I just made fifteen telephone calls for the Obama campaign.

Which should tell you something about how I feel about him. I don't cold-call strangers for anything, ever, but for Obama? I'll do it. It was nervewracking, even though it was mostly wrong numbers and answering machines and Obama supporters. But I believe in this man. I'll do it again tomorrow night. And the night after that. Caroline Kennedy's endorsement of him in the New York Times articulates my feelings on this topic much more eloquently that I can manage, but I do want to say, just briefly:

Barack Obama has what it takes to be the best president this nation has seen in my lifetime. He and Hillary Clinton aren't that far apart on their platforms and their stances, but I feel that their approaches to politics differ intrinsically, and I like Obama's honesty and vision. I like that from the first, he stood against this war that has caused so much harm and grief and loss to our country as well as to Iraq. Clinton voted for the war, and I can't quite forgive her that. Obama's had more experience in government than Clinton (unless you count marriage as experience, in which case, I am one hell of a software designer); he was a state legislator for years before stepping into the national limelight. Swing voters are indifferent to Clinton, whereas they are intrigued and excited by Obama. More than that, he's got fire. He's got passion. He's got charisma. When he speaks, I want to listen, and I can't tell you the last time I wanted to listen to any politician.

Just read his remarks in Atlanta, Georgia, before Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. Yes, and yes again. I want that man to be my President.

i would like to report that i just emptied my email inbox. completely. i did it at work last week, too. i am reporting this very quietly and without capital letters because if i were me at any other point in my inbox life i would hate me a little for this. of course, i did it by not responding to a lot of things and deciding to let go of some long-unanswered missives, but still.

empty inbox omg.

A friend sent me this this morning

"...I would like to beg you dear Sir, as well as I can, to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer."

— Rainer Maria Rilke, 1903
in Letters to a Young Poet

Don't hate me for what I am about to tell you.

Last week I had the unprecedented - and likely unrepeatable - experience of finishing everything on my to-do lists. At home. At work. Everything. I did it, and then I looked for the next thing, because there is always a next thing. But there wasn't. Not even a load of laundry to be done. I sat my ass down and caught up on my Final Fantasy XII game in a state of dazed shock. I mean, holy shit, right?

That shining moment was a long time in the making, and came about as a result of the fortuitous convergence of four factors, some situational, some personal. I wrote them down, because I wanted to think about it, and I think better in text; and now I bore you to death with navel-gazing share them with you.

1. I have become more efficient. The chaos of my early medication switch that I posted about last month has settled, and I'm back to a high level of functionality-sans-misery. I've been trying all my life to be a more focused, directed, organized person, and while I'm still far from the ideal, I'm doing okay by my personal standards. I knock off a cool 50% of my everyday "try to" charts and I get my work done to a level I'm satisfied with. I've been wanting to be where I am now on this kind of thing all my life, and I feel pretty good about it, though the days when it falls through feel worse now, because I know I'm capable of more.
   
   
2. My workflow is uneven. Due to the fact that my direct supervisor is at another office and too busy to delegate properly, my workflow at the new job has largely been a matter of supplementing the scant few things he sends me with other projects of my own discovery or devising. This has led to an extremely uneven workflow, one that has me twiddling my thumbs some weeks and breaking my brain others, and fluctuating wildly between doing menial admin work and learning new areas of my field overnight. I have high hopes that it will even out soon, but I've been harboring those for a while, so we shall see. People around here are talking like the promotion I have applied for is a done deal, but committees work in mysterious ways and I won't believe it until I hear official word; I'm not sure that a different title will fix the workflow issues anyway.
   
