Sabbatical (Part 1)

Two months ago, I started my Sabbatical. I left work that evening knowing the gift of time would go quickly, anticipating the sad day I'd have to return, thinking about the blog post I would ultimately write to summarize the experience.

As expected two summer months came and went in the blink of an eye, but there was a lot crammed into them. Below I've tried to summarize the highlights (things like weeding, doing jigsaw puzzles, and drinking too much wine not included.) I also decided for the sake of my attention span as well as the reader's, to break the post into two parts: The first about the stuff I did (below). The second about the application onto my future career ambitions (yet to be written).

Here goes ...

First off. You might have the question: What is Sabbatical?

Answer: After ten years of service (or rather hard work) at my company, you get to take a two month paid break from doing your job. Yes, you read that right.

Next question that I get a lot: What do you have to do during sabbatical?

Answer: Whatever you want. However (and this is subject to interpretation) I believe sabbatical is supposed to give you time to do the things you've put aside for a decade because you've been too busy working.

Final question (and I will be fielding this for the next week): So what did you do?

Answer: Read the following

Going in, I was given many suggestions: vacation itineraries, book lists, ways to disconnect, warnings that I will never want to come back. I applied some advice, left the rest and improvised along the way.

I Moved:
On the first day of my Sabbatical, we sold our old house, bought a new one, moved out of the old house and into the new. It was a magical day - so magical that I never changed out of the stretchy pants and t-shirt that I wore to bed the night before and believed that I didn't make a splash looking like a slob at the title company while signing my life away. 

Over the next two months, I made the house our home. I unpacked boxes. I bought furniture. I coaxed my husband and then my dad to hang pictures for me. We did everything from acquiring the fundamentals (a working air conditioning unit) to the superfluous (an upright piano.) Basically with a lot of time off and digital marketing stalking me across the Internet after a mere glimpse at a Pottery Barn bookshelf, I ended up spending too much money decorating, but hey, the house is looking good.

I Went On Vacation:
While coworkers of mine had done European tours, African safaris, and experiments in agrotourism, I knew with children aged 6, 4 and 2, that sabbatical travel would be a little more domestic. While I was hoping to do more, we ended up doing a weekend in Quincy, Illinois - a Mississippi River hot spot with a lot of family history; and a week in Martha's Vineyard, providing the kind of respite our family needed at a particularly tough time.

After that, I read a couple of travel books to get my fill of escapism: I hiked the Appalachian Trail with Bill Bryson and his portly friend, Katz in A Walk in the Woods and I relived past journeys through Australia by reading another of Mr. Bryson's books, In A Sunburned Country. I never left my kitchen table, but I felt like I got away from the Midwest during increments of the day ... without the fear of going missing on a trail or getting eating by a crocodile.

I Hung Out with Friends: 
If you've ever engaged in small talk with me, I very likely ended our conversation with a suggestion that we continue the dialogue over lunch, or a game of tennis, a run perhaps, better yet, let's grab a drink some time. I have made so many suggestions to friends over the past ten years, and so few of them have actually played out.

On sabbatical, I kept promises and hung out with friends. I hosted my Bridget for a night. I played tennis with my sister-in-law, Claire. I ran with my friend Erin. I organized play dates: at our house, to the zoo, to the pool. I had drinks and hearty laughs with Mom friends. We took couples on the boat for a dinner party and river cruise. I lingered at pick up for just another couple minutes of socialization and I gloried in all of it. 

Now friends, unfortunately you won't see me again for another decade. 

I Exercised:
For the past ten years, I've watched the community of moms around me go from buff to buffer as the number of exercise studios proliferated. Within a mile radius of my house alone, there is The Dailey Method, Orange Theory, Shred 415, Core Power Yoga, Yoga by Degrees, Treadfit, and Get Fit for Women (worst name ever.) And for the past ten years, I've avoided the fitness class craze completely. But inspired by or rather envious of the Mom Militia on parade, I signed up for some Yoga Classes.

