So they say that God only gives you what you can handle. Well, today I got tested.
I do think it is important for kids to start to develop a sense of independence. Play on their own. Make some mistakes. Scrape some knees. All without Mommy looking over their shoulder. Yesterday, I let my nine-year old ride with his friend to his friend's house after school with the promise that he would come right back. He followed directions and I was so proud. I was hoping that this could be a changing point. A sign of maturity. He did just get a new pair of glasses. Maybe the new spectacles gave him a new vision (pun intended) on how a mature, responsible 3rd grader should behave.
He asked to do the same thing today. He had homework, but since he was so responsible the day before, I told him to come right back and could get started on his homework later. He took off with his buddy at 3:45. I figured that they probably took the long way. They had been joking about going past not one, but two girls' houses on their special route. It was 4:25 and I started to get nervous. He was supposed to come right home and work on that homework. I went over to the friend's house where his dad told me that they hadn't seen Grant since 4:05 when they sent him home.
So now you know what starts racing through my mind. Of course there's the panic. The what-if. But I wouldn't let my mind go there. I just figured he must have stopped at a friends house on the way home. I took the route back looking for his tell-tale red bike in the front yard of his 3 possible stops. I went to each house and rang the doorbells. No one was home at any of the three houses. No parents, no kids, no one. I started to get even more nervous. I went to the school. There were lots of kids playing, but no Grant. I drove slowly through the neighborhood. Why couldn't I find that bike?
I'm friends with several police officers and I know the stats. The majority of child abduction cases involve a parental dispute or some other kind of family issue. And think of the times you even hear about those. I tried to think of the odds. But then I also thought about what else could be going on, could Grant be so upset about our changing family environment that he ran away? I called Chris and he told me to call the police.
They came to the house quickly. Took Grant's description and his new school picture. ( I had grumbled about having to spend $60 for school pictures. The cheapest/value package was $20 x 3 kids=expensive, but now totally worth it.) He told me what would happen if they didn't find him in an hour. They told me what would happen if they didn't find him in 4 more hours. By this time, Grant had been not seen for an hour and a half.
I asked him if this happens frequently. And he said, "All the time." Usually kids go over to play at a friend's house and never tell anyone. But this police officer said, "But we never take chances." He hopped back in his patrol car and worked on canvassing the neighborhood.
Some of my neighbors started coming home from work and had noticed the patrol car right outside of our house. And then I see him. Grant riding his bike back to our house. He had stopped at a friend's house, one of the houses that I had stopped by to see if he was there. There had been no bike in the driveway. No one had answered my knock at the door. Somehow he had been squirreled away inside playing video games with two of his buddies.
And I started to think about all of the things we tell our kids to keep them safe. Don't answer the door, if you don't know who is there. These boys had an older brother home, but he must not have seen or recognized me at the front door. Their bikes were all in the garage. (There has been a rash of bike burglaries in our neighborhood. Read my blog post Training Wheels.) They were trying to be safe and at the same time, scared me to death.
Grant is grounded. Big time. And I keep letting him know that I am not angry with him. I was just scared. And he needs to really, really learn a lesson. If you want respect, you have to give it. Independence isn't free, it is earned. Integrity. Trust. Responsibility. All traits that even we as adults struggle with every day. But really, it all boils down to this: Do what you say you are going to do. Be where you say you are going to be. And everything will be all right. (And no one will have to call the police. God bless them.)
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Friday, October 8, 2010
New Chapter
I haven't exactly decided how to tackle this one. I am now starting a new chapter in my life and I haven't decided how to handle it or discuss it or write about it, but write about it I must.
One of my nephews doesn't understand why I talk about all of this personal stuff on my blog. "Why does she want everyone to know her business?" I don't know why. It does seem stupid. Private stuff should be private. Why does anyone feel the need to share feelings and private thoughts for potentially the whole world to see? Because if I didn't write about these things, I would go crazy. If I were an artist, I'd paint. If I were a sculptor, I'd sculpt. If I were a song writer, I'd sing and you better believe I've got the makings of an award-winning, heart-wrenching country song. (Might still work on that one). What I am is a story-teller. I tell stories. I have to. Otherwise my head would explode and (as I have already explained in multiple previous blogs) I don't like to clean. So that is a mess that just can't happen.
