Personality Tests

I walked into work on Thursday and ran into my boss C. in the lunchroom.

"You have destroyed my life!" she said to me. I froze as did the others in the lunchroom.

"What did I do? I just walked in." I asked helplessly.

"Go check your email." she said with a smirk. My mind was racing - did I say something to the client? did a higher manager ask her to do something?

I went to my desk and M. poked her head in to my cubicle. "You're in trouble. C is really upset with you. Did you check your email."

"I'm still booting up!" I said and drew her into my cubicle.

"What is it?" I asked softly.

"Ok, C. took the The Harry Potter Personality Quiz you sent and she found out she's Lord Voldemort!"

Oh.

"I'm Severus Snape! That's worse!"

"No, Voldemort is pretty bad." And, so began a day of crazy Harry Potter-Myers Briggs analysis.

C. finally felt better when she found out there was a Draco Malfoy in our midst. She figured it's better to be evil and people know you're evil, than be a snake in the grass kind of evil.

We have 2 Dumbledores, a Hagrid, Snape, Olympe Maxime (Hagrid's half-giant girlfriend). We were wondering if there was a Dobby.



Anyway, I think these are fun to take and I'm still not sure what I am. I've taken the test before and was borderline ENTJ (Professor McGonagall) or INTJ (Severus Snape!!). I took it again right now and was assigned ENFJ (Olympe Maxime - a.k.a. Hagrid's half-giant girlfriend).

So, I think these are good for fun analysis and we laughed a lot over the full list. I know a lot of businesses do take the MB tests into consideration for team management. In my graduate school project management class, we discussed the value of these tests. It's good to have a creative type person coupled with an organized, deadline-driven type so you can be sure the work would be done on time. Or, you may not want to couple these two together as they could work against each other.

While this was fun to do at work, I was surprised by J. who was "Hagrid". His analysis said he's loyal, hard working, not willing to draw attention so he's underappreciated. I felt that was so true - having known and worked with J. for almost 5 years. This is probably something to which a manager one should pay attention.

Writer's Quotes:

Salman Rushdie
The real risks for any artist are taken. . . in pushing the work to the limits of what is possible, in the attempt to increase the sum of what it is possible to think. Books become good when they go to this edge and risk falling over it. .
~*~

A book is a version of the world. If you do not like it, ignore it; or offer your own version in return.

~*~
I make no complaint. I am a writer. I do not accept my condition; I will strive to change it; but I inhabit it, I am trying to learn from it.

~*~
What is freedom of expression? Without the freedom to offend, it ceases to exist."

VS Naipaul
An autobiography can distort, facts can be realigned. But fiction never lies. It reveals the writer totally.
~*~

I am the kind of writer that people think other people are reading.

Hanif Kureishi
I think the point of being any sort of artist is to ask difficult questions, and to write about things that we don't normally speak about.

Arundhati Roy
You know, I always believe that even among the best writers, there are selfish writers and there are generous ones. Selfish writers leave you with the memory of their book. Generous writers leave you with the memory of the world they evoked. To evoke a world, to communicate it to someone, is like writing a letter to someone that you love. It's a very thin line.
~*~

For me, books are gifts. When I read a book, I accept it as a gift from an author. When I wrote this book, I presented if as a gift. The reader will do with it what they want.

Anita Desai
…I grew up reading the major English writers. As I grow older I feel less a need to prove my skills. I realize I don’t always have to write in their style.

~*~

Leaving India frees one's tongue. Within India you hold back so much. And being part of that life, you're too involved to look with objectivity.

Bubbles (My Poems):
Fleur de Lis
Quebec City, February 1987

“I’ve never seen the ocean,” he says
and she gasps,
almost shaking the salt and sand
of the Atlantic off her hand.
He smiles and toasts to the Canadiens.
She nods.

She sees icicles form on lashes,
and a nose tint a pale violet.
She feels the pain as her feet thicken into ice
blocks, like the sculptures gracing the squares.

The cold spikes through her legs
as she hobbles on frosted cobblestone streets
in the wrong shoes and
tipsy from too much wine.
No, it was a kir, a drink that sweetens and soothes.

So maybe not too tipsy,
though a bit giddy from the crispness of
freedom that comes from
crossing borders and leaving boundaries.