I chose the studio, Yoga by Degrees for its mere proximity to the grocery store, figuring I could check something else off my list after class was over. I walked in for the first time with a Yoga Mat and nothing more. A spunky woman named Alex greeted me and told me she would be my instructor. She looked me up and down and said, do you have a towel? 
Uh no ... I'll just use my t-shirt to wipe off the sweat. 
Um, you need a towel; here you go. You need water too. 
She handed me a bottle as I brushed off the unnecessary concern, Oh thanks - I should be good though. I played lacrosse in college. 
Uh huh.
I walked into the hot studio thinking, seriously, how hard could this be?

I took a seat on my mat as Alex walked in and took off her sweatshirt, revealing (surprise!) she was literally the strongest woman in the world. There were perhaps eight other people in the 95 degree studio with me. We started our practice with an intention of some sort and then began a warm up that is best described as not a warm up at all. I struggled through it, wondering how on Earth it could get harder from here. For an hour we did a combination of weight lifting, squats, jazzercize, push ups (and I can't even do a push up), abs, and sets of pulsing the same position over and over again until my will to move was broken. I had so much sweat dripping off my body that my feet and arms kept sliding off the mat, making me tumble to the ground. I wasn't the only one that found it hard - the only male in the class gave up after 20 minutes and just laid on his mat the rest of the time.

Miraculously, I survived. And more miraculously, Alex was very enthusiastic about my performance. So I stuck with it. I've been going once a week, towel and water bottle in hand. Now I can not only do a couple sets of push ups, I'm also developing a two pack. I call that a success.

I Took The Helm:
For more than a decade, Peter has been trying to teach me how to boat. During those ten years, all I've learned to do was balance as I was pouring champagne. So my in-laws, likely sensing how worthless I was on their boat, sent me to a Women at the Helm course in Chicago. It was designed to get more ladies off their butts and into the drivers seat to combat the vast inequality of male to female boat ownership. Instructed by 100 Ton Master Captain Pam (she's the one in the back of the picture), I absorbed the day long curriculum like a sponge, reciting everything back to Peter when I got home that night. In short, I loved it. And since the class, we have spent many days on the boat putting my lessons to practice.

I Was A Mom 
Of all the things I did, this was probably my favorite. For the first time outside of maternity leaves, which are a blur due to sleeplessness, I got to focus, singularly, on being a mom. I took the kids to the Zoo and to parks. I colored and built Lego creations. I packed picnic lunches to eat at the pool and swam with the kids till we pruned. We rode bikes, went for walks, and ran around the new yard. I was there for bed time and there to get them up in the morning. I got to attentively transition them to their new school routines and help with homework. I was present physically and mentally and I loved that.

As I went back to work on Thursday, I could see that Mary was getting a little upset going into school. She told me that evening that she had cried because she was sad that I was back at work. She wanted me to be at home, and that was hard for me to hear.

Quickly, and then I will express the rest of my thoughts in Part 2 of this post, I would love to be a stay at home mom. There were moments when Margaret sat on my lap on the patio and we would just talk about the bunny rabbits hopping through the yard. There were days when I would escape with Mary to do some shopping or get our nails done during nap time. There were evenings when Bobby and I would do soccer drills and laugh and laugh in the backyard. And then there were those hugs after school. How I loved those happy faces, lighting up cause I was there. These were hours typically filled in by work over the past ten years.

Counter to past thinking, as a stay at home mom, I was very busy; there was always something to do and if there wasn't, there were clear ways to get more involved in the school, church and community at large. I spent time thinking about what it would be like if I could continue in this role or if I could find an alternate career with more flexibility. But in the end, the economics never worked. At least, set in our current lifestyle.

If there is one thing that I learned on sabbatical, it's that being a stay at home mom is both an amazing gift and a satisfying career. And I am so thankful to my company for giving me that time with my family. I won't forget it and I will work hard toward my next one.

Lo.

Getting Ready

Eight years ago today, at an age when getting ready was all the rage, I spent a lot of time doing just that. In essence, it was the biggest day of my 29 years, and I wanted to look perfect.

Surrounded by my closest friends and family, equipped with a hairstylist to Pittsburgh's glitterati and a stunning make up artist who I prayed to look like, fueled by nerves, emotion, and the high I got from a 6 mile run at 8:00 AM, I dedicated hours of my life to becoming beautiful.

