Purging & Productivity

I did not intend to be productive this weekend.  In fact, when I woke up on Saturday morning, it was with the intention of staying in bed for the entire day because I lacked both the motivation and the energy to move.  I had been sliding up and down (mostly down) the depression scale for more than a week, and it seemed that it had gotten the better of me again, to the point where I could no longer move.

However, spending the morning in bed may have been exactly what the doctor ordered.

I emerged about noon.  And then I got busy.  Very, very busy.  I made cinnamon rolls and fish & chips.  I made a menu for the week, devised a grocery list and went to the store with Doodlebug (and even stocked up on stuff for a few extra meals in case the weather turns sour later this week… having a few extra meals on hand is not a bad idea this time of year).  I cleaned a few things, tidied up some others, and generally put things in order.  Before the kids went to bed, we played a couple of family games of Uno, and after they went to bed, I spent quite a while discussing tattoo designs with Oz.  I hit the sack late, but it felt good.  *I* felt good.

The productivity continued today.  I had promised the kids I would spend some time with them, and despite Doodlebug's protests that he wanted to do something indoors (i.e. laser tag), I told them that this was going to be one of the last beautiful fall days and that I would only agree to an outdoor activity.  So they put on their skates, and Oz and I walked behind them as they skated down one of the trails of a major park system.  It was a beautiful 2-mile adventure.

We got home, and I tidied up some more and had the kids start cleaning out the game room.  This had needed to be done for a long, long time, but today I found the motivation to figure out what furniture needs to go where and how it all needs to work together.  They got everything cleaned out in a little more than an hour and a half, and Oz helped get rid of some extra furniture.  Then we moved the computer and desk from the guest room into the game room.  Eventually we'll move the chaise lounge and ottoman from the game room into the guest room and get a couch for the game room, but that hasn't happened yet.  I ordered a lamp for the guest room as well, and I'm going to have Oz hang a painting in there.  I need to get a new trash can for that room as well, but one thing at a time.

In the meantime, I started some Guinness beef stew for dinner (it's getting close to being done as I type this) and cleaned out the desk drawer.  I also ordered a few Christmas gifts for the munchkins and started officially planning the giant Thanksgiving that we're going to host here this year.

Next weekend I intend to clean out the attic while the kids clean out their bedrooms.  They'll hate me, but if it can get done before the holidays, I'll be a very happy camper.

I may clean out the bathroom cabinets tonight.  That needs to happen, too, and I figure I should get it done while I have the energy!

Because tomorrow, it's back to work.

Things I Have Learned

Occasionally people are surprised to discover my age.  The comment I hear most often is, "You look younger/that age, but you act so much older!" My current favorite is from a 22-year-old coworker who likes to tell me how 'wise' I am.

My closest friends are mostly older than I am, in two cases by more than 12 years.  I'm sure part of that is due to the fact that I married and had my children young, but I also like to think I have learned a lot out of life already.  I have also been told for many, many years that I have an "old soul."

Sometimes, though, the things I have picked up have come through hard experience… or are just plain fun.

Without further ado, I present to you a list of 10 random Friday thoughts about truths I have learned over the years.  Feel free to add your own!!

1.  Happiness cannot come from without.  You must find your own peace.

2 (aka 1a).  If you radiate happiness, it shows up as beauty.  The happiest people have the 'it' factor that makes the difference between someone plain and someone beautiful or handsome.

3.  That being said, expensive clothes and haircuts, if you can afford them, are worth every penny.  Clothes really can make the (wo)man.  They look better, fit better, and wear better.  Goodwill and consignment shops are my friends.

4.  The Joneses suck.  You aren't walking their path.  Walk your own and find others who can accept you as you are.

5.  People come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime.  Sometimes it's hard to know who is who until you're completely suicidal and sitting on your back porch with a blade and a beer.  The people you call in those moments?  They're the lifetimers.  I'm fortunate - I have several people on that list.

6.  People (remember the Joneses?) will judge you.  Judging them back accomplishes nothing.  Laugh (to yourself) at their insecurities and move on.

7.  Accept compliments politely.  Give them regularly.

8.  You are never done learning.  Even if you don't learn something from an academic standpoint, life will teach you things.

