I Want the Village

We were never supposed to move to Houston.  My husband and I agreed when we got married that we would never move to Houston; we were united in our sense that it was the wrong place to build our lives, in spite of his professional opportunities there.  Geography has been a tricky puzzle for us from day one, but we believed we would eventually find a way around it.

That was seven-ish years ago.  The surprise we have felt at not hating life in Houston, and even rather enjoying it, has been noted on many occasions in this blog; and has been accompanied by multiple other surprises since moving here.

Happy Birthday!

My husband left today to go back to work in Angola.  Today is also his birthday, and he was feeling a little old and slightly less than awesome when he left the house at 6:30 this morning, so I feel compelled to proclaim to the cyber-world some things that are awesome about him:

Rotation Mom

My husband works what is known in the oil industry as "a rotation".  More specifically, it is known as "an even rotation", meaning that he works a certain number of days, and then goes on an identical number of "days off" (oil-speak for days of separation from work, or what normal people call the weekend or a vacation).  The only way to experience the magic of an even rotation is to work somewhere that is considered a "hardship location" (oil-speak for places shitty and largely inaccessible to casual visitors or interested parties).  When we met, he was working an even rotation (two weeks on, two weeks off) on the North Slope of Alaska.  Currently he works an even rotation (four weeks on, four weeks off), in Luanda, the capital city of Angola.  Some people actually do not consider Angola a shitty place to live, and expats are apparently flocking there. Even so, since it is nearly impossible to get a visitor visa, all food has to be imported, the civil war hasn't been over for that long, and possibly other reasons, it is still more commonly a rotation location than a transfer location.



The upshot of all of this is that for twenty-eight days in a row, I am not only home alone with a baby, but I am also separated by a seven-hour time difference for twenty-eight days from his dad, who is also my husband and my best friend. We depend on a strong internet connection for voice and video communication, and catching a flight for a quick visit is not an option.  After those twenty-eight days pass, we are reunited as a family for what feels like twenty-eight days of weekend.  I've started to leave the house a lot during that time, so he can see how it feels to be a single parent.

Just kidding.

You can't think like that if you choose to do life this way, even though I have been tempted to do so on the rough days.  I imagine thinking like that is trouble and can only lead to bad blood and hurt feelings.  I said that I would give this an honest try for a year, and I am doing my best to support our choice.

Rotation life is tricky, and I'm still not totally sold on it.  It scares me to think of what could happen to our son if I got sick, and it's a bummer to not have a co-parent to check in with during a bout of screaming or a suspicious unidentified inflammation.  At times it feels that we are living two entirely different lives, which in my opinion is not conducive the team-building vibe that marriage requires.  Additionally, we have not yet figured out how to balance our needs for couple-time, family-time, friend-time, extended family time and maybe a non-family related vacation once and a while, all in exactly fifty percent of his days.  As a result, I find myself clingy and cantankerous prior to his departures, which is not at all my way when times are normal.  Also, it's just considerably less fun for twenty-eight days, plus a few awkward transition days on either end of the rotation.

I often wonder what others would do if they were in our shoes.  If they reviewed the same math, weighed the pros and cons, and considered the true impact of the circumstances of their work lives, would they be tempted to try this, as we have been?  What is their price?  Everyone must have a price.  We have weighed options, numbers, and calendars and on some level we must have determined that his particular day rate was worth the pain of the separation, at least temporarily.  We have considered his schedule and concluded that having approximately 180 days off a year together without other obligations is worth living in separate countries for the other 180ish days.  We have reflected on the fact that a full-time job for him in Houston would give him more frequent and regular time with our son (i.e. most evenings and weekends), but not necessarily more quality time with him since mornings and days are when he is the happiest and most interactive.

However, in spite of my doubt, I can report that some of the rumored perks of rotation life have surfaced now that I am emerging from my newborn-care cave.  My husband has been home for a few weeks and many of the days have felt like a nice long weekend days with all of us spending time together and with him being a full-time dad, while giving me some breaks from my daily grind activities.  We enjoy breakfasts out on weekdays and we share parenting duties very equitably.  He gives me breaks to be crafty and get back in shape, I give him breaks to study for his master's degree.  The other fifty percent of the time, we both have full-time jobs: his job is to support us financially and my job is to sustain the home and family operations.  I'm still not convinced that I want this for the long term, but I hate it less this "hitch" than I did last time around, so who knows what our conclusion will be.

