I don't need no stinkin man

I think I'm offically beginning to freak out. 

It all started when I began to explore the idea of refinancing my house.  I figure it would be good to see about the potential of locking in a better interest rate for a longer period of time while I'm away in the midwest.  When it came to the point of making a decision of moving forward I found myself doing a huge explaination to the mortgage broker.

"You see, I have to run this by my fiance.  Not that I'm used to this.  I usually can make decisions all by myself, in fact I'm used to it, but now that I'm engaged I think its important that I get his input and so that I...I mean WE can agree and decide on what would be best for us in the long run.  I mean, that is what you do when you are married, but I'm just getting used to the idea, so is it ok if I call you back within the next 24 hours?  I'm sorry I can't give you an answer now." 

The mortage broker probably thought I was needing more psychotropics by then.  You see, when I said "I need to run this by my fiance," it felt as if I were saying, "I'm not strong enough to make a decision by myself and I have to wait on my man."

Needlesstosay, given my fiance's call schedule and sleep deprivation as well as his sheer adversity to making decisions, not only has 24 hours eclipsed, but 72 hours and I still haven't called back the mortgage broker.

At work, I've been getting used to the idea of someone else sitting in my chair...ooh, Freudian slip...sitting in THE DIRECTORS chair.  I've been thinking of internal candidates more so than external.  Today I heard that one of my former male therapists who quit within 3 months of my directorship was planning on applying for my job, I was thinking, "oh no he didn't!" 

Here's the deal.  I live in a profession with 90% of the workforce women, but most of the top administrative jobs held by the males.  Stupid males.  Stupid sexism.  Makes me think that I would rather have my nemesis in the chair than some guy.  ESPECIALLY some guy who quit on me.  Sure I told him he could come back any time...I meant as a CLINICIAN. 

In graduate school I actually signed up to run as vice president of the school until one of my professors pointed out the sexist descrepancy of leadership within the profession.  I got so mad I went up and erased my name for v.p. and wrote in for president.  I won.  That same drive haunts me now. 

The drive to be an indepenent feminist.

Redwood in a Can

Well, it took me about 3 weeks start to finish minus rain delays, two products that couldn't be applied in direct sunlight, and my lazy side on weekday mornings, but the first coat of the deck is done!  I have to tell you, its been quite the ordeal.  When I first went to Home Depot and began to invest in products, my mother told me I had been "sold a bill of goods" (another strange cliche I'm not certain of the meaning, but its been in my family for generations.)  There was the stripper, the brightener, the brushes, the spongey applier thingys, the deck brush, and a squirt bottle. 

I usually began in the mornings.  Edgar would be tied up in the back yard so he felt included (hello, he's a pack animal), but far enough away from the chemicals.  Sometimes Mom would show with bagels and a sense of humor.  I always had music on.  I kept thinking, "this can't be that hard."  And I also remembered my uncle's advice that you can always fix it.

The stripper (ok that just sounds strange), the paint stripper was advised to be applied by the squirt bottle.  My hands began to cramp by board 4.  Mom, who accompanied me in this little journey bright and early before the sun hit the deck, suggested we try a mop.  The mop only just sucked up the paint stripper and failed to distribute it.  It also subsequently ruined my mop.  We turned to the brushes.  Yup, hours upon hours of bending over painting, waiting for it to cure, then madly brushing the chemical up before it dried, and finally pressure hosing it down.  It was rewarding though to watch the stain just lift right up.

I moved onto the brightener just this past Thursday.  I got up at the ungodly hour of 5:30 to get it going.  I finished the whole thing that morning.  I think this was the part that my mom doubted, but it turned ugly weathered wood the color of honey and was worth the $19.99 or whatever I paid for it. 

This morning I was ready for the stain.  I went with a redwood tint, mostly because it was what the previous owners had and I didn't want to condition the bloody benches.  Besides, it looks nice with my sandstone wall.  My first problem was I didn't know how to open the paint can.  Oh, how I wish I were kidding. 