   
3. I have become better at letting things go. "Everything on my to-do list" does not include many things that it once would have. It does not include, for example, completion of my leisure pursuits (e.g., finishing every knitting or craft project I have started, every blog post I have been thinking about, or every piece of writing I have begun.) Neither does it include bringing ongoing projects up to date (e.g., clearing my personal email inbox - though I got it down to <10, go me - rating my whole iTunes library, or getting all of my loose photos, addresses, and memorabilia into the correct books.) It does not include things I would like to do with my life that I have not yet tackled (e.g., volunteering for the Obama campaign, getting my next Master's degree, losing fifteen pounds, or writing a novel.) I am okay with not having those things done. I haven't let them go in the sense that I don't ever plan to do them; rather, I have let go the anxiety and stress of feeling that I must do them. I'd like to. I hope to. But if I don't, it will be fine.
   
   
4. I have become better at not taking things on. This is largely a function of more than a decade of wrestling with depression. I've learned, slowly and painfully, that just because I am capable of doing something one week does not ever guarantee that the next week will not find me broken and unable to cope with more than basic survival in my current commitments. I try to calibrate my life so that I can break a dozen times a year, at minimum, and not fail at anything major. This means I'm not taking online courses, that I haven't been pushing to publish and network within my professional organizations, that I haven't committed to more freelance work, and that I haven't gotten pregnant again. It's taken me thirty-odd years, but I seem to have gotten a decent sense of my own limitations.

Not all of these things are unmitigated positives. Being more efficient means that sometimes life feels like one long to-do list, and I don't read as many books, see as many friends, or play as much as I once did. A steady workflow was one of the things I specifically asked about in all my job interviews, because I hate not being busy and on-again-off-again chaos. Knowing my limitations and letting things go limits the scope and breadth of things I do and keeps me from pushing past my boundaries to test my potential. But I think, on balance, they swing toward the good end of the scale. They got me the golden moment of perfect rest I have been dreaming of for years, after all.

It didn't last, of course. I volunteered for some things at work, and got others dumped on me. The laundry and the dishes got dirty again (as they do), I remembered a few things I wanted to take care of this week, my email inboxes filled back up, and I made more plans. I don't ever expect to see that kind of clean plate again in my life; it's a ridiculous goal, and one of the things I need to let go in order to be a happier person. I worked toward that moment for two years, in fits and starts; it didn't happen overnight, and it probably wasn't worth the anxiety and effort I put into it, overall.

But it was here. For about two or three days, at the end of each day, I sat down, had some cookies and beer, and played video games with a clear conscience and an easy mind. And that's really something.

Squidbits

Two-plus months of squidbits, oy. There's a reason I do this every month! I can't remember what happened two months ago, now, and it's like he's a whole different kid. I mean, it's really like he's a whole different kid, because he got this haircut, oh my God, and my baby is not a baby anymore, he's a little boy. I might have cried, but you can't prove it. This has, however, prompted me to attempt to make the switch from calling him "Baby [Squid]" to calling him "Mister [Squid]", because he is almost two and two -year-olds are not babies. So far, so good - I still refer to him as a baby in general, but the moniker has made a successful transition.

 

Although, you know, maybe he's a whole different kid, or maybe I'm a whole different mama. I suspect a bit of both are at work. Now that I am feeling better, I can really enjoy my time with him. We play! We read books! We have conversations! I hardly ever feel stressed out or unable to cope anymore, and I'm sure that my better mood carries over to him a little.



...I'm really not sure how to write about the last two months. I mean, we went to Mexico! We went to Illinois! We had Thanksgiving, and Christmas, and New Years'! We threw a party for the whole neighborhood on Christmas eve and our house was full of light and warmth and good food and good neighbors and munchkins! My parents came down on Christmas day for present-opening, and we videoconferenced with my in-laws so they could join us. There has been so much going on that any attempt to summarize it now would be tedious and listy, and yet all of it was so delightful that I want to share it. Damnit. Never skipping one of these posts again, I tell you.



