Gametes In Love

Yesterday marked the end of an era: my pump and I bid each other adieu. 15m14d into our second go-around relationship, we’re done.

I had told myself I would keep pumping as long as I had enough milk to send to daycare for S2 for one bottle. Well, my freezer stash dried up today, and I was producing so little, that I was really only topping off a bottle.

I remember when I stopped pumping with G, I felt so liberated. Free. Today, as I packed up my pump and brought it home for the last time, I felt sad. Nostalgic.

It’s been good to me. It kept my kids happy. And mean to me: because it only pointed out my inadequacies. It’s definitely showing it’s use (and abuse), as it’s routine lugging around have pulled apart the seams, torn the zipper pull, and exposed the wires of the AC adapter. It’s traveled to Europe, and to the East Coast. It’s helped me collect over 65 gallons of milk for the boys, and suffered through over 600 hours of run time. Trust me it’s WAY more than paid itself off.

So now it will retire to the corner of the cabinet underneath my bathroom sink. I’m still nursing and will bring it out if needed when I can’t feed S2. And when that’s over? Well, then I don’t know. The PISA’s are not recommended for use beyond a single person since they are not a closed system machine. Maybe I’ll dissect it ;p

I’m feeling a little Grinchy this year, but I’m working through it.

Since I’m still adamant about not telling the boys that Santa is someone that lives at the North Pole and drops off gifts one day a year, I’m confronted with the idea that I’m not sharing the “magic of the holiday” with them. And that my kids could “ruin the magic” for the kids that are told that story.

And this is where I take pause, and wonder if this is true. I ask myself “What does it mean to believe in Santa?”

Does “believing” mean to believe in someone who will deliver you a gift on Christmas day? Where the focus is on receiving. If so, then I’m glad to not believe in that and pass it on.

Does “believing” mean to believe in someone who will gift to others, out of the goodness and willingness of their heart, regardless of who they are/what they do? Where the focus is giving & altruism. If so, I believe. I believe deeply, and it’s a belief I struggle each year on how to pass on to the kids.

So then, what is the magic associated with Santa? The magic that gifts miraculously appear under a tree overnight?

I think back on my childhood, and this time of year is magical to me? But you know what I remember with the most warmth in my heart? Sitting at the kitchen table at my mom’s apartment while my grandmother kneaded bread. She would break off some dough for me to knead my own. And baking it. And eating it. It never tastes as good as I imagined, but the time spent listening to my mom and grandma talk was magic. I remember the brown coat my grandfather would dawn on, and the beard he would fake out of cotton balls to pretend he was Santa Claus. I remember the dressed up suit my dad’s dad would wear to dinner. I remember the home-made popcorn-adorned survachki that my grandpa would create, and how much prettier I thought the store-bought, tinsel ones were. I remember the chill in the air; the crunch of snow under my feet and the tree ornaments stores adorned their windows with. I loved seeing the pretty displays of bakeries and flower-shops, as I rode the train.

You know what I don’t remember? The gifts. Ok, I’m lying. There are two gifts that stand out in my mind: a set of ice-skates my parents gave me when I was 10 (mostly because I never in the world thought they would do something like that for me), and a set of mother of peal earrings (which I still have).

The magic that I want to pass down to the boys are all the things I remember. Family. Traditions. The little things.

The belief I want to pass down to the boys, is believing that they can help make someone’s day, week? month? a little happier. A little easier. A little more loved. The year that I hear them be excited over what they can gift to someone, vs. what they can get for themselves, is the year that I will know I’ve “made it” as a parent.

• My parents insisting I stick with English classes (and making me go even when I wanted to play with my friends)
• A revolution against communism: without which my father may have returned back to Bulgaria (from Japan) and not come to the US
• Parents that recognized that I am an experience learner and had the patience to watch me make my own mistakes and learn through them
• UC Berkeley: which gave my father employment and the opportunity for us to live amongst some of the most beautifully diverse and open minded communities in the world
• UC San Diego’s non-existent architecture program (although advertised): with which, had it actually been there, I might not have taken a CS major instead
• Having my own apartment. Sure it was in the middle of no-where, and my commute to work was ridiculous, but I learned a lot about who I am on my own
• Skydiving: which showed me a new level of freedom, introduced me to some awesome friends, and tested my boundaries
• All the break-ups I had and the guys I went through with to show me who I was really looking for
• Scient: for introducing me to S and kicking off a great career
• Being laid off from Grand Central networks: which have S and I a push to move in together
• Yahoo!: for introducing me to amazing minds, helping me figure out who I want to be, and showing me that stock options CAN be worth something (even after a .com bust)
• Caring and loving in-laws that I really enjoy spending time with
• Science: which made my kids possible, and their delivery safe
• Stanford REI: see part 1 above
• Sleepless nights with healthy kids, although at 2am I can’t say I feel particularly grateful 🙂
• 2 awesome little dudes… Even when they drive me crazy
• 1 great husband, who is patient, and loving, and does more than his share of contribution to our home
• A snugly fur-ball
• A sister that contributes more to our family than anyone realizes
• Friends
• All the people that support us daily

Happy Thanksgiving!