Remember how my father isn't handy so its not like I had a role model.  When I was about 11 or so my grandfather "commissioned" his granddaughters to paint the white fence that went the full perimeter of the ranch up in Oakley, Utah.  It was a BIG ranch.  We spent about a week doing this and keeping a timecard so we could get paid.  I think we were just child labor, but whatever.  Of course, he was meticulously Army trained and a bit OCD so he took care of the messy parts like opening the paint cans and pouring it into the container (I'm certain there is a fancy name for it, but "container" works just fine.)  As prepubescent girls go, we of course screwed things up like managed to get paint EVERYWHERE and loaded the brushes all the way to the metal.  This causes the bristles to separate.  I earned about $50 that summer.

Once I called my mom to find out how to open the can, I was off and rolling (nice pun.)  Then it dawned on me, I had everything BUT stuff to clean the paint off of me.  Because although it had been decades, I made the same mistakes.  Paint everywhere and I loaded the brushes.  I called my mom again to ask for paint thinner.  There wasn't a way I could paint laden get in my car and get back to Home Depot.  I began to curse the sales dudes who just happened to forget this important part. 

My fiance called me part way through the morning post-call.  I told him of my debacle and he told me I needed spirits.  Ok, I thought he was joking and could picture me going into the store asking for spirits or ghosts or something and only for the clerk to burst into hysterics.  He clarified mineral spirits, but I wasn't convinced.  Only once we hung up did I call my dad who just said they didn't have any paint stuff at the grocery store. 

I actually began to read the can.  Hey!  Its water clean up!  Ok, so back to the sink!  Yeah, not so much.  I began to wonder if I would be permanently redwood myself.  Screw it, I went back outside to complete my venture.  My work became a bit sloppy in an effort just to get the damn thing done.  So what if some of the stain landed on the metal.  Its Water Soluable!  I'm certain it will clean up.  I continued to work on the wood around the fence....that is, until I ran out of paint. 

In the meantime, my parents stopped by with paint "kleenup."  Didn't look to environmentally friendly, but perhaps it could work.  My father remarked that I didn't get inbetween the boards.  Say what?  They left with Edgar (rescued from the boring backyard) and I began to shove my already loaded brush inbetween the boards, which, by the way, doesn't work.

Well, like I said, I ran out of paint (yes, I'm certain this story is just riveting you to the screen, but you can stop reading if you'd like.)  So I attempted to wash off best I could without the Kleenup and made it to Home Depot.  They had to mix another can for me and then I asked about the inbetween parts.  Wouldn't you know, for only $19.95 there was a wonder brush with surface appliers and a small wedge that also went inbetween the boards.  But wait, there's more!  A rebate!  I began to look at the $3.00 sponges thinking I could do this for cheaper, but in the end I just gave up and bought the sucker.

Did I mention I was getting sloppy?  Who cares if part of it lands on the concrete/plant leaves/hose?  It's Water Soluable!  The whole time I was painting the fence and watching it drip I kept hearing a song from "Alice in Wonderland" in my head.  "We're painting the roses red, painting the roses red, not pink, not green, not aquamarine, We're painting the roses red!"  Perhaps the paint fumes were getting to me.

I began to doubt my confidence in the water based cleaning when I tried to wash the brushes and me and it just smeared the tacky substance around.  I first read on the container that it was ok to have human skin contact and then dampened a rag like my grandfather did before to scrub it off of me.  It took me roughly 7 hours today to get one coat done on everything.  I have a bit of a sunburn and a wee headache from dehydration. 

Only another 72 hours before I can do coat 2!

Family Inc: Mergers and Acquisitions

They say that all major wars were launched due to faith and beliefs.  The Cruisades, the World Wars, even Jihad.  I would argue that it is power framed as being related to faith and beliefs.  See, for example, my current battle over the rehearsal dinner.

It all began with a common misunderstanding about expectations.  What resources were being dedicated to which part of the overall wedding experience.  I found that my unspoken number was quite different than my family-in-law-to-be.  Both sides believed they were being reasonable and had faith all would work out in the end.  But would it? 

Resources = power.  Just ask the social worker who's days' work is finding resources for those who don't have any.  Generally speaking, these are the mentally ill, poverty stricken, and now more than ever, the middle class.  But anyway, I'm off that soap box. 

The problem was that both my fiance and I believed that there was one big pot of resources vs. dividing out across the traditional roles.  We planned the budget from this point of view and were, sorely, sorely mistaken.  Feelings were hurt, mixed messages were sent, and to be honest, I'm still not certain where we stand.

