The Early Riser

Sunday, December 15, 2013

Nine Months and December

Mary is nine months old. (Yesterday.) She now has nine months of experience being out and about in this world which is approximately the same amount of time that she spent growing inside of me. And after nine months studying life, Mary is starting to get the hang of things, realizing its simple truths.

Say that, greeting other people with a wave and a 'hebo' is something you should always do. And hey, why not greet your little toys too. Or that nine times out of ten the stuff that Mommy and Daddy are eating, isn't nearly as good as your bottle. That teeth, baby teeth, big teeth, molars, canines, and particular wisdom teeth, are a big pain in the ass. That 'no' really only means 'no' if Mommy isn't laughing when she's saying it. That sleeping, sleeping in, and napping are actually quite fun. Who knew. That outside is generally better than inside; TV is boring; clapping to music makes everything better; and when you have a fever, Mommy's and Daddy's hugs and kisses are the best medicine of all.

Then December in Chicago happens, and all the figures that Mary had been counting in life's equation get reconfigured into something that must be very strange in an infant's eyes. I can only imagine what Mary must be thinking recently:

Like when did the world change from green to white? And what is all this cold, fluffy stuff around our house?
Why is my car seat ALWAYS so cold now?
Who is the bearded fat man that you so want me to like, why does he say, 'ho ho ho,' and why, oh, why did you drop me on his lap?

How come you brought a tree in our house? And what are these prickly little things in my crawling lane?

Where did ALL these BOXES and NEW TOYS come from? What, I can't play with them? NOOOO!

Can you please go back to singing my ABCs or perhaps a little Itsby Bitsy Spider? I don't know or really care about a little drummer boy.
I thought it was bed time - why are all these lights coming on up and down the street?
Do I have to wear my red pajamas AGAIN?

Like any first time mom, for the past couple weeks I've been force feeding Christmas to Mary. But unfortunately, when Christmas Eve rolls around, I still don't think she will have a clue about what's going on. And honestly, I'm fine with it.

So much of 'Christmas' is fabricated anyway and its true meaning is lost year after year. What I'm hoping though is that the one (or however many this is) thing that she will pick up is that our kind of Christmas is a time when wrongs are righted, embraces are sweeter; when time slows down and the world celebrates a hush; when family is close no matter how far away, and when the impossible becomes possible.

If she just understands that she can't eat the tinsel on the tree, I'll be okay with that too.

Lo.

Saturday, December 7, 2013

Working Girl

Last week, I exchanged a jello mold for a mirror. My mother-in-law needed a festive frame for the amorphous dessert she was preparing, so I offered my cranberry mold; unexpectedly, I got a large antique mirror in return.

She had noticed a general lack of reflective surfaces in my house and proposed that this family heirloom would go well in the guest room. While the intention was purely decorative in nature, I took it as the second hint in a week to spend a little more time in front of a mirror.

After growing in girth to accommodate Mary, pushing her out and finding a more internal glow, I was proud of kicking vanity to the curb. The understanding of mirrors that my classmate earned during her mission work in Calcutta was finally mine; Gone were the days of practicing my duck face in the mirror; instead I could focus on the most authentic reflection of myself - the one that I found in others.

So it came as a shock last week, when I was given professional feedback to polish my image at work. Apparently Mother Teresa's theory, along with no-fuss (read no effort) hair and makeup don't apply to the workplace.

Here's the thing; in the past decade, millions of Millennials graduated to valedictorian and salutatorian speeches that were similar to Keri's. They preached that we could; no we WOULD change the world, not with our images, but with the content of our characters. They were met with thunderous applause and charged ambitions. While many of us went off to save the world through our service work; the rest of us entered the work place with a style and presence that industry still doesn't know how to manage. What do I mean:

We are outspoken. And even if we are the most junior position in the room, we are going to share our perspective. When we share it, we expect applause.
We were never cut or picked last at dodgeball, so the notion of being left out of privileged information is foreign.
We wore flip flops to the White House. And don't understand why these versatile sandals are not work appropriate.
We don't iron anything.
We love ponytails or some aberration of them.
We slouch. And are more interested in posing to make our arm look skinny than actually being skinny
We are ruthlessly competitive, but we like to roll as a team.
We eagerly read and share every Huffington Post article about why beauty is an illusion; why bone thin isn't healthy; and why focusing on our internal sense of well being is the best course of action.
We have been told that we can do it all, and we will.
As much as we know, we are still clueless.

Which brings me back to the feedback I received. For nearly five months now, I've been going to work with a wet head of hair, pulled up in a pony tail, a face wiped clean of makeup, and one of the more comfortable business casual selections that my closet has to offer. True to the words that I remember hearing at my graduation, I walked past work's mirrors and focused on the the products churning out of my cubicle.

With an eye on development and a desire to grow within my company, I recently solicited tips on reaching my goals. The one that stuck was to pay more attention to my image - that if I wanted to be a director, I needed to dress like one. Cute won't cut it. Ouch.

At first I was defensive. Then self conscious. Then expertly investigative. I did some side by side comparisons with other working women in the bathroom mirror. I looked around meeting rooms. I assessed my coworkers. And I realized that the majority of the time, I was loosing. (And I hate loosing.)

So this week, I ran some trials. I went back to the Theory section of my closet, reached for the Prada pumps, spent five minutes drying the top of my hair and applying a little makeup, and wore earrings. As much as I hate to say it, I performed better. I felt like I aced meetings, wrote better memos, and carried myself more confidently to and from my desk.

I told myself, it's not vanity, it's business. It's the cost of being a competitor in corporate America.

And I will tell my colleagues this. We have been groomed to make big change in this world, but at this point in time, we still need to groom our outer appearances to get there. It's not superficial, it's one of humanity's longest lasting super powers.

Lo.

Monday, December 2, 2013

Bright Lights, Big Thanks

When you measure a couple feet tall and weigh a mere 17 pounds, life and all it has to offer must seem immense. I tell myself this as Mary wakes me up to play at 4:30 in the morning; and when she declares thirty minutes long enough for a nap. I'm presuming the new sites and sounds, tastes and touches, songs and dances that await her are far too exciting to sleep through. When you couple that inertia with a first time experience in the city that never sleeps; when you layer that enthusiasm with the speed, noise, and decadence of New York City; and when on top of that you execute the standard non-stop, whirlwind agenda that my parents are famous for; you might have an inkling of how exhausted I am this evening.

But despite my body's desire to curl up in bed right now, the bright lights of the big city are still shining, not only keeping me awake, but spotlighting just how precious my life and all the people in it are. And since I missed documenting most of November and with it, 30 chances to give thanks, I decided to use my long weekend in Manhattan as the backdrop for a little litany, outlining my seemingly countless blessings.

Here are 30 things, in no particular order, that I'm thankful for:

1. The black Lululemon hat with a special hole for my ponytail that Peter got me for Christmas a couple years ago.

2. Art museums.