Category Archives: Big Piece of Cake

Good LIttle Monsters

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So much for posting every day… I really was planning to post some pictures from our trip – but our lack of a real computer (currently working with a memory-limited note pad) hasn’t provided much motivation.

In the meantime, here are some random shots that show the best part of being a mother to bad little monsters. Because when they are good…








And yes – I do consider sleeping, “being good.”

Also – want to see something side-show freaky?


Oliver was born March 30, 2005 and the twins were born October 9, 2006. They are only 18 months apart – but look at that size difference! It even startles me sometimes…

BlogHer 2010 Voices of the Year Were Announced Today! My Reaction: The Good, The Bad and The (Sad but True) Ugly

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Quick disclaimer for all of my non-blogging friends reading this: you will probably be incredibly bored by the subject…but if you skip down to the “ugly” part, I think we can all relate to some extent.First the good!When I glanced through the list of finalists this morning, I was thrilled to see that some of my very favorite bloggers (and even friends) will actually present in a couple of weeks at 2010 BlogHer Voices of the Year. I can honestly say that I’ve read pretty much every post from some of these writers (I mean – since I’ve been blogging…their pre-2008 material is before my time), and to think that they have been honored for words that made me laugh and/or cry makes me feel part of something bigger than my own little piece of Internet real estate.So the very first thing I want to do is congratulate…

Jill from Scary Mommy – Social networking and design dynamo – just try to match her. You can’t.

Marinka of Motherhood in NYC – one of the the funniest women online, hands down.

Amy of The Bitchin’ Wives Club – a perfect storm of creative talent and undeniable charisma.

(By the way – both Marinka and Amy are two out of three for the humor category. Apparently, I have very good taste in funny people.)

That’s three out of fifteen presenters. And believe me, I’m not nearly plugged in enough to be familiar with even 20% of the people whose posts were submitted. So I’m feeling quite proud on their behalf.

I can’t wait to hear them read their words on stage AND to see the art that will be auctioned off reflecting each piece.

And that’s part two of “the good!” Kirtsy has teamed up with BlogHer to curate an exhibition of works of art – each of which will represent one of the 75 posts that were finalists. These pieces will be auctioned off to benefit The Nature Conservancy and help in the long-term healing of the Gulf Coast.

One of my favorite photographers, Robin of Around The Island, will be there in spirit as her own work is shown and auctioned. Again! My friend! So proud… (She writes more about the reception HERE.)

But what about the bad? What could be bad about that?

Well – here’s the bad.

One of MY nominations that I was so confident would be in the top 15 didn’t get picked. But it’s not all bad… Anymommy (of Is There Any Mommy Out There fame) was still a finalist for Matching, and I very much look forward to seeing the art created to represent her breathtakingly poignant writing.

I could say the same of Ann from Ann’s Rants, Jessica of Bern This, Sue of Laundry for Six and Renee of But Why Mommy who were also finalists. I’m thinking it was a hard call on their entries (and I could even say that “they were robbed!” but I won’t go there…)

So yeah – many wonderful blog friends have been recognized in one way or another. I’m really happy for them – and can’t wait to tell them so in person.

But.

There’s the ugly…

I’m sorry – but I’m trying to keep it real here because…well no reason really – I just feel like it today. And lucky you – you get to hear about it!

Before I get into the muck and grime, I’ll start with a little tale about a three year old angel of a girl named Eleanor. Eleanor is a delight. She’s lovely and full of fun (and – cough, cough – my daughter) – and she is at a very impressionable age.

The other week, we were in California on vacation with my in laws who had a fantastic time being a very bad influence on my children. Late night baseball game outings…unlimited snack food that they never get at home…special presents just because they want them… You know – grandparent stuff. And one evening my sweet little girl was lucky enough to have their undivided attention. They played a kids’ bingo game with the odds drastically stacked in Eleanor’s favor.

And then the sh*t talking started.

Mama Sue: Eleanor – we’re not going to let Papa win! YOU’RE going to win.

Eleanor (very much liking this line of thought): Yeah! YOU’RE not going to win Papa. I’M going to win. You CAN’T win!

And so on and so on and so on [insert uproarious indulgent grandparental laughter here].