The night is foreign and intimate.
Voices in the streets call out
to someone unseen.
She wants to know who they are,
but she already does.
She is one of them,
savoring every ordinary moment.

This poem is recollection of my first trip to Quebec City as a high school senior. Six of us girls went with Madame Sue Fynan to Quebec City to view the Winter Carnival (Carnivale D'Hiver) in February. Madame Fynan was a whole 26 years old as the adult chaperone and 15 year old girls really pushed the edge. As a senior, I was unceremoniously recruited as her peer and asked to help watch out for misdemeanors. (Actually the 'she' in the first paragraph is one of the girls who was flirting with a local guy and I had to hang around her to make sure she wasn't alone). My travelmates and I had that "Breakfast Club" experience - extreme bonding for four days and then we went our separate ways when we returned back to school.

I wrote this a year or so ago. I didn't want this poem to be about my whole trip, else I'd be discussing crepes and La Bonhomme D'Hiver and all sorts of things. No, this is just about a moment.. a memory of walking on cobblestone street in the cold in the wrong shoes.

Anyway, I've been a Francophile from the time I was 12 and Quebec set my impressions of the French culture.

Bubbles (My Poems):

The Wails in the Autumn Wind
Ensemble,
they are a splendor.
Alone, they crumble and
bare their fragility.

Unaware they are torn.
Some fly
Some float
All fall.

The tree stands
Arms outstretched
Palms empty
Fingers aching to hold
You left me, it cries

We didn’t want to,
they rustle.

Autumn

The lush trees Nature weaves
wither and shrivel
into reddened leaves

Ensemble, behold the sight.
Alone, it crumbles
Silent, dry and light.

These are 2 poems I wrote years ago. They're actually two variations of the same theme. I think that was the year that Autumn really depressed me. I'm definitely a spring and summer girl.

Now that it's November (and 70 degrees in PA!), I thought it'd be fun to share.

On the Job Training - Motherhood: 7a
Halloween (and Diwali) Follow Up

We went trick or treating with Annika's best friend Talia and her mom. Of course Annika's best friend would also be a princess (Cinderella) so they were just two little fluffs of tulle and sparkles.

The funniest thing about the girls is how chatty they were! When people oohed and aahhed over their costumes, they twirled, announced the princess name and Annika blurts out "I have glitter on my eyes!" They bumped into another Cinderella, who announced "I have sparkly shoes" and shone her flashlight on them.

Talia and Annika were impressed, but then remembered their sneakers light up so they started stamping their feet to show off.

I was a bit embarrassed when Annika would start asking people "Do you have a dog? I heard a woof. Can we see the dog?" And she petted a few dogs too.

At one house, an Indian man came to the door. Annika peered inside and saw another woman and a grandmother. She accepted the candy and just stood there. I told her "Come on. Let's go. Say Happy Halloween."

"Happy Diwali," she said quietly. The homeowners just laughed and said Happy Diwali too. The grandmother came to the window to see Annika.
Now, she had more confidence and said it louder and I wished the family as well.

Her friend said "What is diw-wali? I don't know diw-wali," as they ran across the street holding their skirts.

"It's an Indian holiday. Not everyone celebrates Diwali. Everybody celebrates Halloween!"

I just loved the fact she knew.

By the way, we had Diwali parties this weekend and Tuesday. Coupled with Halloween, it has been a sugar fest!!

That's the one problem with celebrating Indian and American holidays. Our holiday season began in October with Navratri and will continue until New Years' Eve. It's fun, but exhausting!

On the Job Training: Motherhood - 7
Halloween and Costumes

Where to begin? First of all, Annika has wanted to be a princess for the last 2 years. At 2, I put on a lavender salwaar-kameez and wrapped the dupatta around her head with a tiara as Princess Jasmine. At 3, she wore a white lace dress with a tiara as Cinderella.

(At any given time, A has 2 years worth of poofy and fancy dresses courtesy of my mother and aunt as the only granddaughter in the family. Therefore I figured, wear it for Halloween while it fits.)

This year I decided to forego the nice dresses and just buy a costume. Unlike the rest of us plebeians, Princesses do have occasions to dress up - Princess Birthday Parties, Costume Day at school, average Saturday afternoon. I've been getting too paranoid about spills and tears on these poofy numbers.

