http://www.dooce.com/2008/05/02/newsletter-month-fifty-and-fifty-one

Quoting from Dooce, Newsletter: Month Fifty and Fifty-one (The author is speaking to her daughter in a newsletter she writes every month since 2004—except for month fifty—about criticism she receives from readers who think it’s wrong for her to write about her child on her website):

“Will you resent me for this website? Absolutely. And I have spent hours and days and months of my life considering this, weighing your resentment against the good that can come from being open and honest about what it’s like to be your mother, the good for you, the good for me, and the good for other women who read what I write here and walk away feeling less alone. And I have every reason to believe that one day you will look at the thousands of pages I have written about my love for you, the thousands of pages other women have written about their own children, and you’re going to be so proud that we were brave enough to do this. We are an army of educated mothers who have finally stood up and said pay attention, this is important work, this is hard, frustrating work and we’re not going to sit around on our hands waiting for permission to do so. We have declared that our voices matter.

“These are the stories of our lives as women and they often include you, yes. …
…

“I will not be discouraged from continuing to document the beauty of life with my family or supporting them with an income from doing so. Leta, some people will one day try to convince you that what I’ve done here is some sort of sickening betrayal of your childhood, and what those people fail to recognize is that I am doing the exact opposite. This is the glorification of your childhood, and even more than that this is a community of women coming together to make each other feel less alone. You are a part of this movement, you and all of the other kids whose mothers are sitting at home right now writing tirelessly about their experiences as mothers, the love and frustration and madness of it all. And I think one day you will look at all of this and pump your fist in the air.”

EDIT: I wrote this post late last night and I’ve been thinking I must add to it. I must add a little about why I do it. I write about my kids and my feelings about my kids in the hopes that someday they will know who I am. That I am human and full of flaws, and still beautiful. That I start every day with hopes and good intentions. That I strive for goodness and warmth, honesty and love in our family. 

If that bus with my name on it claims me before my sons grow up enough to remember me and our experiences, I hope that eventually, they will read what I have written here and know I loved them imperfectly and completely—in the very best way I could.

Last month this happened: http://sarabellae.livejournal.com/155788.html.

Last week, it happened again. Another check arrived for a copyeditor named Sara Wilson. This one for $713.

“Attention Accounts Payable:

“I am returning a check made out to Sara Wilson for Invoice 12308. This check is intended for Sara Wilson in Ohio. You have two Sara Wilsons, both copyeditors, in your computer system. Please endeavor to choose the correct Sara Wilson when issuing payment. This is the second check intended for the Ohio Sara Wilson that I have received. I would appreciate it if you would make all of your staff aware of this confusing issue of two editors having the same name. I am sure all of your freelancers appreciate prompt payment.”

I would like to say that if I receive a third check made out to me for editing work that I did not do, I would cash it—because that would be funny and bold and a take-no-prisoners thing to say, but it would be a lie. I don’t think I could do that, no matter how much having an extra $713 in my bank account would help. And it would.

I guess I did a good job on Syria because today I was offered a project copyediting Israel, 2e from the same children’s publisher. Maybe after this one I’ll tell them what my hourly rate really is. In the meantime, they’re getting good value for their measly money.

I have a couple of strategy guides going: one full-size guide that’s almost done and another tiny hint book. I’m hoping another one to three guides will come my way soon.

The chapter on pet massage that I was told to research and write has been placed on hold. It seems the publisher for that textbook isn’t actually sure it wants to include that content. Now I’m supposed to do market research instead of writing research. Thanks for yanking my hours back, folks.

Related to work worries are my summertime worries, which have awakened rather early this year. Looking ahead just a hop, skip, and jump from now reveals twelve yawning, empty weeks until school starts again. Although summer has always been my favorite time of year, I now understand why my mother dreaded it, and why every time the words “I’m bored” were mentioned in her house, she went insane with rage. 

This summer I’ll have part-time childcare for Lucas and Asher. Today I registered Lucas for a weeklong, half-day camp at the Effie Yeaw Nature Center. The program is for first and second graders and  it’s called “Signs Along the Trail.” He’ll get to comb the trails near the American River with the group looking for evidence of animal activity, use binoculars, make notes, play games, do crafts, and meet some Nature Center animals.

I’ve recently found out that several of Lucas’s classmates will be doing a Waldorf-oriented Summer Art Camp and I’m wondering if we can swing that, too. It’s not cheap. Lucas is quite the artist nowadays and enjoys working with crayons, charcoal, beeswax, watercolors and other paints, and even pastels. I think he would really like this camp.

There will probably be more swimming lessons too.