6 years.

2 kids.
1 cat.
1 (finally finished) home.
1 job change.
2 new cars.

Love you, babe.

[vimeo http://vimeo.com/27277720]

Pregnancy does some weird things to you, dude. My feet have grown (this is actually a good thing — I can now wear “big girl shoes”), and my taste buds are not as picky. I can now eat AND enjoy things I would previously snub my nose at. Like fish. Cooked fish to be exact.

For as long as I could remember, I never enjoyed cooked fish. It’s definitely not an allergy thing. It’s a taste thing. To me, all the fish I’d tried was too dry, or had little flavor. I remember my dad’s mom making some delicious fish when I was really little, but she died when I was pretty young, and was the only one to make that recipe, so I had kind of written off fish. Over time, I tried sushi in high school (though was hesitant to do so) and was hooked, so I had to revise my “no fish” rule, to be “no cooked fish”. Yet since I’ve been pregnant, I tried fish and you know what? It wasn’t bad! At the Yahoo! cafeteria I tried grilled Red Snapper, and it was delicious. Then Telapia, and it was good too. I like sea bass, and fish n’ chips (and whichever fish they stuff in there), so I have 4 cooked fish checks to my name.

Next up? Peanut butter. I couldn’t stand the stuff. I can’t explain what this tastes like to me. Aside from the fact that it’s dry and sticky, just the flavor was so… off. Yet again, since bring pregnant with S2, I could tolerate it. It came as part of my protein snack (thank you again, Yahoo! cafeteria), and it was good. I even, recently, did an afternoon snack of sliced apples and peanut-butter. I have to be mentally prepared for it though. G surprised me by sticking a spoon-full of PB in my mouth a few weeks back, when I thought it was sunflower butter, and BOY did I have to fake enjoying that one.

Lastly? Tolerance to capsaicin-based spicy foods. I am such a whimp when it comes to spicy food. This is actually one item that physically makes me ill to consume. To a point of crawling up into a ball in the bathroom. I just don’t digest it well, so it’s not a matter of it burning going in — it was a matter of me feeling like hurling about 30 minutes later. Horse-radish based spice is no big, but pepper-based spice was my arch-nemesis. The bell-pepper was about as spicy as I can eat. Yet, since G, I can tolerate a little bit of spice.

These changes are all well and good. I’m a much less picky eater now.

But if pregnancy could give me these unexpected side-effects, I just wanna know… why couldn’t it also make me taller? 2″ too much to ask?

UPDATE: Hmn… I see now why people think this… but I am NOT pregnant. I’m just reflecting on how having been pregnant has changed my relationship to food. For what appears to be permanent.

When I was growing up, TV programming wasn’t exactly plentiful. There was morning programing until about 11am, P.M. programing from 4 to midnight (I’m assuming midnight since I never stayed up long enough to know) and a bit fat dead-zone in the between. And there was only one channel. Ok, two, but the second was only live on Tuesday evenings. And then there was Channel 4, which was the fuzzy channel that picked up reception from Russia.

To top it off, children’s programming was even scarcer: a hour’s worth in the morning (which no-one could watch ‘cuz we were all in school/kinder/daycare), and another hour in the afternoon.

Aah, life in a communist country. So simple 🙂

The one thing that was consistent though, was that every week-night from 8pm-8:10pm, there would be a kid’s good night show. The story would change every evening, but the opening and closing credits were always the same: Suncho (which kind of loosely translates to the sleep faerie). Well, I’ve been humming the song to the boys for quite some time now, until I got the bright idea to check out YouTube for it. And guess what? It was there!

So now, my nightly routine with G is to read him 2 books, sing the song with him, then let him watch the credits cartoon on my phone. I won’t deprive you of this experience (the cartoon part I mean), so here goes:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6YLmLx53ZvM]

Much to my surprise, there was not 1 but 12 of these videos, that the station would rotate seasonally. I remember almost all of them, now that I watch them, but I just never realized it before.

Enjoy!