My next chapter is that of a single mom. Chris and I have decided to split and all I can say about it, is that it sucks. Everything sucks. I could write about details and pain and blame and hurt and confusion, but it can all be summed up in two words. It sucks. One day, maybe I'll write it all out, and they'll make a movie, and Julia Roberts will play me, and I'll make a gazillion dollars, but that is another day. Right now it sucks.
My parents divorced just before my fifth birthday. And I love both of my parents equally. My mother is there for me on the phone everyday, no matter what I might need. My dad suffers from a certain amount of wanderlust, loves to travel and somehow finds a way to make a pitstop in Lincoln on his way to wherever his Jeep and camera take him. He came here last week to be my shoulder and he will never know how much that means to me.
So I have proof that there is life for kids after divorce, and my own kids are handling things pretty well at this point. They all know that both mom and dad love them very much. That we are still a family, just a different kind of family.
So starts the new chapter. I'm not sure what is next. I know I really need to find a full-time job. I know I'll need to find childcare and someone to watch the dogs. I know I'll need to give extra kisses and hugs and snuggles. I know I'll have to figure out bills and finances and taxes and how to mow the lawn. And yes, I'll have to clean. It sucks, but when you're surrounded by people who love you, you can tackle anything.
One of my nephews doesn't understand why I talk about all of this personal stuff on my blog. "Why does she want everyone to know her business?" I don't know why. It does seem stupid. Private stuff should be private. Why does anyone feel the need to share feelings and private thoughts for potentially the whole world to see? Because if I didn't write about these things, I would go crazy. If I were an artist, I'd paint. If I were a sculptor, I'd sculpt. If I were a song writer, I'd sing and you better believe I've got the makings of an award-winning, heart-wrenching country song. (Might still work on that one). What I am is a story-teller. I tell stories. I have to. Otherwise my head would explode and (as I have already explained in multiple previous blogs) I don't like to clean. So that is a mess that just can't happen.
My next chapter is that of a single mom. Chris and I have decided to split and all I can say about it, is that it sucks. Everything sucks. I could write about details and pain and blame and hurt and confusion, but it can all be summed up in two words. It sucks. One day, maybe I'll write it all out, and they'll make a movie, and Julia Roberts will play me, and I'll make a gazillion dollars, but that is another day. Right now it sucks.
My parents divorced just before my fifth birthday. And I love both of my parents equally. My mother is there for me on the phone everyday, no matter what I might need. My dad suffers from a certain amount of wanderlust, loves to travel and somehow finds a way to make a pitstop in Lincoln on his way to wherever his Jeep and camera take him. He came here last week to be my shoulder and he will never know how much that means to me.
So I have proof that there is life for kids after divorce, and my own kids are handling things pretty well at this point. They all know that both mom and dad love them very much. That we are still a family, just a different kind of family.
So starts the new chapter. I'm not sure what is next. I know I really need to find a full-time job. I know I'll need to find childcare and someone to watch the dogs. I know I'll need to give extra kisses and hugs and snuggles. I know I'll have to figure out bills and finances and taxes and how to mow the lawn. And yes, I'll have to clean. It sucks, but when you're surrounded by people who love you, you can tackle anything.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Training Wheels
The sky was orange the day we let go. I don't know what possessed us to finally take off Spencer's training wheels 15 minutes before a severe thunderstorm was going to hit Lincoln. There was lightning in the western sky, the air was thick with a low-rumbling threat, and, for some reason, we decided it was time to take off the training wheels of our 6-year old's bike that he got from Santa Claus 8 months earlier.
