GTFO 2015!

The Pie Baker took a self imposed sabbatical from blogging last year to concentrate on the more internal issues facing her. There was at no time a shortage of topics on which to pontificate in blog form - it's just that there seemed to be no time to adequately organize and form words into coherent sentences. However, as I take inventory of the past year, I see that there was, indeed, plenty of time...there was just no desire. And that is deeply disturbing to me. 

I recently told the campus president of the school where I work, that I write not to make money, but to make happiness - mine. Writing typically brings me joy and I usually feel compelled to write about even the most mundane things that I experience. However, last year robbed me of the ability to experience any real joy. The year began shortly after my father died and I jumped back into the work world with little preparation for what it would be like for me to leave my daughter for the first time in five years and slog away in a cubicle at the whim of sycophants, insecure ball busters and a manager who looked like a wet chicken and acted like a weasel gone to crazy-town. A month after I started working, I began traveling for the job almost every weekend; I had to leave my child when all I wanted to do was spend the time snuggling and laughing with her. That situation produced a highly unpleasant feeling that managed to stick around for the next several months. 

As the management changed several times at my job, I felt my personal relationships changed as well. I didn't spend as much time with the friends I love as much as I wanted. The Pie began to mature from a little girl to a young woman and the effects of that transition shook me to my core. There is no special man in my life - and that's because I want it that way - so at least there was no chance for a romance to sour! (Score one for me!) I withdrew into myself, hoping that something would magically appear to make me happy again. Still waiting. 

I turned 50 this year. As much as I outwardly took it in stride, I became panic stricken as I crunched the numbers. When The Pie graduates from high school, I will be 60.  At a time when most people are planning to retire to a tony condo in Boca,  I will be struggling to get college funded. And then, presumably, a few years later, I will have to pay for a wedding! As it is, I live paycheck to three days before paycheck, so some serious trimming of fat must take place. 

Speaking of fat...I am. But I am reasonably healthy so I have not made a resolution to go on a diet. I do, however, believe that The Pie and I both could eat healthier foods, so I do plan to insert that into the menu plan, rather than asking her what hamburger place she wants to go to every night. 

Last year was filled with such great loss - in society, as well as in my personal life. As I type this, The Pie is listening to the song, "Animal" by Maroon 5. It makes me realize that society is a wild kingdom of various species that just can seem to peacefully coexist. There predators and prey and at any given time, we can be either - it just depends on the environment. 

Speaking of animals - my beloved Furry Valentine, my cat that snuggled with me for over 16 years, my Valentino (Tino) passed away this morning. He was the greatest cat EVER and I will miss our time together and our conversations - mine in English and his in Kittyese - that only he and I could understand. I lay on the bathroom floor and petted him, speaking softly into his ear, sharing memories and thanking him for being the best friend a girl could wish for. His passing reminds me to cherish every moment, to take every opportunity to share our love with family and friends and to be the best snuggler possible. 

Last year sucked. In 2016, I hope to greet each day armed with the tools at my disposal to make the absolute best of the obstacles and gifts placed in my path. I spent 2015 in a depression that sucked the life out of my life. I was not the mother, friend, employee that I know I can be - that I deserve to be. So I'm shaking the dust off my life and heading full steam ahead with a new map, a new attitude and a new blog! 

Happy New Year. 

Happy Humiliation Day!

One of my biggest fears finally came to fruition. I turned the BIG 5-0 on Mother’s Day this year. (That’s not the fear.)  I put off the big celebration because it was a busy month and I wanted a big blow out bash to mark the milestone. I spent a lot of time and effort and money on putting together my perfect birthday party, only to discover that I must have some inflated sense of self to think that people I love would join me to honor my half century of life. (Sarcasm)

It’s the classic cliché’ – a sad, insecure, unpopular girl plans a party and invites all the cool kids. Hours later, she sits amid the uneaten chips, dips, appetizers and snacks, dejected and hurt that no one showed up. That’s what happened to me. On the night I so meticulously planned, lots of people stood me up. It’s bad enough getting stood up just one person, but 25?!?! That cut to the bone. It did a little tap dance on every insecurity I ever had about myself.