Last night my fiance said that politics are just a fancy way of using soft language to get what you want.  I find that family politics do not work out this way at all.  I have never heard a 16 year old finesse an agreement from their parents for things like having a huge party with no supervision.  (If I had, I would have been refering to DCFS for neglect...sure, have your whole high school come by while we're out of town and here's the liquor cabinet key)  I don't think so.

Soft language would be ok...if you were at a childrens' hospital (don't say large needle, but a small straw that may feel like a tiny pinch).  Soft language in families doesn't fly.  I'm a literal kind of person.  You tell me, yes, it means yes.  No means no.  So when you tell me that it is ok to use the backyard and then the next day ask if I really understood you that what you meant was, no...well, this doesn't fly for me.  However, in some families between the lines reading is the M.O.  With my family, you almost wish there were lines because the game is on even at the Sunday dinner table.  Both families believe they have the best way of communicating.  Do you come to Sunday dinner with a magnifying glass to pick apart the clues or a shield to abort the blows?

Who has the power?  That has yet to be decided as the two families blend with their beliefs.  Will it be the "strong and silent" or the "honesty is the best policy?" 

Affirmation

Huh.  I kind of feel like a deer in the headlights.  Over the years as a director, I have dealt with a lot of political and interpersonal nightmares.  Perhaps it was because I was a young peer moving up the ranks, perhaps it was something else.  All I know is that I have kept the details to myself vs. publically processing things on the blog for a good reason.  Much thanks to Dooce who lived, learned, and passed on her wisdom.  Note to self:  will not repeat her mistake.  All I know is that when I began to finally let my colleagues and staff know of my intention to leave, I felt more relief than regret.  Indiana with its fields of corn, evangelical tent revivals, race cars and tornados looks really good to me right now.

The team is in a good place.  I'm really proud of the work we've done on our relationships, trust, task forces, etc..  Most of the work was behind having them believe in themselves and just prove how excellent they were vs. playing the martyr victim.  Odd that a profession so built on advocacy would have so many people in victim mode.  I'm glad to be leaving on a high note vs. a low one.  I'm happy that administration is wanting to work with me to help transition and have me be mostly in control of my termination date. 

I've been telling staff members individually of my plans which have been met with some tears, a lot of congratulations, one expressing interest in my job, and one begging me not to go.  Today in staff meeting I addressed their anxiety openly.  To my surprise quite a few asked if the organization would consider having me go on a LOA for a couple of years and they would be ok with an interim director for the meantime.  I thought only one person felt that way, but apparently they wanted to organize a group to petition the CEO, admin director, and HR for this plan. 

If anything, I was flattered.  Part of me wondered if it was more about them being more afraid of change than it was about me.  Even some of my harshest critics acknowledged how much they appreciated me and respected me, but our biggest source of pain was the change of me taking over in the beginning. 

Either way no matter what happens, interim or permanent replacement, it was a nice affirmation that the past 3 years have meant something. 

All Y'All

Phew!  Things are going so fast!  I just got back from Louisiana where wedding 2 out of 3 for 2006 occurred.  The first was my dear friend in San Francisco, but I couldn't make it because I was so sick. 

Miss Stacey was married last Saturday at a beautiful plantation.  www.houmashouse.com  I was a bridesmaid.  I can tell you that of all of the times I've been a bridesmaid, this has been my favorite experience.  The dress was pretty, I had hair long enough for an up-do, the weather was perfect, and my fiance flew down to meet me. 

I can say that the bride was a bundle of nerves as the countdown to zero hour.  She was so focused on her tiara looking just right and her make up to be just so.  She was not the talkative chatty southern belle I was used to.  All I could think was, "This is a preview of how I'm going to be."  Or not. 

One of my bridesmaids, Michael the chaplain, instructed me that I needed to get rid of the perfection myth.  On some level that will be easy because details can sometimes elude me. 

Its been a few years since I've been back to NOLA.  I have to say, I couldn't bear to fly into New Orleans, so I flew into Baton Rouge like a coward.  At the rehearsal dinner, the natives (otherwise known as the ya yas) gave me updates on how the city was doing. 