SO CUTE, right?

I actually thanked them at the time for my own future hell to come when faced with the next preschool gaming situation.

Fast forward a couple of weeks, and we are playing another bingo game at home (what is it with us bingo anyway? We may as well hustle on over to the community center for seniors’ night out this Friday…) Anyway – we were playing a very fair game that included Eleanor, a semi-involved George and a completely disinterested Oliver. Eleanor immediately started in with her “I’m gonna win” talk, even though her brothers couldn’t have cared less. Since no one was getting special treatment, George (who may have been in the kitchen looking for snacks at the time) won.

Chris said, “Hey look! George is the winner!” And…Eleanor fell to pieces. She really believed that she would always win. No one ever talked to her about the reality of losing. So after some piercing glares and and semi-subtle head tilting from me, Chris took Eleanor aside to talk about what it means to lose.

And as I listened, it occurred to me that the bottom line is the same for everyone regardless of age. If you lose – you have to keep trying. Don’t get mad – just try again. It’s not anyone’s favorite answer. In fact, it’s tedious at best…but it’s very simply true. You really can’t win them all. In fact you might lose them all – but you have to try to have a chance.

SO that brings me to the ugly involved in this year’s BlogHer Voices of the Year selections. As much as we are over the moon excited for the winners – it’s unavoidable that some others were very disappointed.

Because you know what? I’m one of them. And I’m hideously embarrassed to admit that.

When a good friend asked if I’d like her to submit anything for me, I honestly hadn’t considered even trying. I mean, I like what I write, and my small circle of friends and readers give me positive feedback – but I’ve never been the one picked out of the crowd. Always a bridesmaid and never a bride and all that… And really that’s been kind of fine with me because I’ve always felt far more comfortable in the faded perimeter of the spotlight.

But just the idea of submitting something of mine gave birth to “what if.” And that is a very powerful concept. So for once I was bold and asked for recognition. I forwarded two links to posts that mean a lot to me – ones that fill me with emotion when I read them – and said “send them in.” Doesn’t sound like much – but it’s a BIG deal for a mild mannered girl such as myself.

Then time passed and my “what if” was put into the proper perspective. It was a “wouldn’t that be nice – but it’s highly unlikely” (the overcompensating, insecure hope of “what if”).

Most of the time, I really didn’t consider it, but every once in a while something would be mentioned about Voices of the Year, and I’d notice that pretty little “what if” sparkling on my right hand ring finger. I’d taken it for granted, but was happy to admire it now and again.

At some point last week, I read that the 75 finalists as well as the 15 winners would be announced today. And I did something previously unthinkable.

I hoped.

I dreamed.

I even planned.

Why not? I typically live so small – what would it hurt to think big for a little while. Even knowing that disappointment was probable, couldn’t I weigh the universe in my favor with my longing? The Secret said it totally works! Ah well…I think we all let our imaginations get the best of us sometimes.

Last night when I was talking to Chris about BlogHer and the agenda (he’s in the conference planning world, so he’s actually interested), I explained how the Voices of the Year session was planned. I mentioned that I had a couple of posts submitted, “but – they’re two out of a thousand – so you know…”

His reaction was a little more positive though. He said “why not you?”

And that small part of me that wants to be bigger than I really am thought, “that’s right! Why NOT me?” So for one whole night I believed in myself. Not just “what if” – but “why not?”

Well – I don’t need to give too much detail on the obvious outcome. Even if you’re not familiar with the list of finalists, you can pretty much guess that I wasn’t one of them.

And I was disappointed. Not so much that I wasn’t one of the top 15 (remember – I like the peripheral area of the spotlight), but more so because the words that once poured directly out of my heart weren’t even an almost.

It’s not pretty – but it’s the truth. And we’ve all experienced this at some point in our lives, so I’m not afraid to put it out there. I would be very surprised if there was anyone who couldn’t relate to this on some level.

But you know what? I don’t think disappointment or jealousy or envy are so bad. They’re just feelings. And at the very best, they are a sign of trying. Of wanting. Of putting ourselves out there and risking rejection. There is honor in that. And I’m proud of my battle scars.

