In Which Kanga Gives 2009 A Gentle Push

...out the door.

This was a rough year. The (sole) highlight was the arrival of Roo #2, who delights us every day simply by being here.

Working in opposition to this joy were: ongoing work-related drama, the expected struggles that take place when adjusting your family to two new members in rapid succession, a true loss of social network (aside from my burgeoning Twitter and FB presence, ha), friends' health challenges and tragic losses, and -- for the first time in my life -- an unpleasant sense of ennui, aimlessness and impending failure.

Not doom, mind you. Just failure.

I'm carving out a plan to address this incipient haziness, this lack of focus, and I have to say I am excited for the tabula rasa that comes knocking at my door in two hours and 17 minutes.

Happy new year!

In Which Kanga Muses on the Year Past and Yet to Come

As we approach December 31, I wanted to jot down some of the ups and downs of 2008, while looking ahead to 2009.

2008 was first and foremost the Year of the Baby. J grew from a nine-week-old meatloaf-esque lump into a walking (running!), semi-talking, food-and-toy-throwing delight. She makes us laugh many times every day, and just smelling the top of her head is enough to strengthen me for the day.

Alan and I went from bumbling first-timers to generally relaxed parents of a toddler. Not yet required to shift to a man-to-man defense (foreshadowing!), we found that we could be good parents while still retaining time for the things we like to do for ourselves.

What could I have done better? I could have carved out more time to read and exercise. I probably could have focused on my work more. But what kind of tool lies on their deathbed saying, "Yeah, I wish I had worked more?"

As for reading and exercise, the busy nature of this year meant that Hood to Coast and most of my book groups' activities were laid aside in favor of family time. I picked up water aerobics, which I really enjoy and which are totally harder than you'd think.

Then, just as we were headed into the autumn home stretch, I'd given away all my maternity clothes and things seemed destined for the normalcy inherent to a single-child family...bang.

No pun intended.

Our second pregnancy has left us alternately shocked, surprised, angry, giddy, joyful, nervous, at each other's throats and, ultimately, eager and with a strange peace. The first few months will be difficult, and I am thankful in advance for the knowledge that I am unlikely to remember them clearly (if J's first months are any indicator). Beyond all else, I am completely confident in our ability to juggle two kidlets, love them with complete abandon, recognize their differences as people and hold them close to our hearts. I am also confident that, several years from now -- three? four? -- we will look back and say that this was the wonderful redirect that I believe it to be.

I am getting some kicks now; I'll take that as a sign that I should end here, wishing all four readers of Design Librarian -- and everyone else -- a peaceful and prosperous 2009.

In Which Pooh Realizes Something

Pooh: Kanga?
Kanga: Yes, Pooh.
Pooh (timidly): Don't you think -- I mean, you DO think, of course you think -- uh, let me start over.
Kanga (gently): Yes, Pooh.
Pooh (clearing throat): Don't you feel...well, *I* feel...that home is...
Kanga: Home?
Pooh: Yes, home! Home is...well, home is...best. Don't you agree?
Kanga: Yes, Pooh. I agree. It took a while, but I agree. I think the creatures in the Hundred Acre Wood do, too. Home is best.

(To clarify...we're staying in Portland.)

In Which Kanga and Roo Bust Out the Wheels

Partially because of the amazing weather lately, partially because of raging diaper rash (hers, not mine) and partially to offset encroaching ennui, J and I have ventured during recent sunny days to:

- the backyard, on a towel
- the front yard, on a towel
- Babies R Us (no towels)

Only one of these ventures involved a stroller.

As we tooled through Babies R Us today, with me jamming a hundred dollars' worth of baby swim accoutrements into my cloth shopping bag, I slowly realized that whipping out the Peg Perego earlier in this seven-month stint could have meant more freedom to both J and me.

It's a very simple thing. Well, the stroller itself is not simple...I seriously require an occasional tutorial in opening and closing it from an industrial designer friend of mine, and even SHE needed a few minutes to orient herself. But the concept of carrying one's child is simple enough.

For the first five months of J's life, besides the transit to and from the car in a carrier seat, I either held her in my arms or in a sling. No other method seemed close enough. What if she cried out? Got scared? Was confused? Only being up close to Mama's heartbeat seemed to solve the problem, and ensure that others weren't bothered by my freaking-out baby.

Realize, of course, that she never -- not once -- freaked out enough to even warrant being that close for soothing. The one time J has ever lost it in public, she was, oh yes, in a sling next to my chest. But still my fears remained and ruled me.

Gradually I started busting out the stroller, swayed by the small group of moms I hang out with. All more fashionable and style-conscious than I, they also make excellent use of their strollers and step out with their babes without a second thought.

Inertia breeds inertia, and today I really felt like I had avoided the Yahoo! baby.house.inertia usergroup by the slimmest of margins.

J deserves to go everywhere I do, insofar as those places are safe and appropriate for her, and I deserve to give myself a little credit for being able to handle the occasional meltdown.

