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Compulsive planning
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My husband was laid off from his job around 2:30 on a Friday afternoon. He cleaned out his desk, said his goodbyes, and called me. By the time he arrived home we'd both called our parents, more for reassurance than anything else, and there was nothing -- and yet everything -- left to do.
We sat on the porch and fed the kids popsicles to keep them quiet, so as not to compete with the empty seashell roar inside our heads.
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This week I have had the pleasure of reading Pinched and Just Passing, articles by Heather Ryan about her experiences struggling to make ends meet. Apparently I have insulated myself thoroughly with my family and carefully chosen friends, because when I read a comment asking, "What gave you the right to bring children you could not support into this world," my stomach flipped in shock.
My husband and I have college degrees. We both have sturdy work histories. Our eldest child was a surprise, but we were doing all right on a combined annual income of about $50k, paying little for childcare by staggering our work schedules.
By the time we conceived for the second time, we were making more than $70k, and we were paying down our college loans and debts we'd incurred during school and shortly after. Halfway through that pregnancy we discovered we were having twins.
The lowest quality child care for our two year old and twin infants would cost us $20k each year. Having three children in carseats meant we needed a minivan. Our apartment would not house three cribs.
Our children never went hungry. I did, but mostly because I did not have time to prepare food, nor the money to buy convenience foods, so my dinner would be a can of green beans, microwaved and eaten over the course of several hours.
We thought we could afford a second child. We absolutely could not afford a second and third child. But honestly, what would people like the commenter quoted above suggest we do? Selectively reduce? Give one twin up for adoption? Really, could anyone do such a thing?
It is with a mixture of jealousy and pity that I consider a person whose life has held no punch-in-the-gut deviations from plan.
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About that -- about planning: planning is a comfort behavior. We like to map things out, although we know how quickly plans can change. We make lists. We search online for articles with bullet points or numbered task lists, telling us what to do.
When the rug is pulled out from under you, you fall to the ground. Quick and dirty. The job loss, the news that we were having twins -- these are more like standing in a calm sea, then being hit by a wave from behind. You go from standing firm with an eye on the horizon to crashing twisting swirling through the murky water, unsure of which direction is up. You can map out your life in infinite detail, but still a rogue wave can rise at any time, breaking upon you when you least suspect it in the form of a medical diagnosis, an unhappy spouse, the loss of a job, or even an extra baby stowing away in a carefully planned pregnancy.
But what do we do when we once again break the surface of the water, gasping for air? We make another plan.
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We spent the first 48 hours after my husband's job termination planning. We made lists of things to do. We got online, and he hunted for jobs and applied for unemployment while I bookmarked resources and tried to tease out what needed to be done first. How to apply for Medicaid? Can our daughter get free school lunches? How much food will WIC vouchers put in our cupboards?
And all that planning? It helped. We have not panicked (yet). I've noticed that our mood dips coincide with days we've been less occupied with frantic internet searches. This planning keeps us from wallowing in what may or may not happen. It makes us feel like we are doing something; making progress, whether we actually are or not.
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