Apparently the lakeshore is still devistated.  There is a waterline along I 10 where the flood waters hit that they haven't washed off.  There are cars that were flooded along the interstate that no one has cleared.  Charity Hospital's Emergency Department has moved to the Lord and Taylor department store.  There aren't any service people.  Even taco bell has limited hours and closes at 7:00 PM.  Emeril's Delmonico restaurant still isn't open...the recorded message says, "Due to Hurricane Katrina, we are still closed."  Emeril's just barely opened up with limited seating, limited hours, and a limited menu.  Tell me again why we're sending troops to guard our southern borders (but not our northern) when the city is still in shreads?

In other news, my engagement photos are up!  www.davinafear.com/alijon/   They are amazing!

Annoying

I must be hormonal except for the fact that the calendar says I should be FINE. 

If you've been paying attention to the "what I'm reading" section recently, it has reflected a variety of different marriage prep books.  I call it my arsenal for a pre-emptive strike against the freak-out I'm trying to avoid but is oh so characteristic of me.  Currently I'm skimming The Medical Marriage for obvious reasons.  The authors (a married couple who are not MD's) suggest reading it together, but I can't figure out why because its all facts and no deep questions for couples to even spawn a conversation.  Basically the message its sending is, marriage is hard but being married to a doctor is worse.  Really comforting, folks.

The previous book I read was by Marg Stark called, What NoOne Tells the Bride.  Its worth a read.  Fear about becoming a Mrs. (as in what you think of as the exclusive title of your mother in law), navigating me-time/we-time, and whatnot.  It was really great to the point that I went in search for her web site.  Wouldn't you know it, she's become a traitor.  Now her site is all about her being a Mommy. 

I have nothing against the motherhood movement.  What's annoying me is that it seems to just be another status ring.  There are lists and lists of blogs dedicated to being a mom and the challenges associated with it.  Please note, I am a fan of them.  However, I do search through the material for issues and topics I can relate to that do not have anything to do with sleeping patterns, poopy diapers, or cheerios.  Please tell me that these women hang on to something of themselves besides their primary identity of being a mom.  They did have a life before pushing a melon out of their hoo haw (yes, the very medically scientific term I adopted from living in the south).

My question is, where are the blogs dedicated to the transition of singlehood to couplehood?  Is this where Sex and the City took off?  Notice there isn't a Mom in the City movement (yet, I should say, yet). 

My future sister in law has a 22 month old.  She lives in LA as a stay at home mom and has tried to expand her social circles.  She let me know that the hierarchy doesn't end once you are a mom.  Nope.  You get bonus points for the MORE children you have.  Thus, because she's only had one, she falls to the bottom of the club. 

My cousin has had two and lives in a very wealthy part of Utah.  To show she is all about it, she has embarked on an extreme make-over of veneers and a boob job.  Apparently she's running for prom queen of the mommies.

Will the hierarchy competition ever end?

Six Degrees

I'm certain everyone has heard about the game, "Six Degrees of Separation from Kevin Bacon."  I, myself, have never played...that is, until today.  Here's the deal:

I have an employee who's roommate just landed a job as a nanny for Meg Ryan, who was married to Dennis Quaid, who was in a movie with Kyra Sedgwick, who is married to Kevin Bacon.  Or, you could just note that I once saw Kevin Bacon perform at the Gallivan Center with his brother.  I actually stumbled into that concert by accident.

What is really amazing is the nannying part.  She is getting paid six figures for taking care of the adopted child and coordinating schedules for the 14 year old with the joint custody arrangement.  (I can tell you this as there haven't been any confidentiality clauses signed.)  Six figures.  What the hell was I thinking going to college, graduate school, and wanting to help the world for my salary? 

Apparently the nanny has been doing this for 14 years.  I had friends who did the nanny thing until their early 20's always swearing they would NEVER hire a nanny (none of them have either).  I'm certain people read the bestseller, "The Nanny Diaries."  Somewhere there is a line between the meager fees, a weekend off, and free room to six figures, Christmas in St. Barts, and movie sets.  This woman crossed that line. 

She was back East working for a rap mogul.  His kids were apparently only brought out for photo ops and to show off the bling.  Ms. Ryan is a huge step up on the parenting involvement.

When I was little I always wanted a nanny (Mary Poppins style), store bought cookies, and thought videos were a huge treat.  Instead I had a stay at home mom, fresh baked cookies, and active imagination games like school/gas station/restaurant. 

I hope when I have kids, they have the same desires and realities I did.  Nannies need not apply.