The physical stroller itself also adds some cred to my bounce, as the kids say (or as they certainly should). It warns people ahead of time that a baby is approaching. It leaves my arms untired at the end of the day. It allows me to carry (albeit woefully small amounts of) baby crap. God forbid, it lets J see the world and interact with it as it passes by. And yes, it protects her.

I initially sought protection in methods that kept J physically close to me at all times. But the plastic, fabric and metal of a stroller is something to be reckoned with, and likely keep her better-shaded, -protected and -entertained.

I think I just didn't want to let her go.

In Which Owl Defends Unitasking

I've noticed lately that many bloggers are writing about the renewed respect that "unitasking" is receiving.

Multitasking is, and always has been, for the birds. Our minds are compartmentalized enough without externally forcing our synapses into multiple buckets. J always lurks in the back of my work-mind; when I read her Counting Penguins, am I mentally composing an email to the IT director? Yep.

So the last thing I need is to physically give myself permission to do multiple things at once. Yet this is what we are often called to do.

Some of this, especially in parenting mode, is absolutely necessary. Monitor your child's safety while shopping...part and parcel of the same activity. Cook dinner while catching up with your spouse's workday...just common consideration for your partner, and not mentally taxing.

But the demand that most workplaces place on employees with regard to physically completing multiple tasks at once means that we sacrifice depth for breadth, quality for completeness. Instead of delving into a project -- losing ourselves in it and coming out the other side a little breathless and inspired -- we skim over the top of it and move on, all the while juggling yet another need.

My favorite metaphor lately for the challenges I have at work is that of a waterbug, skimming the water but never breaking the surface. It's happened to me (correction: I've allowed it to happen) for so long that it's now a way of working. In a sense, I am fearful of the diving-in. I fret about what other projects will suffer if I put my attention to a single task. And so I continue to touch all the project threads, run them through my fingers, grasp them for a moment, toss an admiring glance their way, and move on, with the situation largely unchanged.

I manage in this way to frustrate myself and disappoint those around me. (Awesome!) If I would only grow a pair and insist for once that I be allowed to focus on the task at hand before moving on, I'd at least have some assignments that left the recipient and me both satisfied.

As parents, we spend hours and days struggling to live in the moment, to focus entirely on our children (as they do the opposite, straining toward the capacity to understand everything at once). When we do manage it, when we center our intention entirely on one thing, the moments slip away unnoticed and we sometimes look up to see that hours have passed as we played with our infant. It's magic.

Why should that be confined to the home? I didn't sign up for a non-magic job. The simple fact that worker bees everywhere are starting to notice that multitasking is BS means that I may not be the only one who sets up a take-a-number mechanism at her desk and calmly returns to linear thinking.

In Which Kanga is Thankful

I work at a company that promotes itself as "family-friendly." That may be, but the executive leadership was certainly in for a shock last spring when not one, not two, but FIVE of its female employees, several in senior positions, traipsed into the COO's corner office to announce impending babies. Around the same time, a male employee stuck his head in to mention that his wife was pregnant, too.

April through June of last year must have been a challenging time for these bosses.

As the dust settled, I found myself with five new friends (a former employee returned to town and quickly -- efficiently! -- gave birth in order to join our motley crew).

I had known all of the women before in a professional capacity. All were -- are! -- capable, insightful, intelligent. Some intimidated me. I respected all of them highly.

But now...we are moms together, walking around with barf on our shoulders at the same time that we shape a client strategy, changing diapers at 4 am with the same deftness that we bring to a creative brief.

I feel extremely fortunate. So many new mothers are thrust into the fretful niveau of the "moms' group," with nothing in common with other women except hey, we all have babies....ummm...awkward silence descends.

But me? I got to meet these women first in a professional capacity, present ideas with them, drink and dance with them at the infamous holiday party, grab burgers with them.

We vetted each other first, when we were our "old selves." And now -- now we are so much more, those old selves enhanced and dimensionalized, but never erased.

In Which Owl, Kanga and Christopher Robin Discuss Driving

As the moments I can take for myself have dwindled since J's birth, I find that the meaning of certain moments, and the meaning of certain environments, has changed.

Driving is a good example of this. Before I was married, driving anywhere either meant I was visiting the three-hours-away boyfriend (that didn't last long, despite a night of falling stars and the glorious Southern Cross) or, later, headed over the west hills to my boyfriend-now-husband's apartment.

After we married, driving became a time of possibility for us. Just as we always seemed to hold our dreamiest and most optimistic conversations at the same tiny restaurant overlooking the Pacific Ocean year after year, we also held our most challenging and frightening conversations as we teetered on the edge of parenthood, driving through the Rogue River Valley in the spring.

When I began working as a librarian at the design consultancy, driving represented responsibility and opportunity. Swinging my Honda into the arts and restaurant district every day meant I was somehow allowed to be there; no one had uncovered me as the obvious uncool fraud I was, and I could enjoy one more day of being paid by a fascinating juggernaut of a firm.

