Navigating uncharted water

I haven't written much anywhere lately because, quite frankly, I've been a bit freaked out. I've had to spend a lot of time trying to figure out how to navigate a situation that is leaving me second-guessing absolutely every step I take.

I'm not going to go into too much detail about the specifics of the situation except to say it involves my son and his father and things getting out of hand.

My gut reaction is to "rescue" my son and to take a rusty saw blade to his father's anatomy.
But I can't live in gut reaction, even though I want to so very badly.
The rescue.....I've been going back and forth on this one, beating myself up, second-guessing my second guesses (third/fourth guessing?) A part of me realizes that the kid has to learn how to deal with some things on his own.....can't hide behind mom forever. But, an equally loud part of me says "he's a kid. Be the adult. Intervene."
And intervene, I have, but not quite as voraciously as I am tempted to do. Intervening must be done cautiously when one is dealing with a master manipulator. While I am tempted to go 'balls to the wall', and yank the kid out of there, I'm also keenly aware that Mr. Wonderful has ego issues. These ego issues generally result in him punishing the kid unfairly because of me and then twisting it up and blaming the kid (and the kid has enough guilt and angst to last to college). But, unless I can get my son away from his father completely (which, I know I can't....and perhaps even shouldn't since a kid needs his dad) then I have to be very careful in how I proceed.
SO I'm tripping the light fantastic on this very fine line of "Am I doing enough? Am I doing too much?". I hate every second of it.

And no matter what I do, I'll always think I should've done more or maybe done less or at least done differently. (and the manipulator knows how to work that against me, that bastard shitface fuckwit).

Nothing about this is straightforward. I just hope, beyond all hope, that I don't break the kid.

What we do here.

Work.
They don't call it work because it's fun. If it was fun, they'd say "have a nice day at fun today."
No.. Not fun. Work.
Now I'm not saying work can't be fun. I'm also not saying work isn't rewarding.
But honestly, take an inventory. If you had enough money to live comfortably so that you didn't have to do whatever thing it is you do to earn a paycheck, would you still do the work?
If the answer is yes, stop reading now. We congratulate you on your fabulous life and wish you all the best
If the answer is no, read on fellow traveler.

I fall in the "no" camp.
I wouldn't do what I do if there was no paycheck attached. It's not that this is some sort of slave labor. Far from it. It's not that my health is endangered or I feel
So what is it we do here?
Well....it's this. We, me and my people, we see how things are done.
We think, "gee, that's taking the long way home. I think I can figure a way to do it better. Be more efficient. "
Sometimes, that involves technology.
We, me and my people, are middle men. We hear what the business needs and we work with hard core technicians to make magic in that box on the flow chart that I like to call ATAMO (and than a miracle occurred).
And for me, the reward in this process, aside from the paycheck, is knowing that I automated the dotting of the I or the crossing of the T....or perhaps no automation but just getting rid of superfluous steps, consolidating efforts, what have you.
Knowing that I made it better......that's my reward. I don't want sparkly certificates or accolades. however, you want to bump up the numbers on my annual income? Gladly, I'll accept it.

I'm not a glory-monger. Never have been.
And I'm not a PR chick.
The whole title of this blog is "flying below radar".....I work that way too. I'll make your life easier, you just leave me alone and let me do it.

But it seems in corporate-land, unless you're willing to shout your accomplishments from the tallest tower and polish up some glossy powerpoint presentations for executives, you haven't done your job.

I.
Hate.
That.
Garbage.

And it is indeed garbage. It didn't get anything done except make some manager feel better. Sure, i can whip up some charts and graphs and B.S. statistics about what we've done and make it sound like we've built hoover dam when it in truth it was more like a beaver dam. And when we build Hoover dam and nobody notices except for those in the trenches, well that's just fine with me because the trench-dwellers and I know that their job is now easier.

I detest horse and pony shows. I'm here to actually raise the animal, not pose for pictures.
SO, I'm hoping that in the coming weeks, all of this nonsense attention crap that has everyone falling over themselves will just ....evaporate....so that i can get back to doing what I do.

Revelations from a sick-bed

This flu/pneumonia/plague virus I've been incubating for weeks will not go away completely. I spent two weekends sleeping and watching marathons of Doctor Who and the Gilmore Girls with the odd episode of True Blood sprinkled in. During the week, i tried to work but it was such a joke since I had little energy and no focus and couldn't talk on conference calls. The 'inability to talk' has been nearly catastrophic for my work. It seems that finally my voice is coming back. At first, I could make words, but sounded like I had a four-pack a day cigarette habit. My voice seems to be fairly normal now with the sporadic gravel tossed in for a fun reminder.
For a while, I lost my appetite. It is back again and everything tastes good and sounds good and there's a possibility I may eat this blog.....but not the whole blog. Now I become full so quickly that I can't finish a meal.
But, yes, it seems I'm improving.

All of this sickness has put a few things in perspective.
When my dad was ill with emphysema (as a result of smoking menthols for 40 years), he rarely complained. Talking took too much effort. So instead, he just disappeared. I noticed that he didn't eat much, and when I asked about it, he said it made him really tired to eat. I didn't get that. Until now.
I'm sure my lung capacity during this flu was not nearly as devastated as his was, but now, I have a taste of what he went through. When I had to focus on breathing.....when eating had no reward and just made me tired......when the act of talking at all was just too taxing: all I wanted was to retreat. I didn't want people around or to have to focus.