9.  Be passionate about at least one thing.  It's worth knowing one thing well.

10.  Everyone has stories.

Have a great weekend, everyone!

Giving Up and Getting Real

It's interesting to me how people sometimes seem to change when really, maybe, some things have been a façade all along.

Shit's about to get real here.  Hang onto your asses. ;)

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I never planned to get married.  I never planned to have kids.  Do I regret doing either one of those things?  Of course I don't.  But when I DID get married and I DID have kids, I was so young.  I was 18 (married), 20 (Doodlebug), 22 (Boo).  I had these ideals and mental pictures of what wifehood and motherhood were 'supposed' to be that I completely buried who and what I actually AM.

When Boo asked to return to public school and when I decided to send Doodlebug as well, a lot of those old feelings bubbled up to the surface, and I realized that for so very, very long, I had been wearing a mask.  Homeschooling the kids was definitely something that needed to happen, particularly for Doodlebug, but with that gone, I felt both free and trapped.

I was free to be who I was… but who was that... and could I still be that person and do what else needed to be done… i.e. could I still do what I was 'supposed' to do?

That one question, with all its multiple parts, sent me into a tailspin and, I suspect, triggered the depression that I battled for months.  It was ugly with a depth that I haven't seen since I was 14 and 15 years old.  I shared some of that battle with you all, and I'm very glad that it's over.  I'm sure it'll come back at some point, but I still have a very solid group of friends who have my back, and I'm grateful for them always.

As I began to question everything, I dug deep.  Very deep.  And I realized that in order to really be happy - truly, unmistakably HAPPY - some very big things were going to have to change.  I realized that I needed to stop apologizing for a lot of things, to begin with.  I've spent years feeling bad for being the person that I am at my core.  And guess what?  The minute I started letting SOME of my feelings out, they ALL came out.

I knew I wanted a job - I had always intended to be a career woman, and while I may not be able to accomplish the same goals that I had when I was young, I can still have a career.  I'm young enough for that.  I knew I wanted to give up some things - gardening, keeping a pristine house (that happened out of boredom before I had kids, and I won't have time to be bored now), and otherwise keeping up with the Susie Homemaker Joneses.  I'm getting rid of my canning equipment, because as much as everyone in the house loves my peach preserves and I did have fun doing it a couple of times, it's exhausting and it's the middle of summer and I like air conditioning more than slaving over a boiling pot!  If I'm still in this house next spring (long story, just go with it… I'm keeping the details out of public arenas, thanks), I intend for some of my income to pay for a lawn service, and they can take care of the garden areas.  I can apparently grow roses by sticking them into the ground and ignoring them altogether, but everything else?  Not so much.  As much as I love the idea of having a gorgeous garden with tons of healing and cooking herbs, I'll never have the enthusiasm to maintain it year-round.  I might grow some things in containers, but even that will be subject to my whims and caprices.

I digress… as I do.

I also realized that I love some things and will continue doing them… on my own terms.  I still like cooking, for example, and want to do that when I have time.  I love love love having people over and going out with my friends.  I even like going to the gym (also when I have time).  I still love reading, and I'll never give that up.

But defining who I am and what I want to do (and not do) means that everyone around me has to get used to this 'new' me… and, of course, sometimes that comes easily and sometimes it doesn't.  I know some people believe that I've lost my mind and gone absolutely crazy.  Other folks have thoroughly embraced my need to come out of my cocoon.  It's been hardest on Oz, for many reasons.

A few days ago, I finally got angry.  Oz was out of town, but he still bore the brunt of it.  I defined exactly what needed to happen over the next few months while I finish my transformation, and I informed him that if he couldn't handle it to let me know.  It might be harsh, but I feel like I've compromised for too many years, and I don't want to do that any more.

So we shall see.  The kids are still happy - I haven't changed much as far as their care and well-being are concerned - and one day at a time, I am becoming happier, too.  The final steps are within reach; we'll see what they are.  It's definitely an exciting adventure, and it's one I'm glad to finally be taking on my own behalf.  It's long, long overdue.

I Swear… Job Drama is the WORST

And yet again, I'm not employed.

This time it isn't MY fault, though.

I was supposed to start tomorrow for my new happy position, yeah?  Yeah, so I'm standing at the cash register at the grocery store today and my phone rings, and I look at it and it says it's from the company that I was supposed to start working for, so I answer it.

