In all fairness, it’s not like we communicated much since eighth grade even though we shared many classes through our last year of high school (I had briefly changed schools). Hint taken.

But then I have friends in my city with whom there have been no falling outs (that I am aware of) who have been seemingly evasive. There is one friend in particular who is single and I mention this because we are in very different stages of our lives. She has a demanding job which understandably limits her time and energy but I cannot help but take it personally. I’ve seen her obsess over a seemingly innocuous conflict that clearly did not appear to demand immediate attention. She makes significant efforts to see out of town guests and even hosts disrespectful colleagues that she admits to not even liking.

I’ve gone what I’ve considered out of my way to accommodate her whims and neuroses so we can see each other.

She’s cancelled plans, doesn’t reply to emails or texts (in fact was quite lame on my birthday when we were both in town). I wonder if this is a result of her own drama – and I am sure there is ample amount of that, or if she is upset or wants to sever ties. I happen to really like this friend when we are together and she was incredibly faithful during an awful time in my life. We’ve gone through binges where we will spend time together and then she will go radio silent for months on edge.

I’d like to tell her how I feel but it is hard when we do not see each other. I wanted to tell her how disappointed I was by what happened on my birthday – she texted me in the morning, said she had work to do, wanted to know where we were watching fireworks then all but said I’ll wait to see if I get a better offer – never acknowledging my birthday or checking in later in the day – but we did not reconnect for at least a month later and it felt weak on my part to bring it up after the fact.

Again, I know she is busy at work, and dating and probably has more fun out with friends who can drink and waddle a lot less. Humbly, she may be jealous that I am married with children (a window that is closing for her), and do not have to cope with office politics.

But I cannot help wonder is it me? Is it her? Did I do something? Should I stop making the effort?

Also at 35 weeks of pregnancy, some of the less desirable attributes are in full swing: heart burn, fatigue and crazy clogged sinuses.

This past Monday after I had the baby’s room painted a lovely light blue with two silvery white horizontal stripes and the bassinet reassembled my girlfriend took me to buy a sinus flush that she swore helped her. It’s basically a plastic bottle where you shoot enough salt water through one nostril until it comes out the other with a few drips down the back of the throat and if you are unlucky some clogged ears.

As I was hunched over the sink draining my sinuses I felt a gush of fluid leak from below. Then another gush. My two and a half year old asked multiple times why I said, Oh shit. The fluid soaked through a rather heavy panty liner, my underwear and jeans. I continued to feel wet and was afraid to sit down. So I changed my clothes, called the doctor then my husband then the babysitter. This could be it. Or I could have wet myself.

While waiting the hour plus to be seen in triage I called my sister, and only my sister, telling her that her nephew may be arriving soon. She was already making plans to visit and teasing me how I would ruin everyone’s Thanksgiving plans. I was still reluctant to tell anyone lest it be a false alarm, although I remained certain more fluid was dripping from my body. As the waiting area filled with larger pregnant women more further along than me, i began to worry that 35 weeks was early, perhaps too early for delivery, as if I had a say in the matter.

Finally, finally, finally there was a bed for me in triage and the doctor examined me while my husband waited in the other room. I texted him maybe we could see Phish at the end of next month. Baby was fine, amniotic sac was full, fluid around the baby was normal, heart rate healthy, outer cervix dilated as is common with third pregnancies, inner cervix wasn’t. No labor.

I was embarrassed. Please, I begged the doctor, give me a good story. I cannot tell my husband that I called him out of his office because I peed in my pants. She explained sometimes there is a fore amniotic sac that can leak. While she did not think that was the case with me, she let me run with the story.

False alarm I told my husband before sharing the mini amniotic sac theory. I left comforted by the fact that it was probably better to have peed in my pants then have a pre-term baby. Phish will wait.

In many ways I think after she saw the parade, she could say “I’ve seen it all.” That closure, along with my brother marrying a few weeks earlier, my sister in couples counseling, my grandmother getting consistent help and her boyfriend finally receiving the certificate of occupancy on his house, my mother tied up all of her loose ends.

Friday I was on the phone with my mom’s former employee who has taken over maintaining, albeit not the same way, my mother’s bead and jewelry store. The employee can no longer make ends meet and has to close the store, which is naturally sad, but no real surprise. It’s just a little bit more of my mom’s legacy disappearing. And while I was having this conversation, my mother’s boyfriend beeped in to tell me her dog had a serious tumor and was going to be euthanized, initially today, Halloween.