I had done a practice hair session a couple weeks ago, so the day of, my expectations were set. There would be volume, body, shine, height, and a soft curl. It was all that and more - my hair looked great. My skin, cursed with an outbreak of adult acne, needed a miracle. And the super pretty make up girl produced just that, masking my massive cheek pimple with all her might, giving me the glow and sparkle of a girl in love. The dress fit perfectly - it was sheer glamour. I slipped my Manolos on, turned to those around me to cash compliments into confidence, and headed to the limo.


On the other side of town, Peter and his posse were getting ready as well. It was 93 degrees out, and with black tuxedos, their main objective was to stay cool. Unfortunately, on the way to Church their limo broke down, forcing them to walk the rest of the way to a non air conditioned church, where no doubt, they all continued to sweat bullets while trying to look like Bond.

Peter and I met at the Altar, an incredible moment in time when my Dad gave my hand to my husband with a congregation of loved ones looking on. I was ready. So was he.

We walked out of Mass eager to start a life together, accepting of the potential children to come. But in the near term, we were just excited to drink a lot of champagne and dance at the Fairmont.

***

Today, I spent about 15 minutes getting ready for our Anniversary date. That was actually generous. Typically, I run out the door with a wet head cause I don't have the full 15 to spare. While I haven't spent the kind of time or energy primping as I did for our wedding in quite some time, much of my life is still about preparation. But the majority of the time, I'm getting other people ready, namely my kids as they headed back to school. 

A couple weeks ago, Mary started back as a first grader, complete with a new school uniform. Last week, it was Bobby's turn. And for an hour every morning, I've been doing a lot to get them out the door.

Starting around 7:00, I set up a breakfast and lunch making station. Butter toast, sprinkle it with cinnamon, pour milk, and arrange plates around the kitchen table. I then tailor lunches to fit the various preferences of the kids. Peanut butter and jelly for Bobby, turkey for Mary. Baggies of fruits, veggies and chips nestled into the bag, four Hershey Kisses tucked away at the bottom. I fill water bottles and put them in backpacks.

I make sure all the papers labeled 'back to school' are in their folders properly signed and executed. I browse the school bulletin and the teachers' websites to make sure I'm not forgetting anything.

I help them get dressed. Pinning their hair into place. Tucking in shirts. Tying up shoes. Making sure teeth are brushed, beds are made, jammies are down the laundry chute.

I tell them to eat every last thing on their plates. I fix hair one last time. I tell them to be to be good, kind, safe, smart. Then I put their little back packs on, escort them to their bikes and revolution by revolution make it down the driveway, down the street, across the tracks, and to their school.

I help them lock up their bikes and proudly watch them walk in together.

I linger a little bit, wishing there was something more for me to do. I've put so much into their readiness, and now I guess I just wait and wish and hope. I look down at Margaret who desperately wants to walk through the doors to school as well, and realize, there's plenty more to do at home.

I cherish pick up time. I count down to it. Seeing them run over with great big smiles and desperate hugs. Then I listen intently to what they can recount from their school day.

The same kind of preparation and send off goes into other activities as well. And generally speaking, nothing happens as easily as I just wrote it. Any morning can be met with a meltdown. Any choice of outfit can be countered with a right of refusal. Transportation is negotiable. And generally speaking, my blood pressure tends to creep up as we get closer and closer to being late. But I truly love it. Getting the kids acquainted this school year has been a highlight of my time off from work, and I will dearly miss picking them up when I go back next week. 

***

Looking through my wedding pictures the past couple days, I found this one. Our two moms, lighting the unity candle, embracing while dropping their kids off one last time, a lifetime of making sure their loved ones were ready to go behind them. 

   
It was a joyful moment, but as a Mom, I'm sure it was bittersweet. I feel that so much of my calling as a parent is about preparing my kids for their days. I know I'm doing a good job when they take successful steps away from me, gaining maturity and independence with experience. But it's sometimes hard to let go - to trust that they are truly ready - to place their young lives into the hands of another - to know that my time of influence is up.

I think on our wedding day, our Moms knew we were both ready, we surely looked the part. And I thank them, and our Dads for giving us away, backed with a lifetime of love that led us to the altar. 

Lo.