Went to see the dress she wanted - Princess Annika from Barbie & Pegasus

and it was not on sale, though Belle from Beauty and the Beast was $8 less. She was not going to bend obviously though she does like Belle a lot. I deliberated over this for a week (is it worth it? what is halloween but a marketing ploy at parents' wallets?). I had a flashback to my own childhood (see "My Costume History" below) and went back to Party City.. The Belle dress was $2 higher, but her Princess Annika dress was down $5. So, I grabbed it.

My Princess asked "Ok, let's get the Cinderella Ballerina dress now." You can only wear one costume.

"Oh. Can we go trick or treating now?" No, 2 more weeks.

I'll give her credit that she was patient and didn't ask for the dress or anything until I pulled it out for her Halloween Parade on Friday. I think it was a bit long and when I said I'd take it up, she said, "No, I can walk holding it up" and she took delicate steps, daintly holding the layers of the dress.

I bought double stick fabric tape and hemmed it anyway.

The Parade:
Last year I missed her parade. She was 3 and I didn't think it would matter. However, she commented. So, this year I made sure I would be there at 3:30.

The kids had to bring their costumes and the teachers got them ready. Can I tell you how cute it was! I was snapping pics of all the babies -- it was like an Anne Geddes parade! There was a pink and purple witch toddling all over the place.. twins who dressed in monkey suits.. little Minnie and Mickey being pushed in a carriage.

You could see the older kids expressing themselves more. For girls, it was split between variety of Princess/Fairy costumes, and then more unique ones. A's close friend was dressed as a ghost in white costume and face mask.. there was a pink Power Ranger by one of the girls who I felt was very bubbly and outgoing. I was quite surprised to see the world did not revolve around princesses and fairies for everyone.

Boys were great - firemen, sponge bob, Eagles player. I was impressed with one boy who had a homemade costume as an Arab sheik - towel and blankets made up his costume.

My heart extended to the one Indian boy - probably 3 - who had on a kurta-pyjama with a dupatta. I admitted above my daughter wore an Indian outfit with a tiara, but she was still in character. I don't know about this boy - was he supposed to be Abishek Bachchan?

My Costume History
Growing up with Indian immigrant parents, it's different for us. We grew up among cliches - balancing the Indian and American influence, get the best of both worlds, east meets west, etc.

So, Halloween was a great idea for kids, but spending hard-earned money on costumes wasn't going to happen.

So, I've had to trick-or-treat with my Indian dresses, chanya-cholis, while I thought the plastic cinderella mask was "beautiful" (was looking for a link or picture, but can't find it).

On the other hand, we learned to rummage through our closets (own, siblings, parents, linen) to get accessories to make our own costumes. We used the same chanyo as a gypsy skirt, threw on a shawl and lots of bangles.. used salwaars as flowy clown pants.. became hobos in dad's jackets (interesting, now we call them homeless people).

Anyway, I was chatting with some parents at ballet yesterday, and they both pointed out that they grew up making their costumes and now 98% of the costumes were store-bought. The one father, Eric, mentioned being a hobo. Now his son is wearing Darth Vader. Interesting - maybe Eric wanted to be Star Wars back in 1970's and couldn't?

So, maybe it's not about the Indian vs American thing.. but a result of the credit card, marketing to yuppies culture?

Have a Happy Halloween!

Bubbles (My Poems):
A Glass Of Wine, Please

And, what kind of wine do you have, she asked.

Swirl the robust Bordeaux. In its embrace, fly to the warm hills of France
Sniff the Shiraz and evoke a borrowed memory
of a didjeridoo echoing through an Australian sunset.

Remember when the Chianti had challenged
the Burgundy to duel and
the jugs had burst? Very good year though.

And, have you seen the Cabernet and Beaujolais?
He tipped his hat to you, while she
lifted her ruby skirts to curtsy.

She smiled. She knew them well.
She had been taught
to bridle and honor the passion of the Reds.
With a sip of a Merlot, she could hear
the strumming gypsy music
outside that restaurant in Piazza Navona.
And a second sip brought her to an intimate table for two
at a boisterous Bennigan’s.
Another glass would be that night best left forgotten.

Tonight she was alone.
Not a soul to share her carafe.