I'm sure breathing will be another thing I take for granted, and soon. But for a few brief days, I couldn't even get enough air to make a sneeze. Coughing was suffocating. There's a Bareilles song I love that has this soul-aching lyric: "All I have, all I need, is the air that I would kill to breathe." Never did those words ring more literal than these past weeks.

I'm not one to wallow in sickness or look for sympathy or pity. The world does not stop just because I don't have enough energy to function. I tried to keep on keeping on during all of this, but I'd be a total liar if I said it was easy. And I'd also be a liar if I said I didn't want more help during that time. My isolation wasn't just because I was sick, but more because I don't really have any local people on whom I can rely. It was a bit jarring (and quite telling) when I realized that someone I trusted looked to me for help with silly errands (which I did not oblige) when I was barely able to function.

So, during this time of unfortunate flu, I realized what I really need vs. things I want. I expect some life changes will come as a result....although I'm not ready to go into detail on them just yet.

And last, but certainly not least of the revelations: I am so dependent on my voice. When one works remotely, the phone line is how working relationships are built. I honestly think that the communication isn't just the words but how they are said, and that my voice, for whatever reason of tone or pitch or accent or something, has some sort of appeal to some people. Colleagues have made remarks about it over the years, but one I remember in particular said that he felt my successes were directly related to my 'soft-spoken tenacity' (which I think makes my Native-American name "stubborn with a whisper").
It's not something I work to achieve or into which I put special effort. I just talk how I talk. Except that for about two-three weeks, I couldn't talk. And when I could, it was not like usual. The impact was obvious. It was commented on constantly. My inability to communicate the way I wanted, especially during an executive high-focus on some of my work, was so debilitating. Nobody wanted to interact, and yet there were things to be done. I felt like a leper that wandered into the market place for basic necessities.
Of course, it was a flu virus, so I'm not really sure there's any action I can take from this except perhaps to consume more lemon-honey-tea.

The main conclusion is that I am grateful for my voice when it works properly, and I need to not lose sight of that gratitude. It is important to not take the most basic things for granted: like breathing and the taste of food and actual hunger and to go 24-hours straight without a fever. Maybe I needed a kick to remind me of that.

Perspectives refreshed. Rebooted. Off we go again.

Receptionists are not babysitters

Against my better judgment, I had to run my son to the dentist yesterday. He's been battling flu symptoms for a couple of weeks, and while he is much better, he's still not 100%.
Around noon, his father surprised me with the news of the dental-hygenist appointment, which last week I had requested he reschedule. He did not.
While that is an interesting blog subject regarding manipulative control freaks whose self-esteem issues require them to be endlessly self-centered, I'll save that for another day.

Today, the irksome things began with the father's 'demand' that I just "Drop the boy off at the office..." and he'd "pick him up later."
Uh, no.
Just no.
He's an 11 year old kid. You don't just drop him off at some medical office or facility and expect that other people are going to look after him if something unplanned happens....even if he has an appointment.
It is not okay to make a dental hygenist, medical receptionist, or other non-childcare professionals responsible for watching your kid because you just don't want to wait around or have errands to run.

Which brings me to the next irksome thing: this small dentist office has an even smaller waiting room. When we arrived, there was an enormous jogging stroller....you know the type with the gigantic rugged tires.....taking up most of the free space. In that stroller was a sleeping child, probably 2-3 years old. Beside that stroller were two other kids, that I would guess were about five and seven.
There was no adult with them.
The adult, it seems, was back in the dental chair and emerged later, quickly gathering up her gaggle and quietly exiting. They were pretty good kids, yes and were mostly focused on some video devices they had. But when did this become acceptable?
Now I know somebody out there is going to be pissed that I feel this way, but I'm just going to say it: the receptionist at a medical office or styling salon or any other place that has a receptionist is not your babysitter.
The people sitting in the lobby do not want to be responsible for your kids either, even if the kids are angels, even if they have hand-held electronic game systems to entertain them. And even though times are hard, it STILL should not be acceptable to dump your kids in a waiting room and 'get back to them later'.
It. Is. Just. Not. Okay.

Which is why I waited at the office while my son was there, even though his father believes in the drop-off. It is absolutely poor-form to just expect other people to be responsible for your kids without making arrangements. From my perspective as a mom, I certainly would feel like an irresponsible parent if I expected others to even know how to act in my child's best interest if the unexpected occurred. Yes, there will be an age at which I can comfortably 'drop my child off', but eleven isn't it....and this day was a case in point.
As I suspected, the boy was not enough recovered from his flu to undergo a dental cleaning, and I had to be there to make the final call AND to take him home when the appointment was shorter than planned.

Dinner, math, and relationship

I was recently out to dinner at a moderately nice restaurant. I was seated at close proximity to a couple that were obviously on a first date. We were so close, it was impossible to not hear the conversation, as much as I tried not to....okay, so I tried not to AT FIRST.
After a while, it was interesting....the speculation.