I was surprised by how affected I was with the news. I do not particularly care for the mutt who sheds and barks incessantly, but I did at one point. And my mother certainly did. She would walk around with pictures of that dog in her wallet – pre-iPhone – and not have any of her kids. She’d ooh and ahh over that pooch as if she were a person. But like the bead store, this little mutt was such a big part of my mom’s life.

Thanks to a recent rally, the dog is spared at least another few days, perhaps giving me a chance to say good bye in person.

I try to hold on to the good memories, but I’m entitled to have rough days and this just happens to be one of them.

My nanny is very good with the kids – which is main reason I hired her. And she shows up on time, every day. But I do not like her. I do not like her attitude or her sassiness. I do not look forward to her coming in the morning and I resent that she had said in the interview that she is amenable to change her schedule and she has not really worked with me regarding the change. It takes time to train someone and as my sister says, I’ll still need to train her three years down the line.

I’m trying to decide if all of this is fixable or not. If it is not, I’d like to nip it in the bud and find a replacement before the baby comes. If it is, which perhaps it could be, then I need to shift gears and do a better job of dictating my expectations.

When I came home from the hospital with my daughter four years ago, emotional and insecure as a new mom, we had a baby nurse (I know I’m incredibly privileged!) and I hated her. The nurse would slip in criticisms of me and my husband leaving me more emotional and insecure. I don’t remember the details other than her one time laughing at me for where I put the diaper creme and how I bathed my child, but I do recall being happier when she was gone and wishing I had the courage to replace her even if she only worked for a few weeks.

I live in an apartment so when I am home with the kids and the nanny I find her underfoot. Perhaps, that is because she interrupts me when I am reading a story to my son and tries to divert him into a conversation with her. I suppose I should be grateful how she engages my kids but I did say in the interview that her job is 50 percent cleaning. And I am only seeing an attitude when I ask her, or things left. I suppose if I was home less, doing more, than I’d feel differently.

My husband is annoyed with me, thinking I am addicted to change which in turn affects our kids. I just don’t have a crystal ball. And I do not know how to try out someone new with the current nanny working full time.

This should be my biggest problem!

Now that I am a mom forging an identity while trying to stay involved in my kids’ lives I have more respect for how my mom balanced everything. I’m sure her narcissistic streak helped.

On a side note, my equally self involved grandmother asked me if I thought my mom was selfish, and I said yes. She replied, “Where could she have gotten that from? I never saw that.” You Grandma. She learned it by watching you!

But my grandmother’s self involvement led her to a career and independence after her husband passed away.

I know one of the reasons I am able to pursue my fantasies of publishing this novel that I just cannot seem to sit down and finish even though I am not terribly far away, and I do not have to show up at an office everyday is because of my husband and his success. And there is a part of me that hates how dependent financially I am. I know it is not uncommon, it’s just not the norm I had growing up. My husband does not resent or bemoan this to the slightest. He is the one that tells me to get more help and encourages me to be fulfilled however I choose. He is grateful that I am a good mom who manages our household, even if he’d like it to be a little cleaner. And more than that, I am fortunate enough to say that he is the love of my life, a great father and husband.

In my mind, there is not way for me to do it all: be an involved parent, stay fit as many other mom’s manage to do with ridiculously demanding exercise classes, have a career or job or fulfilling hobby that enriches my life and hopefully others, without a super dad who enables all of this to happen.

No good deed goes unpunished says the adage and once again I’m finding it to be the case as I try to volunteer with my children’s nursery school charity committee. Last year I met the seemingly bubbly and friendly head of the committee and offered to be her co chair at a class cocktail party. She must have had an extra glass of the cheap white wine as later that night she promised the position to another mom.

Last year I lobbied to coordinate a food drive at the school, one of those old fashioned drop off your about to expire can of beans you’ll never use to help a hungry neighbor. My own building had all but banished my drive to a sign by the mailboxes courtesy of the grumpy co-op condo president, the same gentleman who reported me to the police for letting my children play in the hallway.

I exchanged emails with the charity committee who basically nixed my idea for a variety of lame reasons. I cc’d my friend and other co-chair for a reality check, was I so out of line suggesting I make a sign and put a box in the lobby at the bare minimum? She agreed the other woman was being unreasonable but opted to refrain from the discussion.

So this year, I popped into the charity meeting hoping to participate in a meaningful way. One mom brought up the food drive hoping it would complement the bake sale and the same co-chair thought it was a *brilliant* idea. So I introduced a new charity I recently discovered, Soles for Souls. All of the volunteers at the meeting agreed they had spare shoes in their home they would happily donate.

