Aug 10 2017

15 Things That Aren’t Weird in Silicon Valley

15 Things That Aren’t Weird in Silicon Valley

Before we moved here, I always pictured California as a just-like-the-movies SoCal paradise: perfectly manicured palm trees, glittering sidewalks dotted with stars, 85 breezy degrees forever and ever and ever.

But Silicon Valley is a whole different beast. If you were expecting excessively Botoxed platinum blondes or shirtless yogi dudes who travel via surfboard and only know the word “brah,” then you’ve come to the wrong place.

At first, I thought Silicon Valley looked almost like the Midwest — well, plus some mountains — in that everything seems fairly “normal” upon first glance. On the surface, there doesn’t appear to be a lot of flashy extravagance. Run-down strip malls line the roads. People ride bikes. There are no throngs of paparazzi following Kim Kardashian to dinner.

But once you’ve been here for a while, you begin to notice that it does NOT in fact resemble where you came from, and that the differences go far deeper than a mountainous landscape. To a Midwestern mind, there are some things that seem pretty unusual — but in Silicon Valley, they’re not weird at all. Continue reading

Jul 13 2017

Back in Michigan: the Good, the Bad, and the Humidity

Back in Michigan: the Good, the Bad, and the Humidity

We are back in Michigan for the first time in almost a year, and whoo, boy, does it feel good! Totally worth the four-hour flight with an antsy toddler who refused to sleep.The plan is to be here for most of July, and I’m sort of ecstatic to be surrounded by my people again.

Things I Have Missed:

1. My people

2. Lakes

3. The ability to walk into a store and purchase Michigan clothing and accessories. Yay! It’s such a bummer to only have access to San Francisco Giants stuff all the time. I didn’t realize what a bizarre relief it would be to see Detroit Tigers gear and U of M shirts and YES, I was the one burying my face in the Red Wings jersey and sobbing tears of uncontrollable joy, okay? Continue reading

Jun 26 2017

Today I Forgot How to Be Tough

Today I Forgot How to Be Tough

It’s been a long time since I let myself cry. Months, maybe. I’m not talking about the welling up that happens when your baby does something magical, or the occasional wobbly chin because that sneaky-sad P&G commercial caught you by surprise. I mean a heaving, hearty cry that lasts way longer than a single sob, the kind that makes your eyes puff up by morning.

I cried a lot more often in the beginning, when we first moved — but I was pregnant then, and I got to blame it on hormones, and after the baby was born I told myself to toughen up, sister. Most of the time, I am moderately successful at this: I try to end every day (and every post) with a glimmer of hope; I’m a fanatic about practicing daily gratitude; I never go to sleep without counting my blessings, and there are so many — so, so many. An immeasurable amount. I am deeply, guiltily aware of how much worse things could be, and for that reason I sometimes pretend to have no problems at all.

But here’s the uncomfortable truth: Sometimes, living so far away still feels kind of awful. A general sense of being lost and alone still permeates everything, punctuated by hopeful highs whenever I connect with a new friend or manage to achieve a writing goal.

It’s not the place that’s awful, not really. It’s the physical distance between me and every single person of my past. Not to get all Holden Caulfield on you, but I miss everybody. I’ve met some of my favorite people in the world out here, but at times I just cannot shake the loneliness. Whether that’s something that comes along with stay-at-home mothering or with moving so far away from home, I’m not sure — probably both, and this double whammy sometimes makes me feel as though I’m trapped inside an inexplicable cave of isolation.

When things are fine, they’re not bad. When things are bad, I am desperate to move home immediately, back to the place where my parents are twenty minutes away, back to a life where I was important to people other than my babies. I’m definitely not supposed to say that, though. My babies are supposed to be the only things I need — and a lot of the time, that feels true.

Today I cried.

It’s been an emotional last month-ish. We found out that one of the most important people in our lives will likely need surgery soon — which is, believe it or not, the good news — and we are 3,000 miles away. We’ve also been trying to patch together a trip home, but traveling anywhere with a family of four is mind-blowingly expensive.

And last week, I was alone with the kids while my husband flew away on a business trip. This is a situation I know I need to get used to, but it always causes me immense stress: all the pressure and responsibility you regularly feel as a mom is magnified when you’re the only parent within a thousand-mile radius, and I wind up averaging 1-2 hours of very broken sleep a night, because thanks, anxiety.