And it's the bossman/owner, who says (and I paraphrase), "Um, we've decided not to fill the position right now, but we'll keep your resume on file in case we decide to take another look at it sometime."

The man is lucky I was standing in a public place.

Suffice it to say they could pay me in winning lotto tickets and I wouldn't work for them at this point.

Back to hunting!

Another Job Update

I'm sure you're all tired of hearing it, BUT... I have a job.  A real one that I will start later this week and which has caused me to stop looking for anything further, at least for now.

It started with a Craigslist ad.  It asked the respondents to apply in person, so when I was running around last week on the day that turned into absolute chaos, it was my first stop.  I left my application and hoped to hear something eventually maybe, but I wasn't very optimistic.

This morning I had an interview scheduled with a recruiter, but shortly before I left the house, I got a call.  The Craigslist company wanted me to come in for an interview.  I told them I already had one scheduled but that I'd be happy to come by at some point afterward, thinking that they'd set an exact time, but instead I was told, "Well, when you're done, just give us a call and come on up."

Well, all righty then.

So I did just that.  I talked to the bossman/owner.  I talked to the other woman I'd be working with.  I talked to the bossman/owner again.  And I start Thursday.

This job doesn't kill my soul.  I'll be making and tracking and checking in orders.  I'll be filing and answering phones.  I'll be doing inventory and helping customers and replying to e-mails.

Is it a perfect job?  Well, no, probably not.  But for someone who's been out of the job business for about 3.5 years… it's a very nice start.  I just hope I can hack it.

Did I mention I get to wear jeans?

Aaaaand no

So I didn't wind up taking the job.  When I went to talk to the recruiter this morning to confirm my employment eligibility, I mentioned that I had still spent yesterday evening filling out application after application for various jobs that I found online.  And really… that means I'm not comfortable accepting the position.  She was okay with it.  She understood.  I don't want to start a job that I intend to quit as soon as I can find something else.  It's not fair to the employer, and it's not fair to the recruiter, and it's not fair to me.

I'm okay with it.  I'm sure if I don't find something else in the next week or so I'll regret that decision and wish I'd taken it just to get job history on record, but for now… I'm still unemployed.

And so I don't have to scramble for childcare.

Which makes me happy.

On Finding a Job

So I had the interview with the school.  It went as interviews went, and I got the call later in the day that I didn't make the cut and they had gone with someone else.  That was fine.  So I got on the computer and started hunting down options.  I knew that at some point I was probably going to have to look at temp agencies, but I had been hoping to find something independently before that point.

Yeah, that clearly hasn't happened.

I climbed in the car this morning with the following agenda:  Apply in person at one office, then hit up a couple of different temp agencies, drop Doodlebug's library books at the library, maybe get myself some lunch, and come home.  Oz took Boo to optometry appointments for them both, and then he was coming back to the house to keep an eye on things.

Things did not go as planned.

I started at the first office after getting stuck in traffic because someone with a trailer hadn't secured his load properly.  I filled out the application, talked briefly to the owner, and left.  All well and good.  I drove to the first temp agency only to be told that they only accept resumes online and to fill one out and someone would be in touch.  I called the second temp agency before driving across town to learn the same thing.  Frustrated, I turned to a third temp agency that wasn't even on my original list and called to make sure they accepted resumes in person.  They did.  I got there and started talking to the recruiter, and at some point I mentioned that I typed quickly.  She said she had a 'data entry' position available and thought I would be a good fit.  Fine by me.  I filled out some online forms on a computer at their office, and then she had me take a data entry test, which I passed so well and so quickly she thought I'd actually messed up and would have to redo the test because nobody had ever finished that fast before.  Go me.  I left and went to lunch, and the recruiter called me while I was eating to say that I had an interview at 1:30 if I was interested.  Well, why not?  So I went to an interview.

The job itself is not particularly thrilling.  It's a mailroom job, printing and sorting and mailing various forms and letters, and the other folks working in the department are very young 20-somethings with whom I will have absolutely nothing in common… but it's a job.  Like everyone keeps reminding me, I have to start somewhere.  And I'm not going to stop looking for something better.  Even the woman who interviewed me acknowledged that I won't stay there forever, that I need to be put into bigger and better things, but that my resume simply doesn't accommodate that right now.  It's frustrating but it's the truth.