She longed for the green freshness
of whiteness
of lightness
and the dewiness
of her youth,
being held captive in an opaque fruit.

A sip would kindle a spark
smothered by time, and stir the flames
to ignite memories
to meet the new woman she has become.
Would they recognize each other?
She thought they would.

She watched the Pinot Grigio turn a pirouette and
release the essence of spring and fruits,
while the Reisling stood sweetly as a sunflower.
The Sauvignon Blanc whirled the scent of
summer morning grass to her.

She felt a tap on her shoulder.

The Chardonnay had sauntered to her
with a quiet step.
Be not betrayed by my coolness.
Under a golden cloak, I hold an edge,
a snap to inspire your senses.
Smokey evenings, vanilla afternoons.
You know me well and I know what
makes you glow.

And, he kissed her,
incensing her with his spirit forever.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
After writing this poem, I realized I really love white wine and have been drinking red for so long because other folks are drinking red. So, all summer, you could find me with a glass (or two) of chardonnay or pinot grigio.

I needed to see my poem again because I had 2 glasses of red the other night (cabernet sauvignon, I believe). It was a rainy day, I was feeling slightly under the weather and a warm red seemed so appealing.

And, I zonked out. That's what I forgot! Red wine makes me sleepy!

Need to stick with what really works for me.

On the Job Training: Motherhood -6
How to practice being a mother

1. Find someone who is can sit 3 feet away from you
2. Talk to her. Have her ignore you.
3. Raise your voice. Have her ignore you.
4. Clap your hands, bang on pots. Have her ignore you.
5. Now, pick up the phone and talk to someone. Mutter something softly regarding her.
6. Have her ask "Why did you say that? Tell me? Who did that?"

Repeat daily.

On the Job Training: Motherhood - 5
Finding Neverland

I've discovered the secret to eternal youth - Peter Pan. (Yes, we all know he's the boy who doesn't grow up.)

Frankly, I never cared for Peter Pan. Didn't understand all these rough Lost Boys, Peter Pan was a bit edgy and Wendy was just too maternal and boring for me. Tinkerbell was too insignificant. Why is the dog a nanny?

How many times have I seen Peter Pan from an elementary school production to the Disney version in the theater (with a double billing with Herbie the Wonder Bug) to seeing Julia Roberts filling out Tinkerbell's skirt? Really tried. Could not get into it.

Fast forward to bedtime with my daughter. I'm not exactly how she even got bit by the Barrie Bug. We've watched the movies (part 1 and 2!), read the stories and she loves it.

When she enjoys Cinderella and Beauty and the Beast, I recognize her excitement. Yet, when she loves Peter Pan and Alice in Wonderland, I'm pleasantly surprised. (Note: I never cared for Alice as a child, did not like talking animals. I discovered Carroll after college when I began to admire his work as a poetic masterpiece)

So, when I have to read Alice or Peter Pan to her, it is like being given an opportunity to relive my childhood. I'm trying to see what she sees in all these stories. Maybe she finds comfort in Wendy's maternal role and sees Tinkerbell as a strong ally to Peter Pan -- if one does not believe in fairies, how could one fly? She enjoys the Lost Boys' costumes as animals, revealing a personality beneath.

With Alice, the growing and shrinking and eating and drinking is so much fun. Controlling one's size is a valuable skill, especially to someone is three feet tall.

So, I am finding Neverland now.

On the Job Training: Motherhood - 4
Disney Wars: Revenge of the Princesses

Saturday morning we rose bright and early on a rainy day. We had tickets for the 11 a.m. Princesses on Ice show at the Wachovia Center (precorporate sponsorship days aka The Spectrum). My friend and I got our two 4-year-olds together and drove down to South Philly in her minivan. Her daughter had on a sweatsuit that announced "Princess" on the front. Mine chose a sparkly velvet dress she's never worn (she refused to wear anything else).

In the parking lot, we saw pint-sized Cinderellas and Snow Whites. On the escalators, we saw girls from infants to preteens wearing pink, purple and blue symbols of Princesshood - either a full blown costume or sweatshirts or tiaras.

I looked around the packed arena and thought "All of you people are here today, dishing out mucho dinero for tickets and service fees for an ice show because you ALL have a princess in your house.. you're going through the same Princess worship..and succumbing to the pleas of your own Princess."