But all this still leaves me with the challenge of working while caring for Asher nearly full-time. As he gets older and more mobile (meaning into more stuff), it gets harder and harder to accomplish anything during the day. I’m often wiped out by 8:30 p.m. and find it challenging to work at night, too.

All this sounds complainy—but today I’m really in a decent mood. I’m glad to have the new project. I love the fact that when I tell the Universe I need more work, something usually arrives in my lap. Hopefully my childcare challenges will resolve themselves in the same manner. 

So, thank you, Universe. And if you could figure a way for me to earn a decent living and still wrangle my kiddos, I’d really appreciate it.

I’ve just finished a small copyediting project about Syria. It was interesting and thankfully short. Arabic names are a bitch; transliteration produces all manner of variant spellings. I did not make a ton of money on the book and worked harder on it than I’ve worked on most projects in the last … um … six months or so, but as my freelance work has been spotty over the last several months, I’m grateful to have had the project. Now I am more convinced than ever that peace in that region of the globe is hopeless, although that was not the message of the book. 

I’m experiencing a lot of internal conflict over work and what I’m supposed to be doing with my time. On the one hand, I have a voracious appetite for work. I like working. I find it stimulating and rewarding. I like concentrating and solving problems, unraveling knots of words into a single, easy-to-follow thread. I like challenging myself and learning new things, which is truly the beauty of the work I do: Every project is different. There is always something to learn. And getting paid to work on books that I wouldn’t normally pick up to read for pleasure has the added bonus of forcing me to learn about things I’m not necessarily naturally inclined to learn about. It broadens my horizons, so to speak. Whenever I speak to other freelancer friends, I’m impressed by what they are doing, by how many clients they have, by how much hustling, networking, and marketing they do, by how much they work/earn (although direct conversation about money is rare). I’m impressed by their drive and ambition and success. I yearn for the same. I yearn to do more, earn more, learn more, be more. My immediate impulse at this moment is to email all my clients and ask for more work.

And yet …

I’m equally motivated by the needs of my family. I have two small people who can’t get along five minutes without me (or so it often seems). I have thoroughly enjoyed Asher’s babyhood thus far. Sometimes I get to take naps with him. We look at books together. We listen to music. In the afternoons when Lucas is home and not at the babysitters’, we enjoy the outdoors, go to the library, visit my grandmother, take walks, do art projects. These things are fun and fulfilling. I know that my children will grow up quickly. I am not willing to miss these early years. I think they do best when they are with me, and I’m grateful to have a supportive (literally and figuratively) husband and a profession that allows me so much flexibility to be with my kids. I also know that I would be a miserable wreck of a mother if I had to ship my children off to daycare full-time. I wussed out at the prospect of part-time daycare back in 2003 and have never looked back since. Some days I am able to slow down my brain and watch the butterflies drift across the yard. Some days I can take great pleasure in washing the dishes by hand with Lucas. I try to cultivate patience and peace by watching good things grow—vegetables, messes, and boys. They grow slowly. I am unable (and unwilling) to speed up the time. And so, my world turns slowly. 

Sometimes that slowness—the drowzy and dizzying days of taking care of children—is a welcome balm. And sometimes it makes me grit my teeth and feel corralled.

There is a metaphor about marriage that is a better metaphor for raising children. Ian and I have “hitched” ourselves to a cart full of precious cargo. We did it on purpose. We must ensure the cargo’s safe delivery to (hopefully) a happy and productive adulthood. We must choose our path carefully and not deviate from it randomly or without consideration. We must go slowly and steadily so as not to jostle or damage the cargo, or bounce it out and leave it by the wayside. We must make frequent rest stops and potty breaks. And although we might wish to run off together without the cart and cargo, we basically can’t—at least not until the cargo gets much farther down the path, and then only for a short break. And the cart won’t travel nearly so well with only one of us pulling, so we are hitched. It’s a good kind of hitched.

*Sigh*

It’s been a hell of a Spring Break and I, for one, am glad it’s OVER! 

It’s Friday night and I’m sitting here in the dark with my vodka and 7, while Ian suffers in the other room: On top of cold symptoms that he’s worked through all week, he appears now to have eaten some bad sushi.

Asher is still sick. He alternates between feeling reasonably chipper and totally lame. His nose is sometimes so congested it’s hard for him to breastfeed. Suck, suck, detach, breathe. Suck, suck, detach, breathe. Suck, suck, detach, breathe. It’s pathetic. He’s now whining a lot of the time, not crying, just complaining. I don’t blame him, but there is so little I can do to make him comfortable: menthol rub on his chest, hot showers to clear out the boogers, milk when he wants it, a sleeping companion, being held a lot. That’s about it.

