Delta :: Here Comes #2

After Lexi was born I quit my job for awhile and reveled in being a mommy. I enjoyed almost every aspect of parenting and drank in every detail of my daughter’s emerging personality.

I stayed in touch with my co-workers; each of us had our babies six weeks apart from one another.

Tirzah, my more conservative friend who never planned to go back to work and wanted to homeschool her son exclusively, was perfect for listening to my more psychotic moments.

“Tirzah – I had a dream that I was driving and the car actually slid off the road and rolled. I was dead in the front seat but Lexi was hanging upside-down, trapped in the carseat straps, crying and not understanding why I wouldn’t help her!” I confessed one day.

She soothed me, we discussed how common it was for hormones to dwell on our fears and then we moved into safer, less emotionally-charged conversations.

Another day Tirzah confessed: “I just destroyed the pictures I took of Elijah in his crib because I realized that there was a blanket in there with him. I don’t want Child Protective Services to take him away from me because I had a strangulation hazard in with him and was stupid enough to document it with photos!”

I soothed her and took the crib blanket out of Lexi’s crib immediately.

Lauren was my more logical friend, a high-achiever who believed in the “cry it out” method of parenting her son. She was my friend with whom I could dream about career ambitions and how it might work to fulfill a career and a role as mother at the same time.

“I don’t want to go back to work but I feel sometimes like I’ve lost track of who I am,” I would tell Lauren. “I wonder sometimes if there’s more to my life than being a living burp rag.”

Lauren would agree and tell me that I wasn’t crazy to wonder where my identity had headed.

“I want to cherish every moment of Ryan’s life,” Lauren said. “But sometimes I just can’t stand how much he cries. It makes me feel like I’m going insane. I would do almost anything to be able to organize my desk right now!”

I understood. I felt guilty saying it out loud, but I absolutely understood what Lauren was saying.

Only ten months into trying to flesh out my identity as a mother of one, well before I could actually utter the words, “This is my daughter, Lexi,” I discovered that I was pregnant again.

I was thrilled. I loved Lexi so much I couldn’t imagine not loving our newest little addition.

With absolute naivety, I charged whole-heartedly into being a hands-on, attachment-style parenting mother.

At the same time, my husband’s job situation went from uncomfortable to precarious to torturous. It was no longer feasible to continue working in his current capacity.

So, eight months pregnant with a one-year-old toddler, we moved our nuclear family 1,000 miles away from our support groups and Dane started a new job working for a small Christian college in a tiny town in Oklahoma.

Gamma :: Circus Acts

The unfortunate reality of my situation was that no matter how fierce I was in the desire to protect my child, I had no idea what I was protecting.

I was the youngest child born to my parents, the youngest child of my family generation. Every time we had family get-togethers, reunions, or holiday gatherings, I was the snot-nosed baby trying to tag along or the littlest one being coddled by the bigger ones who wanted to play mommy.

My parents moved to a retirement community before I was born to be near my grandmother. As self-employed business people even after my grandmother had passed away, it was unwise for them to uproot their established business to try their luck in a different community with a younger demographic.

I grew up without ever once babysitting. I never fed a child a bottle. I never experienced playing with a little sibling. I never worked in the church nursery.

In fact, until my daughter Lexi was born I had never, ever changed a dirty diaper. And I had no desire to do so!

Instead I frolicked through life in the post-60s feminist world, setting my eyes on whatever leadership position seemed most prestigious and trying to achieve it. And, for the most part, succeeding.

Job interviews and public speaking events held no fear for me. Time management presentations and the seven habits of highly effective leaders were a part of my regularly used vocabulary.

Gaa-gaa and goo-goo were not.

Even so, discovering that we were pregnant with our first child was one of the most exciting, albeit terrifying, experiences of my entire life. I felt like I was on a whirlwind roller coaster of fun and couldn’t wait to experience it all!

I signed up for the baby information bulletins and happily told Dane about each stage of development.

“Honey! She’s the size of a summer squash right now and there’s fine hair covering her whole body!”

“Dane! There’s almost 25% more blood in my body right now than before I got pregnant. She’s swallowing amniotic fluid and hiccupping to practice her lungs! I need to eat raisins for iron.”

“Babe – did you know that 1% of pregnant women spontaneously abort their child after getting a weird virus from deli meats? I can’t eat at Subway anymore. And maybe not any hotdogs, either.”

Every aspect of pregnancy was explored as I tried to learn about this new job I would be taking on. I’m still grateful that I had two other first-time moms working in my office with me. Though I was the oldest of them all, they were farther along in their pregnancies.

During breaks we would gather around the water cooler and compare notes and ask questions.

“I know that these pains are from the round ligaments stretching but do you think that I can put a heating pad on my abdomen or will that bake the baby?”