I suppose the writer in me wants to know how it's going to 'turn out'.
He, the khaki clad corporate guy with a scruffy beard trying to brag about his investments and his camping/fishing hobby.
She, the pretty blonde with an edgy, almost gruff voice trying to sell him on how great it was when she was decades younger, driving a motorcycle and being in the military. As she continued to talk about herself, it seemed she was intentionally sabotaging the date.....making her life sound like she had just walked off the set of Jerry Springer.

Obviously, they were both a bit out of their element.....she probably seeking stability and he wanting to try something a bit wilder.
She spent much of the rest of the meal looking bored. I could feel their awkward silences at my table....so awkward that I struck up a ridiculous conversation with my waitress just to give them something to hear other than the shuffling of their meals on their plates.

Yeah, I don't think it was really going to work out for them.
Or maybe they'll give it a go and try to be different and realize...nah...bad idea....OR not? Good idea? Different enough from what they've known to want to make things work?
Who knows. Maybe they view awkward silence as foreplay (for what's it worth, I do not.)

The real question in my mind: how does it work out for anyone?
I guess I have not yet discovered my magical equation that defines the acceptable relationship parameters around 'different' and 'same'.
The struggle for me is that it's not a finite point. Some days, all I want is different.....I want the discovery, the newness, the excitement and challenge of learning how to be with someone unlike me. Some days, all I want is same....the comfort of not having to work at it....of knowing that if I relax for a minute, my world will not be turned on its ear.

I suppose if I knew how to navigate that, my life would be different. But, even at the ripe old age of not yet 40, I'm still learning relationship algebra.

Peril and Plus

So....
Did some volunteer work.
"Fly below radar" nature means I offered to go behind the scenes.....
Which involved walking some dimly lit stairs......

Which resulted in PERIL: tripping on step, falling on my keister.

But hey, it was below radar work. The PLUS: nobody saw my graceful antics.

What happens when you're not looking

I am suddenly aware of a generational shift.
This didn't just happen. It's been hugely in the works, but I didn't notice. I was too busy pretending that I was still young...you know, shopping for stilettos, picking out lipstick, pretending that if I knew about one or two cutting edge bands, that I was not quite dead.
With a soul-disturbing epiphany, I am now very keenly aware of my 'station', as it were.

I spent some time with my family recently. Being home is a strange thing. It makes you remember being a kid and where you were on the familial org chart all those years ago. The thing I realized during this family visit is that whilst the people are the same, the assigned roles have most definitely shifted.
My grandmother, grand matriarch of said family, was once the thriving, wisdom-wielding, warrior with a whisper....always actively involved at some capacity. She's now stepped back into the wings and assumed the role that I associate with the great-grandmothers of my youth: a smiling witness, grateful for time-shared, silently generous.
My mother, the hard-working, overly busy, cost-conscious soul I recall is now more of what my grandmother was.....and apparently she has been this way for years and years to her own grandchildren, but I was too busy shifting into my own new role of 'mom' to notice that change in her. Not only did I miss that, I also didn't recognize the tectonic pates shifting under my feet....gliding me out of the role of daughter youngster and into the position of daughter authority figure. Perhaps it's because Mom recently retired. On this visit, I looked in the mirror and saw in my reflection the career busy woman who was worried about making sure the bills got paid. Wow, why didn't I feel that seismic shift happening? I feel like I just recognized that a funnel cloud picked up my house and planted it across the street.....even though the storm hit years ago.

And the kids that are not kids were all around us as another reminder that I am not spritely. They were born back in the days when I was worried about my English Lit grade or on the quest for the perfect seat at the Aerosmith concert or determined to get the perfect tan. They are now college students with jobs and one is even (gulp) married. MARRIED!? They have assumed my old spot on the role call. They look at me as I looked at the adults of my parents' generation. I feel elderly.

To underscore my 'changing role', this week, I have an out-of-town visitor. A young, hip, tiny thing that could stand in for a jewelry box ballerina except for the fact that she has a penchant for black hair dye, eyeliner, and converse high-tops.
Very sweet girl...pleasant company and not at all a representation of the demanding reckless wretches of her generation (that are often featured in modern media.)

We went shopping. I ventured with her into trendy stores that would never even be on my radar. And while that was fun, I can't remember the last time I had to try to find a "size one" anything.

If that wasn't enough to make me feel ancient, we wandered into a Sephora where Miss "Not-wearing-any-makeup-but-ready-for-my-Neutrogena-ad" made me long for the days of scoffing at the concept of moisturizer and other skincare products.

There it is. She's young. I'm not. It is with great sadness that my mental space shifted into this new gear. In actuality, it's not new to anything but my mindset. I'm not sure I approve of aging. Am I supposed to feel graced with wisdom? Comfortable in my skin? Unconcerned about my future? If that is what is supposed to be happening now, I don't feel it.
I still feel like the youngest one in the room so much of the time, but am I REALLY?
While I'm not yet 40, I know that by the time I have figured how to navigate this particular point on the timeline, I'll be completely moved into the next one. I just hope it doesn't whack me upside the head like this one has.