I have been asked many times throughout the past year about my job and whether I will continue to work after becoming a mother, and whether I will continue to travel. The answer to both questions is definitely yes. Lately, I have been reflecting a lot on my career, as May marks the 10 year anniversary of my graduation from the chemical engineering program and the beginning of my career as an engineer. There have, of course, been many ups and downs throughout this 10 year period, both professionally and personally. I have begun to realize that having a career is a major part of who I am. I would feel lost without it.

When I was a little girl, I liked big, fluffy dresses and castles and princesses. But, I also remember liking women in business suits and glasses with strength and intelligence. I don’t remember if I desired a family or having children, but I do always remember having a goal of some sort as to a career aspiration. I was always thinking about what I wanted to be when I grew up. It changed a lot. Sometimes, I wanted to be an astronaut, a lawyer, a writer, a doctor. I got straight A’s in high school and went on to college, selecting a major of biochemistry. Throughout college, I flip-flopped around, adding and dropping majors and minors several times. I finally somewhat settled on psychology with a pre-med focus. But I wasn’t entirely happy with this choice either. At the end of my junior year of college, I decided to add chemical engineering as a second major. I decided to stay and attend summer school that year, and I signed up for all of the freshman engineering courses to complete during that summer.

I’m not sure how serious I really was about becoming an engineer when I added the major. I had been a really good student in high school and pretty good in psychology, but I was failing miserably at my engineering courses that summer. I managed to scrape by with C’s in the first round of summer school, which meant that I passed, but just barely. This was devastating to me because I was used to being good at school. I was trying as hard as I could, and it wasn’t working. I felt discouraged. In the second round, I began taking a class on drafting and technical drawing, both by hand and on the computer. I am completely horrible at this type of thing. I can barely draw a stick figure, and I cannot visualize anything in 3D very well. On top of that, the course was taught by a professor who had tenure at the university. He had been reprimanded several times for sexist grading policies. I struggled through the class, hating every minute of it. At the end, he gave me a failing grade. It quite possibly was deserved, as my work wasn’t good. It also meant that I could not advance further in the program, unless I retook the course. If I retook it and failed again, I would be kicked out of engineering school. I went to his office to talk to him about my grade, and when I asked what could be done, his response was that nothing could be done. He then looked me right in the eye, and with a sneer on his face, he said “women don’t belong in engineering.” I was 21 years old, and I had never before been told I couldn’t do something that I wanted to do, but particularly not because I was a woman. I felt defeated and devastated for a long time. That one simple conversation, one sentence even, just lingered in my mind and fueled my doubt in myself. I wasn’t smart enough. I wanted to quit. I almost quit.

Eventually, I began to feel angry and to try to figure out a way around his course, as I saw no point to retaking another course from him. I learned of a local community college who offered the same drafting and technical drawing course where credits could transfer back to my school. I got myself admitted to that college, I signed up and I found a way to make the trip to that other campus each week to complete it, despite having a full plate with 2 majors at my regular school. I finished the course successfully with a B+ and got the credits transferred.

I look back on this experience now with interest. The man was completely wrong to have said what he said to me. But he lit a fire under me that hasn’t died to this day. He made me seriously think about what I was trying to do and how I could get there, despite setbacks. I don’t even remember his name, but I remember his face on that day. I remember how deeply I felt a desire to prove him wrong. Some days, I still do.  I look at my own daughter and I think about how I would feel if she was in this situation. I think I would want to march in to the professor with guns blazing and try to solve her problems for her. Honestly, I’m not sure if I even told my parents about this experience. I can’t remember. I remember feeling incredibly hurt, defeated, and angry at the time. But I’m not sure that I would be where I am today if my parents had stepped in and solved it for me.

In the years that followed up to my graduation, I had to work really hard, but it began to come a bit easier for me than that initial start. I finished my degree successfully and joined the working world. I’ve had 3 different jobs with many successes and many struggles in the 10 years since. I wouldn’t trade any of it for the world, not even that first awful experience. For the first time in my life, it made me learn how to fail, get back up, figure it out, and keep on trucking. I enjoy my job. I now provide not just for myself, but for my family, and I’ve found that I’m more motivated than ever as a result. Bring on the next 10 years! I’m looking forward to it.