Envy isn’t a particularly attractive emotion – it’s even classified as a sin (one of the top seven!). But a little green eyed monster never hurts anyone if kept on a short leash (and kenneled as quickly as possible). At worst – it shows our ugly. At best, it keeps us real.

So for anyone else who felt a little “why not me” today (or even “why never me?“), I’d like to honor you for trying. It takes courage to try. You’d be surprised how many people never do.

And in return, I’d like to ask you one thing. Please read my own small attempts:

I am so proud of those words. This blog is the first real writing that I’ve ever done outside of work documents and personal e-mails. I always lived so small – never tried to be noticed. I had ideas but didn’t bother to recognize their value.Then I started a blog. A small thing really – but so big in my own cautious little world. Putting words online is literally putting yourself out there. Asking to been seen and heard – and it’s opened my eyes to endless possibility for me.I may never win anything – but I’ll keep trying. Because “what if” holds far more power then “why bother.”And what about you? I want to hear your voice too. Did you submit something there or elsewhere? Did you find out that a friend did so for you? OR did you not even try for fear of disappointment or exposure? E-mail me at bigpieceofcake@gmail.com. Send me a link to the words that make you proud, the ones that make you believe in yourself – or should. I will read them.

I still believe in myself. And I’ll probably submit something of my own next year. I hope you do the same.

Have courage. Be bold. Keep trying.

Hey – it worked for Susan Lucci.

Random Flashback #5: "Yes Sir, That’s My Baby"

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Now that we’re back from vacation, I’m taking another week off from writing to catch up on my reader. So I’ve selected five posts from the archives using a sophisticated random selection system based on The Price is Right rules of play (or something like that). Here is the LAST oldie-but-goodie-but-now-I-think-everything-I-wrote-back-then-sucked-why-did-I-decide-to-commit-to-posting-every-day-this-summer-again?…Enjoy!

Yes Sir, That’s My Baby
originally posted December 21, 2009







I’m so in love with my tree this year… And if you think that that sounds ridiculous, then you never read this.

Anyway – my photography skills are mediocre at best but I did try. Seriously, I think I took more pictures than a new mother does the day she brings her baby home from the hospital.

Since my actual children refuse to be still (let alone wear clothes) for a nice holiday photo, I might have to consider using one of the images above for our holiday card. I’m just kidding of course – like I ever get around to sending out cards…

I had some even better shots, but those damn human children keep leaning into the branches, knocking bows askew and breaking ornaments.

Let go of the apple and back away from the tree. Slowly!

Don’t give me that look. And for god’s sake do something about your hair!

But I must say – if Oliver was my only child, this would definitely be our (theoretical) holiday card:


Okay – so maybe the tree isn’t really my favorite baby… MAYBE!

Random Flashback #4: "When in Doubt – Wear Pajamas"

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Now that we’re back from vacation, I’m taking another week off from writing to catch up on my reader. So I’ve selected five posts from the archives using a sophisticated random selection system based on The Price is Right rules of play (or something like that). Here is the fourth oldie-but-goodie-but-now-I-think-everything-I-wrote-back-then-sucked-why-did-I-decide-to-commit-to-posting-every-day-this-summer-again?…Enjoy!

When in Doubt – Wear Pajamas
originally posted September 25, 2009


This is my son Oliver.

He has been Superman for Halloween two years in a row. And no – it’s not because he loves superheroes. It’s because he would NEVER abide any kind of “costume” that involved head gear, make up, heat trapping fabrics or accessories that must be held or clipped on. Basically – he wouldn’t wear costumes. Of any kind.

So I tricked him.

Target sells pajamas that look like superhero outfits. Superman was the only one that didn’t necessarily look like jammies though (the detachable red cape that he only noticed and ripped off 50% of the time was a nice touch). So Superman it was!

That was my solution. It was a win-win for all. I had a cute little costumed toddler/preschooler and he got to be comfortable.

It was such a success that we even suited up George (18 months younger than Oliver) in the same pjs last year.


Not sure what we’ll do this Halloween… Now that he’s four, Oliver likes costumes, and comfort may not be as much of an issue.

He’s pretty big – so I could possibly dress him up as the Incredible Hulk.