Anyway, I start the job in a couple of days.  I'm scrambling to find childcare right now, because I won't leave Doodlebug and Boo home by themselves all day every day until school starts… and I'll need to work out before- and aftercare for them when school does start… and I feel completely overwhelmed by everything that has happened today… but I have a job.

I didn't expect that when I left the house this morning.  It's been a long day.

Let Me Tell You About Depression

I don't like to talk about depression.  It's a selfish thing, because it calls attention to me when I'm trying to be invisible; it causes people to be curious when I wish they already knew and, at the same time, hope that they've never been through this themselves.

To those of you who have experienced depression, I'm sorry.  To those of you who have recurrent depression, I'm really sorry.  I hate when I find others who know this dark place.  Not a 'funk.' Not a 'rough patch.'  No.  Depression.  That special kind of hyperawareness of the normalcy of others that sends you into a black hole of self-loathing and self-doubt that's almost impossible to escape from.  I was teetering on the event horizon for a while, and then I fell in.

I'm writing this today to prevent myself from doing one of the following:

1.  Going back to bed and doing nothing at all until someone makes me.

2.  Hurling this computer across the room and into the wall out of sheer frustration at all the futility and nothingness, this void of life that I'm stuck in.

3.  Pulling the freshly-sharpened knife out of the block and carving lines and words into some random and usually-hidden body part.

4.  Lying on the couch motionless for the remainder of the day, except for those times when I drag myself off of it to do laundry or go to the gym or make dinner, because I have to do those things for other people or they'll notice that I'm not okay.

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It's interesting to me how depression works.  I am constantly thinking of the line from the movie "Legally Blonde," where Elle says, "Exercise gives you endorphins.  Endorphins make you happy.  Happy people just don't shoot their husbands; they just don't."  I wish that was true.  And sure, I have no intention of shooting anyone.  BUT… if endorphins were all it took to combat depression, I wouldn't be depressed right now.  I've been going to the gym 3-4 days a week, and I really do like it.  My arms have more definition than they've ever had, and I've told myself that when I can use the assisted pull-up machine with only half my weight, I'll get my next tattoo.  But endorphins alone are not enough.  Neither is vitamin D.  Or the smell of flowers.  If I'm in a funk or just hitting a rough patch, some aromatherapy or going outside or vitamins or a good movie or a great date with my husband or a good book can be enough to keep me going and pull me out of it.  This is not that.  And those normal fixes aren't enough.

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A couple of weeks ago I spent a day almost entirely in bed.  I got up once to use the restroom and ask the kids to do a couple of things, but I didn't even bother to brush my hair or put on deodorant or change into real clothes.  It was all too much effort.  Oz and I had a long talk that evening, and he's been wonderful, but when I'm up and dressed and going about my daily business, I know he thinks that it's all over and done and that I'm back to my normal self.  And I am not.  One bad day - and it may or may not have a trigger - and I'm back down the rabbit hole, except this hole doesn't end in Wonderland, it ends somewhere much, much darker (which is saying something when you're comparing it to a world populated with the likes of the Mad Hatter and the Cheshire Cat), and sometimes it's only six feet deep.

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I know the 'cause' of this particular bout of depression is twofold.  One of the causes is being addressed and things are on their way to being okay.  The other cause is deeper, more existential.  I can't just 'fix' that one easily.  It's going to take a long time.  I wish I knew where the end was.  That might make it easier.  But I'm not seeing the light at the end of the tunnel today.

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I hate the way I parent when I'm depressed.  I'm grumpy because I can't parent the way I should… and can, when I'm mentally stable.  I can't take an interest in anything, even the kids.  They're being left to fend for themselves more often than they probably should, and when I do notice something, it's usually something I should have addressed earlier and now have to nip in the bud, except I don't have the energy to approach the problem properly, so I just yell and cry and then ignore the problem altogether because it's just easier.  It's the lazy way out, and I feel lazy, which doesn't help the depression, because I feel like I should just be able to snap out of it and kick this whole laziness complex and DO ALL THE THINGS.  Except I can't.

