I’ve recently rejoined the ranks of the working stiffs – and by that I mean the ranks of the non-freelancing working stiffs.  It’s been quite a few years … 12, to be exact … since I worked in  Corporate America.  This job is great – it’s the steady work of a busy employer, with the perk of getting to work from home.  There’s a lot to learn, and some days I feel as though I’m drowning in options and information, trying to pick a seashell from the bottom of the ocean – seeing so many and simultaneously running out of air and needing to surface.

To continue the metaphor, I know my sea-legs will arrive soon.  My writing has taken a big hit as I try to right my ship a bit, and I’m still really wobbly at trying to figure out my balance between work and home.

My husband has picked up a ton for me, and as crazy as it sounds, I’m still homeschooling our son.  Part of the benefit of working from home is the ability to continue to be his primary educator, but it does complicate things a bit.  We end up starting lessons an hour earlier than we used to, and I find myself checking his work (math, language arts, handwriting) later in the day when we have lunch together.

Dinner isn’t always as beautiful affair – and sometimes I find myself furiously boiling a pot of stew that should have had a long, slow simmer, trying to get it ready for my family.  One of the first days of working/cooking/trying to be SuperMom, I realized that my super-powers had failed me badly.  I logged out of work, put dinner on the stove, and took myself and a box of matches outside to do a leaf-burn in the backyard while our son raked.  Trouble is, I forgot to turn the burner on to low.  I went in 30 minutes later to SMOKE, an absolutely SCORCHED meal, bubbled-stuff all over the stove, the outside of my pan, the cabinets, and the floor … and after a well-placed curse, called the dog.  The dog cleaned the floor, I opened windows and began the cleaning/scraping/pitching procedures, and called my husband.  Who, like a champ, stopped at the local grocery and picked up a rotisserie chicken to save the day.

As we talked about it later, my husband said, “Don’t worry, it happens.”  He was careful to not make me feel guilty or to pile on what I was already berating myself with.  My response was telling:  I replied, “Yeah, but not to ME.”

If any one of my friends had told me the same story I just told you, I would have said, “Give yourself some grace, space, and time.  It’s a new, big thing you’ve entered in to, and you need time to acclimate.”  In other words, I would have extended grace to my friend.  But apparently, I can’t do that for myself.  I still feel the need to Do It All and fit that old Enjoli commercial.

You know the one – sing it with me:

I can bring home the bacon

Fry it up in a pan

And never, never, never let you forget you’re a man

Cause I’m a wo-man….

So, lessons I’ve learned thus far in my newfound work experience:

• It is an absolute lie that as working women (inside or outside of the home, work-from-home or work-away-from-home) we can “have it all.” Women who believe this lie will beat themselves up, never feeling adequate, as though they’re doing a good job, or will end up feeling as though someone is getting cheated in the deal. Accept that you can’t have a perfect house, un-burnt food 100% of the time, or the kind of food your grandmother served and cut yourself some slack. I’m preaching to the choir here, ladies.

• I told my employer during the interview process that I wouldn’t sacrifice my family for the job. I was told that the company would never ask me to do that, and I was grateful for the information. There is, however, a responsibility I have to set boundaries in my workday and to honour my own time commitments. The company won’t ask me to sacrifice my family, but that doesn’t mean I won’t volunteer to sacrifice my family – either intentionally or otherwise.

• I have to learn to leave stress in my mail-program, to close the program at the end of the day, and to do something that is the antithesis of stress. For me, this is knitting. Even if it’s only 15 minutes of knitting, it’s enough to clear my mind, give my hands something to do, and to allow me to not take it out on someone else. I also find that if I can release worry & stress, I don’t take it to bed with me, clenching my jaw during the night and causing pain for me the next day. I’m worth it, but moreover, my family is worth it.

• There will always be “one more email” to answer or “one more phone call” to make. If I let it, the job would be self-perpetuating and I’d never run out of things to do. So I need to make a clear delineation for myself – I will close my email program at the end of my day. I will turn off my phone. I will leave work-thoughts for the workday. And tacit with that is I will make time for myself and for my family.