When I was pregnant with J, morning and afternoon drives were time for togetherness with her. Literally cuddled up against me -- within me! -- she listened to classical music until I broke down and punched the button over to alternative and punk, singing along when I knew the words. I rubbed what I thought might be her head and told her about the family she would one day meet.

Since J's birth, driving without her means freedom. I hop in the car, crank the radio louder than it should be and merge into traffic. When I am alone, my destinations are only threefold: the gym, work or the grocery. But in those moments I get a little of myself back. The button for the classical station gathers dust.

And, lately, driving means pride. I go to work to earn our single paycheck (which is not to take away from my husband's amazingly speedy success with consulting...but I have the insurance) and feel at the end of each day that I am one step closer to understanding what it means to support a family. My job is meaningful, challenging and pleasurable to me -- but more than that, it is now something I do for the only other two people who matter.

All that, from a little four-door sedan and the open road.

In Which Kanga Shows You What Matters

In Which Owl and Kanga Assess the Progress of Things

I've spent much of the last three weeks focused on finding a system that works. What I mean is...I love systems. I love discerning them, observing them, creating them and improving them. I would have been a good Operations person. Oh wait, I am an Operations person. Though not always a good one.

Anyway, I have been trying to find the System That Works for balancing actually achieving something at work with being home with J and my husband with respect to both quality and quantity.

As always, I should have just realized it wasn't possible. Thousands of women writing books, giving talks and posting on blogs about the challenges inherent to this should have clued me in that I was rather unlikely to find the silver bullet.

So now, it's about compromise, cutting corners and letting go what other people think. I am not great at any of these three things. I have gotten MUCH better at compromise since getting married, but skimping, letting things slide and not being highly successful at what I do...makes me feel ooky.

I do find that I'm more willing to let work slide -- in terms of initiatives I'm promoting -- than home. This, at least, is a good sign. There is no compromise when it comes to the time I spend with J at this early stage. I am so fortunate to share caregiving with my VERY dialed-in husband.

But boy, it's weird to feel the brakes get put on your career (for the moment) and realize that you're essentially the one doing it. And to also realize that you don't mind all that much.

When we decide to not have children, we women have to then decide to be OK with our decision. Similarly, when we do have children and decide to stay home - or to work - or to go part-time - we have to not only decide these things, but decide to be OK with the decision, and move forward.

And, since analysis paralysis and second-guessing are both my middle names, I can't seem to let this go. I keep turning it over in my mind. I keep understanding, bit by bit, what it's like to not be the focus of my own life.

Naturally, having decided not to hear the woes of the generations of women before me, I absorb the problem all on my own, as if it were the very first time it had happened to any woman.

But it seems fitting somehow, since in a very real way J feels to me like the first baby ever born into the world. And I know that other women feel that deeply with their own children.

In Which Piglet is Pensive but Present

“I never think of the future. It comes soon enough.” - Albert Einstein

Above you see listed the only thing I can claim to have in common with Albert Einstein. I have never been a future-focused person. Rather, I should say I'm not a long-term-future-focused person. I can't ever remember setting goals either as a child or as an adult. It's hell for me every year at my job review to come up with tasks I plan to complete in the next year, simply because I feel more comfortable floating along day to day, keeping things moving.

I'm not proud of this...it can make it difficult for me to carry an information services "vision"...but it also means a lot less stress when it comes to self-examination. Am I where I thought I'd be when I graduated from college? Uh, sure. I had no idea where I'd end up, so this is just fine with me.

It also makes interacting with my baby daughter a bit more natural -- not to say easy -- than I'd guessed. J lives moment to moment, and doesn't even remember stuff as it happens (at least, that's my rudimentary understanding of her little synapses thus far). How beautiful! Every emotion she experiences is very pure and all-encompassing, and then it dissipates to be replaced by another.

Coupled with this tendency of mine, though, is an odd and contradictory behavior that often leads to utter paralysis. I am always waiting impatiently for things to end. As a youth, when we'd go on vacation, I'd be heavily concentrating on when the vacation was going to end. It didn't make me sad, or happy...I just thought about it. When I entered a party, I'd only be thinking of when I could leave, even if I was having fun. That sense of desired escape was underlying everything I did. It tore me away from the moment and prevented me -- prevents me -- from being fully present or engaged. It paralyzed me.

In a way I think it still does. I think about the end of my job, my time in Portland, my life. (None of those is forthcoming, I truly hope.) But the rub is that I never plan for that time, or even imagine what it might be like. I just envision myself in that moment. And so I am cheated out of the moments in front of and around me. I spin and I twist.

Right now I am sitting at home by myself, as my husband is at rehearsal, thinking of the things I could be doing and should be doing right now -- in this moment -- to simplify and de-clutter my life. Instead, I can think only of the end of the evening, to the near future, when he comes home.

And so I wait.