Although I’ve been suffering from a bit of writer’s block lately, here are a couple of musings.

Home:

In the summer before my senior year of chemical engineering, I did an internship with an oilfield services company. The first week of the internship put me in Houston, TX for a week of training before sending me out in the field. It was the first time I had ever traveled to Houston or Texas in general. I boarded the plane in Denver, CO, the closest airport to where I was living (Laramie, Wyoming), and headed on down to Houston. I stepped off the plane, and was immediately blasted with a wall of heat and humidity that I found suffocating and truly ridiculous. How could anyone live here? This place is miserable! I spent the rest of that summer living in Elk City, Oklahoma (also insanely hot) and couldn’t wait to return to home and life in Wyoming, where it was cool and crisp and refreshing.

A little more than a year later, I packed the car and moved to Houston, TX to try to get a job in the chemical engineering industry. I decided if I could make it work in Wyoming, surely I could make it work in Texas, heat be damned. For all those who don’t know me, I’m stubborn as hell, and if I decide I’m going to make something work, well, it’s going to work. It’s now been almost 10 years. I have picked up 4 pets, a husband, a master’s degree, a couple of kids, a house, great friends and 10 years of excellent work experience along the way. I have grown to truly love Texas (even the heat).

Just this past week, I landed at the Denver Airport for a business trip, and I stepped off the plane to be assaulted with a cold, dry, blasting wind. My throat had a little spasm, and I began to cough. I was amused at myself, remembering how this used to be home and how much I loved living in this part of the country. The truth is that home is wherever I want it to be. Home is wherever I find meaning and value in my life at that point in time. It isn’t based on a place, so much as a time in my life. I’ve lived in 8 states and 1 other country. I’ve loved each of them, as they were all interesting places to be. I wouldn’t trade any of those experiences for the world.

Being positive:

I was filling out some paperwork in the infant classroom at day care the other day. A new mom was there, getting acquainted with the workers and the classroom. A few of the other moms struck up a conversation with her, telling her all about how they cried, “bawling like a baby” on the first day they dropped their kids off. They proceeded to describe the smeared mascara, the sobbing fits they had in their cars, and the moodiness that was subjected on their spouses and coworkers for several days. I overheard this conversation happening and began to try to shrink back into my paperwork, hoping no one would notice me. I thought I was getting away with it until the main day care worker threw me under the bus! She smiled mischievously and pointed at me saying “ask her how much she cried on the first day!” The room got silent as they all turned to me. I quietly said “I haven’t cried…”. One mom said, “you mean, like, ever?” I nodded no. The day care worker cheerfully quipped, “that’s a twin mom for you!” and patted me on the shoulder. I wanted to kill her as the other mothers stared at me with a look of judgmental disbelief.

I spent the rest of the day wondering what was wrong with me for not finding the first day of day care to be sob-inducing. Eventually, I decided that nothing is wrong with me. I cry when something truly and deeply upsets me. The things that truly upset me are death, pain, or suffering of other people or animals. I then thought about my women friends and whether they would have cried. In most of their cases, I determined that they wouldn’t cry either. I guess we really do surround ourselves with friends who are similar to us.

After most of the mothers left, I spent a few minutes with the new mother, telling her what great experiences I have had with the day care, that the workers are truly loving and caring, and how they do a great job with our babies. She seemed happy and relieved to hear this knowledge. That’s what I have to give. The tears I do shed over life will always be in private. But, I am happy to give some encouragement and positive truth where it’s needed.

On January 10, I celebrated my 35th birthday. It was a day filled with kind words, friends, beer, sushi, and quality time with my husband and babies. My kind of day!

During that day, I also spent some time reflecting on the past year. What an incredible year in so many ways! It has been a wonderful year of personal growth, love, and joy. One of the best gifts on earth has been the gift of motherhood. It’s a beautiful thing every single day and I’ve learned so much about myself.