I think I did a pretty good job of covering up, to the four people who did show up, that I was disappointed and hurt. Everything was so beautiful and my two closest friends were there, so I made the best of it for as long as I could. I hoped that my friends, The Amazingparents, and Crazy Nurse, didn’t notice how disappointed I was at the turn out. But, seriously, how could they not? I’m grateful to them for not mentioning it. I felt like such a loser.

I ordered food – enough for 25 people: cocktail shrimp, stuffed mushrooms, cheeses, veggies and tasty chicken salad in freakin’ phyllo cups!! I provided two free drink tickets to everyone, so I paid for the alcohol, too! I set up a candy buffet in all the theme colors and the party took place in a beautiful VIP lounge on a rooftop bar in an historical downtown hotel. My friend, Doc, paid for decorations and other little party accoutrements to make it a special occasion. I felt horrible that she spent so much for no one to enjoy.

What I felt most was humiliation. I was embarrassed that I made such a big deal about the excitement of turning 50, holding out hope that the people I cared for would want to share that excitement with me. The brave face I put on weighed so heavily that as I began to pack up all the pretty little doo-dads and gee-gaws, I felt a tear slowly travel down my cheek. I turned away so that no one could see my sadness. I hid my mortification until I made it to my car, then I cried.

I can take rejection….but humiliation is a killer.

Reach Out and Touch...

Since I began working full time, The Pie goes to a sitter before and after school. Not actually a sitter…my next door neighbor watches her during that time. Neighbor has four children of her own (which includes a set of nearly two year old twins) and she also babysits other kids, too. Her house is what I yesterday lovingly deemed, “a teeming mass of tiny humanity.”

I love kids. Well, I love my kid. And some other people’s kids. But being surrounded by young children can sometimes make me feel as if my eyes are going to melt out of their sockets as a result of being exposed to the sheer sonic sounds emitted by the youngsters. But there are admittedly days when I long to be assaulted with sticky little hands, unintelligible squeals and drool. All the kids at Neighbor’s house know me and appear to really like – well, love – me. Especially the twins.

When I show up to claim The Pie, I sometimes will enter the living room, which is always separated by a baby gate, and plop down on the floor. Little people with limited speech run at me like I’m covered in animal crackers and they hug me and drape themselves on my lap, my shoulders, my head. It’s the closest approximation to being a rock star that I can imagine. On a day like I had yesterday, all I could think about on the drive home, was getting to those small humans and soaking up their love like a big old sponge. That’s me…the love sponge.

I honestly believe those children look forward to our limited time together. They squeal with delight when I walk in the door and bang on the couch where they want me to sit. They hug me, sit on me, poke my nose and ears with their little fingers and fight each other over who gets the best place on my lap. They “waller” all over me and I feel drained and energized all at the same time. 

It reminds me of when The Pie was very small and she hung on me like a parasitic fish. Even now, she must be touching me in some way almost all the time. It’s that interactive touch I think we all long for, what we need to remind us that we are not alone.  There are days that seem interminable, just going through the motions of being a content human being. When we are lost inside that teeming mass of humanity, it’s nice to feel a friendly, comforting touch.

 Back in my younger days, when I worked around a lot of men, I concocted a scheme in which I told everyone that it takes one hug a day to maintain happiness and two hugs a day to grow your happiness. I got a lot of hugs! And I remember eventually thinking that there was some truth to it. The more hugs I got, the better I felt about myself and my life. I can’t speak for those gentlemen, but I imagine the opportunity to rub up against some boobies made them fairly happy, too.

So, if you have a chance to just reach across the divide and gently touch someone who needs to feel comfort, stability or just your presence, don’t let that chance go by.  And if little people want to shove their fingers in your facial orifices, let ‘em! 

Off to Work I Go

I’d been thinking about going back to work full-time for several weeks. Dad was in the nursing home and the majority of his monthly income needed to go toward paying for that outrageous bill. I had a job all lined up to start December 1, but after Dad passed away I didn't feel up to dealing with people in any situation the demanded I not cry copiously for no apparent reason. There was money in the bank to last me and The Pie a little while, so I forfeited that opportunity.

