Having It All!!!

Have you ever looked at those women juggling career, family, interests and think you could never do all that?  I used to.  Now, I am one of those women.  I have currently clawed my way up to management (by which I mean no one else wanted my job).  I am raising 2 kids, including a child with somewhat special needs  - I never know how to describe my highly intelligent yet autistic son.  I started several blogs and am working toward publishing my own book.  And to top it off, I’ve found a passion for an actual athletic endeavor which occupies at least 2 nights a week, plus workout time.  Now, lean in, as they say now a days, so that you too will learn the secret of having it all.  You can dedicate yourself to as many goals and activities as you want, as long as you’re completely comfortable  sucking at everything.  I’m not talking about not being at the top of your game, I mean really stinking worse than if Pepe le Pew got run over by a garbage truck.  

Oh, come on, you’re exaggerating, you may think.  Well, in my first month as a manager, I approved a time card for someone who didn’t actually work.  After failing assessment after assessment in roller derby, watching my fellow fresh meat get drafted while still scrimmaging, I can still barely keep from falling over with the slightest hit, and that 27 laps in 5 minutes continues to by my achilles heal.  In my 7 scrimmages so far, my one good hit turned out to be against my own jammer!  And getting published?  I’ve been working on the same book proposal for weeks and haven’t had time to finish it.  I decided to actually hire someone to do a website for me, but can’t even find the time for a phone conversation so they can complete the job.  And motherhood?  Sometimes I practice walking with my head down and covering my face with a scarf for the inevitable time when one of my kids ends up in the news, and everyone will say “Well, with a mother like that, what did you expect?”  We mothers love to see bad mothers in the press, decrying how someone could be blessed with gifts from heaven only to neglect them, when really, we’re just so happy to see that there are worse mothers than us.  Why do you think I watch “Toddlers and Tiaras”?  

What are my cardinal maternal sins, you ask?  Before today, I was keeping a tally, thinking that although these misgivings - like sending my daughter to school in pajama bottoms, and sending my son to school in a bathing suit the Friday BEFORE water day - were upsetting now, I’d laugh about them later.  Like having a house that makes the living spaces on “Hoarders” look minimalistic.  Then recently, my son had 2 doctors appointments, which was great because Children’s Hospital is a schlep and I didn’t have to take more time off work.  First was the follow up with the orthopedic.  My son has a weaker and physically smaller left leg.  After ruling out cerebral palsy and a spinal defect, the diagnosis is just some kind of nerve damage and we were told to send him to physical therapy, which we did.  And by we, I mean his baby sitter takes him every week.  She gives us the handouts of the exercises he’s supposed to do every night, and we add it to the pile of mail, school stuff, and all other manor of paper that we will someday be able to build an extra house out of (that we can put more stuff in).   So the doctor asks the inevitable, “How is he doing in PT?”  “Fine, I think.”  “Have you noticed any improvement?”.  “I’m not sure” (because I haven’t looked).  “What kind of exercises is he doing?”  Again, blank stare.  I’m sure she left the appointment thinking what I think about many of my patients - I can’t do it for you, if you’re not going to follow the treatment plan, why are you coming to me?  Next was the developmental pediatrician.  We conveyed the behavior which has eluded us for years - hitting, tantruming, obsessing.  “Is his behavior therapist working on any of these issues with him?”  At this point I’m thinking maybe I should bring the baby sitter to doctors appointments with me since she probably knows more about my children’s daytime activities than I do. And just like that, I realize this is not just pajama-bottoms-by-day anymore.  

I’ve always said I don’t care what people think of me.  But like most people who think that, who the hell am I kidding?  I care that I do right by the nurses that have, through lack of better judgement, trusted me to lead them.  I have no illusions that anyone in my league thinks there’s a world cup derby player hiding under the sweat and mummy-tummy.  Yet having your lack of ability judged as a character flaw hurts, especially when you tell yourself it’s good that you have an activity that takes time away from your family because it’s “stress relief”.  How do you keep justifying that time when it starts to just add to the pile of shit?  

So here I am, at the crossroads all mothers encounter, sometimes daily:  When is it enough for my kids?  How much is OK for me?  And even if its OK, is it worth the juggling act?  I haven’t asked for comments in my previous posts, but I know there are other moms reading this, and I have to ask - how do you do it?  Do you feel guilty?  Do you feel like you could be better at derby if you didn’t have family obligations?  And for you other 40+ derby ladies - do think you could be in better shape if you were younger?  Do you think age makes a difference at all?  Do you think your younger teammates get that things are different when your dealing with a 90 degree rink and menopausal hot flashes at the same time? 