He had been riding like a pro with all of the other kids in the neighborhood, zipping up and down the street, so Chris just got it in his head to take those training wheels off. Dad stood by with his hand on Spencer's back seat to steady it from any inevitable spill. He was ready to run with the newbie and save him from any road rash that might occur, when Spence just took off! Like a bird takes to the sky. Spencer rode his bike like he had been riding it since birth. No stumbles. No wobbles. No crash and burns. Cycling poetry. And then the rain came.
There is a large group of 9-6 year old boys in our neighborhood and they all "ride bike," mostly in the church parking lot across the street. (Sorry, Pastor Kim!) It's really cute how they all hang out, and I can only imagine the trouble that all of these boys are going to be getting into in 5 years. They love their freedom to roam. And all I have to do, if I need to find my boys, is look for the large assortment of bikes strewn across whichever family is lucky to be the "host" for that afternoon.
We live in Lincoln, NE. Not necessarily the safest city in the world, but pretty darn close. It's NEBRASKA for crying out loud. And our neighborhood tends to be pretty safe. At least a lot safer than the neighborhood I grew up in. Kids would come down to the pool over the summer and just leave their bikes on the grass. Kids ride their bikes to school and don't bother locking them. Sometimes I leave the house and don't even bother locking the door. (My hometown friends are shocked, I know!)
The boys were out playing last night. Rather than parking the bikes in the garage, (What happened to my street smarts?) we parked them right up next to the garage, in between the garage and the minivan, right up next to the house. I went to work at MilkWorks at 9:30am and came home at 12:30pm. Bikes still there. I went over to volunteer at the school at 1:40pm. Bikes still there. My Mary Kay co-hort Dana came to pick something up at 2:30pm, two bikes still in formation. We came home from school at 3:45pm. Spencer goes outside at 4:00pm to find....THAT HIS BIKE IS GONE!!!!!
Someone took it. The primary suspect is obviously a kid. One bike stolen=one perpetrator. If it was a group of International Bike Theives casing the joint in their Van of Evil, they probably would have taken both bikes. Which leads me back to the One Perpetrator idea. I could also guestimate that the perp had to have either been a Middle-Schooler (They get out at 3:00pm) or a Catholic School kid. (Out at 3:15-ish. At least, that's about the time that they walk by the house and cause my dogs to go crazy!!!!!)
The perp needed to be fairly brazen. The bike was stolen while positioned in between my minivan and the garage door. I had the blinds up and the house looked occupied. Someone had to have gotten close to the house and nabbed the bike without fear of someone being alerted by the obnoxious barking twosome from inside. (Although, one time a cat popped up and rubbed itself all over our deck. Rosie was, like, a foot away and never woke from her bone-dream slumber. Missed opportunity.)
Spencer cried for an hour after he found out what happened. And it truly broke my heart. Not just because someone took something special that belonged to him, but because he found out that there are people out there who really suck. People who will do really cruddy things to other people. For no good reason.
I tried to decide what to do. Money's tight. I just found out about a fantastic fundraising opportunity the PTA is doing: Cookie Dough-top seller wins a free bike! I know I have a lot of calorie-defiant friends and, with my entreprenueurial know-how, I knew we could win. But then I remembered that we have a popcorn fundraiser for the Boy Scouts and have to sell $600 worth of popcorn, (And yes, I will be calling you) so I changed my priorities.
So I decided to check Craig's List and see what used bikes were out there. I found one for $15 with all kinds of rust on it. I found another used one for $200, which wasn't worth what Santa paid for the original stolen bike. And then I thought to myself....it's not Spencer's fault that his bike got stolen. He is innocent. Why should he ride around someone else's crappy rusty old bike, just because some idiot stole his? Why should he suffer, not only the loss of innocence, but the humiliation of someone's broken hand-me-down just because someone decided to take what wasn't theirs to take.
I went online. Target had bikes for $59.99. We went and found a flashy orange one. Brighter and snazzier than his last one. With a kickstand. Spencer rolled that bike up to the register and I charged it. Debt police, you can come and get me later. Found out the bike was on sale! I saved $10! It was meant to be.