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I'm not allowing comments on this post.  I've never done that before.  But I don't want pity or sympathy or empathy.  I don't want to know who has read this and who hasn't and who has been here and who hasn't.  I just really wanted to get it all out, and for all I know, I'll have poster's remorse in about an hour or so and come and delete this whole thing altogether, because it's selfish and awful to rant about being depressed and then not let anyone 'help,' except while I love you all, it isn't really helpful to read about others who have been there or dealt with that, and it'll just make me sad to know how common depression is.  And if you can sympathize or empathize, I'm so sorry.  I really am.

Nobody should know this darkness.

So I'll just leave you with this:

Silence Like a Cancer Grows

I'm sitting on the couch downstairs.  The only sounds I hear are the water falling from the filter in the fish tank and the slight growl of the dishwasher running through yet another cycle because dishes, like laundry, are a never-ending task.  Oh, wait, there's the air conditioner popping on.

The children are home.  They're just upstairs.

When we bought this house just over a year ago, I was thrilled that it had a game room.  The game room is upstairs with the kids' bedrooms and their bathroom, and I had visions of the kids playing happily upstairs where I could hear them but not have to feel like I needed to monitor their every movement like I did when we only had one living area and we were always, always in the same room together.  I loved the idea of breathing space.

I got my wish.  And it's bittersweet.  I love that the kids can go upstairs and disappear.  Right now Boo is in her room reading some library books, and Doodlebug is parked in front of the Wii getting his daily electronics fix.  They're content.  They're doing what they want to do.  Mostly, though, they're quiet.

The quiet is interesting.  It reminds me that the kids aren't little any more and that I don't have to worry about what they're up to every second of the day (remember when silence was evil?  It's still not entirely innocent, but it's more innocent now than when they were younger).  It reminds me that in a few years, there will be jobs and/or volunteer positions and more independent school work and that my place in their lives will diminish considerably, especially if and when there are driver's licenses and cars involved.

I feel like I'm smack-dab in the middle of an in-between phase, just like my son, who is hovering in between childhood and adolescence.  On the one hand, I'm needed.  They need me to remind them what chores to do and when and tell them when it's time for dinner and drive them to events. They want me to "Come see this!" and "Help me?" do that.  On the other hand, they don't need me as much any more.  They can figure out their likes and dislikes (though this is a major problem for Boo, and that'll need its own post soon) and what they do and don't want to do each day without any help from me.  They can clean their own rooms (heck, they can clean the whole house if necessary) and fix breakfasts and lunches and make sure they have all their gear for swim/violin/yoga before we leave.

They aren't old enough to be left home alone for any length of time - sometime in the next year, I'll probably start running short errands, but I want to make sure they're both old enough and mature enough for that before I take off - but at the same time, I don't often see them unless they either want food or have a project they need help with or are arguing and want my intercession.

And so I sit.  I wait until I'm wanted or needed.  I don't like that.  Raising my kids 'right' is an admirable goal, but I wish I had another purpose.  There's only so much sitting around reading library books one mom can do before she loses her mind.  Same goes for baking.  I can't do that all day, every day.  I need to be accessible, but I want to be busy to some purpose.  It's an interesting dichotomy, and I'm not sure how to fill both my needs and the needs of my kids at the same time.

When we're doing school, it's not so bad.  I think this week off is affecting me.  Still, there will be plenty more weeks off in the days to come, and we still have the afternoons to consider.  Thoughts?

My Gorgeous New Baby

No, it's nothing alive.  The only new live critter that I intend to introduce to this house anytime in the next few months is a bearded dragon that Oz and I have promised to get for Doodlebug's 11th birthday in October.  He's wanted one since he was... oh, 5 or 6.  I think he's finally ready for the responsibility.

Anyway, over the weekend I got a new baby.  Want to meet her?

This is Silvia.  Isn't she pretty?  She's a Ford Explorer.

I'm still familiarizing myself with how she works.  It's bizarre to get into a vehicle without rummaging through my purse for the keys.  She has push-button start.  She also has a million other bells and whistles, including voice controls so I no longer have to lift a finger to change the temperature or make a phone call (because, of course, my phone's Bluetooth hooks right into the system as well) or change the radio station.  Oz is in techie heaven and spent the first 24 hours or so making sure that everything was updated and set up properly.  I'm a bit more ambivalent about all the features, because as long as the gas pedal, the brake pedal, the horn, and the radio work, I can live with just about anything else.