This is the continuation of our raccoon saga. At the ending of our last story we had ended with putting down some insecticide in our grass. Well, that did a bit fat nothing. We then moved onto:

• Moth-balls. Not bad, but not effective enough for them to not work around them, having to keep the kids inside the house, and having to continuously refresh the anti-moth-y smell. Point: Raccoon.
• Motion sprayers. This was probably the most effective solution, and had we not lived in “tie your child down to a tether lest they blow away from the wind” country, would probably be sufficient. However, the wind would set off the motion sensor, which would go off all evening long, thus draining the battery, thus when the raccoon actually CAME, would do nothing. Sigh. Of course, until the next morning when I would walk out, forget that the sprayers are on, and get nailed by a cold stream of water up my rear (forcing me to have to change pants lest I want to continue explaining to people all morning long that I did NOT pee myself). Apparently there’s always enough juice in the battery to find and get ME. Point: Raccoon.
• Netting. Yes, our yard now has an attractive orange net that spans from one end of the grass (of a fore-mentioned damage zone) to the other, and also my veggie garden, where the raccoons go for desert. One of my strawberry plants might never recover from being dug up. This has been helpful too. Doesn’t look attractive, but it’s made a huge dent in what the racoons can dig up. Point: Us.
• Animal control.

That last one hurts for me to say. But it’s been our last resort. What threw me over the edge of using them is the fact that raccoons can carry a ring-worm that can be fatal to children. So… while the raccoon chasing game is frustrating, this made it unacceptable. Yes, I realize I can’t keep raccoons out of my yard permanently, but an occasional pass-through is OK. A nightly supper club not so much. Especially when there is the possibility they can hang out long enough to spread cooties to my boys. I gotta draw the line here.

So the animal people came. They setup a trap. The first night we woke up to see the trap over-turned and the food gone. I’m certain the raccoon did it and laughed it’s head off. The second night we had an animal captured. I made the bad mistake of walking out there to see it. It looked so sad and pitiful. It wanted out, and had I not known about the ring-worm, I would’ve let it go. But it was taken away, and the trap kept behind in case there were more.

I had joked with our baby-sitter the week prior, asking “Wouldn’t it be funny if there were more?” Maybe they had a schedule and Billy comes on Mondays, Sally Wednesdays, and Jo on Thursdays. Well, as it turns out, it’s not so funny when it’s true. ‘Cuz this morning there was a second raccoon in our trap. Arg! Money aside (each pick-up is costing us over $100), I’m a little concerned over what’s happening here. Has our address been written on the stall of a raccoon out-house? Are we ultimately going to escort every raccoon that lives in the canyon out?

At this stage I just want our grass to take root, I’m putting a fence around my veg and we can call it even. After that I’ll leave them alone.

So that’s our update. Let’s see how many more come to pay us a visit when this is all said and done. And how much money we’ll be out of.

PS. For those of you sensitive, please don’t ask animal control what they do with the raccoons once they’re captured. It won’t help you sleep at night :-/

PPS. I tried to find a “mean raccoon” picture online because I’d like to think of my raccoons as vicious, disease-carrying predators. Otherwise they’re too stinkin’ cute not to make my heart hurt.

The above would be the score of battles between us and (what I am now picturing as a mean, vindictive) raccoon over the freshly laid sod in our back-yard.

For about a week now we’ve woken up to find the sod on one side of our yard rolled up and tossed around like carpet, and some of my strawberries turned up. To alleviate this problem S and I have tried:

1. ignoring the problem. This worked for 1 night where I guess said raccoon forgot where we lived
2. putting red chilli flakes down. This made him mad and in retaliation he turned up more of our yard upside down
3. putting a radio out there turned on (softly as to not disturb our neighbors) onto a talk radio station. As we discovered the next morning Christian talk did not inspire him to be a better critter. Instead he’s relying on us to turn the other cheek
4. insecticide to kill the grubs he’s after. We’re only 2 days into this, but clearly it’s not an over-night win

So at this stage, not only is this dude getting a gourmet meal every night, but he’s succeeded in keeping us indoors, as the insecticide is not something I would expose the kids to. S is ready to spend the night outside with a hose at this point. I keep telling him that all that’s going to do is get us a 1) dug up yard; 2) a husband with a cold and a major crick in the neck who would’ve slept through that night’s attack; 3) yet again a fed critter.

The funny thing is that I used to think raccoons are cute. Now all I can picture is a scroungy, wet, beady-eyed critter, that is foaming at the mouth and wringing its little paws on how to make our lawn worse off.

Next up, some friends have offered to loan us their watering scarecrows. I can’t wait!

We had our back-yard redone. We’d been talking about it for awhile, but since it wasn’t an indoor space we needed to address, it was never high on our priority list until the rest of the interior stuff was done. However, since the space within the walls is finally where we want it to be, I started eyeing the forest of gloomy bushes in the back of our house. The boys are getting bigger, and I’d love for them to be able to play outside on our own property.

When S and I talked about the back-yard this January, we had agreed, that our goal was to meet with a few landscape architects and come up with a design for the yard by April.  And then gather up the cash we’d need to make it happen. I’ll spare you the long story, but we got lucky and met our landscape guy at a Home & Garden show. Initially he came to bid on doing the stamped concrete work, but we then found out he can do it all, and since we totally clicked, he had a great portfolio and a price that couldn’t be beat, he was hired… and we decided we actually DO the yard, and not just the design.