Mostly because they're for me, so I can remember what each month was like. And there has been so much I want to fix in my mind. This is a golden time for us. Today, once we were washed and dressed and fed and packed, I said, "Okay, Mister Squid, time to go to daycare! Here's your job!" and handed him his sippy cup (his "job" is to carry the cup to the car.) And he clutched his cup and walked out the door with me, and paused on the porch to wave to his Daddy and say "Bye bye!" and then held out his hand to me, so I could hold it as he went carefully down the steps. His face lights up every day when I pick him up after work - it's like he starts to glow when he sees me at the door. He makes up games and plays them with us and laughs and laughs and laughs. And he tells me long stories in Squiddish, with real English words creeping in more and more all the time.



Words he can say: "Die" has morphed into a proper "hi!" and "bye bye!" "No," "yeah," and "more" are holding strong, and have been joined by that toddler staple, "mine." Also "cracker," "bagel," "this," "that," "please," "again," and "night." "He has a few simple phrases - "Oooh, what's that?" and "Where'd it go?" and has said several more things as repeats that aren't yet "use on your own" words. He talks on the phone whether there is someone on the other end or not - long, expressive conversations - and can make monkey noises with a monkey doll and train noises for a train and fire engine noises for a fire engine. And of course, "Nice!" for loud burps or farts. Hee. Himself is making me watch my language (which is hard, as I am one foul-mouthed motherfucker) lest he pick that up as well.

Tangent: Seven years ago, my father and I were building a fence together, to keep my dogs in. I was, as is my wont on manual labor projects, cussing a blue streak at the boards as I wrestled them into place and drove the screws in.

My father, after about half an hour of this and a particularly creative bit of swearing on my part, observed, "You've got a foul mouth on you, bitch!"

"Where do you think I got it from, asshole?" I replied.

Um, yeah.



In less horrifying news, now that the Squid has short hair, there is a little sweet divot right at the nape of his neck that I love to warm the tip of my nose in. I will be so sad once he does not want hugs and kisses and snuggling all the time, because he is so awesome I want to eat him up. People said I would feel like this about infancy, which, NO - you can have pretty much the whole first year, be my guest - but I am wanting to cling to every moment of these days now. I have never been happier to be a mother.



Which is not to say that we have gotten off scot-free. He is almost two, after all. On bad days, he is like trying to deal with a horde of angry squirrels. Tied together with string. And his crankiness, though it comes and goes, is impressive, involving shrieking, whining, clinging to pants legs, and throwing himself on the floor inconsolably. During a particularly tough patch, I said to my friend, exasperated, "He has to learn that you can't always get what you want by clutching someone's legs, burying your face in their crotch, and whining!"

"I didn't think boys ever grew out of that," she said.

He was naughty for the first time in early November - told to sit down in his chair, he looked straight at his Daddy and stood back up - and the need to institute discipline and rules is upon us. We have phased out all before or after-dinner snacks, and all movies unless one of us is sick. He eats what we eat now, not special meals. We have him put his own toys away, and help with his own diapering, and we are making clearer distinctions between what is okay to play with and what does not belong to babies. I am so very exceedingly grateful to be feeling better these days; there is no way I could have handled this before the new medication. It takes emotional effort to be a structured parent and enforce rules, and I have regained stability just in the barest nick of time.



With his new independence and willfulness come good things, too. We're seeing the leading edge of imagination and pretend play - he has a plastic giraffe and some dinosaurs that he makes walk around and roar (did you know that giraffes roar? They do.) and he pretends to drive steering wheels. He sits backward on the kitchen chairs and says, "chkachkachkachkaOooOoo" like a train, and he interacts with the pictures in books, recognizing that a train is going away, or that the caterpillar is eating things, or that in one picture there are cookies and in the next they are "all gone." I am so excited for this little guy who is figuring out his world!



I'm sure there are a million things I'm leaving out, here, but I'm so late with this that they can go in the next Squidbits in just a few weeks. Essentially, life is good these days. The Squid is good. The Squidmama is good. The year of the Rat is starting out on a promising foot (paw?) and I can only hope that we go on as we have begun.