I'm curious who else out there who would try it.

Like a Rolling Stone

I am not technically a fan of the Rolling Stones. Their music is fine to me, not bad, but just not necessarily what I seek. However, there is a song that has been rattling around in my brain for the better part of this strange year.

"I saw her today at the reception..."

My husband left a few days ago for his first four weeks in Angola. I have a range of emotional and mental responses to this, but admittedly at the moment they are mostly negative. I was not ready for him to go this time. I probably wouldn't have been ready a month from now, either. When we first discussed his possibly working on an overseas rotation, it was never coupled in my mind with being home alone with our newborn baby. I find this circumstance both logistically tricky and deeply emotional.

"A glass of wine in her hand..."


The people who read this blog and know us know that my husband is not a mean man. He is, in fact, quite caring. He tells me that many families like rotation life because the end result is that fifty percent of his time will be spent at home, as a full-time dad, not working. And also that the freedom of that schedule will allow us to spend more quality time with family and friends in Minnesota, the way we've often hoped to.

"I knew she was going to meet her connection..."

I believe him. I'm not immune to the positive aspects of his unusual work circumstances, but at the moment the intensity of the year has left me feeling overwhelmed and truly wiped out.

"At her feet was a footloose man..."

The day that he left felt like one of those really terrible days in life that you don't forget. He was busy preparing to go all day, and I was busy trying to care for the baby all day.  I sobbed when he got in the taxi.  Tears dropped from my eyes without warning throughout the days and nights surrounding his departure. Certainly pregnancy followed by newborn-induced sleeplessness exacerbated my intense feelings.

"You can't always get what you want..."

I, and we, had big plans for 2013. Big sewing plans, big professional plans, big travel plans, big financial goals, big plans for our new house. The curve balls were relentless though, and ultimately here I am, nursing our son in this dark nursery half-way around the world from my husband. It was a very different from what I imagined having a family might be like.

"You can't always get what you want..."

It's not that I'm not thrilled about our beautiful baby, or blind to the positives of my husband's work. But it is true that I believe families should try to be together, and that the way this year unfolded is what has caused me to believe that more firmly. Tricky.

"You can't always get what you want..."

It is scary to think about the coming solo weeks after Mom leaves. On the other hand, a lot of people have gone above and beyond to make sure that I don't feel alone or overwhelmed right now. One friend in particular has babysat more than once, brought ice cream and Chipotle, kidnapped me for a baby-free afternoon outside the house, helped me navigate my insurance coverage while I was stuck in my hospital bed, and even helped me improve my odds at continuing to breastfeed in the face of tricky circumstances when she saw, well before I did, how close we had come to not being able to do it. Other friends have dropped off food or helped watch the baby, and still others have sent things in the mail. My mom has not only baby-sat, given up sleep, and just sat still loving our baby for hours; but she has also helped me finish setting up and decorating the unfinished nursery by framing items and sewing bits that I had planned to do but had not completed prior to delivery.  All things considered, we feel loved and lucky, and I know that there are people I can call if I am truly struggling after my mom leaves.

"But if you try sometimes, you just might find..."

We are lucky for other reasons. My husband could easily have not been able to make it back for the birth of our son, but he did make it back. Also, we were able to be together from much of the pregnancy, and even more importantly, his strange job allowed him to be at home with us, full-time, for the first five weeks of our baby's life. Even though I am not quite yet able to feel happy and cheerful about the way this week and this month feel, my brain recognizes that it will all work, because it keeps doing that anyway, no matter what happens.

"You get what you need..."

I can't deny that we have what we need: love, health, each other, and some extras. Just like the song says.

Third Trimester: Monitoring and Adjusting Accordingly

I have dropped some balls during the last couple of months.  If my husband was here, he would very kindly tell me that it is not true; he doesn't like to hear me critical of my own accomplishments (or lack thereof).

But here I am, deep into my third trimester, and still so much unfinished business!  After our period of extended waiting came to an abrupt end, my husband's few days in the Gulf of Mexico in May turned into three weeks, followed by forty-eight hours at home, and now over a month in Indonesia, with the return date still fuzzy but possibly occurring in mid-July.  All of that is helpful from a financial point of view, but less so from a physical and sometimes emotional point of view.  Who knew that the end of pregnancy was so tricky?  Obviously lots of people, but not me; I can't say that I had a full understanding.  Seeing other people do something, and then doing it oneself are two very different animals.