I felt a sense of comradery with the parents there. I was not alone.

And talk about the Magic of Disney! It's the marketing of Disney!! Toys and souvenirs were insanely priced. A bucket of popcorn, which could feed a whole bevy of Princesses, was priced at $8 because you got a Princess bucket (the next one was $6 and you got a box. Yeah, figure out which is going to sell more). They had snow-cones for $10 because you got a cute Mickey or Cinderella mug.

This whole Disney Princess marketing industry is absolutely brilliant. Parents like me fall for it. (Who did not want to be a princess when they were 4 years old? I'm giving into this just because in 6 years, she may want to wear black, ripped jeans and ride skateboards. Who knows.)

But, Disney is smart enough to always put a trio. Yes, you can have an Ariel mug and target Mermaidphiles. You can have an Aurora nightgown and attract the sleeping beauties. Or, you can have Jasmine whatever and attract "ethnic" market. However, put them altogether on a mug, nightgown and whatever - BAM! you just sold all three to all three markets. How awesome is that?

And, for parents it's cool because if she's in an "Ariel" or "Jasmine" mood it still works. You're not limiting yourself to one princess.

I was livid when I saw Princess bandaids were higher priced with less units in the box than the Clifford one. We're buying Clifford and my daughter was none the wiser - quite happy with Emily Elizabeth over her boo-boos.

Anyway, Disney must keep an eye over their shoulders because their close competitor is Mattel and Barbie "as Princess Blah Blah." Yes they stepped in quietly with a movie with sharp computer animation with "Barbie in the Nutcracker" and "Barbie in Swan Lake". Then they realized the marketing potential and shot out "Princess and the Pauper" and now "Barbie & Pegasus". You get your dolls, accessories, videos, books, costumes, etc. So, even if you don't have your own princess, you create one!

I had my doubts about the Barbie movies.. It's a doll. It's not a story with a doll. But, now I see it's different. Barbie is alive and well, and acting in roles - that's ingenius as well. The movies aren't so bad - I do like the bit of feminist angle with the female protaganists who are quite alert in finding their own way around the world and through their troubles. Even my daughter had complained that Sleeping Beauty and Snow White "just sleep." There are more positive heroines out there.

Confession: I have a Beauty & the Beast keychain that I bought back in early 90's.. I was 23 and totally identified with Belle. I was bookish and didn't fall so easily for outward appearances (a la Gaston).

Anyway, I am still using this keychain and my daughter is thrilled to look at it - even thought the plastic has chipped a bit. So, maybe a princess part of you does not outgrow?

By the way, I really felt the Princess on Ice show was worth it when I looked at my daughter. Aladdin was rubbing the giant lamp. Sparks flew out of the lamp just as the genie emerged. She jumped back in suprise, putting her hands on her cheek! I looked over at another point and she had her ears covered because she knew the witch was going to come out. This is real to them in their minds. We're just making it more real.

Morsels of Poetry:
Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni
The Garba
The nine sacred nights of Navaratri
we dance the Garba. Light glances off
the smooth wood floor of the gym
festooned with mango leaves
flown in from Florida. The drummers
have begun, and the old women
singing of Krishna and the milkmaids,
Their high keening is an electric net
pulling us in, girls who have never seen

the old land. This October night
we have shed our jeans
for long red skirts, pulled back
permed hair in plaits, stripped of
nailpolish and mascara, and pressed
henna onto hands, kohl
under the eyes. Our hips
move like water to the drums.
Thin as hibiscus petals, our skirts
swirl up as we swing and turn.
We ignore the men,

creaseless in bone-white kurtas.
In the bleachers, they smile behind their hands.
Whisper. Our anklets
shine in the black light from their eyes.
Soon they will join is in the Dandia dance.
The curve and incline, the slow arc of the
painted sticks meeting red on black
above our upraised arms. But for now the
women dance alone
a string of red anemones
flung forward and back
by an unseen tide. The old ones sing
of the ten-armed goddess.
The drums pound faster
in our belly. Our feet glide
on smooth wood, our arms are darts of
light, Hair, silver-braided,
lashes the air like lightning.
The swirling is a red wind
around our thighs. Dance-sweat
burns sweet on our lips.
We clap hot palms like thunder. And
the mango branches grow into trees.
Under our flashing feet, the floor is packed black soil.
Damp faces gleam and flicker in torchlight.
The smell of harvest hay
is thick and narcotic in our throat. We spin and spin
back to the villages of our mothers’ mothers.
We leave behind