• On days when I totally blow it and bark at my husband or my son, I’m sorry goes a really long way to making up for my boneheaded behaviour. I don’t want to give either one of the men in my life a complex by not being able to manage my stress of emotions, so admitting when I’m wrong is totally helpful.

I’m not done learning how to balance.  I still have crazy-wobbly days when I feel like I’m coming apart at the seams.  I’m glad those days seem to be fewer and farther in-between now.  I heard a rumor that UPS was going to deliver my sea-legs this week.  So I’m watching for The Brown to bring me a box that has my intestinal fortitude, calm, and ability to balance.  I’ll let you know when it does arrive.  Or maybe you’ll hear the overjoyed reaction of my family out here in Dexter and I won’t have to announce anything myself.

Today is Sept. 11, 2009.  It is eight years after the tragic events in Manhattan, Alexandria, and a field in Pennsylvania.  Time has a way of healing old wounds, but sometimes I wonder if time hasn’t healed them as much as it’s filled our minds and hearts with “more current” things – worries, issues, and “pressing matters.”

Regardless, I choose to pick the scab off of the wound of this day – every year.  I refuse to let myself forget – I refuse to let the unintentional and intentional sacrifices of those who died that day just be a figure in a history book.

As I was musing with friends on Facebook (incidentally, if you haven’t yet found lite.facebook.com, check it out!) this morning, I realized we all have stories to tell.  We all remember “where we were” and what we were doing – because this event shook us to our cores.  And so, with my friends’ permission, I share some of their stories.  I’m including my story so you don’t have to go back through the archives to read it, and if you go here, you’ll see a moving slideshow memorial to the people, events, and days that followed the attacks on our country.

• I was pregnant with Brendan – about 5 mos along. I watched the first plane crash in to the tower on the news in utter shock – when the 2nd one hit, the dread that came over me made me want to throw up. To compound the sadness, we had just lost someone – a 3 y/o in our church had drowned weeks before and my hormonal self just couldn’t stop crying – for the baby who died, for those who died in the attacks, and for those left behind. Mark & I looked at each other and wondered what we were doing bringing a baby in to a world like this – where hatred was so rampant that people rejoiced at the news of death and tragedy.  And yet, this baby was such a cause of joy for us – and as he grows, continues to be.  (Sue)
• I was pregnant living in Connecticut and a few hours outside of NYC. I was worried about friends of mine that worked in Manhattan. I saw the 2nd plane hit on t.v. and also saw the towers fall. It was a gut-wrenching day…. (Jolene)
• I remember being at work and getting a call to turn on the TV. I went into my boss’ office and we turned on the TV just in time to see the 2nd plane hit live. It was horrible. We didn’t know what was going on. We all just sit there watching the news in utter disbelief and I remember feeling so scared. All I could do is cry. None of us could even work that day. It was the first time in my life that I really felt the world was about to end. I remember going home that day and it just feeling really eerie outside. The sky was so blue because there were no planes flying. I just went inside and cried and prayed and asked for God’s protection over our country and His peace over all the ones who were personally affected. My heart still aches and I still am moved to tears every time I see those towers fall, especially when I see the pics of the people trapped hopelessly inside so desperate for help that they would jump out of the windows. A very sad day for America. (Carrie)
• I was at work. Patients came in in a state of shock saying they “just heard.”  At first we all thought it was an accident. Then they came on the radio and said the second plane hit. We had radio, but no TV. I had to wait until about 6pm that night to really see what all was happening. For our generation it will be the same as “where were you when JFK was shot” for our parents. We will never forget….. (Melanie)
• I was in my 10th grade English class when one kid came in late and said a plane crashed into the WTC. Our teacher wouldn’t let us see what was going on…she just continued class. I had a space class after my English class and we just sat and watched in silence… I don’t think I was there to watch the towers fall. They had gone down before I got to that class. I had a friend that I knew when I lived in Belgium whose father was working at the Pentagon. I couldn’t stop thinking about her dad all day. He was fine…but the sadness was awful. I wasn’t concerned about being attacked where I lived…but I was overwhelmed with sadness for everyone involved in all the attacks…and their families. I remember all the people trying to get across the Brooklyn bridge that day too. It still hits close to home…today is my first 9/11 working at a news station…it feels kinda surreal. We haven’t shown a lot of 9/11 footage…but I watched a bunch on youtube. Still hurts to see it. (Emily)
• I was watching tv as well, and saw it live. Hannah was almost 1 and she was sick, so we were laying on the couch together with the TV on. I couldn’t believe it when the towers fell. I just kept saying to John, “They were hit at the top, why are they falling?” and “Aren’t there PEOPLE in there?” I remember the news at the time wasn’t saying much about the scores of people inside the towers.It was exactly one year after that that we left for our first term in Hungary. it was kind of scary traveling on the first anniversary, but security was VERY high. (Tricia)
• I was sitting on the floor watching the Today Show changing Weylan’s diaper. It was one week after his first birthday. I ran out to the garage to tell Tony as he was leaving for work…at that time they thought it was a little prop plane. By the time I got back to the show, the other plane hit and we knew it was something big happening. Tony was gone…I’ll never forget the dread of not being able to contact him because all the cell towers were overloaded! I had just lost someone close to me a few days earlier in a horribly tragic accident so that sense of grief was really fresh. (Jessica)