I have had many kind offers of assistance, and it's not that any particular one thing is impossible, yet.  But everything is just slower and clumsier.  I have only one speed, and it is not the one to which I am accustomed.  It takes longer to get dressed and get organized.  I have to take breaks and put my feet up a lot, otherwise I morph into Shrek from the hips to my toes; it seems I'm one of the lucky ones who experiences edema (significant swelling of the legs and feet).  These are small things and I am grateful to not have other more severe concerns, but these things also mean that my high hopes for getting lots done before this little guy comes into the world have been edited to a more moderate altitude.

I was not a particularly gifted teacher.  Most of us that have tried teaching are not.  Like any profession, many of us were fine, having some good days, occasional great days, some bad days and lots of average days in the middle.  Lesson planning was not an area of strength for me, but on the other hand, I was usually adept at changing the course of the lesson on the fly if I could see that the students were not with me.  The education term for this technique was 'monitor and adjust' and it was something that came naturally to me from the beginning.  What's funny to me now is how much I need that skill in my daily non-teaching life.

We have to monitor our home life and adjust plans regularly, as the course of my husband's career takes unexpected turns.  I have had to monitor the impact of all of that on my own goals and adjust my decisions accordingly.  And this year, we have had to monitor our expectations for happiness, togetherness, parenthood, and financial health and adjust appropriately.  The outcomes and structure of the next couple of years are still fuzzy, but our emotional health so far remains firmly intact.  Luckily this feels like a winning adjustment.

In the meantime, some of my other activities have been monitored and largely forsaken as a result of adjusting to the limitations of late pregnancy.  One example is shaving.  Sorry if this is T.M.I. to any male readers out there, but how would you like to shave your face if you couldn't reach it or see it?  I haven't given up all the way, but I can tell that my days are numbered.  Another activity is cleaning the house...it still happens, but very gradually, in stages.  Sitting at the dinner table or in a restaurant for very long is also getting very uncomfortable.  According to the medical people in my life, when I'm sitting up with my feet on the floor, my baby, bless his sweet soul, is cutting off the blood supply that is trying to flow back up from my legs to my heart, which is what causes the extreme Shrek-style foot and ankle swelling.  Traveling is definitively out these days, as is sitting in the sun, which also triggers the swelling switch.  

One more activity has had to be adjusted, but not necessarily just because of the pregnancy...I have slowed down a little on the bread and cooking goals for the year (I was aiming for one new loaf a week and one new recipe a week).  Turns out that being home alone with a lot of baked goods and cooked food just leads to me eating more than I should and to running out of room in the freezer.  I'm still cooking, but I just had to slow it down and not worry about it for a bit while I caught up.  Now that things are kind of caught up, it might be time to start cooking again to make a supply of meals for when we first bring the baby home.

So have I dropped some balls, or just made some appropriate adjustments?  Not sure.  But I can say that now that I'm finally putting together the nursery, there are some sewing projects for the baby that are behind schedule.  Will they get finished?  I don't know.  If they don't, I'm sure the baby and I will both adjust accordingly.

The Art of Waiting

I'm home alone, which is weird.  I don't think I have been home alone, at least not for more than a couple of hours, since sometime in July.  In the past, home alone was a relatively common occurrence, as my husband was called upon to be away for work days or even weeks at a time.  In the last few years, it has been a more minimal amount.  In the last few months, it has been not at all.  We have been waiting.  A lot.  Not waiting for him to leave, so much as waiting for his next contract to start.

It seems like we get wrapped up in a waiting period like this every couple of years; far more often than I would have imagined when I was younger and considered what the life of a grown-up entails.  In my late teens and early twenties, I was vaguely aware that momentous events would occur in adulthood.  I knew that I might get married, or choose not to...I knew that I would likely move to another state or country...I knew that I could experience illness or the loss of a loved one.  There was a strong possibility that I might change careers, or face the disappointment of not landing a certain coveted job.  I did not spend as much time imagining or planning my future as I now think I should have, but I suspect that even if I had, it would have never occurred to me to plan for how to handle long and relatively frequent periods of waiting for outside forces to ascertain major parameters of the timing and geography of my daily life.

