Just what the frack is it

I think I am supposed to be doing? We were all set to go to the food store this morning (when you usually get groceries delivered, food shopping is a novel outing) but were waylaid by tornado-ish windstorms. On the walk toward home, I took us through a sheltered street and ta-dah, there was a petting zoo. The winds died down enough for us to enjoy Bean’s first in-person roosters, goats, and rabbits. We ran around a park for a while, had a lovely walk home, then played inside before nap. Afterward, we walked to the bookstore, picked out a couple of supercuties I so should have written myself (Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus! and Baby Loves Jazz) and meandered our way through the neighborhood, stopping to chat with strangers, look at dogs, climb some things we shouldn’t have, and take a peek at a new art installation. We came inside, ate dinner together, read our new books, listened to CDs and danced, and Bean had his puttering around alone time before his bedtime routine.

Doesn’t this sound grand? I mean it, doesn’t this sound phenomenally grand? And it was. It IS. It’s a gorgeous privilege. So why do I feel like I am supposed to be doing more?

Am I a person with such an overactive mind and body so accustomed to the worrying and hurrying and scurrying around I did pre-bambino (as well as for the 8 months or so of insanity that followed his birth) that I cannot just be satisfied with now providing my kiddo the calm days I wish I had as a child? By the way, my time is not all about Bean, I don’t want to give that impression so don’t give me the whole pitfalls of sahmhood schpiel. I write, I move, I create, I read, I live in a kickass neighborhood, I talk with grownups…I am deeply happy. So wtf is it I am seeking, other than compulsively acting like the trained monkey that I clearly am? What more am I expecting of myself right now?

Hrrrrmmmmmmmm.

One of the Beavers would say it’s “blue-collar guilt”. She wasn’t raised with much in the way of money or stability, either, and her current contentedness and ability to be so autonomous, rather than constricted by financial and familial circumstances, freaks her right out sometimes. Maaaaybe…I dunno. Of course, it is a textbook response of an acoa to panic when things are too calm (hullo, #6). 

I wonder how I can expect others to value my contribution to society during this phase of my life when I can’t even seem to entirely do so.

Motherhood is quite an education, far beyond actually taking care of the Bean.

Ohhhh, now I get it…

Okay, I’m a little slow on the uptake, it’s true. It seems that the cause of my current financial problem of needing to come up with an extra $13,500 this year and who knows how much more next year originates with our first home loan.

As I’ve said, we got 100% financing. Many people will say we are getting what we deserve by going that route. It does sound a lot shadier than it seemed at the time. At the time, actually, it seemed pretty straightforward. We were tired of throwing away money on renting and started casually looking for a place to buy. We unexpectedly came across this place, only 1.5 miles away from Huz’s work a a quick bus ride to mine. Since we had just started planning to buy and had only meager savings toward that goal, we were offered 100% financing by the mortgage company that was hired by the developer (red flag #1). We had excellent credit and could easily afford the estimated payment as outlined by the mortgage officer. During his lengthy, ahem, counsel with us a first-time buyers, he told us that a tax escrow account was a formality required by the mortgage co, that of course we would pay our own property taxes when we were billed by the county, and that he would simply assign a $50 a month payment toward it to fulfill that obligation on paper (red flag #2). The thought of getting downtown space so close to work for just over $200 per square foot in a booming area seemed like an opportunity that would be foolish to pass up (almost sounded too good to be true, red flag #3). Besides, we knew we would refinance to a more stable loan within a year or two. We did just that. No problems, yay us. Until now.

Our naivete led us to our current situation. We thought we did our due diligence: we took a non-bank-sponsored, first-time homebuyers e-learning course, we read everything we could about the process, we asked tons of questions, and we hired a lawyer who told us that everything looked standard in our contract. We trusted the people we hired to tell us what to do and give us accurate and honest answers when we asked questions. What we did not understand was that our original loan officer factored in the lowest escrow possible only so he could lower the estimated monthly payment enough get our loan approved. He very likely knew we could not afford the actual projected tax escrow that would be required in another year or two by the mortgage company (the banks require almost triple the actual tax amount in many cases to cover themselves). He also knew the banks would not let us pay our own property taxes when billed by the county; typically, you must have 35% of your loan paid off to do that. What did he care of we later defaulted because of a negative escrow amount? He sold our loan within a 60 days. Yay him. He’s a superstar. We suck for not catching it, for not understanding enough.

We are not alone. People all over the place are foreclosing for the same reason. If the market hadn’t taken a dive, we would sell and go about our merry way with lessons learned. We can’t. On this page, we are the #3 case study. So it goes.