The conversation in the group evolved into petty details and with a mountain of things I should have been attending to, I excused myself but agreed to volunteer later. An email exchange later, the Soles for Souls idea was completely scrapped (but I am allowed to make a sign for the PTA board) but collecting money for Unicef was still on the table. Not that I’m against that charity but I think more people are inclined to clean out their closets then dig for coins in their couch cushions, and children could likely learn and appreciate more by donating something physical versus money.

But during those recent emails I wanted to show good faith so I asked where they might need help for the upcoming Pajama Drive and somehow got involved with decorating boxes, which I’m now learning I only have one day to do, the same day that I am leaving town early with my kids. I feel guilty backing out now, as I do not want to appear that my goodwill was only to gain traction for charities that interest me. But I do not want to sacrifice my plans to tape together cardboard boxes, and do they really need to look attractive? Through an unnecessary amount of emails I will tape boxes in the morning that will be decorated by other mom’s in the afternoon.

I remember a Dharma and Greg episode when the free spirited Dharma was running for office and volunteers were delegated responsibilities by drawing straws. Her lawyer husband was assigned the task of affixing postage to letters while the Mexican speaking housekeeper picked speech writing. I feel very similar. I would like to do something significant and motivate our already passionate community to help others while contributing my time in an efficient and meaningful way. Perhaps next year when the co-chair’s children have graduated, I can be head and run the committee as I see fit. Or perhaps I will be overwhelmingly busy with three kids and resigned to the status quo, or even still I could spearhead the charity committee at my daughter’s new school, whatever that may be.

It seemed like as soon as soon as my mom was was diagnosed with a cancer more serious than my dad’s, the competition began.

My father lamented to my siblings how I would spend more time attending to my mother and taking her to doctor’s appointments. Nevermind my father’s wife was an excellent caretaker who managed all of this appointments and reports, he was still jealous.

My mother’s boyfriend was a real dud in the supportive department, not quite sure how to handle less than positive news. He discouraged her from getting an expensive private room after one surgery thinking she’d prefer to share a space with a woman allergic to flowers meaning none for my mom, hacking away one bed over. In another hospital shared room, he seemed to have spent more time chatting with the other patient and her visitor than with my mom. I’m sure it was his coping mechanism but at the time it was frustrating.

Equally aggravating was my father’s attitude about his curable caught early cancer. He’d make plans with me then bail or see if I could summon a sitter at last minute and dash uptown and cross town for a quick lunch. When I’d pass he’d count the number of lunches I shared with my mom forgetting that she would plan days in advance not only where we would eat lunch but what activities to do after the appointment.

My mom remained more positive about her life threatening cancer than my dad, rarely mentioning it and acting optimistically. Psychologically we believed she’d be okay so long as she did not exhaust all of her resources. There was some sort of magical mushroom a homeopathic doctor recommended, a sarcoma specialty hospital in Germany and one in Seattle, and this John of G-d figure in Brazil.

A reporter friend had covered a story on him and it seemed like a last case resort, but one we would explore if necessary. Unfortunately we never made it.

Fast forward two years and my father is hit with another more serious cancer. On his own he discovers the healer Juan de Dios and considers a trip to Brazil bringing up a host of conflicting feelings.

My father should get help.

It’s great that he is exploring all avenues for recovery.

I wish my mom could have visited Juan De Dios.

Why hasn’t my father reached out to my friend who reported on him several years ago?

My dad is asymptomatic; does his condition necessitate a visit to Brazil?

The healer came to the Omega Institute earlier this week and my dad had a chance to visit and be treated by Juan De Dios, an experience I am excited to hear him share. I guess I cannot avoid wondering if he will save my dad and if he could have saved my mom.

My mother’s Buddhist doctor says that we must live forward. The Christian one reminds me there are no what-ifs in medicine. The one whose religion I don’t know notes that my mom was really quite sick. And I tell myself that nobody gets out alive. Perhaps my dad’s experience wonders if I missed an opportunity to save my mom.

I’ve always been insecure whenever someone asks me what I do. It’s been ages since I’ve had a nine to five job, which makes me lucky by so many standards. At first I supported myself by tutoring and allegedly pursuing my writing career on the side. And with my parents’ encouragement invested in real estate. But my dad always told me to downplay the real estate lest people get jealous. So for much of my twenties I described myself as an aspiring writer/ tutor.

I stopped tutoring after having my first child but continued with the real estate, no longer as shy about it perhaps because my husband’s friends were so successful or before children their fiances then wives had jobs with a title. I never felt comfortable calling myself a writer because I did not achieve the success I longed for (and still do). And since I do not work full time managing my property nor do I actively represent clients it feels disingenuous to refer to myself as a real estate broker.