Still, she's gorgeous and I'm totally in love.  And if she can help me parallel park like the manual says she can, then she's my new best friend because I can't parallel park to save my life.  When I was 16 and taking the driving test for the second time and the proctor told me to parallel park, I told him, "You know what?  I don't do that.  And if I ever get in a situation where that's what I have to do, then I'll find somewhere else to park."  He made me try, and it took me forever, and he had to help me with some of it, which I don't think he was supposed to do.  I still passed.  And to this day, I haven't had to parallel park... at least, not in a situation between two cars.  Pulling up behind another car or backing in where there are extra spaces, yes, but actually parallel parking between two cars that are one space apart?  No.

Moving on...

This is the view looking back from the driver's seat.  That's a moonroof at the top of the image.  There's a sunroof over the front seats.  Sunroof, moonroof... whatever.  More car love.  Those are bucket seats in the middle, which is mighty handy when you have two kids who can't sit together on bench seats without erecting an imaginary wall which can cause WWIII in the blink of an eye if its position shifts even marginally or if it's crossed a fraction of an inch.  There's also the third row, which can fold down or stow as necessary, so if WWIII threatens to happen regardless of the lack of wall, I can banish someone to the back and theoretically thwart the impending battle.  Oh, and Oz can fit in the second row, too.  That's crucial when I consider the fact that Doodlebug may well be of a similar size one day.

Because, gods willing, I'm not getting rid of Silvia until the kids move out.  She rocks.

In Which I (Try to) Run

So I've been in a funk lately - somehow I'm sure I've mentioned that and may be flogging that particular horse far, far longer than I should - and have been attempting to self-diagnose my underlying issue.  It occurred to me sometime last week that I haven't exercised in a while and I'm pretty sure my endorphins are lazy and don't bother to activate themselves for any reason other than getting bitch-slapped and told to move it, move it.

It's also been cooler this summer than the previous two, and the highs have only been around 90, not 190.  Or 110, which is pretty much the same thing.

On Friday I went for a walk.  It was nice.  I didn't have an immense psychological breakthrough or anything, but my legs certainly informed me in no uncertain terms that they had been under-utilized lately and reminded me that exercise really shouldn't be optional at my age.

Getting older sucks.

The weather remained nice enough that I went out again on Sunday night.  Oz came with me.  We both brought our headphones and walked in relative silence next to one another for most of the distance, but just as we reached the nice downward-sloping hill to the house, Green Day's song "Nice Guys Finish Last" started playing.

You can't not run to that song, and so I trotted slowly down the hill and rounded the corner onto the cul-de-sac toward home.  I made it home only slightly more out of breath than I had already been, and this thought suddenly popped into my head: "Why don't I add a little more jogging to the walk?  Maybe at the end?  Just to end on a positive note?"

It's a sign of how far down my brain has gone that I was even contemplating this.  I am not a runner.  My knees say no, and so does my physique.  It's kind of like that scene from Will & Grace, the gym scene that goes like this:

 

GRACE: Ok, her... [POINTING TO A WOMAN] Could I ever have a body like hers?

 

WILL: Well, she appears to be of Nordic descent. They tend toward the live and bosomy, so--so as to help their buoyancy whilst navigating down the fjords.

 

GRACE: So...no?

 

WILL: Grace, you don't want that kind of a body. You're a--you're of a hardier peasant stock. Yours is a body built for...

 

GRACE: What? Linebacking?

 

WILL: No, no. Picking and carrying baskets of onions to market. On your head.

I should not consider running.  I know this.  However, in my altered-brain state, it sounded like an excellent idea.  And so, last night, I put my headphones back on and headed out.  All through the walk, I was psyching myself up to jog the entire cul-de-sac at the end.  When I finally reached the cul-de-sac, I turned, took a couple of deep breaths...

and remembered EXACTLY why I should not run.

My high school history teacher even nicknamed me Phoebe. 
This should have told me something.

It was a combination of the above image and something else... the fact that apparently if you jog and have just the right body type, your ass will actually smack against your thighs as you run, which produces a sound nobody should ever hear. 

I did not make it all the way around the cul-de-sac in that state.