There are over 22,000 dead in Myanmar and survivors that are barely that. My sitch is such a silly trifle, isn’t it?

We will manage to work this mortgage shadiness out somehow. Of course, if my employer hadn’t reneged on our tentative teleworking agreement and made me so tremendously uncomfortable during my pregnancy that felt I had to give up on the organization, if our baby hadn’t required emergency medical care when born and NICU care for 10 days after that resulting in tremendous medical bills, and if if if if if if if, this unexpected negative escrow expense and the related fallout would have been no big problem. Ifs can torment a person. I’ll try hard to stay away from them. They don’t actually matter and they certainly don’t help. What matters is that home is wherever the three of us are together.

Have fun with your karma, Michael G.

Choices - real ones this time

Choices are good. I like them. Everyone should have them. I have written about pseudo -choices that are really a forced crossroads where one is stuck picking the thing that sucks the least. That, to me, is just a shitty situation in disguise. Okay, maybe such things do count as choices, but they still rim. Good choices require you to make decisions where clear benefits are present either way, where your options are wiiiiiide open. Sure there are cons depending on what you decide, when are there not consequences in life? The kind of decisions I am talking about are those where the good outweighs the bad, where one can be pretty damn happy either way, it’s just a matter of picking this path or that one. These are the choices that give a woman the opportunity to be true to herself.

Choices I like having even though I have no idea (yet) what to do: 

One child or more? I am likely going to be a one-baby-momma for all sorts of thorny reasons but it will take years to decide once and for all and I am pleased that it is entirely up to me.

Chicago or Philly? Though it is amazing how much of my Chicago-related boo-hooing has lifted since I’ve lately had more time to myself and the crappy real estate market is priddy much making this decision for me at this moment.

Take an enjoyable, paying job that utilizes my degrees once a week and provides much-needed continuity on my resume or use my upcoming me-Wednesdays to go wherever the hell I feel like going and dedicate at least 4 hours each week to writing for rilly rilly real instead of hopping on and off the interweb to spout off like I do in such an unorganized fashion? I’ve allowed myself to be caged by blue-collar sensibilities my entire life, where creative endeavors were an amusing luxury, hobbies to be pursued as time allowed between the scheduling of multiple jobs, not something you actually did. Should I finally break through that mentality now, even in the face of a paid opportunity? Hmmmmmm…

Oh, and more on that second decision up there: why is it that strong and resourceful women who politely and repeatedly ask for help are brushed off until they reach a breaking point where they freak the fuck out and demand it or else? Why must we be driven to extremes, then get slapped with that pervasive bitch/psycho label (societally speaking, nobody is calling me that around here, balls would be nailed to the wall as a trophy) when the fact is if you cage or corner any being on Earth you will incite depression and wrath? Why is asking not enough? It is so very frustrating. A damsel-in-frequent-distress I know has the world laid at her feet every time she so much as tears up over something, while ol’ Bianca could be bleeding and dying alone on the side of a road somewhere but hey, she’s a bitch, she’s nobody’s sweetheart- she’ll figure it out, she always does. I do not believe there is such a thing as a woman being too self-sufficient, but given my experiences over the past 2 years or so, I can see the attraction to tactics such as swooning and feigning helplessness. Not that I’ll ever use them, hell no. I just see now how much easier life can be if nobody expects that you can handle it on your own.

Ahem. Back to choices. I have them, and that is a very, very good thing. Thank you most kindly and reverently, Foremothers!

It’s not even Thanksgiving

and I think I may yak at the next of the gajillion commercials that tries to coerce men into orchestrating surprises that will “show her how much you care with something that lasts forever” or whatever the farg the party line is. That’s right, women can be mezmerized into submission with jewels and precious metals. Never mind acting with respect and thoughtful decency year ’round, just bedazzle us with some sparklies around holiday time and you’ll remain in our good graces forever, especially if we get to brag about it to friends and family.  

He picked me, Mama! He picked me!

Baaaaaaaarf.

Today I almost got us killed

I am still shaking. I never, ever, ever cross against traffic lights. Today I did. It was on a slightly familiar street that I had to use due to neverending construction on the sidewalk we normally use. I entered the street early in anticipation of a very short WALK sign that I was sure would catch us in the cross-hairs of oncoming traffic. I jumped the gun and started moving us across the street. Major problem: we never got the WALK sign we needed. Horns blared as two cars shot out of a new underpass and flew by. I felt my life whoosh past me with Bean’s trailing behind like a swift little ghost. That’s right, Parent of the Year goes to Yours Truly. He was tucked in his stroller, oblivious. My mistake almost killed us. All for some fucking lip gloss and socks. All because of me over-thinking. I am freaked out. This is certainly not the first time we have almost been hit, as traffic in the area has grown exponentially, but it was the closest call and this time it was my fault. One wrong move. Lightening fast.