And the best part was that we learned quite the lesson, even though this bike never came with training wheels.
He had been riding like a pro with all of the other kids in the neighborhood, zipping up and down the street, so Chris just got it in his head to take those training wheels off. Dad stood by with his hand on Spencer's back seat to steady it from any inevitable spill. He was ready to run with the newbie and save him from any road rash that might occur, when Spence just took off! Like a bird takes to the sky. Spencer rode his bike like he had been riding it since birth. No stumbles. No wobbles. No crash and burns. Cycling poetry. And then the rain came.
There is a large group of 9-6 year old boys in our neighborhood and they all "ride bike," mostly in the church parking lot across the street. (Sorry, Pastor Kim!) It's really cute how they all hang out, and I can only imagine the trouble that all of these boys are going to be getting into in 5 years. They love their freedom to roam. And all I have to do, if I need to find my boys, is look for the large assortment of bikes strewn across whichever family is lucky to be the "host" for that afternoon.
We live in Lincoln, NE. Not necessarily the safest city in the world, but pretty darn close. It's NEBRASKA for crying out loud. And our neighborhood tends to be pretty safe. At least a lot safer than the neighborhood I grew up in. Kids would come down to the pool over the summer and just leave their bikes on the grass. Kids ride their bikes to school and don't bother locking them. Sometimes I leave the house and don't even bother locking the door. (My hometown friends are shocked, I know!)
The boys were out playing last night. Rather than parking the bikes in the garage, (What happened to my street smarts?) we parked them right up next to the garage, in between the garage and the minivan, right up next to the house. I went to work at MilkWorks at 9:30am and came home at 12:30pm. Bikes still there. I went over to volunteer at the school at 1:40pm. Bikes still there. My Mary Kay co-hort Dana came to pick something up at 2:30pm, two bikes still in formation. We came home from school at 3:45pm. Spencer goes outside at 4:00pm to find....THAT HIS BIKE IS GONE!!!!!
Someone took it. The primary suspect is obviously a kid. One bike stolen=one perpetrator. If it was a group of International Bike Theives casing the joint in their Van of Evil, they probably would have taken both bikes. Which leads me back to the One Perpetrator idea. I could also guestimate that the perp had to have either been a Middle-Schooler (They get out at 3:00pm) or a Catholic School kid. (Out at 3:15-ish. At least, that's about the time that they walk by the house and cause my dogs to go crazy!!!!!)
The perp needed to be fairly brazen. The bike was stolen while positioned in between my minivan and the garage door. I had the blinds up and the house looked occupied. Someone had to have gotten close to the house and nabbed the bike without fear of someone being alerted by the obnoxious barking twosome from inside. (Although, one time a cat popped up and rubbed itself all over our deck. Rosie was, like, a foot away and never woke from her bone-dream slumber. Missed opportunity.)
Spencer cried for an hour after he found out what happened. And it truly broke my heart. Not just because someone took something special that belonged to him, but because he found out that there are people out there who really suck. People who will do really cruddy things to other people. For no good reason.
I tried to decide what to do. Money's tight. I just found out about a fantastic fundraising opportunity the PTA is doing: Cookie Dough-top seller wins a free bike! I know I have a lot of calorie-defiant friends and, with my entreprenueurial know-how, I knew we could win. But then I remembered that we have a popcorn fundraiser for the Boy Scouts and have to sell $600 worth of popcorn, (And yes, I will be calling you) so I changed my priorities.
So I decided to check Craig's List and see what used bikes were out there. I found one for $15 with all kinds of rust on it. I found another used one for $200, which wasn't worth what Santa paid for the original stolen bike. And then I thought to myself....it's not Spencer's fault that his bike got stolen. He is innocent. Why should he ride around someone else's crappy rusty old bike, just because some idiot stole his? Why should he suffer, not only the loss of innocence, but the humiliation of someone's broken hand-me-down just because someone decided to take what wasn't theirs to take.