the men, a white blur
like moonlight on empty bajra fields
seen from a speeding train.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I heard Chitra read this at the Asian American Writers Workshop in 1996 or 1997. This is from her book "Black Candle" and it moved me so much. I love Navratri and as an Indian-American, I felt Chitra had captured the holiday and what it means to us. We may dance on the hard gym floors and not on the Indian earth, but our dance connects us to a long line of women. I always felt sorry for my American classmates and friends who did not have Navratri.

For us, we would pull out the suitcases that stored our chanya-cholis for the year. On some special occasions - after a trip to India - we would have new spin-worthy ghagras and we finally wear the new Indian jewelry. My sister, mother and I would trade bangles and bindis trying to get the perfect match. Oh, and I remember the year I wore rings. My hands were so swollen after a night of garba they would not come off! I had to soak them in cool water to pry them.

It's not about just a dance, but keeping connections and traditions alive.

Morsels of Poetry:
Khalil Gibran
- From The Prophet "on Marriage"

Love one another, but make not a bond of love.
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.
Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup.
Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each of you be alone,
Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.
Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping.
For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.
And stand together, yet not too near together.
For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.

- From The Prophet "on Children"
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and
He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far. Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.

On the Job Training: Motherhood - 3
So, what's the deal with the fathers?

I've been doing some informal research - talking to my female friends, moms at ballet, colleagues at work, reading O. Magazine and I've come to this conclusion..

No matter if you are Indian, Black, White, Martian.. the mom is still hauling the children around.

Yes, fathers help and will do the pick up/drop off's as well. They will help around the house and get the kids to eat their food. Fathers, please know this has not gone unnoticed.

Yet, mom's are the ones dealing with the school activities, birthday parties (as hosts and guests) and every other extracurricular activity. Mom's will make sure that sitting by the door is is a fully equipped bag for ballet/soccer/swimming/karate, etc. I think mothers gained experience from preparing diaper bags for all emergencies.

I am not sure if I'm allowed to even vent about this seeing I have 1 preschooler. I'm talking to mothers who have 2-3 kids at various stages of development and homework assignments. So, I get the impression that having 1 child is a walk in the park.

So, as I absorbed information from these informal research sessions, there was a nugget of wisdom. She said, "The problem is that we want the men to be 'mothers' but they can't be."

A mother knows instinctively when a child's tantrum is from hunger/fatigue vs. a manipulative control tantrum. She knows a child's needs must come first. Again, this might have been part of our training when we dropped dirty dishes or a hot dish of food to go breastfeed a wailing child. A father will remain focussed on his current activity until he is good and ready to deal with the child. By that time, the mother is livid her child has been held up.

And, that's where our frustration is.

So, is this a defect of the feminist movement? We were told everything could be equal in a marriage. However, marriage to begin with is not 50/50. It's actually 60/40 -- if you ask the wife, she's pulling 60. If you ask the husband, he's pulling the 60. Then, you have a kid and it moves from to 80/50. Oh wait, that doesn't add up does it?

It's as if an extra weight was added to your end and you're always trying to push it over to the father. He's willing to accept the extra load, but can't always take it.

So what do we do? I don't know. I'm just happy I came this far in analysing this. In a way, it's helped me manage expectations better.

On the Job Training: Motherhood - 2
Where Am I Going?

So, last week I was driving A. to school and pulled into Goddard School. Drove in quietly towards the drop-off circle. I braked suddenly. "What are we doing here?"

I realized my mind was occupied with other things and I was driving on autopilot. For almost 4 years I have been going to Goddard School first and then to work. I admit, there were 2 other occasions where I had pulled into the school when A. was not in the car with me.

A. laughed and wanted to visit her friends. (On a side note, A. is having fun with her new school and says Hannah and Allison are her "best friends", but is really clingy and cries when I leave. I hope this will fade soon, and 4-year-olds are demanding so the teachers cannot always tend to her right then.)

Anyway, at work I related my faux pas to someone else and she said she had done something similar when her daughter was in school and had activities.