Confession

Confession: Last week, in the grocery store check-out line, I purchased my second issue of Garden & Gun.

To be clear, my position on guns has not changed.  I understand guns for hunting, and I can support that, with sufficient regulation.  The idea that guns should not be traceable is ridiculous.  Guns for non-hunting civilian pleasure are a recipe for mayhem, and Americans are not proving worthy of the responsibility.

However, Garden & Gun is good.  It feels similar to my favorite Twin Cities publication, Metro Magazine.  It is a fresh and hip report of southern food and lifestyle, and is proving to be a handy resource.  Aside from advertisements, articles about guns are far outnumbered compared to lifestyle, food, and culture articles.  The only reason I haven't yet subscribed is that we are still in the throes of finalizing next year's address.  Stay tuned.

Migrate: Read About It

Moving to places that don't make it onto ten-best lists, and trying to embrace what makes them tick, was the impetus for starting this blog.  It's easy to love a place where the priorities of the community match mine.  Thriving and finding happiness in places where people don't share my values has required developing new mental and emotional muscles, along with a willingness to more accurately identify priorities.

As mentioned in recent posts, in recent weeks my husband and I have been working to decide our next step.  For a period of time, maybe the last month or two, heading for a home base in Minnesota seemed both sure and sure-fire.  In the last few days, the pendulum has swung back to a grey area as we learn more about possibilities that exist if we remain in Houston, and I'm also feeling unsure about signing up for another immediate upheaval.  The benefits of taking our time heading home in order to make the most of the opportunities right here, mixed with an uneasiness about committing to separation for fifty percent of our time (which basing our lives in Minnesota would require), have risen to the surface of our planning efforts.  In all honesty, I'm stumped by this decision.

Pros and Cons

Life Hangover

I've been working on flexibility and attitude during the last year.  Life married to oil has a lot of sudden twists, but also has many, many opportunities.  Learning to navigate the high-frequency moves and sudden upheavals has mostly been a fair price to pay for the adventure and good fortune that we have.

All the same, even at the height of gratitude, I feel worn out right now.  The new home buzz is waning, and there are still piles here and unfinished life bits there.  The holiday season combined with rapid-fire expenses of moving the household, additional furnishing for the new place, and setting up services, mixed in with unexpected feline dental surgery, has also left me nursing an extreme financial hangover.

As the dust settles, I'm faced again with the question of what kind of life to build here, and how to figure out what's next.

Thanks, I'm in Norway

"Christmas tradition" has been an oxymoron since my sister got married almost seventeen years ago.  We started going to her house for Christmas, but then sometimes they were with her husband's family, or they didn't want to travel when we couldn't, so suddenly sometimes we were just three, or with other friends or family members.  All of the ways of having Christmas have had their charms, but I do not feel a great sense of tradition anymore when I think of Christmas.  Since I got married four years ago, that experience has continued.  My husband's work is filled with unpredictable calendar trickery, and I have become accustomed to the fact that one of the things we give up are classic, scheduled holiday itineraries.  

Voltron

This morning my husband and I were sitting at breakfast, and he looked at me and said, “We’re like Voltron,”. I was stumped, in addition to being more a little dazed from the events of the last two weeks. Often I follow his thoughts seamlessly, but not this morning.

We left Calgary on October 30, with the car and the cat. After a visit with my parents, and making sure that the cat was cozy at their house, we carried on to Minneapolis, where we visited more family and friends and prepared to find a place to live in Houston.

I'm Never Moving to Houston

When my husband and I got together, it was clear that for most people in his company, and indeed, many in his line of work, all roads lead, eventually, to Houston.  The idea was horrifying to both of us.  Louisiana, fine, but Houston?  We had to draw the line somewhere.  Houston represented (in our minds) everything that we found abhorrent and disappointing about American culture.  The Bush debacle.  Urban sprawl.  Outrageous heat.  Gun-loving Bible people.  Big hair and country club life.  We laughed at our little private joke.  Houston, the very idea.  So when we got engaged, and he continued working in oil, my general message was, "I'm so thrilled for our life together, our partnership, and I love you very much, but I just want you to know that I'm never moving to Houston."