I went online. Target had bikes for $59.99. We went and found a flashy orange one. Brighter and snazzier than his last one. With a kickstand. Spencer rolled that bike up to the register and I charged it. Debt police, you can come and get me later. Found out the bike was on sale! I saved $10! It was meant to be.
And the best part was that we learned quite the lesson, even though this bike never came with training wheels.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
The Old Lady
Today, I became an old lady. I know 39 is not technically old, but when I told my dad how old I was going to be, he winced. I am officially middle-aged. I could live to 78. But that means half of my life is over. And what the heck did I do with it?
I have to admit to not remembering a whole lot over the past 39 years. Bits and pieces. But when I try to remember specific things, I can't. I wish I could. My 20-year high school reunion was last year and everyone was reminiscing about the "good old days" and all the trouble that we almost got caught for, and I don't remember much. My sister and mom are always remembering the funny, crazy stuff that happened when we were younger and I often find myself in a fog. I just can't remember.
Perhaps I can't remember things, because I am always focused on the present and worrying about the future. I'm a big worrier and I need to stop. If I have learned anything over the past year, is that I have NO CONTROL about what happens in life. No control over my career. No control over my children. No control over what happens from day to day. All I can do is continue to get up every day and try to be as nice as I can to people. Smile and be nice.
I have to admit to not remembering a whole lot over the past 39 years. Bits and pieces. But when I try to remember specific things, I can't. I wish I could. My 20-year high school reunion was last year and everyone was reminiscing about the "good old days" and all the trouble that we almost got caught for, and I don't remember much. My sister and mom are always remembering the funny, crazy stuff that happened when we were younger and I often find myself in a fog. I just can't remember.
Perhaps I can't remember things, because I am always focused on the present and worrying about the future. I'm a big worrier and I need to stop. If I have learned anything over the past year, is that I have NO CONTROL about what happens in life. No control over my career. No control over my children. No control over what happens from day to day. All I can do is continue to get up every day and try to be as nice as I can to people. Smile and be nice.
My birthday has been a combination of disappointments and joys. I got to work at my part-time job today and everyone called me on the phone (from other parts of the office) and wished me a Happy Birthday. A woman named Teresa (who could quite possibly give the famous nun with the same name a run for her money) gave me a birthday card and a vase filled with flowers. I love working with all women! (Which leads me to another question...why are women so much more into birthdays than men? Except for his 21st, you don't really ever hear of a bunch of guys getting together to celebrate some other dude's birthday. At least not without a bunch of tequila shots.)
The kids came home from school and started fighting. (Bad) Chris called and said he was taking me out to dinner. (Good) I had to clean the house-okay, part of it-before the babysitter could come. (Bad) Babysitter doesn't show up, got the wrong time. (Bad) Chris goes and gets takeout from The Oven (Good! I love Indian food.) The kids sing me Happy Birthday and when it comes to the part that goes "Happy Birthday dear....." they sing my real name instead of "Mommy." (Hysterical- I didn't think they knew my real name. I thought they just knew "Mom" and how to whine it from across the house.)
So bring on the next 39 years. Again, I will have no control over what happens. I'll just try to keep being nice to people. And maybe I'll have unexpected flowers, a clean house, a tummy full of spicy comfort food and kids who know my name. Or are at least around to sing me Happy Birthday.
Now, where is the Gingka Biloba?
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Pinkie and Balance
I broke my pinkie toe last Friday night. Which is the stupidest, most ridiculous thing you could do. At least when you break an arm or a leg, you get fussed over. You get to go to the doctor and get x-rays and a cast, and people sign it. You aren't expected to do anything, because you can't do anything.