Right after Christmas, I stepped up my job search – sending out resumes to just about any industry that offered something close to what I wanted to do! I knew I needed income and I knew I would need it soon. I approached my search aggressively and it paid off.

In the first week of January, I had nine (9) interviews! It felt really validating that I still was considered valuable in the workplace. My skills, admittedly, have gotten a little rusty, but I can still keep up. At first, I wondered if my absence from being a member of the gainfully employed club worked as an obstacle to even being considered. However, as the calls kept coming in, I became more and more confident that I would find … something. Most of the interviews went very well, a couple were definitely not what I was looking for, so I made sure they ended quickly. As I played the waiting game, jumping every time the phone rang, I tried to decide which position I really wanted.  And then it happened.

On a Monday afternoon, I had two job offers within a few minutes of each other. I couldn't believe it! One company manufactures video gaming machines and one of the benefits is getting free lunch every day. The other company is an internationally known and respected aviation, flight and technology college and it’s closer to my home. I accepted the position as a Financial Aid Advisor with the flight school.

I've been on the job for three weeks and I really know I made the right choice. I am working in education again, helping students fund their education that will improve the rest of their lives. It is very rewarding to me to think that I can help a young man or woman follow their dreams. My co-workers are fun and knowledgeable and I feel like I fit in.

The Pie has been having some adjustment issues, though. She’s not used to me being unavailable to her. For most of her life, I have always been there for her – dropping her off at school, attending class parties, volunteering, and picking her up in the afternoons. She misses me and clings to me when we are at home. The best part of that scenario is that she hardly ever wants friends to come over!

I’m looking forward to a long career in my new position and will undoubtedly have many “interesting stories” to share. Stay tuned!

Is It Teacher Bullying?

I’m about to gain a reputation at my daughter’s school as being a difficult mom, a troublemaker, a bitch. It’s a yoke I’m happy to wear because I am standing up for my kid when she can’t. She refuses to explain herself to her teacher on this issue because she is being made to feel like she is different from her classmates. And I am quite pissed off about it.

It all began when the weather started getting colder. The Pie runs a little hot…well, let’s face it, she’s a walking heat source and probably the cause of global warming! Anyway, her teacher told her several times that she HAD to wear a coat to school. I finally caved and forced The Pie to wear a coat, just to stop the complaints. Last week, the teacher

 called me and asked if I knew what The Pie wore to school. I was perplexed. Of course, I knew…I dropped her off at school! She wore a shirt and a skirt. Looked pretty cute, too! The teacher goes on to tell me that she would like my daughter to always wear pants and tennis shoes because of the cold weather. I feigned interest, but eventually dismissed it.

 

Today, The Pie tells me that a lady in the office called her in to ask her once again if I knew what she was wearing and if I saw her before school. What the hell? She proceeded to tell my child that she MUST wear long pants and closed shoes at least until the end of February. I lost my damn mind when The Pie told me about what happened. She said she felt embarrassed and like she was in trouble. I intend to put a stop to it.

I sat down and wrote a sternly worded email to her principal about the issue. I’m sure she is completely unaware that adults are bullying her students. And that’s what I think it is…I may be overreacting, but it’s how she feels she’s being treated and I will not diminish her feelings. Here’s the letter, somewhat modified, I wrote:

My daughter, The Pie, is in Mrs. Hess' second grade class and I am angry. The Pie told me about something that happened today and I am deeply upset.  She explained that Annie in the office pulled her aside and asked her if she dressed herself and if I saw her before she left for school. The Pie also said that Annie told her that she MUST wear long pants and closed shoes to school from now on.

This is an issue I tried to ignore, but during a recent phone call, I discussed it with Mrs. Hess and explained that The Pie's wardrobe is something I leave up to her. It's simply not worth fighting about. Mrs. Hess said that her concern is that The Pie will get cold during an outside recess and possibly get sick.  My daughter has a normal body temperature that runs a little high, so she is always warm to the touch and never, ever gets cold. I gave in to Mrs. Hess' badgering about my child wearing a coat to school, so now she takes one because her teacher told her to. 

The Pie's grandfather, with whom we lived the majority of her life, passed away in November and rather than try to support my daughter through a very difficult emotional time, these women are chastising her for what she wears! My daughter is scared that she has done something wrong. Her grades have fallen, but the focus is on her clothes? That is just wrong. Her learning environment is obviously compromised as a result of this form of harassment. 