As you can tell, we all have our own stories.  Our own tales of how this awful day affected us – and continues to affect us.  Some were in shock for a while, some people experienced a delayed sense of shock out of need to compartmentalize and function during the aftermath of the attack.

I’m reminded in the years since the attack how easy it is to let this matter become politicized – for people to armchair quarterback and say ‘we deserved it,’ or ‘the attackers were justified’.  But for a few months after the attacks (and I refuse to call it anything other than that, lest I do attempt to politicize it), we weren’t Democrats and Republicans – we were all Americans.  We were united in the belief that those who died didn’t deserve to die and that those who caused it were evil personified – and we all supported each other, across partisan lines and differing belief systems.

May it be so once again in this time of remembrance.  I encourage you to memorialize this day and its events however you see fit – just remember it & honour what it means to our country.

Every so often I tweak a recipe that is so good it almost needs no tweaking.  And it becomes a favourite around here and goes in to the regular rotation.  This recipe, credited to my friend Wendy Allan, is just one of those recipes.  I made them for Brendan’s first birthday dinner and as the story goes, my little guy enjoyed a burrito SO much that he ate a whole one by himself – and then was full enough that he had no interest in the birthday cake we set before him.  It was a hoot – he literally didn’t want to have anything to do with the cake and we couldn’t coax any of the frosting in to his mouth, either. 

My, how times have changed.  But that’s another post.

This recipe feeds a ton of people – we regularly get 15-20 well-stuffed burritos out of them.  I’m told (by people who know these things) that they could also be enchiladas – if you use corn tortillas instead of flour tortillas.  So here we go, with my notations in italics:

Wendy’s Famous Chicken & Rice Burritos

• 4 c. cooked rice (we use brown rice here)
• 1 jar of salsa (homemade or commercial salsa is fine)
• 8-16 oz of cooked & shredded/cubed chicken or pork, depending on taste (I’ve been known to use chicken leftover from a roasted bird, leftover meat from the grill, etc.)
• 10 oz. shredded cheese (anything except mozzarella or swiss)
• 16-20 flour or corn tortillas – either homemade or commercial (I’m about to try my hand at whole wheat tortilla making here – stand by for a report in the coming weeks)
• 15 oz enchilada sauce – homemade or canned (I’ll include my recipe for fresh sauce below)

Cook the rice & permit it to cool a bit.  Add meat, salsa, & 8 ounces of cheese in a large bowl with the rice & combine thoroughly.  Warm the tortillas in order to make them more pliable and proceed to fill them with approximately 1/3 c of the rice/meat/cheese mixture for a taco-sized tortilla, closer to 2/3 c of the mixture for the larger sized tortillas.  Fold the tortilla in thirds around the filing and place it seam-down on a baking pan.  Continue until you’ve used up the ingredients.