I wonder if he’d let me paint him green. Probably not. But maybe if I let him paint himself….

Week of Random Flashbacks #3: "Sexism on the Railroad"

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Now that we’re back from vacation, I’m taking another week off from writing to catch up on my reader. So I’ve selected five posts from the archives using a sophisticated random selection system based on The Price is Right rules of play (or something like that). Here is the third oldie-but-goodie-but-now-I-think-everything-I-wrote-back-then-sucked-why-did-I-decide-to-commit-to-posting-every-day-this-summer-again?…Enjoy!

Sexism on the Railroad
originally posted March 18, 2009

Everyone in the world has “heard of” Thomas the Tank Engine – even if just in passing and not paying attention. But most current mothers of small children are painfully familiar with the minute ins and outs of Thomas’ adventures with Percy, James, Emily and the rest of this merry band of trains.

I had a bit of a break from Thomas and Friends when Oliver turned two and decided that the locomotive characters were “scary.” We never did solve the mystery of how Thomas became frightening, but I assumed it had something to do with their freaky, human faces and rapid mood swings. One minute they’re happy – the next minute they’re crashing into mountains. It makes for very stressful viewing if you ask me…

Just recently, Oliver has gotten over his engine-related phobia, and Thomas has made a comeback in the Hood family DVD player. Chris and I are once again subjected to their little railroad dramas.

Not surprisingly, we’ve found ourselves enjoying some of the old Thomas-related jokes that made us laugh two years ago (this is a well known parental defense mechanism when it comes to annoying children’s programming: we learn to like it, as in, “if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em“).

My favorite of these involves the only female train, Emily:


According to Wikipedia, Emily is a Stirling 4-2-2 engine used for high speed express. She is painted dark green, and has large “driving wheels” that I assume have something to do with making her a fast train.

In one particularly gripping episode, Thomas and his friends hear that the Railway Inspector will be coming to see all of the engines and award a prize for the finest one.

Sweet little Thomas and Percy, both steam engines (or “steamies” as they are often called), exclaim over how wonderful it would be to win.

Thomas

Percy

Poor little steamies! Their so called friends immediately assume that THEY are the more likely candidates to win:
Gordon says that “of course” an Express Engine will win.

Emily is quite confident that an engine with “big wheels” is the obvious choice.

And that upstart James thinks that his red paint gives him an edge.

What immediately strikes me is that THE ONLY GIRL ENGINE pins her dreams of victory on her “big wheels.” Did the writers do this on purpose? Is it some sophomoric joke that their internal twelve-year-olds just couldn’t resist? Or was it completely unintentional? I just can’t imagine that they would be so lacking in irony to let that one slip…

And what kind of message does this send to our tiny home viewers? That girls need to rely on their “assets” to get what they want? Thomas and Percy plan to just clean up well because “a really useful engine can look as grand as any engine.” Big he-man Gordon claims superiority based on his status as the strongest of the trains. And James…well, James also relies on his looks… But then again, I always suspected that James might be gay, so he doesn’t count.

Right. So with the exception of gay James, all of the male engines plan to win based on their overall merit. While the one female engine thinks that her larger than normal wheels will mesmerize the Railway Inspector enough to win her a blue ribbon.

It’s sad. And typical. And ultimately, just another case of a fast girl relying on her big wheels to get ahead.

Week of Random Flashbacks #2: "Guest Post from Kate Coveny, Age Nine"

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Now that we’re back from vacation, I’m taking another week off from writing to catch up on my reader. So I’ve selected five posts from the archives using a sophisticated random selection system based on The Price is Right rules of play (or something like that). Here is the second oldie-but-goodie-but-now-I-think-everything-I-wrote-back-then-sucked-why-did-I-decide-to-commit-to-posting-every-day-this-summer-again?…Enjoy!

Guest Post from Kate Coveny, Age Nine
originally posted November 4, 2008

Since Kate Coveny Hood isn’t feeling all that inspired today… I thought I’d ask someone else to do a last minute guest post for me. Welcome to Kate Coveny, the nine year old I used to be. As I’m typing this I have no idea what she is going to say, but I’m fairly certain that it will be incredibly embarrassing for Kate Coveny Hood. Because you know – I was odd.