So here is the before:

Dark, overgrown and you could’ve used some of the dips as barricade trenches in a battle.

And here is the after:

Different huh? We likey!

My favorite feature is the chalkboard wall S put together. You can see it at the edge of the far wall in the overhead shot. I’ll let S write a post on that one separately though, since it’s totally his baby.

And look. We apparently have a view. Who knew?

Next up? Furniture. But that will have to wait until after we recover from Uncle Sam’s extended arm this tax season. Meanwhile, G is loving running back and forth on the deck unobstructed by chairs and tables. He’ll be a sad boy once the furniture comes in.

Yahoo!, it’s not you. It’s me. Well… Ok, it’s a bit you too.

I don’t talk about work much here. For the most part this is not intentional, but I do try to avoid it when I can. That’s right: I can dish the goods on spit-up, but I won’t subject you to the gruesome details of my professional existence 🙂 However, this is a memorable event and as it’s had such a huge impact on my life, it’s worth talking about.

After 9 years at Yahoo! I’ve decided to move on. I handed in my resignation on Monday, and while I took a big sigh of relief about it, I also find myself choking up a tad too. I grew up here: both professionally and personally. I started a year and a half after graduating from college. I got engaged while and Yahoo, married while at Yahoo! and I had my two kick-ass kids here. Neko was named by a Yahoo! (I had a contest for the best name. Winner was supposed to get a cookie, but I forget if he ever did. If not, hey M, I owe you one!) I owe this place a ton. The most important of which are my two boys. Without Yahoo!’s generous infertility coverage, I’m not sure our family would be what it is today, and for this I will be eternally grateful. Of course there is also my career. I’ve had a remarkable run of working with top-notch, bright and fun people. I learned a lot from them, and they shaped my career goals and what I do today.

As much fun as it has been though, over the past year, perhaps longer, I started feeling dis-enchanted. I’m struggling to get behind our leadership’s vision, especially when I find it to be unclear, or some elements of it’s “implementation” to be contradictory. I believe in this company and I want to see it succeed so badly. But I don’t believe that the right people are there to make that happen. Or perhaps they are, but aren’t taking the necessary risk in making it happen. My main frustration with leadership, however, wasn’t our execs. It was with the management within my team about two levels above me. I’d like to think I have a strong moral compass when it comes to approaching problems. I hate seeing us go cycles and cycles implementing the wrong thing because it was easy for someone. We only end up having to fix it later, or apologize for a mediocre product. So in all the issues I raised, escalations I requested, I felt little support, and that was frustrating. Then there was the role I played in this. I felt like I was outgrowing what was before me. I was ready for more, but with the organizational structure and projects it was difficult to get the proper exposure I needed. I got comfortable and a bit lazy because I was so comfortable. My management’s response was to give me more work, and while this is one way to address re-motivating me, it wasn’t really the shake-up I needed.

Of course a month ago I got that shake-up. It was following Yahoo!’s latest re-org. I was reassigned to a new product (Ok, this is a good challenge) and a new role (hmn… thank you, but no thank you). The new role was not at all what 1) I was good at; 2) actually wanted to do. It took me from being a Product Manager, to being an Engagement Manager with responsibilities of project management, and eventually evangelism (read internal sales). From a strategic role, to a tactical role. While I’d filled in for my project manager when he was away on vacation, I never really enjoyed that element of the job. I could do it, but I simply didn’t like it. The analogy I gave S was the following: just because I can clean my house, doesn’t mean I’d enjoy a position in janitorial services. Ok, the new role wasn’t THAT bad, but I really, really didn’t enjoy it. It had even less opportunity for growth, and was no-where close to what would keep me on track for my ultimate goals of world domination. And hey, when you’re spending 65% of your waking time at work, you better believe in and love what you do. I wasn’t. Not anymore. It was time to find something that would get me back to happy.

So… 7 weeks of job hunting, 29 applications, 17 phone conversations and 3 in-person interviews later, I have a new place that I will call home. I’m excited. I’m going back to Product Management (hey those 3 weeks away were hard!). Smaller, privately-owned company. Commerce. Oh, and did I mention it’s closer to home? It’s a 10 minute commute door-to-door. Color me EXCITED!

Walking out of work that day after I announced I was leaving, I choked up. I’m sure on my last day here, as I close the doors behind me that last time I’ll cry (hell, I’m tearing up now just thinking about it). It’s a bit like breaking up. As I said, this place has meant a lot to me, and I will continue to wish it well. I’ll even consider coming back for the right opportunity in the future. But I’m excited about my next move. It’s a kick in my butt to get my career progression back in focus. Wish me well.

– bleeding purple