Perhaps there is a reason that I tell the kids, "Old people don't run."

Opportunities

Sometimes opportunity appears at odd times.  It's funny to me how just when I start to worry that things are at a standstill and that there's very little purpose or meaning to my life, things happen to show me that I am, in fact, worth something and that I should continue doing what I do.

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Back in March, I applied for a job.  I haven't worked in more than two years, and that job wasn't exactly skilled labor - I worked as a medical transcriptionist for a company based out of Massachusetts.  I had quit because I could no longer keep set hours every evening, what with swim meets and everything else, and since quitting I'd reached the level of stagnation and boredom that I enter right before I find a new job/hobby that consumes my time, and I'm sure Oz was getting rather frustrated with how depressed I had become, because when I'm not busy, I get depressed, and then the poor man has to listen to me whine about how impotent and useless and horrible I am because here I am at 31 years old and have no purpose and nothing to show for my life, and that, in turn, causes me to create incredible run-on sentences that really have no great literary value.  Not really, but that is one nasty-long sentence there.  Feel free to parse it for grammar mistakes.  I'm sure there are many.

Anyway, a couple of positions opened up or are being created (not sure which) at a company that teaches writing to homeschool students/families, and after much encouragement by Oz and some of my friends, I applied.  I honestly never expected to hear a word.

I heard.  I panicked, and then I answered some questions via e-mail and gave a critique for a small student writing sample... and I honestly never expected to hear a word.

I heard.  Again.  And again I panicked, because this time it meant the word interview, and I've never interviewed for a job in my life.  My first jobs - mowing and handpainting pottery - were courtesy of my father.  My journalism job fell into my lap while I interned as a high school student; when I graduated, I moved into the recently-vacated lifestyle reporter position.  I did some temp work while I was pregnant with M1, which required me simply to show up, and when he and M2 were small, I ran a church nursery because I was willing to do it.  After I quit that gig, I took up medical transcription, which did require some study, but when I applied for a job, everything was done online.  None of this interview business.  I did do one interview with a local company about a transcription position, but it was largely a skill test.

So for the first time in my life, I had to do an interview.  It took every ounce of nerve I had to push the 'call' button on Skype yesterday.  I'm glad I did, though, because now I am apparently on the list to receive an invitation to attend some training in July, and if I do well there, I will teach a writing class this fall.  Teach.  A writing class.  When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a teacher and an author.  And a secretary, because clearly I come from a home chock-full of women's lib principles.  Now, I have the opportunity to teach others writing, and that absolutely terrifies and exhilarates me at the same time.  I love to write; I like to think that I can pass that on.  If anyone else who is going through the same process reads this (because I know, via the Internet, a couple of other women who applied for the same job), I hope to see you in training, because I think you also would make spectacular teachers, probably far better than I.  Good luck.

 

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This morning, one of my friends texted me.  First she wanted to tell me what songs to play at her funeral because she seems to be under the impression I'll live longer than she will, which amuses me because while, yes, my grandmothers are still living, one of hers is, too!  After I agreed to make sure that Eminem's song "Shake That" is on the playlist right after Sarah McLachlan and Sting, she said, "[My son] asked if you could tutor him in math this summer.  I'll pay you."

Math?  Oh, what the heck, why not?  I don't mind math.  Up to trigonometry and pre-calculus (except for geometry, which is of the devil), I even enjoy it.  I really like playing with numbers.  Plus, this is a good kid, and he's smart.  He just gets stuck, and his teacher this year hasn't really helped him much.  So... tutoring?  Sure. 

 

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Opportunity.  It's an opportunist.  I just had to be patient, and I dislike being patient.  However, it would seem that it is time to get busy with the next phase of my life.  Things are about to get real here at Sunnyview, and I'm excited - let's roll!

Procrastination; or, The Phone Is My Enemy

I despise making phone calls.  It's funny, because when I was a teenager, my parents couldn't get me off the phone if they tried, and now my husband can't even get me to call the pizza guy.

Oh, the way things change.

