any car ride I can imagine.

Suddenly, almost as if my son had just realized his freedom, he glanced back at me and smiled a perfect wet smile.  Then he said “C’mon Mommy,” and reached his little hand up to me.  I slipped my hand back in his and decided that a wet and soggy November could come any time it wanted to.