Please leave me your comments.  I may read them between finishing the dishes that have grown a new species of fungus, and bathing my children who.. well, you get the theme.  

Speaking of having it all, check out my website:  www.midwifelindarice.com

39 Again.

Remember my last post about how being bad at something is good for you?  Forget everything I said.  Being bad sucks more than a Dyson on steroids.  Having a little trouble weaving through a pace line, having a goal to work for, is one thing.  Failing your assessment again and again blows worse than if Katrina and Sandy became lesbian lovers.

So I did something today for the first time:  I lied about my age.  I’ve heard that women lie about their age all the time, but I’ve never felt the need.  In my profession, experience is valued.  The only man I’m trying to get into bed is my husband.  Besides having a front row seat to the southward journey my breasts have taken for the past 10 years, he’s seen both my birth certificate and passport.  So who did I lie to?  The exercise bike at the gym.  For my cardio, I do that program that adjusts the intensity of the bike to reach a target heart rate.  Unfortunately, when I put my real age in, the bike says “Take it easy.  At your age, you’re on the downslope of the hill, you don’t have to pedal as hard”.  

One of the skills a derby player must have is the ability to skate 27 laps in 5 minutes.  Do you know what it’s like to skate that many laps in that amount of time?  Neither do I.  At 5 minutes 42 seconds, as I lay gasping for air and begging my muscles to stop screaming it occurred to me:  the track doesn’t know how old I am, neither does it care.  So I trick the bike at the gym that the ample rump occupying it’s seat belongs to a 35-40 year old.  I honestly don’t know if my legs are strong enough to back pedal up the hill enough to pass my next assessment.  I just know I’m not ready to start coasting down hill yet.  

It's Good to be Bad!

For months, my fellow fresh meats and I would gaze adoringly at the seasoned derbies doing hockey-stops and jumping over cones.  “Won’t it be wonderful” we would think as skating backward with the speed of a drunk turtle and the stability of the crack-smoking mayor or Toronto, “when we can have that skill and confidence”.  Then last night, one of the travel team players said something that took me by surprise.  “The hardest thing about being at this level”, she mused, “is that you have to try to find more challenges”.  

The experience and wisdom of age brings many gifts to the track.  Speed is not one of them.  On my first practice with the full league as a level one, we did an exercise called a pace line.  All skaters are in a line keeping up with the woman in front of her.  There are various drills that can be run, such as having the back skater sprint to the front, or weave in and out of the other women.  We were doing a “hitting” line, where the back skater weaves and hip checks each woman in the line.  Trying to keep up with the line was struggle enough.  Trying to keep up while being slammed every 5 seconds was almost impossible.  Every time I took my eye off the skater in front of me, I slowed down or veered off, creating a grand canyon - sized gap in the pace line.  When it was my turn, trying to skate up in the line, losing momentum to hit and still passing the other women proved too much.  I struggled to make it half way before dropping out all together.  

It was humbling at a time in life when I was starting to feel pretty comfortable.  I’ve been a midwife for 14 years, and I was a labor and delivery nurse before that.  While dealing with human beings is always a new experience, I don’t break a sweat at the start of every call shift anymore.  I am mercifully out of the dating scene, and done with the turnstile of new men for whom I need to suck in my stomach and pretend I don’t fart. 

I still feel like a terrible mother most days, but I would argue that being a “good mom” is an unattainable goal.  Before all the moms out there threaten to stab me with toddler-safe forks and splash me with environmentally-friendly non-toxic craft paint, let me explain.  You can be a good mom, but you never get to feel good about your parenting skills.  When my son was born, I had the typical fear of dropping him.  What’s funny about that is I have held thousands of babies over the years, sometimes with one hand, often sloppy wet.  I got the diaper-change, breast-feeding thing down, and guess what?  He started solids and sitting up.  And so it went, every time I was starting to get something down, he kept changing into a new phase and new person.  Every time we would screw up with Evan, we would take solace in the fact that we’d get it right for the next one.  Then, after fumbling through parenting for 22 months, along came Lily: the second child, not the practice model.  After a few months, we made the most horrific discover - she was like this whole different person!  So yes, being a mother keeps me on my toes.  I guess it didn’t feel like such an extraordinary challenge because it’s an experience of humility and self-doubt which I share with most adult women on the planet.  