(Weird sepia tinted effect courtesy of the scanner at my office.)

Hello! Kate Coveny here. Before I tell you a little bit about myself, I’d like mention that I’m being translated into “thirty-six year old woman.” We felt that this would be more appropriate for the given audience. Plus – at nine years old, my vocabulary is limited and my spelling is atrocious.

That out of the way, I will now attempt to write a “blog post.” I have no idea what a blog is of course, but it sounds like the pen pal letters that we sometimes write in school. You tell me a little bit about you, I tell you a little bit about me…that kind of thing. I’m hoping that you don’t decide to tell me anything about [whispers] s-e-x because I just found out about that in the recent past and I’m still recovering from the shock. Please – there are some things that nine year old girls just don’t like to think about.

What I DO like to think about includes my dolls (yes – I still play with dolls, what of it?), art projects, cute small animals, and my favorite books. I love to read, and at the moment I particularly like anything written about “the olden days.” This would include All of a Kind Family, Betsy-Tacy, Little Women, anything illustrated by Tasha Tudor, and the Laura Ingalls Wilder “Little House” books. There are so many more – but these are at the top of my list right now. I found most of these books during “Library” at school while the boys were looking up dirty words in the dictionary (they are gross – feel free to talk to them about s-e-x).

At the moment, I have two best friends. I met both of them at my school, Annunciation. My first friend at Annunciation was Sheridan. Sheridan’s mom and my mom met at a school function shortly after we moved to DC last year. They set up a play date for us which is great for me since I’m really shy. Sheridan doesn’t like to play with dolls, but she does like cute small animals. Actually, her favorite animals are not small. Sheridan rides for the Rock Creek Park show team and knows EVERYTHING about horses. She is teaching all of this to me. Sometimes at recess, she quizzes me on horse anatomy and riding terminology. She is a strict teacher – but she says that I’m learning very quickly. Then we play horses using a jump rope for “reigns.” She likes to be the horse, which is fine with me because in my head I pretend that I’m Laura Ingalls Wilder. We play other things too, but right now, horses figure prominently in our friendship. We decided that we were best friends right away – even though I have a lot to learn about horses.

The next best friend I made at Annunciation was Madeline. She was new this year, and Sheridan is in a different classroom. When Madeline’s mother saw that I lived a few blocks away, she invited me over for a play date. Madeline is not interested in horses. Which is a nice change of pace. I think that one horse-crazy friend is enough. Madeline likes to play with dolls (like me!) She has two older sisters and two younger brothers and they all eat dinner at 5:00. This is REALLY EARLY! But Sister (the housekeeper – as in “keeper of all things in the house, including children”), is very strict about this rule. Sometimes, I am invited to stay, but sometimes I have to go home since she has enough to deal with already. Madeline’s sisters are teenagers and they’re both really, really pretty. They have lots of boyfriends and get dressed up to go out every weekend. Sometimes when they don’t go out, they put make up on Madeline and me. They say that Madeline will be the most beautiful of all of the sisters. Truth be told, this makes me a little jealous. I want to be the most beautiful of three sisters, but I just have one brother – and he doesn’t talk about which one of us will be the most beautiful.

I am not beautiful. But I have a lot of imagination. Madeline likes to play games with me because I am very good at pretending. At the moment, our favorite game is to pretend that we are The Borrowers, and that we are tiny. There is one tree that we like to climb and pretend it is a flower. Another game that we like to play is that we are orphans looking for our parents. As I write this, I realize that it doesn’t make any sense – but that’s the game. In the game, we both wear lockets that have pictures of our parents so that we will recognize them if we find them. I think that we may have gotten this idea from Annie, but I’m not sure. Sheridan doesn’t have much patience for these games, but she does like to play other pretend games like “School.” Guess who gets to be the teacher?

I like having two different best friends because they are fun in different ways. Someday I hope they like each other more, because it’s hard to have best friends that don’t like each other as much as they like me.*


(sepia tint with new and improved “lipstick” effect – again compliments of the scanner at work.
But I think I would have liked it at age nine – very “old fashioned” no?)