Once the burritos (or enchiladas, for the gluten-intolerant among us) are lined up, spoon over enchilada sauce, sprinkle with the leftover 2 ounces of cheese, and bake for 20 minutes at 350F.  Serve with sour cream, hot sauce, and whatever else your Mexican-food-loving-heart desires. 

If you want to try your hand at making enchilada sauce, here’s how I do it – measurements are approximate, because I cook by taste & scent more than precision. 

Sue’s Enchilada Sauce

• 15 oz. can of tomatoes or tomato sauce – if tomatoes, puree with a stick blender until smooth
• 3 T. chili powder
• 4.5 t. unsweetened cocoa powder
• 1 t. onion powder
• 2 t. garlic powder
• 1 t. cinnamon
• 1 t. oregano
• 1 t. sea salt

Combine all of these ingredients together until a dark sauce forms; taste and feel free to adjust as needed.  If I use seasoned tomatoes (i.e., tomatoes canned with oregano, garlic, & olive oil), then I’ll omit the oregano and cut back on the garlic powder.  This is a much fresher version of canned enchilada sauce & pretty easy to make, although I’m told the cocoa powder makes it more of a mole sauce than an enchilada sauce.  Nevermind – I’m a Gringo from Michigan and my tastebuds like it, no matter what it’s called. 

In this day & age of feminist belief & practice, I’ve come in to the knowledge of who I am. And maybe this time of “refining” (read: struggles) has helped me to realize that it’s okay to be who I am – even if I don’t conform to the world around me and what other women think I need to be.

I live in a particularly secular area of the US – I’m content to be here and do what I’m supposed to be doing. But within my particular culture, women are expected to toe the line of hardcore feminism. In other words, “If you shave your legs, fine (said with a roll of the eyes), but don’t expect that I will, that I should, or that I’m happy you do.” It’s a cut-throat place where traditional femininity is seen as “weak” and “pathetic.”  I’ve never fully understood why women can’t be themselves (even if they are girly-girls at heart) AND be strong – why it has to be a zero-sum gain.  I’m pretty sure Betty Friedan would spin in her grave, but I’ve never been a big Friedan fan, so I’m not sure I care. 

When I coupled the “weak & pathetic” opinion with my upbringing (oldest of three girls, taught to be strong and ferociously independent), I carved out a space for myself that eschewed traditional femininity. The requirement of skirts, dresses, etc., to attend church seemed feeble to me (does God really care what I wear on Sunday mornings or is He more concerned with my heart?). I donned pants and rarely looked back.

I seem to have come full-circle, though. I love skirts & dresses now – not because my husband told me (or asked me) to. Not because my religion says it’s required. Not because I have to. Because I want to.

I am a high-maintenance woman – not emotionally – I do layers of things to myself so that my skin and hair are in good condition and I feel good about myself. I used to resent the time I spent, thinking that I was “unlucky” in that I needed to do these things and others didn’t. Now I revel in the time I get to spend on myself, the condition my skin is in, and quite frankly, how much younger I look because of it all. It’s not something I resent as much as it is something I pamper myself with.

All of which brought me to this realization: I am a strong woman who is feminine at her core. I can lift heavy things if I have to, but more often than not, there are men around who can do it for me – if I ask. I don’t have to prove myself anymore. I don’t have to prove my worth by letting my legs grow shaggy or my skin or hair go unkempt – I can be a strong, vibrant woman who does self-care for herself, not to herself. All of this is quite empowering and has brought me a to a place where right now I prefer to wear skirts & dresses, especially during the hotter summer months. In the winter, I’ll probably be back to pants and wool socks, and that’ll be okay.

But for now, I’m learning to appreciate who I am and to grow more confident in that identity. My husband is watching and seems slightly amused by it all, but I think he’s known this part of me existed for a while. It just took some time for me to come in to my own and to revel in it.