As I was driving the other day, I heard a commercial on the radio for a cosmetic dentistry business. It reminded me of my own front teeth, which now have a noticeable gap that has appeared in the past 10 years. I’ve often thought about having it corrected, but every time I think about doing it, I decide that its part of who I am and I should leave it alone. However, I’ve felt a bit of mild insecurity about it in the past and have been known to avoid smiling because of it.

Recently I’ve been smiling a lot. I smile at Andrew and Audrey constantly. They are funny and do funny things, which make me smile. And, if you smile at them, they smile right back, which is so much fun. I smile all day long, and it feels great. When I heard that commercial on the radio, I realized that I haven’t thought about the gap in my teeth in months. It has simply stopped bothering me.

Until I became a mother, I focused a lot more on my imperfections. I have a gap in my teeth, I’m slightly overweight, my house is not perfectly clean at every second of the day, I don’t walk the dog enough, I’m not good at crafts, I could work harder, etc. I’m actually a pretty positive person most of the time, but I was previously setting my standards at perfection and of course never living up to it. I always felt guilty about something. Motherhood has taught me to relax. I’m not perfect and that’s ok. To Audrey and Andrew, I am the most beautiful person on earth. My body is at the heaviest weight ever (except for when I was pregnant), but I feel more beautiful than I’ve ever felt before. I feel confident and happy in my own skin. I will try to lose some weight in 2014 because it’s the healthy thing to do, but I’m not so hard on myself anymore. It will work itself out in time. In the meantime, I’m going to keep on smiling!

One of the joys of my life is being a pet owner.  I have 2 cats, Vince and Lilac, and 2 dogs, Abby and Trinity.  Abby is a large golden retriever.  She absolutely loves being outdoors and doing dog activities like chewing up sticks, chasing balls, and rolling around in mud puddles.  Abby hasn’t gotten to do these things as often as she used to because we have been occupied with the twins.  I am on vacation for the rest of the year and will have family in town starting on Friday.

So, I decided Thursday should be Abby Day.  It was about 75 degrees outside and a gorgeous day.  She and I piled into the car and I took her to a dog park near our home.  It is one of the biggest dog parks in Texas and it is great.  It has a bone shaped pond for swimming and chasing balls.  It has a platform to jump off into the pond.  Abby doesn’t do this, but other dogs do and it is fun to watch.  It has about a mile of walking trails and the dogs can be off the leash and running around wherever they want.  I brought a couple of balls and she chased them, while stopping to frolic in each puddle.  She was in heaven!  Here are some pictures of our fun day.

For years, I have usually been unwilling to participate in or attempt any sort of crafty activity like sewing, knitting, painting, cross-stitching, scrapbooking, jewelry making, etc.  I’ve told myself that I’m no good at these things, and when I’ve been asked to do them with others, I’ve declined, saying I don’t like to do those types of things.  This was the truth.  However, recently, I learned something about myself.

I attended a womens’ social event put on by our church Bible study class, and at that event, we made Christmas cards together.  We made three cards using cardstock, stamps, ribbons, bows, glue, sparkly things, pearly things, and thread.  And you know what?  I really enjoyed myself.  I relaxed and had fun worrying over where to glue and when to stamp, and then getting a little out of control with too much stamping.  After that night, I decided that maybe someday, a long way in the future, when I had more time, that maybe, JUST MAYBE I would make my own Christmas cards.  And then, the more I thought about it, I realized that for many years, I’ve been holding myself back from all sorts of these things because I didn’t think that I was capable of any of them.  When I realized this, it struck me as the silliest thing on earth.  Of course I’m capable, at least of trying.  I may screw it up, it may look terrible, but I should try.  So, with that, I ordered a Christmas card making kit and I made 20 of my own Christmas cards.  Each card was different and I was proud of every single one of them.

I realized that it’s not really a big deal to make your own Christmas cards.  And, maybe one of these days, I’ll get my mother-in-law to teach me how to crochet.  Maybe I’ll try scrapbooking.  It doesn’t really matter what I do.  But I want my daughter to see her mother trying things.  Maybe not doing it perfectly, but trying anyway.