“Oh! Don’t reheat your lunch on that Styrofoam plate! Who knows what kind of chemicals will be released into the food – it might hurt the baby!”

Deep into my ninth month of pregnancy we found out that our little girl, whom we named Lexi, was breech. Based upon her size, which was estimated to be just about nine pounds, and my small body frame, our doctor felt that it was highly unlikely that she would turn head-down the birth canal on her own. We scheduled a caesarian section for the next week and welcomed our little girl into the world.

Immediately I was consumed with reading everything about babies. What could make them grow best, what had to be avoided at all costs? What developmental milestones I should expect or be worried if she didn’t meet on time?

When I read that every newborn would mostly likely smile by the time they were three-months old and I realized that Lexi hadn’t smiled yet I took it as a personal attack on my parenting. I turned into a one-woman circus act, smiling all the time and talking to her in a happy, giggly voice.

“Why are you talking that way?” Dane finally asked me.

“I want her to smile,” I said. My lip started quivering and my eyes filled with tears. “I just am so worried that she won’t smile!”

“She’s a baby!” Dane said. “She’s going to smile. Relax!”

Sure enough, literally one day before Lexi turned three-months-old, a friend of ours leaned over her and tickled her cheek with a strand of curly hair. Lexi smiled, an enormous, giant smile with a coo in accompaniment.
It hadn’t taken a three-ring circus after all.

Beta :: Driving for Clarity

From the time I got my driver’s license at 16-years-old, sitting behind that wheel was a special time. It made me feel free, it made me feel composed. It was just me and the road ahead, off to find adventure.

Throughout graduate school, a time when I moved regions of the country in order to attend a #1-ranked master’s program in college administration, I had explored the countryside in my trusty Toyota truck. Whenever I felt lonely, which was often, or like I was an outsider, as I was, I took to the road. I discovered the beauty of leaves changing colors in the fall through the windshield of that truck; I drove it to the out-of-town stables where I took horseback riding lessons.

After graduate school that truck moved me across the country once again to my first job. All of my belongings were loaded up and tucked underneath a bright blue tarp and elastic net, secured more firmly than I in the events of the present.

It was there, at that first job that I met and married my husband, Dane. He was the greatest blessing of my life, my first 100% certain answer to prayer. We were married within six months of our first date.

Professionally things continued to improve. The reality was that I started my career riding on the coattails of training from two exceptional institutions. Simply because I had their names attached to my resume as the colleges where I received my Bachelor’s and Master’s degrees doors opened for me. After starting any jobs I was quickly recognized as someone who could problem solve, make difficult decisions, and meet deadlines on time.

Life was pretty well laid out for me and I felt like I was on top of the world.

I might have been a little arrogant, too.

All this to say, my bolt out of the office and to my truck was not an unusual choice when I needed comfort; drives were always helpful for me. What was surprising was how disturbed I was by the conversation I had just completed.

It was not the first time I had fired someone for failing to perform in his or her position. I had discovered that in life there are very few people who are willing to say what needs to be said without backing down or moderating the comment to the point of uselessness.

Because I was ingrained with boldness my previous supervisors had oftentimes used me to have the “difficult” conversations. I had never been a part of a conversation where there was not ample cause for releasing the person from their position; in fact, it most generally involved that person placing another in physical harm, as this most current negative job review had identified.

It was, however, one of the first times that someone had attacked me on a personal level, playing into my fears of becoming a parent.

I took the time on the drive to calm myself, my thoughts eventually stopped racing as I traveled the blacktop road and wound my way through the countryside. By the time I got home that night I was in control of my emotions, though still fairly wound up from the encounter.

My reserve was tested the next morning when I checked my facebook® messages and found one from Rick’s brother:

“Your lack of encouragement, ungodly approach and unprofessionalism towards my brother are inexcusable. You give the college a bad name and your lack of caring for relationships with people give Christ a bad name. I do not deny that my brother is far better with relationships than maybe paper work and he certainly has more compassion than condemnation for people; I believe that Christ himself told the world that he "did not come to this world to condemn it, but to save it." As an alumni of the college I know that it was far more influential for me to have an employee or teacher to have a relationship with me than to care more for rules than for the individual.”

I snorted loudly. My husband perked up and asked what was going on. I gestured to the computer screen and watching his body language change from relaxed to battle-ready as he processed the message.

“That’s ridiculous!” Dane said. “I’m going to write him back – that’s my wife he’s attacking!”

“Dane – I appreciate your feelings, but you can’t write him back or call him or even mention that this happened,” I said, taking his arms and moving him a few paces away from the computer.

“It’s completely inappropriate that Rick got a family member involved in this – and it would be completely inappropriate for you to get involved!” I looked up at him and pleaded.