Lucas is doing better. The antibiotics do the trick. I hate the idea that we’re wiping out all the beneficial flora in his system by giving him this medicine, but lung infections suck worse. Maybe. He’s got 6 more days of meds to take, but he’ll be back to school on Monday. (Otherwise, I may just end up in prison.) Fortunately, my son is mature enough to take his medicine without argument or fuss.

In 12 days, I have left the house only a few times and then only for a brief while. My nerves are completely frayed. Today I yelled at Asher because he wouldn’t sleep. Yeah, that’s stupid. I know. He would go to sleep, rest for 10 minutes and pop awake again. He did that three times. He only really took a proper nap when I calmed down and resolved myself to staying with him instead of working. 

I have work to do and can’t manage to do it. I have my first project to edit in a whole new software program. At the moment, I’m not sure how to do it, only that I’ve committed to doing it. 

Yesterday evening I split, engaged in some retail therapy, and (Thank God) dropped in on some friends who were kind enough to convince me that 9 p.m. was not too late. It was a dark moment when I was sitting in my car in front of Barnes & Noble thinking I had no friends and nothing to do and nowhere to go. Thanks, darlings. I really needed to sit in your kitchen and bitch for a while. 

In a (perhaps belated) effort to stay positive and be Zen about all this, here are some highlights from the last two weeks. There were some fun and/or funny moments, in between the SERENITY NOW! moments.

El Torrito Cilantro Pepita Caesar salad dressing. Lucas has been practicing pouring.

We took a walk at Negro Bar along the American River on March 26. Here are a few pics from that brief outing. It took Lucas only .5 seconds to get covered in wet mud.

It was a beautiful afternoon.

This was before we got sick. I like knowing how to take time-delayed shots! The camera is balanced on the stroller.

This is a cupboard in Lucas’s bedroom. Asher has taken to hiding his pacifiers in this cupboard. Now every time Asher enters Lucas’s room, he makes a beeline for this cupboard to check his stash.

My tulips are blooming and they’re fabulous.

I planted a multipack of pansies in the flowerbed by my front door a few weeks ago. They’re looking great now.

Some bath time fun. Asher kept sticking his tongue out.


And Lucas thought that was cool, so …

We have a book from the library called Hurry and the Monarch and another book all about the life-cycle of the monarch butterfly. Lucas spent two entire days being a monarch butterfly. I had to sneak this photo because he didn’t want one taken. He also had a monarch butterfly painted on his face—and it was damned good, if I do say so myself.

Lucas has also spent a lot of time pretending to be a mouse and a rabbit, which is more palatable to me than, say, pretending to be a Hells Angel or WWF wrestler. Even though small woodland creatures talk in unbearably high, squeaky voices and titter loudly enough to make your head explode.

To keep ourselves busy, we have also: 
* painted pictures
* painted faces
* made mobiles from tissue paper and sticks
* played board games
* played with dominoes
* drawn and colored
* cooked
* gardened and planted 2 tomatoes, 1 cucumber, 1 cantaloupe melon, 2 lavender bushes
* read dozens and dozens of books
* shopped online
* done many, many chores
* cleaned out closets
* and blogged.

We are up at the cabin in South Lake Tahoe right now. Have been since Tuesday afternoon. It’s been totally lovely—snow keeps falling and blanketing the world. Lucas was a little sick for a while, but he’s better now. Some beautiful friends have joined us for the weekend. They’re all outside playing at the moment. I’m stuck inside because Asher’s napping. S’OK though because he’s sweet. I’ll post more about our week up here later on.

I’ve done a bit of work on and off this week, but nothing too strenuous. I’m trying to figure out what direction I want my career to move in. I’m pondering some possibilities while wondering where my next freelance gig will come from. I can tell you this: I like being unplugged from a corporate schedule and I have a hard time imagining ever going back to one. Working in the mountains, when I choose to, sure beats a daily commute to Cubesville. 

It’s funny when the winds of change blow into town. So much of my life is carefully circumscribed right now. It’s hard to know what is just a momentary wish and what might be a deeper yearning for real change.

Work at the magazine this week went well. I was brave and gracious. I talked to all my (ex-) coworkers about the changes at the magazine and my services as proofreader being discontinued. At least to my face everyone was sorry about it and regretful. The editor promises me that I’m the one they’ll call back when the economics are better. She referred to having me working on the magazine a “luxury.” Probably what will happen is that the in-house people will be asked to work more and harder. An editorial employee who is my friend also got cut: She still has a job, but they demoted her to receptionist (and canned the receptionist they had) and cut my friend’s pay. A few other people in different departments were affected (i.e., let go). They have also cut their freelance budget by what sounds to me like a big number, but given that I have no idea what the budget was or what it is now, it’s hard for me to say.