Suddenly, flashback to my senior year of high school. I was taking an SAT class at a teacher Mr. C's home on Mondays, Orchestra practice on Tuesdays and tennis whenever that was. My sister and brother had their own schedules.

I remember my mom showing up Mr. C's house instead of orchestra. It was a bit embarrassing because Mr. C mentioned it in class and turned it into a dramatic story; quite mean of him to have a "private" conversation with me in a loud voice. At the time I was frustrated that my mother couldn't keep it straight and she should've been better organized.

Now, I get it!

She had 3 kids with 3 different needs, plus managing a house and part time jobs. This is pre-cell phone and phone card era, so she (and us) could be disconnected and be at the wrong place. I have one kid and still show up at the wrong school if I'm not thinking. So, now I feel guilty for all the hassles that we bestowed on her. Also, I realize mothers also serve as punching bags for whatever the world doles out (i.e., my feelings toward Mr. C were transferred to her).

Is this the frustrating part of motherhood? That your kids won't understand until they are in your shoes? Do I have to wait for 30-something years until A. understands?

Hopefully not. Though I think so.

On the Job Training: Motherhood - 1
When It's Time to Change...

Recently, my daughter A. changed schools. She’s been in Goddard School since she was less than a year old, when I returned to work. We thought she did well at Goddard, but we wanted to find a full time kindergarten for her, which they did not offer. There is a Kiddie Academy nearby which offers pre-K program and the full day kindergarten. Plus, there are other benefits that Goddard does not offer – more convenient hours, lunch and snacks provided and a brand new cleaner environment.

My husband S. was worried about A. going to a new school. He and I both felt a rush of our own memories, bearing the fears and anxieties that come with starting a new school or a new job. Now our baby girl would have to face them. S. was not sure this was a good idea. It took some time, but enough friends assured him a social 4-yr-old like ours would not have a problem. I tried to remain positive.

First day of school was last week and A. had to say good bye to her friends at Goddard. It was sad since she’s known them all her life. Miss B. the asst. director is in her late 50’s and the kind of woman that scared the kids into shape. One of the parents told me she threatens her daughter "I'm going to tell Miss B. that you didn't clean your room!" The child never moved so fast!

Moreover, she scares parents into shape. I felt so many times the school pushed me ahead with A. when I wasn’t even thinking about it. They told me when she needed to move to sippy cups and solid foods, and I was surprised. I remember receiving a phone call at work reminding me strongly that baby food was not acceptable for lunch and she needed to work on finger foods in order to move into the next class. So, this was another relationship that was going to change.

Anyway, A. and I baked the customary "farewell" brownies and made little trays for the teachers and staff. A. and I had visited the Kiddie Academy in the morning to introduce her to the teachers and environment. She smiled shyly at the teachers and looked at the toys and games in the room. Then she smiled and pulled me towards her, “Let’s go to Goddard now.” I tried to remain positive.

Thursday was her first day. She plummeted me with questions “Who’s going to be my best friend? But I don’t know anyone’s phone number.” I pumped her to go to bed to wake up early and get ready, which she did. In fact, she woke up an hour earlier and had time to just chill in front of the tv while I took a shower.

When I stepped out, I heard hysterical crying downstairs. What could be faster than the mind of a mother hearing a child cry -- is she hurt? did she cut herself? is she lying under heavy furniture?

I called out to her .

"We're late! we're late! wahhh..."

I told her calmly that we're not late and are on time. It made me realize the extent of her anxieties. I told her they would give her lunch, so I did not need to make her lunch today. "What if I don't like it?" she asked.

"Then I'll bring you something else. We'll find out." I tried to remain positive again.

When we entered the new class, we were greeted warmly and A. was led to a table with coloring books. She looked up at me quietly and I stayed with her a little bit. I asked the teacher what was for lunch. "Pizza bagels!" I asked A., "Is that ok?" and she smiled and said yes.

Then I asked I could go now. She smiled and nodded, and the teacher assured me she was ok. I gave her a hug and kiss and left.

I sat in the car and turned on the radio. That corny song from the 80's by Glenn Mederios was on:"Nothing's Gonna Change My Love for you"

And, I just cried.

I had been holding this inside and being positive for so long, I needed a release. And, leaving your child at the doorstep of a new school is as hard as they said it would be.