I tell him that when I was a journalist, I used up my phone quota talking to everyone under the sun all day long, but I think the truth is that unless I have a purpose, I just don't care to call people.  When I had to conduct interviews, I had my questions more or less prepared so I knew what I was going to say.  There was a purpose.  And I see no purpose in calling one pizza company when others have online ordering forms available.  I very, very rarely call even my best friends because I worry that either I'll call at a bad time or they'll answer and I'll discover I have nothing to say.  Casual acquaintances don't have a chance.

A month ago, I got an e-mail from my eye doctor saying it was time for my annual check-up.  Early last week I got a reminder card from M1's eye doctor saying he was due for a check-up as well.  I also needed to schedule M2's 8-year well-child check and call an orthodontist for a consultation about M1's teeth.

I would like to suggest that someone develop a program like OpenTable for doctors.  But that's just me.

Anyway, I decided that TODAY IS THE DAY.  At 9 a.m., I set Project Scheduling into motion.  First I called the pediatrician's office, because I know all the front office staff by sight, if not by name.  M2 now has a well-child check scheduled.  Then I called my eye doctor and got to talk to an answering machine, which I don't mind at all because I know what to say to them.  They're predictable.  Third I called M1's eye doctor; he now has an appointment scheduled there.  And I'm about to call an orthodontist who, ironically, does have an online appointment system available, but I'm leery of using it since we're new patients.  Even I can concede that sometimes talking to a real live person is more useful than using the Interwebz, now matter how convenient it may be.

There's still part of me that's squirming inside. If it wasn't in the name of medical necessity, I doubt I'd be doing all this. I'd probably just put it off till tomorrow. Again.

I just have to put on my grown-up pants today. 

Someone tell me to get moving.

Cue the Panic Attack

As I type this, my entire body is an adrenaline-fueled monster.  It's in full-on fight or flight mode, and a large, LARGE part of me wants to turn off the computer and walk restlessly around my house until I either have a nervous breakdown or someone tells me to stop (which isn't going to happen because the kids are upstairs in bed and Oz has to work tonight).

I'm not sure from whence the panic comes.  A tiny part of my brain screams, "It's because of Christmas!" and another part says, "YOU HAVE KIDS, DUMMY," and yet another part is telling me that it's all to do with a completely inane and harmless thing that happened today in which my dog ate something on the neighbor's porch which M2 thought was their dog's treat, so I replaced the treat with some of our treats and a note, and the neighbor came and told me that no, whatever it was wasn't their dog's and to not worry about it.  And yet another part says the panic comes from homeschooling and having a house and getting it all done and faking this whole SuperMom thing and

WHAT IF SOMEONE FINDS OUT WHAT A FRAUD I REALLY AM?!?!?

Because that's how my brain works.

It's stupid.  I'm aware of how completely silly all that sounds.  I know that as a parent, as a human, we all (OK, so most people... there are a few rotten eggs out there) do the best that we can and muddle through, grateful for anyone who will acknowledge that we're decent human beings despite our massive shortcomings.  I am no better or no worse than anyone else.  The decisions I make will not be the decisions that anyone else makes.  And 99% of the time, I understand and am okay with that... except when the panic sets in.  I lose all sense of rationality when I have a panic attack.  I feel like there's a vise gripping my heart (not in the arrhythmia sort of way, just the emotional sort of way) and that I should second-guess every. single. thing I've done that day.  And probably any decisions that I'm thinking of making in the next 24 hours.

The worst part is that there is very little that I can do to make the panic subside.  When it happens, it happens.  I could get up and put on headphones and clean manically (which sometimes happens) until it goes away, but the cleaning itself doesn't actually purge the sensation.  I could read, listen to Buddhist chants, exercise, or sit and play mindless computer games, and nothing would help.  I can't get in the car and drive until I feel better, even if Oz *was* home to monitor the munchkins.

As it is, I'm probably going to finish up this post and grab some of the toy catalogs that have come lately, see what the kids have circled, and attempt to make up Santa's purchase list for the upcoming holiday.  Then I'll e-mail my mom some of the other options, take a shower, and do some reading before bed.  And if history is anything to go by, I'll lie in bed for hours, my mind churning, until I finally fall asleep out of sheer exhaustion.

If you can relate to this post, I feel for you.  I really do.  Just know that you're not alone in this, though, and that we can tough it out, one way or the other.  Right? (Please tell me I'm right.  I'm not sure I can handle being wrong right now.)

Thanks for listening :)