“I don’t need you to protect me against him. It’s ok that he’s upset. He should be, he just lost his job,” I leaned against him and placed his arms around my back. “I need you to just love me and support me here, right now, just like you are. Can you do that?”

“Yes,” Dane said as his arms started to return the pressure of a hug around my body. “I can do that. But I’m still really, really angry!”

“I am too,” I said. “But the reality is that my life is going to go on in much the same way it has before – his life is going to be turned upside-down. I’ve got to give him grace for that.”

We stood together, hugging, and I let the warmth of my husband’s arms support me and act as a salve to my wounded heart.

You’re going to end up alone and miserable.

The words were back. They were wrong! I was fierce with myself. I would not allow anything to destroy this little family of mine.

Our embrace lasted for several more moment, Dane and my bodies providing a protective shield around the little life that continued to grow, protected in the love of a mother and a father who were committed to each other and to the baby’s future.

We were not alone.

Alpha:: The Start of It All

“Rick, I hate to say this, but your explanation for this situation is just not good enough,” I found myself saying to the wide-eyed young man I had been supervising for just under a year.

“You willfully disregarded the policies that have been put into place and instead followed your own ideas. That ultimately placed three students in a physically dangerous situation where we could not longer vouch for their safety on this campus.”

“Additionally, you chose not to involve your direct supervisor in the situation after you have been given three separate warnings on this exact issue.” I stopped and cleared my throat, praying that my nerve would continue through the rest of the conversation.

“Because of these problems you will not be allowed to continue in your current position. The choice you have to make now is whether you would like the public opinion to be that you resigned or have been fired. I will respect your wishes in that matter.”

“So…” Rick’s voice dwindled off for a moments as he processed my words. “You’re actually firing me?!”

Keep it simple, short and courteous, I told myself.

“Yes.”

“This is ridiculous! You’d rather hold yourself to a policy standard than take people’s individual development into account!” Rick said hotly.

“Rick, I’m not asking you to agree with me, in fact, I really don’t expect you to agree with me at all,” I responded as calmly as I could. “It doesn’t change the decision.”

“You are going to wind up all alone and miserable because you’re incapable of maintaining relationships! Or caring about anything except the rules!” Rick’s face was flushed and little drips of spit shot out of his mouth as he talked.

“I feel sorry for you and for any children you might possibly raise in the future!” he said with finality.

I knew the conversation needed to end as I listened to the blood roar in my ears.

“I respect your right to opinion, Rick. I don’t need your sympathy. I’ll be sending you a written document that outlines the logistics of the end of your position.” I stood up and walked to Rick’s office door. “I’m sorry it has come to this.”

I gently closed the door so that it wouldn’t slam behind me and continued through the building to the exit. Once outside I pulled out my Blackberry ® and shot off a text message to my supervisor:

“I just fired Rick. Thought you should know.”

I walked only 15 paces before the buzzing of the phone in my hand alerted me to a newly received text message.

“What took you so long? You have my support. He needed to go.” Reassuring words from my own boss.

I finished walking across the college campus to my own office. After unlocking the door I made the decision not to open any of the blinds to the office – my subtle hint to any students walking by that this was not a good time to drop by for a conversation.

Rick’s words began to replay in my head.

You’re going to wind up alone and miserable.

Always a possibility. Anyone was capable of wind up alone and miserable, I told myself. But the reality was that I was married to a man who adored me and I adored him. If I wound up alone and miserable it would be because something had gone terribly wrong in my marriage that I couldn’t foresee happening at this point.

I feel sorry for any children that you might have.

My hands went protectively to my abdomen, where the beginnings of a new life, only about six weeks along, were housed. Rick had no idea that I was pregnant, I hadn’t told anyone except my husband yet. However, his words struck me as deeply as anything I knew as they preyed on my own insecurities about becoming a mother.

You’re incapable of maintaining any relationships.

I stared at the plaque on the wall of my office. It was made of mahogany wood, with embossed gold lettering proudly stating, “Staff Member of the Year.” Surely I wouldn’t have won the award from the college’s student government association only three days earlier if I was truly incapable of maintaining relationships, right?

No matter how many times I tried to block his words in my head, they just kept hammering at me. I replayed every aspect of the situation, my words, my reactions, my response to the disciplinary situation. Try as I might I could not believe that I was making the wrong decision.

But his words still hurt. I began to cry. This was the part of the job that made it so difficult to be a leader.

I shifted my gaze from the Staff Member of the Year plaque to another sign, this one photocopied and tattered along the edges. I had displayed it in in every office I worked.

“What is right is not always popular. What is popular is not always right.”

My tears dried up. My heart still hurt. I stood up, turned off the lights to the office and locked the door.

It was time for a drive.