So yes, for the first time in a while, outside my home, I feel like a complete moron!  Why would I want to put myself through this?  I guess for the same reason I eat vegetables and drive the speed limit (or the Boston version thereof).  It doesn’t always feel good, but it’s good for me.  Besides the benefits of physical exercise, which are endless, researchers found that trying new things and having a variety of experience makes one retain positive memories and minimize negative ones.  http://content.time.com/time/specials/2007/article/0,28804,1631176_1630611_1630586,00.html  Another article I found said that taking in new information actually makes our brains perceive time as going slower.  http://www.huffingtonpost.com/belle-beth-cooper/10-surprising-things-that-benefit-our-brains_b_4275770.html  Not a bad benefit to have at a time when, as Joni Mitchell says, I have to “drag my feet to slow the circle down”.  (Listen to “The Circle Game” if you don’t get it.)

I’ll let you in on another secret of feeling comfortable:  insecurity is rare, but so are meaningful victories.  I’ve climbed to the top of the ladder I had designed for myself - I became a midwife, got good at it, got married, and had kids.  There may be more to life for some, but when I was mapping out my goals, this was the “win” space on my game board.  

Last night, we did the dreaded pace line again.  I’m past the age where I can even fantasize that some day I’ll climb mount Everest or sing on Broadway, but I was going to make it to the front of that friggin pace line if it killed me!  Not a Super Bowl win, but raise a glass for me if you so happen to be imbibing now.  And on to hockey stops!!

Kinda Fresh

I have been what is known in the derby world as “fresh meat” for the last 3 months.  John McCain said, when he was called “The come-back kid” in the 2008 Republican primary, “At my age, I don’t think I can be called the anything kid!”  I don’t often feel like a kindred spirit with old Republicans, but I get it, Senator.  I find it difficult to think of myself as fresh anything at 46.  But here I am, skating around the rink with a bunch of 20-somethings.  

In some ways I have a leg up on them.  Not so much my age, but my generation makes me more at ease on 8 wheels.  I first strapped on metal skates over my Buster Brown shoes around age 5 or 6.  I spent Friday nights with the Campfire girls at the Ballaroo skating rink in Medford, MA.  In 1991, I spend days off on a cheap pair of quad skates, on the bike path in southern California.  When rollerblades came into fad, I bought my first pair in 1992.  Throughout the years, depending on if my residence was in proximity to a bike path, I found comfort and relaxation with wheels on my feet, and earbuds in my ears.  Even in Saudi Arabia, where the security of a self-contained compound allowed it, I would go out rollerblading at 2am.  

I’ve never really had a “thing” - you know, something to challenge myself, a goal to work for.  Exercise was moderately enjoyable, but mainly done with the incentive of not becoming fatter than I already am.  My husband ran a marathon a few years ago.  He decided to do it one day, read “Marathon training for Dummies”, started with a few 5Ks and half-marathons, then finished the Disney marathon just after Chip. (Or was it Dale?).  I’ve thought over the years, why isn’t there a “thing” for rollerblading?  They have 10Ks for runners, bike races, triathlons.  I had always wished they had a 5K for rollerbladers.  Of course, I’ve heard of roller derby, but not as something I thought anyone could actually just “do”.  

You gotta love Facebook.  I know in general, some of us are getting less social because of technology, but I’m a busy mother of 2.  There’s no way I’d be able to keep in touch with everyone I’d like to in real life.  One such person was Meghan.  I know her because she was my autistic son’s behavioral therapist.  For those of you who think someone like that isn’t really a friend, I challenge you to think of one of your friends whose been in your house every week for a year, seen you in your PJs, and has physically helped you hold down your 4 year old in the middle of a tantrum.    Meghan shared one of those little photo/jokes you see on Facebook all the time. Now I can’t remember exactly what it was, but I remember the words “Roller Derby” and “fish-net stockings”.  I messaged her, “can just anyone do that?”  When she said yes, I think I sent another one, “I mean really, just anyone?”.  So there we were at the “Meat and greet”.  We spoke to a few women from the league and skated in circles to top 40 hits with the bass way too loud.  As we were discussing, “what to you think?”  “should we?”, a women skated by us in bootie pants and fish-net stockings.  We looked at each other and simultaneously declared, “We are totally getting fish-net stockings!”  

I’ve been looking on Amazon.  Being superstitious, I decided not to buy any until I passed my level I assessment, which I will talk about next post.  (Spoiler alert - fish-net stockings are kinda itchy!)