Yesterday I was Houston, Today I'm Luanda

I'm not as easily flummoxed by major life decisions as I am by the ones I face in the course of normal daily life.  I fret about farm conditions involved in cheese production when I buy a block of cheddar, but not so much about a career change.  It's a quirk of my genetic makeup which has been put in stark relief by circumstances of my married life.

However, Houston vs. Luanda (See No-Plans Plan if you're confused) has me stumped.  Only one other decision, the question of whether or not to procreate, has provoked such utter indecision in my heart.  I spend a few days imagining life in Houston, which used to be impossible to picture but is growing on me.  Then, I wake up and overnight, I have shifted into an obsessive curiosity about the Luandan adventure, which lasts a day or two, before Houston hijacks my imagination once more.  I have no illusions of life in Luanda being easy or glamorous, but still, I can't completely shake it off.

No-Plans Plan

The most challenging aspect of living with oil and gas, for me, has been the absolute unpredictability with regard to schedule and life-planning.  For a while I assumed that my husband just wasn't that great at planning because he is a man, a theory which was supported by years of dating other men.  But time has gone by, and I notice that it's not just him.  The people from whom he gets his schedule information are usually also days, weeks, and even months off target.  Again, I can't lie, I attributed this to the fact that his is an industry run largely by men.  It seemed plausible that if men were bad at planning and time calculations, then an industry made up of thousands of men would produce schedules and predictions that were totally off.  On the other hand, I may have to cut him, and them, some slack, because I have also learned that everything hinges on wells.

4th Anniversary

Just before my husband and I got married, we received this letter in the mail from my nephew, who had not been in school very long yet at the time.  It hangs on the wall in our bedroom, and makes me smile whenever I sound it out.

"Kuwait on the Prairie"

As far as we can tell, there is no oil in Minnesota.  Mostly, as we observe what having oil can do for and to a community, we have been grateful that the place that we call home would not be used and abused by the boom and bust cycles which plague the modern oil economy.  During visits home, I have been happy about the lack of random derricks and rusted out equipment lingering in fields.  I have felt grateful that prices of food, fuel and housing do not feel as artificially inflated resulting from oil companies temporarily pouring money and people into a place.

On the other hand, there is the Bakken formation, in western North Dakota.  Growing up, all I knew of North Dakota was Fargo, where my parents were born and raised.  I knew that it was cold, even colder than where I had lived in Minnesota, and that many people I knew from the area around our cabin lived in Fargo during the times they were not enjoying the Minnesota lakes, where we all spent as much time as possible.

Long Haul

My husband and I drove back and forth between the New Orleans area and Minneapolis/St. Paul during our few years of him working in Louisiana.  Those were the hardest road trips of my life.  Twenty hours total drive time and driving conditions that were less than ideal during the seven or eight hours closest to Louisiana.  My first clue that driving through Mississippi would be a test was when I saw a sign for a rest area which read "Security Provided."  The gas stations were no better; I learned to roll up the cuffs of my pants to avoid the filthy floors.  That was also the era where I started traveling with hand sanitizer, a precaution I'd always found silly in past travels.  We found ourselves avoiding water and coffee until we were almost through the state, but it was impossible to clear the state completely without stopping for fuel.

We did that drive maybe two or three times a year during that period, and it wore me out.  So when we were transferred to Canada, at first I refused to drive home.  We were one 3.5 hour flight from home, why would we drive?

Married to Oil

I say a lot of negative things about being married to oil, and certain aspects of it do make me feel sometimes frustrated and powerless, on both personal and cultural levels.  But the truth is, as with most things, it's complicated.

My initial response to my husband’s job when we met wasn’t quite disdain, but I didn’t really consider it a positive situation. Secretly, I had it on my mental list of things that I hoped might change sometime in our future, if we had a future.  I thought maybe it was temporary stage that he would shift out of, like the few years that I was thinking about law school before I realized that it wouldn't be a good fit for what I really wanted. He loved Minnesota so much, and he was such a nice guy, how could this industry be his future?

No Summer

Once and a while, but thankfully less frequently than a year ago, I become desperate to get off this train.  Sometimes, particularly on Friday nights, all I can think about is Minnesota.  Lakes and good shopping, friends on patios, delightful fresh food at reasonable prices, fresh summer smells and green everywhere.