I do not appreciate the interference of these ladies regarding something so trivial as my daughter's wardrobe. She is always appropriately covered and does not violate any of the dress code rules in the student handbook. If you can show me in the handbook where it requires girls to wear long pants during cold weather, I wish you would. Until such time, I will not force my daughter to wear clothes in which she feels uncomfortable merely to mitigate the ridiculous gossip of a couple of young women. 

My child is a unique, creative and intelligent girl and I refuse to allow her spirit to be broken by people who have no knowledge or real concern for her welfare. I make no excuses for her and I am offended by the fact that I am being forced to defend her clothing. Rest assured, I will no longer tolerate the shaming she has had to endure about this issue. 

Please call me at your earliest convenience to discuss this situation or to schedule an appointment to meet. 

I’d like to know what all you parents, educators and school administrators out there think. Is there a real basis for requiring The Pie to change her wardrobe? Are the adults at her school bullying her? Or am I just a Mama Bear??  Honest feedback is welcome. 

A New Dawn, A New Day

Tomorrow's sunrise will bring with it the dawn of a new year. In the upcoming year, I will turn 50, my daughter will turn 8, I'll return to work after a workplace absence of five years, and I will deal with a host of situations new and foreign to me. And I'm OK with that. Although it will be memorable for many reasons, I'm ready to bid farewell to 2014. 

As I am wont to do, I can't help but reflect back on other years that were memorable for me. There is no effective or fair way to rate the order of the years, so it's probably best to go chronologically. 




1970 - I met a little boy who wore Jesus sandals and I fell in love with him. I was 5. I even told my mom that someday I would marry him. We were close friends for many years and I even lived with him for a short while. We managed to hurt each other over the years, but I can't let go of that kindergarten love. 

1976 - My family moved from a dangerous part of a metro city to the little suburb that's not so little anymore. It was terrifying for me to leave all my friends behind and start over in a dinky little town, but it turned out to be one of the best decisions my parents made. I now call this town home and it's where my heart truly lives.  

1980 - I began dating a guy nine years my senior. I was 16. He changed my life in many ways, but the primary lesson I learned is how a woman should be treated. It's his fault I never settled for anything less than what I expected. Unfortunately, he took his own life exactly 20 years ago tonight. 

1982 - My best friend at the time gave birth to an adorable little girl who is now 31 and a mother of 4. Knowing her as a child and as an adult is one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. 

1983 - I graduated high school and thought I was a grown up. I prepared to attend Oklahoma State University, turned 18 and could legally drink! Six months later, the law changed to raise the drinking age to 21. It was the best of times and the worst of times. I also met the first of many gay men I would love. His name was Jon and he was my mom's hairdresser. He was beautiful and artistic, sweet and funny. He colored my world in a way no one had been able to do. He died of AIDS related complications in 1990. 

1984 - My best friend had another little girl, who at 30, is all I wanted to be when I grew up. 

1990- I discovered that I had five half siblings, one who is 11 months younger than I. He contacted me and we met. I ended up meeting my biological mother and the one child she kept as well. It was a tenuous situation since they welcomed me as family, but I was reluctant. I had my mom with me every step of the way and she guided me through that difficult emotional terrain. 

1993 - I lost my compass. My mom died suddenly on a Sunday afternoon from a massive heart attack. The shock sent me into a spiral of depression, alcohol abuse and promiscuity. I was reckless and angry at the world. In the span of one week my dog died, my best friend moved far away and my mom died. I felt I had a right to act out. My mom and I were so enmeshed in each other that it was hard to tell where she ended and I began. I've been missing a piece for two decades, but I still keep going. I also met my rock, my best friend and partner in all things fun and ridiculous. She's Speck and The Pie's Favorite Aunt. She has been by my side without judgment for 22 years and she will be with me until the end. 

1996 - The year of eight jobs. In 12 months I worked at 8 different jobs. I learned many lessons that year, not the least of which was how to file taxes with more than one W2 form! 