So, we’ll see. I guess they gotta do what they gotta do to stay healthy and weather the economic changes in the region. I must say though, it’s kind of ironic (correct word choice?) that I consistently read about all the wonderful, progressive, exciting things that are happening in this town in the pages of this magazine, which is presently reacting to an economic downturn. Anyway, Monday will be my last day there.

I’ve come to find the silver lining in this change: It’s kinda hard on Asher to have me leave him with a sitter or grandma for 3 to 4 days in a row, when the rest of the month he’s with me constantly. He has survived, of course, but by Friday evening, it was clear that he wanted and needed some mama time. Now I won’t have to do that anymore. I will still need babysitting, but I can arrange it on my own terms and hopefully establish a more consistent rhythm for him—one that he can actually get used to—that doesn’t have 27 days between sets of sitter days. As he is coming into The Great Separation Anxiety Stage, this will be easier on him.

Last Thursday, my father turned 62. That is hard to believe. In my mind, he is still 40. He probably will always be that age in my mind. A friend recently lost her father to cancer. He was older than my dad is—a doctor who practiced medicine up until his end. I can see how hard losing her last parent has been on her. Her plight has inspired some morbid thoughts.

I am thoroughly enjoying the drawing classes that Ian and I are taking on Thursday nights. The teacher is teaching in a loose, intuitive way, which sometimes works and sometimes doesn’t. But the true gift of the class is that we 1) leave our home and kids and assorted real-life distractions, 2) go to a studio/gallery where we are surrounded by art and things to draw, and 3) there are two and a half glorious hours with nothing else to do except drink tea. We are hoping to continue the classes for the next couple of months, or for as long as our babysitters are willing to watch our kidlings. Ian has really caught the bug. He’s been practicing at home, which is wonderful to see because while he’s drawing, he’s not worrying. I love this guy so much. I hate to see him worried. It has been very good for us to have this time together and share this artistic pursuit. I can’t wait to paint!

My brother and his girlfriend, Courtney, recently got back from a vacation in Mexico. It sounds like they had a super time. I think this is Jonathan’s first serious vacation in years. I’m happy for them both. I just love seeing them together and it is my sincerest hope that they continue to make each other happy.

We spent a lovely couple of hours with friends last night. It was refreshing and made me so happy to see them.

Today and for the next two or three days I have to work my magazine job for the last time. I am feeling sad and disappointed about this, but I also have a plan.  I will conduct myself with the utmost professionalism, grace, and style. I will catch errors big and small. I will be seen by as many people in the office as possible, and I will network my ass off! I look super-hot today too.

Watch me. I’m on FIRE.

Spent a ton of time adding recent experience to my out-of-date résumé. Then I gave it to my friend, Dakini_grl to slash the hell out of it, which she did with great wisdom and discretion. Out with the old! Thank you, Dakini!   

It’s kinda funny. I guess with regard to my résumé I was still mentally operating as though I were still just starting out, when every job I ever touched seemed crucial and relevant. Funny how we fall into patterns. I am not just starting out. In fact, I’ve been able to make a solid living doing what I do on my own, and within my own values and the parameters of my family life for 4.5 years now. And dammit, that’s no small thing. And Ian kindly pointed out to me that I’ve lost exactly nothing if this opportunity doesn’t come through. Thanks, honey.

I don’t even know how to talk about it, but a colleague of mine, with whom I’ve worked on several large projects, contacted me yesterday with a cryptic message: “Need any work? I have a great referral for you if you have time. Pay is around $XX-XX per hour. Interested?”

“Why yes, my friend. So kind of you to think of me. A big contract just ended and my plate is actually empty now,” I replied. That $XX-XX per hour rate is freakin' sweet, which makes the work appealing even if it isn’t something I’d normally be into. So now I’m busily updating my résumé, which I absolutely despise doing. (It must be done religiously Once Per Year Or Else, although if I did it more often it would be so much easier.) For this potential client, I’m spinning it in the direction of technical writing and developmental editing, the first of which is a small stretch, the second of which is no problem. I’m just not that great at selling myself on a good day, and frankly, right now I’m really rusty at it. But I shall carry on! I shall bravely do tasks I hate. I shall courageously take on tasks I'm not 100% sure I’m capable of doing. We’ll see …