When my daughter was born four years ago, my mother aware of my struggle commented, well now you don’t have to figure out what to do with yourself. A few years later I was filling out a preschool application that asked for mother’s employment and I called my mom. She intuitively knew the reason I was calling and we agreed that real estate manager was accurate and compelling enough.

Less than a year later my mom passed and I assumed the role of managing her real estate on behalf of my siblings. Again, it is not a full time job with some days requiring more work than others and I hesitate to define myself by this newfound responsibility. My mother owned and operated a bead store in addition to her investments and when people asked her what she did, she brought up the bead store, rarely commenting that she owned the building and the impetus for originally opening the store was a vacancy she was unsure how to fill.

I know I’m lucky that I do not *need* to work and I’m thrilled that I have an identity outside of my children even when work calls can interrupt our time together. Having my siblings for partners definitely complicates things but it must be better than at least some alternatives? I read Cleopatra: A Life and thought of the young Queen inheriting an empire, forced to marry her brothers, fearing a death ordered by her brothers and reminded myself that family businesses are double edged swords.

This post was inspired by Cleopatra: A Life by Stacy Schiff. As part of the From Left to Write I received a free copy.

There’s a great joke in the movie Old School. Vince Vaughn is about to say something inappropriate and he says to his son “ear muffs” and the child promptly covers his ears. If he is anything like I was, he probably strained to hear every detail.

Lately, I’d like to blatantly shut out some of the information people have been sharing with me, starting with horrifying stories of unborn babies or deliveries. I do not want to know about someone’s miscarriage. It may appear insensitive but it is precisely because I am so sensitive that I do not want to know. One person’s unsolicited story about a tragedy when she was seven months pregnant haunts me because it’s probably a fluke that happened to her that could easily happen to me.

My grandmother’s attendant’s niece is sick and every day she is late for work she updates my grandmother on her progress, surgeries and prognoses. My grandma in turn, would relate these stories to me. I listened politely the first time then had to say I do not want to know. I just don’t.

I was with a few moms sharing horror stories of our deliveries. My daughter’s birth was particularly awful, and one mom had to top it not with her story but with her girlfriends gruesome and painful delivery, the thought of which paralyzes me as I remember it. Thank you!

I’m happy to listen to my neighbor’s tribulations as she breaks up with her long term partner and father of her children. She thanked me for listening the other day because her sister’s are no longer tolerant. For them it’s probably frustrating to watch their sister struggle and still want to salvage what is left of what was a miserable relationship. They must hate seeing their sister beg the ex to work things out while forgetting his horrible behavior. I’m sure I would feel the same way if my sister lamented over the loss of a loser.

These sisters would potentially be more tolerant of hearing other people’s tragedies so long as they are not in a similar situation. And of course, if a friend was suffering I’d lend an ear, but I have no interest in doing so for these peripheral relationships/ encounters.

When my mom passed away people would tell me how they had lost a parent however recently or distantly. My sister and I agreed that we did not care, especially from people who were older. It was not the time or place for us to offer any sympathy, even if the person’s goal was empathy. Of course I find myself wanting to relay my loss to people who are suffering even knowing it could be counter intuitive. Hearing my dad talk about his depression with his aging mom, I remind him she is 97 and he 67 and this is inevitable. He says it doesn’t make it any easier.

All of these things are hard: miscarriages, illness, divorce, old age. So is life. And each of us do what we need to do function well. So if we/ I offend by not listening or requesting a change of subject, it’s part of my survival mechanism. And given my bulging belly, perhaps it’s the speaker’s responsibility to better screen her audience.

Over the past four years I’ve tolerated my children’s nanny – a term I despise because of the privilege it implies. Over these four years I’ve gone in waves of liking how great she is with my kids (she is), how flexible she is (which also leads to unavailability), to utterly resenting her presence in my house. After enough complaining I’ve decided to replace her.

The new nanny has a contract and a list of outlined responsibilities down to the minimum times she should wash her hands. She stayed with my family for a few days and seems caring with the kids, clean, open to direction and amenable. She’s definitely not perfect, who is, but I think/hope/believe it will be a huge improvement.

With three kids soon to inhabit my apartment I need someone more organized than my current nanny. And today is the day I let her go. I’m not looking forward to firing her, no matter how high class of a problem this is.

I thought about concocting a story as to why I’m letting her go, perhaps saying I am having a live-in even though there is hardly room for one or my husband wants someone that speaks better English, or his work schedule/ salary is changing, but will likely go with I need someone super early in the mornings. I’ll recommend her on my message board.

I hate confrontation, and disappointing people and this seems to be a cumulation of all things I’m not interested in doing.