1997 - I got the dream job of a lifetime. I was hired by a private school to be the assistant to the director of the arts department. I LOVED that job. I enjoyed being part of young people's lives and working alongside talented and intelligent instructors. That position afforded me the opportunity to travel, to participate in professional development, to meet very famous people like Dr. Jane Goodall and Bill Cosby (he did not attempt to drug and rape me, I want to make that clear) and to forge friendships that I still enjoy all these years later. 

2005 - I traveled to New York City for a journalism conference, since I had been appointed the newspaper and yearbook adviser at the school at that time. It was a very informative seminar and I learned many strategies to take back to the kids. BUT, during that trip I met my close personal friend Hugh Jackman. It's one of my favorite stories to tell about my brush with greatness. When I returned to work the following week, I was let go from that fantastic dream job. As a result of a serious budget issue, 16 positions were being eliminated and mine was one of them. Another bout of depression followed that loss and I ended up spending about a year making really bad decisions. 

2007 - The Pie is born!  

2010 - I moved in with Dad to take care of him. His health gradually declines at about the same rate The Pie is growing and developing. I became firmly entrenched in the Sandwich Generation and adjusted to not working full time. 

2013 - I met a man. He was married. That did not go well. I doubt those feelings will ever really go away, but remember, I learned early how a woman should be treated. 

I'm looking forward to creating new memories, new friendships and new experiences in 2015. Believe it or not, I'm excited about turning 50. And I'll try just about anything once...twice if I like it! 

Happy New Year! 

How Our Elf on the Shelf Saved Christmas

I lost my virginity this year. My Elf on the Shelf virginity, that is. I steadfastly opposed bringing a kinda creepy little doll into my home for the sole purpose of entertaining my child every morning with its silly antics and mess making. The idea of creating another mind-numbing chore for myself was beyond my comprehension. And then my dad died. 

I felt an cavernous emptiness that nothing could fill. I dreaded the upcoming holidays with Grinch-like fervor and wondered how I could possibly survive my sadness. The Pie begged for the last two years for an Elf for our Shelf; she asked again a couple of days before Thanksgiving and I finally relented. While she was at school, I went out and adopted a little girl Elf with mischievous blue eyes and set to making a calendar to outline all the shenanigans she might get up to. Now, I have laughed heartily at all the Internet photos of an Elf doing the nasty with Barbie, and drinking up tiny airplane bottles of vodka or pooping chocolate kisses, but those scenarios are hardly appropriate for a seven year old.  I wanted a well behaved Elf that warmed our hearts and spread Christmas cheer, not one that I might have to send to rehab!  So that is what I created. 


On the morning of December 1, The Pie awoke with no idea what awaited her on the couch. Her squeals of delight when she saw the Elf were enough to set off all the neighborhood dogs! Our Elf was dubbed "Jolly" and our countdown to Christmas began. Jolly liked to make The Pie smile and giggle, so she created little vignettes of herself making breakfast, taking a bubble bath, sneaking into the candy jar, trying to decorate the tree, and baking cookies. Sometimes Jolly even brought special gifts: one day she arrived with tickets to the local production of The Nutcracker, and another day she was discovered playing with toy trains and holding tickets to The Christmas Train. 

Every morning, The Pie woke with anticipation and utter joy at finding Jolly. She says that she wishes the Elf could stay the whole year long. She has grown fond of the Elf and loves her in her very own special 2nd grader way. Jolly filled her days with happiness, instead of sorrow at the loss of her Papa. Jolly reminded her the the holiday is about giving cheerfully to the ones we love. As the days of the month passed, I realized that The Pie would occasionally talk to Jolly when she thought I was out of ear shot. Jolly heard The Pie's wish list, a couple of holiday jokes, and the most heartbreaking one: "if you see my Papa, tell him I said hi." 

Our little Elf has provided a connection to something we can never see. Whether it's Papa or Santa or flying reindeer, Jolly is the personification of the kind of magic that I am glad my daughter believes in. She feels in her heart that Jolly is alive and flies back to the North Pole every night to report to Santa. For me, Jolly is a wonderful motivation and behavior modification tool; to The Pie, Jolly is a friend that's always there for her to make her laugh and bring her the joy she needs to make it through her first Christmas without Papa.