Well, I think that’s enough from nine year old Kate Coveny for now. As you can see she doesn’t really know how wrap it up (not that Kate Coveny Hood is much better). When I started this stream of consciousness inspired exercise, I didn’t plan to focus childhood friends. But it’s a topic that’s still very relevant to me. I have always believed that your friends say a lot about you as a person. I placed a great deal of value on my friendships as a child, and I still do. Instead of getting caught up in the group politics so common to young girls, I preferred to spend more time with individuals and focus on those friendships. The associated groups of friends were simply a byproduct.

I like to think that I had fun back then, but at the end of the day, I was a fairly serious girl. I gave a lot of thought to my choices, and generally chose to surround myself with interesting and amusing people. I’m happy to say that this is something that hasn’t changed. My current daydreams are less fanciful (I can promise you that I’m not wearing a bonnet or a tippet in any of them), but I still have them. And I choose to spend my time with people who help to inspire them. Hi there friends that are reading this! Just want to say that I love you.

*This was an unfounded concern of mine when I was nine. Once we were all in fifth grade together, Sheridan and Madeline became best friends. While I may have lamented my downgraded status at the time, I had some other best friends to fill the void. Relationships are complicated when you’re a nine year old girl. Almost thirty years later, these two women are still very dear to me. I don’t see them often, but they are like the sisters that I never had as a little girl. Those short paragraphs only provide a few details about their own little nine year old lives. I could easily write a book about either of them.

Week of Random Flashbacks: #1 "When Good Girls Go Bad"

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Now that we’re back from vacation, I’m taking another week off from writing to catch up on my reader. So I’ve selected five posts from the archives using a sophisticated random selection system based on The Price is Right rules of play (or something like that). Here is the first oldie-but-goodie-but-now-I-think-everything-I-wrote-back-then-sucked-why-did-I-decide-to-commit-to-posting-every-day-this-summer-again?…Enjoy!

When Good Girls Go Bad
originally posted August 20, 2008

The other night, we were in the middle of our evening routine (dinner for kids, baths for kids, bedtime for kids, bottle of wine for parents) and had the conversational equivalent of a wardrobe malfunction.

It was Eleanor’s turn (we’re still doing separate baths since Oliver goes to bed later and George…well – the explanations are boring and not based on any real logic – we just do it that way most of the time). Anyway – Chris agreed to do the bath while I cleaned up the kitchen, and he brought my daughter over for a goodnight kiss.

I said something about it being bath time and she tossed back the house party line, “no.” I explained that she had played outside that day and that her legs were so dirty that I could wet my finger and write my name in the filth (kind of like what people to do my – I mean – dirty cars). Actually – I didn’t say that to her because she wouldn’t have any idea what I was talking about, you know, not being two yet and all…but it’s good imagery for the amount of grime she had acquired during the day.

The rest of the conversation went like this:

Me: Okay – I love you – night night.

Eleanor: No!

Me: Yes – you need a bath. You are SOOO dirty. You have to clean up.

Eleanor: NOO-HOO-HOOO-HOO!

Me: YE-HEH-HEH-HESS! You are too dirty. You HAVE to take a bath.

Chris: That’s right – cause you’re a dirty girl.

(long pause as parents take in the words that seem to inflate like giant porn balloons in the air between them)

Kate: Don’t ever say that again?

Chris: Yeah – that didn’t sound good…

Crazy, I’m Crazy for Feeling So Lonely…

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I’m away this week on a family vacation in CA/AZ, so I asked a few friends to send me guest posts. Some are new and some are golden oldies, but all are as fantastic as the women who wrote them.

Today, Jessica from Bern This shares one of her infamous vlogs (in fact – it’s one of my favorites). If you’ve never seen it before, enjoy! If you remember it well…watch it again because it gets funnier every time.

Welcome Jessica!

Thanks to all of my guests this week. I loved reading (and re-reading…and watching?) all of your posts!

The Cheese Stands Alone

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I’m away this week on a family vacation in CA/AZ, so I asked a few friends to send me guest posts. Some are new and some are golden oldies, but all are as fantastic as the women who wrote them.