My daughter will see a mother who gets up every day and marches defiantly out into the man’s world that is engineering and business.  My daughter will see a mother who is the breadwinner of the family and who has worked hard to prove herself and make her way in a very technical field in order to support her family.  Being an engineer does not come naturally to me, and I’ve had to work incredibly hard at figuring it out.  My daughter will see a mother who truly believes that any of us can do anything we want with our lives, given that we are willing to set the right goals and put in the work and commitment to achieve them.

So, why am I afraid of a little cross-stitching?  Because I am not good at it?  Who cares?  I want my daughter to grow up to be a strong confident woman who laughs at how bad her mom’s cooking was or how her mother sent out these ridiculous handmade Christmas cards every year.  Maybe the end result won’t be perfect, but my effort will be meaningful in her life.

So, if you got one of my Christmas cards, feel free to laugh at it.  I don’t mind.  I’m still proud of trying and completing them and I look forward to making more with my daughter when she is old enough.

Merry Christmas!

Throughout the past few weeks, I’ve started to settle in to the beautiful state of life that is motherhood. I’ve begun to really enjoy the smiles, the hugs, kisses, and cuddle opportunities, the developmental changes, the silliness, and even the craziness. I’ve begun to absolutely love having twins.

Being thankful is something that I try to do every day of the year. However, I’m not perfect, and I will occasionally feel sorry for myself when I shouldn’t. Usually, when I’m in the midst of my pity party, something or someone is thrust into my life to wake me up.

This week, after losing the battle against yet another cold (2nd one in 3 weeks), I coughed and sneezed my way to the grocery store to pick up food for our Thanksgiving dinner. I was moving quickly, as I was hoping to make it home in time to help my husband and in-laws with the next feeding. An elderly woman in a motorized wheelchair was in my way while I tried to reach for some potatoes. I ducked around her and went to another aisle to get the next thing on my list, but she came zipping around the corner and stopped her wheelchair right in front of the mushrooms that I needed. An alarm bell went off in my head as I realized that I was getting annoyed at an old woman in a wheelchair during the week of Thanksgiving. I told myself to settle down. She realized she was in my way and started to apologize and try to move her wheelchair. I looked closely at her and saw that she had an oxygen tube in her nose. I looked at her eyes and saw loneliness. I felt truly ashamed of myself. So, I began to chat with her.

She told me about her four daughters, now grown, and about the 8 beautiful grandchildren that she has. She told me about her husband who had been a good man and a good husband, now long dead. She talked about her sons-in law, her previous home in Arizona, and about how she had just moved to Texas because of her health. She shared some family memories with me that made me smile. I shared with her that I had just had twins. She wanted to see pictures, so I pulled out a book of them and we spent a couple of minutes looking at it. For the first few minutes, my mind was racing with tasks that I needed to do and I was not really listening. But, I soon realized that this woman needed my time and I decided that it was the right thing to do to stay there and give my time for as long as she needed it. I ended up spending about 20 minutes with her right there in front of the mushrooms. I can honestly say that I enjoyed it after I began to relax and really listen to her. She was funny and she made me really laugh. At the end of the conversation, she told me that she envies me because I have the beautiful road of motherhood in front me, most of it yet to play out. And then she said thank you for taking the time to stop and visit with her. She left, eyes brighter, and with a smile on her face, as did I.

I walked away from this encounter actually feeling changed by it. It felt good that I had made her feel a little bit better, but I also felt sad. We all want to live the kind of life that she has lived. We all want to have a beautiful family and live a long and happy life. But, this inevitably means that we will one day be old and alone in a wheelchair in the grocery store around the holidays, missing our husbands and children and grandchildren. She was right to tell me to enjoy the blessings of motherhood and to take the challenges in stride. I was right to listen and take what she said to heart. But, I could do a lot better job of slowing down, of being kind, being patient, and reaching out to help someone who is sad and in need of just a little of my time and a little kindness. I could do a better job of listening, both to strangers and to my loved ones.  I could do a better job of paying attention to not just myself, my needs, and my family’s needs, but the needs of complete strangers, in whose shoes I will one day be in, if I’m lucky.

So, I will try harder.

Happy Thanksgiving to all.