What if one of the kids has an emergency? Will I need to rip the other one out of a sound sleep and drag them both to the ER? What if I have an emergency? What if I have a heart attack and die in the middle of the night and no one knows because I’m all alone and the baby is trapped in his crib for three days and my daughter starves to death?

I need to just pause here to kneel at the aching feet of single parents everywhere. That this is your every day (and every night) — not to mention the thousands of things you do and feel that no one ever sees — is beyond my comprehension. I don’t have enough hands to salute you the way you deserve it.

After a little while, I couldn’t wait for him to get home, because I really, really missed sleep companionship. But when he returned, he brought a 104-degree fever and influenza A with him — and shortly afterward, despite my most obsessive hand-washing/quarantining/disinfecting efforts, my daughter had it, too. I have never seen a thermometer read numbers that high.

So today I woke up and found myself responsible for both children, a husband who could barely move or speak, and a dog who snuck into our room while Al was sleeping and gobbled up the chicken soup by his bedside and gave herself diarrhea. Today I was responsible for business-trip laundry and also sick laundry. Today, someone else’s needs were always first, and it was 7 PM before I realized I’d barely eaten.

If you could watch a fast-motion video of today, you would see a frazzled woman running up and down stairs and back and forth between babies — add “Flight of the Bumblebee” for background music, and it would almost be a comedy.

Some days I look around at my life and I think, like a terrified 3-year-old, I just want my mom.

If I were at home, I could have scooped up the kids and taken them to my parents’ for a while, removing them from all the virus particles that have surely settled into every crevice of our home by now. I could have refilled Al’s Gatorade one more time and let him sleep in silence while I had help bathing the children.

Instead I made breakfast for everyone but me in an infected kitchen and leaned over the sink and cried for the first time in months. My son — who has literally never seen me do this, ever — said sadly, “Sowwy, Mommy,” which completely broke my heart, and I hugged him and hugged him even while he smeared peanut butter in my hair.

The weight of all this responsibility is crushing sometimes, the impossible heaviness of it, and I forgot how to be tough today.

What will happen if I go down? Who will be responsible for me?

My mother says I need a mantra — something to repeat over and over when it feels like things are not all right — and I’m trying. I borrowed some of her own words to me from a text she sent: You don’t give yourself enough credit. You are stronger than you think. All of this, too, shall pass.

It will (I hope), although for now it feels like a never-ending cycle of wait-and-see contagion. But even when it passes, l’ll still be all the way out here, far away from so many people I love, and I’m not sure if I’m okay with that anymore. I’m tired of pretending that I am.

I don’t know. Maybe I’m just…tired. I haven’t slept in six nights. This is probably my exhaustion hangover talking, and I might legit regret posting this in a haze of sleep deprivation, but for tonight, here I am. If a mom breaks in California, and no one is around to see her, did it ever really happen?

May 16 2017

My Second Cali-versary

My Second Cali-versary

I have a confession: when I was a teenager, I told my parents I was going to move to California.

Back then, I wanted to act. Still kinda do (minus the whole stage fright thing). I’d performed in school plays (Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz), community theater (Anne Frank in The Diary of…), and landed roles in TV and radio commercials through a local Michigan agency. My SAG-AFTRA card has been firmly in hand since I was twelve, and for many years, I openly dreamed of leaving Michigan.

“Mo-om, the weather is, like, SO MUCH BETTER there,” I said on more than one occasion. “Why would anyone choose to live in a place with so much snow?” I went on and on about it, actually, much to my parents’ chagrin. I swore I would get out of Michigan and give acting the ol’ college try right after…you know, college. Continue reading

May 7 2017

Sorry I Was in Your Way, but the Thing Is I Have a Baby

Sorry I Was in Your Way, but the Thing Is I Have a Baby

As a parent of small children, you often get the vague sense that you are in the way. You notice the quiet cringes as you enter a restaurant, the looks of crushing disappointment when you board an airplane. You apologize thirteen times in the span of a one-block walk because the kids still haven’t learned (after eight million reminders) to look where they’re going.

Sorry. Sorry about that. Say excuse me, P. Look FORWARD when you walk, please. I’m so sorry.

We’re working on it. And most of the time, people are pretty nice — if not warmly understanding, they’re at least tolerant. I’m sure the people who wince at the sight of kids aren’t even doing it on purpose. It’s probably just an automatic reaction. Subconscious.

I’ve gotten used to feeling in the way, but there’s a huge difference between FEELING in the way and someone straight up telling you that you are — something that, this past week, has happened twice. TWICE. In one week. Continue reading