Today, Gwen from Not Really joins us with her musings about being an expat wife. I’m really excited to have Gwen writing even a laundry list on my blog since she’s kind of brilliant. Her writing simultaneously makes me think, “oh my god – I really suck at this…” and “please write a novel, already!” She’s also got a fascinating life story to tell – which she does in jewel toned bits and pieces on Not Really. If you aren’t familiar with her site, you should definitely check it out. Like today. But maybe read this first. Since she went to the trouble to send it, you know…

Welcome Gwen!

“I bet the hookers here in Central Switzerland make a killing in the summer, when all the expat wives and kids are gone,” I laugh to my friend on the phone.

We’re ostensibly talking about my life in Zurich. I moved here in January, from Chicago. I grew up in Indonesia, however, so being a stranger in a strange land is less foreign for me than it is for others. But our conversation is really more about the compromises one makes in a marriage. Don’t frown. You know we all make them, everyone flawed, everyone in need of extra helpings of grace. Compromise is not the same as settling, not even close.

“See, I imagine that expat women have to keep themselves hot. Isn’t that the deal you make with your rich husband? He makes lots of money and you stay attractive?” my friend muses.

“Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t have a rich husband,” I answer. “But anyway, I don’t think so, although the expats I encounter do seem to be empirically better looking on average than what I’m used to in America,” It’s true. Or it seems true, which is more or less the same thing. Make of that what you will–the connection between physical attractiveness and financial success. I have already drawn my own conclusions.

“No,” I continue. “What the expat husband wants more than anything is for his wife to be able to deal. He brings you to cool countries, and you manage emotionally. That’s the compromise you make: you get to live overseas and you get to suck it up.”

It’s a shadowy side of living abroad as the spouse of someone with the kind of job that allows you to live abroad and send your children to an international school. Your husband works his ass off. He is stressed. He has enormous amounts of responsibility. He probably travels all the time. All the time. Traveling all the time is draining in ways you can’t anticipate. He doesn’t intend to be absent from the daily drudgery, from all the negotiating required to create a life in a foreign country, in another language, but he is. And he needs you, his partner, to manage.

It’s the same everywhere, I suppose, when one spouse has a job that requires enormous amounts of attention and time away from home and the other one doesn’t. Except that it isn’t.

This expat thing is tricky on so many levels that are difficult to explain to anyone who hasn’t been through it. The problem of language is enormous. You’re always working twice as hard to figure out what’s going on, and it gets exhausting. You receive official correspondence from who knows where and these missives look scary and important, but you can’t immediately work out what they say. Am I doing something wrong? Are they going to fine me? arrest me? throw me out? The language barrier creates a sense that you’re no longer competent. Sometimes it’s the little things–where do I have my kids’ birthday parties? buy bleach? find black beans? How do I get a functional dryer?

And sometimes it’s big–there’s a persistent nagging worry that you can manage as long as nothing goes really, truly wrong, but if someone gets sick? or has an accident? then what? You know people, sure, but you don’t know people. You are not part of a village and your community is scattered among mountains and the mom you chat up in the school playground isn’t necessarily the one you’re going to call in an emergency. You can’t let too much out, anyway. Not because you don’t trust the new friends you’ve made. You do. You have to. But you know that if you let a little slip, the weight of it all, absent that lever, will avalanche and crush you. So you joke with the Australian mum who arrived at the same time you did about crying yourself to sleep at night which is a half truth that conveys just enough. It forms a tenuous link. Later, when the two of you are sharing a bottle of wine and some bruschetta, you widen that bridge, strengthen it. Then you can express clearly how hard it is sometimes. How alone you feel. How off-balance.

Balance. That’s the key. Because you can’t live by pretending the difficult stuff doesn’t matter, isn’t there. But you also can’t get so buried in sorrow, you forget the good all around you. And you have to be able to function and parent and survive all on your own, like a big girl. But you can’t get so competent that you stop needing your spouse all together. And that, perhaps, is the toughest part. To be strong without getting hard.

“My friends in the United States. They just don’t get it,” I lament to one of my closest friends here. “They can’t get it. I wonder if they even try sometimes, since they never ask me about my life, what it’s like, what I’m struggling with. It’s all just: ‘You’re so lucky! Your life is so awesome!’ And then I feel like such an asshole for wanting to vent.”