Fuck, I want to get out of here. We had no idea the area was going to boom like this. No wait, we had heard that it might and we were excited at the prospect, but we had no idea what we were getting into.

Gah!

Why is this a giant leap for womankind? Good for them, I am thrilled for them. They are qualified. Is that such a surprise?

It makes me sad that one of the astronauts said she’s “luckier” because nobody is making public comments implying that her job will be to clean to fucking shuttle. I know she means she has it easier than the women who went before her, but it has nothing to do with luck. It was hard fought and hard won. I’ll forgive the word choice on a personal level, but not what it represents on a societal one.

And why does the article’s author get into who has kids and who is married to whom? What does that have to do with being an astronaut? Do they get into the personal lives of the male astronauts in articles about their roles and accomplishments? wtf, Marcia Dunn? Do you realize what you are implying with the way this article is written that these two women have made it further because they have no children and are married to scientists, while the others never made it to commander or quit and oh by the way, those are the ones that have kids?

If my hair hadn’t taken so long to grow back, I’d be pulling it out. Why do I still read things posted on msnbc? I get pissed off every time.

Interesting…

I was just looking around the interweb to find some ad-free child development sites (if that is possible) so I went to PBS. They have an entire section of their PBS Kids website devoted to raising boys. I know there is alot of media hubbub out there on the so-called attack on American boys, and I am not trying to either invalidate or support that line of thinking. I am just curious as to why an organization like PBS has a section to address the unique needs of boys and I don’t seem to be finding one there for girls. Hmmm…strikes me as a missed opportunity, at the very least. Am I missing something?

—————————————————-

Update:

I just received a very kind response from PBS saying that a section of their site and a documentary focusing on the unique needs of girls are in the works and I should check back in Jan or Feb 2008. Yay!

Note to self

Dearest Self,

Do not celebrate the rapid appreciation of your real estate after being named one of the “hottest neighborhoods” in the country until you see what it does to your property taxes. It’s not pretty. Not pretty at all.

A sahm for a short time,

B.

P.S. Who knew that a neighborhood considered “dead at night” and “for the adventurous” could bring such swift joy and pain?

Help stop the madness

by telling Applebee’s how much they bite. Don’t spend your money there. This makes me so freaking angry and I hope it does you, as well. Applebee’s food is usually not my thing, but if it were I would most certainly boycott. I’ll be spreading the word to fam and friends.

How does something like this continue to happen in a state that actually has a breastfeeding rights law on the books? It’s absolutely infuriating.

If images like this seem indecent to you, please seek help from a trained psychotherapist. You need one.

Which is more of a wtf item?

Welcome to Which is More Fucked Up? a multiple-choice exercise lovingly brought to you by Bianca Bean.

Which is more fucked up?

Choice A: Three episodes in, LA Ink has a storyline called “Boobs Rule”, all about weight loss by already-thin person who frolics in bikini (yet again) and then goes for a boob job consultation.

Seriously, wtf? Kat is an ”excellent candidate” for breast augmentation surgery? How is that possible? She is not a mastectomy patient nor does she need a reduction. Her breasts are beautiful (as all breasts are) even in the way that breast beauty is defined by popular culture. And wtf is up with an already-thin person losing so much weight that she feels she is also losing her boobs (which is um, a sign of going too far with dieting and exercise) so she considers getting them filled in with silicone? Tell me this is just for ratings, please tell me this is just for ratings. Then it will still be sad but at least I will understand it better.

Choice B: The fact that I was surprised and saddened at all by the episode’s storyline; that I thought the premise of the series was to document a tenacious artist striking out on her own as a business owner in a male-dominated profession along with her talented, mostly female staff.

I had my hopes up.  I really did. They’ve been dashed, I tell you, dashed. I am a huge fan of Hannah Aitchison’s work and I freaked when I saw that this show recruited her. I thought that getting her was a sign of serious intent by the producers to really create something beyond fake boobs, unhealthy weight loss, and bikinis. Bleh. Score one more for big business behind the idiot box.

At least Hannah is getting mad accolades with all of this t.v. visibility. Her online gallery doesn’t do her work justice and television does display it nicely. I hope she makes a million bucks.

I was so excited about this show.