She’s been at this 4 years longer than I have, knows so much more about being a grown up abroad. “I know,” she soothes. “But we are lucky. Our lives are awesome.”

The fingers of my memory sort through my folder of photos as she says this. I see the places we’ve visited already in our 5 months here–Florence, the south of Spain, Paris, Lake Lugano. I remember the experiences we’ve already had–lake cruises and cow fighting and zip lining on mountains.

“I know!” I laugh. I sigh, conceding the difficult point. “I know.”

We both laugh again, this time together.

Gwen – I imagine that I’d have a similar experience if put in the same situation…but your life really is awesome. Lucky bitch. Seriously though – I loved this. Thank you.

Dear Human Resources Representative

13 Replies

I’m away this week on a family vacation in CA/AZ, so I asked a few friends to send me guest posts. Some are new and some are golden oldies, but all are as fantastic as the women who wrote them.

Today, Ann from Ann’s Rants submits a formal letter of complaint. Ann is one of the funniest bloggers I read and I think she’s writing a book… Well if she isn’t, she should. In the meantime, we’ll just have to settle for her fabulous blog.

Welcome Ann!

*Ann Imig’s piece “Dear Human Resources Representative” was featured on humorpress.com. in 2009. She wants you to know that the situation has NOT improved significantly.

Dear H.R Guy,

I need to schedule another HR consultation. The situation grows increasingly dire with each passing day.

I’m referring to inappropriate language, touching, and even nudity. I’m referring to blatant insubordination, and untenable working conditions. As per your earlier instructions, I began documenting the offenses. Yet, as quickly as I administer warnings, new more egregious offenses occur. Our new found springtime weather—allowing for open doors and windows—only exacerbates the humiliation I endure.

Take a look at this incriminating evidence:

INDECENT EXPOSURE: 9am Two-Year-Old disrobed completely, diaper-flung in my general direction, and ran out the back door to “run da-round da-naked.”

SUGGESTIVE COMMENTS: Naked Two-Year-Old flaunts his miniature body, running around the backyard with crayon in hand, “fixing” things and screaming to our neighbors “I like to screw! I screwing, Mommy!”

INAPPROPRIATE TOUCHING: Bath-time toes-in-butts situation completely out of control, as is inappropriate peeing-in-bath behavior demonstrated by both Two and Five-Year-Old. My “ucky pee pee water” warnings go completely unheeded, and may in fact have the undesired effect of increasing washcloth-in-mouth ingestions levels.

Frequent random poking and grabbing of “Mommy’s Butt” (and butt refers to a highly generalized area) should be noted.

VANDALISM is rampant around the toilet area as a result of pee tagging. When confronted, Five-Year-Old offers a weak explanation that “this happens if you close your eyes while peeing” And Two-Year-Old’s defense? He wants to stand and deliver, without handling the goods. So to speak.

Before I go on, I should share that your web seminar “Poop Talk: When Defecation Is The Conversation” proved effective. I highly recommend it to your other clients. We established dinnertime as a “Poop-Talk-Free (PTF) Zone,” and that five minutes of our day remains blissfully PTF! I, however, still suffer symptoms of PTD (Poop Talk Disorder) as is apparent when I unselfconsciously discuss poop consistency in mixed company, and occasionally yell ‘POOPYHEAD’ in a fit of rage. I’m working on it.

INSUBOORDINATION: As much as 1-2-3 Magic (also known as One-Two-Fwee Magic) seems perceptibly magical, when taunted with counting from my child-subordinates it creates a hostile environment. Or makes me laugh, rendering the whole process completely ineffective.

HOSTILE WORK ENVIRONMENT: Lastly, Two-Year-Old now employs a torture tactic long-banned under the Geneva Convention—REPETITIVE RAFFI. “Willabee Wallabee Woo” is directly responsible for a substantial increase in insurance copays, as I now require weekly therapy. When coupled with nap-avoidance, REPETITIVE RAFFI creates a cruel and unusual workplace.

Please advise before your earliest convenience. And bring back-up.

Victimized,

Ann

Thanks Ann! I feel much better knowing my children are not alone in their ongoing struggle with public exposure disorder. Currently looking into starting a parent support group – I’ll add you to my distribution list.