When you break a pinkie toe, you can still get around. Oh, it hurts, but you can still limp around. I didn't even bother going to the doctor, because it's not like they have a cute pink pinkie toe cast that I could get one or two friends to sign (with really, really small signatures). They would have just looked at it, charged me a couple-a-hundred bucks, and prescribed me some ibuprofen. I diagnosed myself on webmd.com. (Which I am considering for a new career: Webmd-doctor. I'll plug your symptoms in and the computer will spit out your diagnosis at a fraction of the cost of traditional health care.)
So I'm limping all over the place. After I broke the pinkie toe, I stood for 2 hours hosting a Mary Kay Party for my friend Amy. (And amazingly, found the perfect shade of lipstick to match my increasingly purple toe.) Grant had a birthday party with five crazy 8-9 year old boys the next night, and I hobbled down to the pool, so the little miscreants...I mean, angels, could have a fun party. And then Sunday, Mia had her first soccer game of the season. And you know the field needs to be 10 miles away from the parking lot. It's in the official YMCA soccer rules.
You lose a lot of power when you break your pinkie toe. Part of it is because you can only wear flip flops. Of course, I love flip flops, but for a power shoe, you are much better off with a boot or a pump or at least a killer Adidas runner. Part of it is, you can't turn around very fast. A kid would laugh or try to get away with something (smash one of my terra cotta plants, for example or try to give the dog chocolate birthday cake), and my dexterity with a broken pinkie toe was severely diminished. The whole "Mom's got eyes in the back of her head" concept fades quickly when Mom can't whirl around and give the evil eye.
But the power that I lost the most when I broke my pinkie toe, was the power of balance. Believe it or not, that little teeny tiny appendage, that doctors won't even put a cute little teeny tiny cast on, is responsible for your ability to balance. When I was at Mia's soccer game on Sunday, it was gusty. Winds of over 40 miles an hour. (Total exaggeration, but it makes the story better.) I was standing, trying to squint my eyes to the sun and reduce the onslaught of wind-born particulate. I felt myself buffetted by the extremes. An impressively strong gust knock me off my right-footed stronghold. And to the rest of the Y soccer parents, (who, of course, were not paying attention) I totally fell on my butt.
How often are our lives out of balance? We spend too much time at work. There's never enough time for the kids. Marriage? We spend an hour or two on the weekends, maybe. Faith? Finding just an hour on Sundays is a challenge. We are constantly struggling to find balance with all that makes life good. Worth living.
But from what I learned through my broken pinkie toe, that it is sometimes just that little thing that can help you keep the balance. Watching a thunderstorm roll in, with your daughter on your lap. Getting rainbow popcorn as a treat for school, just so your 9-year old can feel like a rock star on his birthday. Taking those training wheels off of your 6-year old's bike because you know he didn't really need them anyway. Having a Facebook "instant message" chat with your husband, even though he's in the next room. Saying a prayer for a friend who's dad just passed away.
Little things, but they keep you from falling over.
When you break a pinkie toe, you can still get around. Oh, it hurts, but you can still limp around. I didn't even bother going to the doctor, because it's not like they have a cute pink pinkie toe cast that I could get one or two friends to sign (with really, really small signatures). They would have just looked at it, charged me a couple-a-hundred bucks, and prescribed me some ibuprofen. I diagnosed myself on webmd.com. (Which I am considering for a new career: Webmd-doctor. I'll plug your symptoms in and the computer will spit out your diagnosis at a fraction of the cost of traditional health care.)
So I'm limping all over the place. After I broke the pinkie toe, I stood for 2 hours hosting a Mary Kay Party for my friend Amy. (And amazingly, found the perfect shade of lipstick to match my increasingly purple toe.) Grant had a birthday party with five crazy 8-9 year old boys the next night, and I hobbled down to the pool, so the little miscreants...I mean, angels, could have a fun party. And then Sunday, Mia had her first soccer game of the season. And you know the field needs to be 10 miles away from the parking lot. It's in the official YMCA soccer rules.
You lose a lot of power when you break your pinkie toe. Part of it is because you can only wear flip flops. Of course, I love flip flops, but for a power shoe, you are much better off with a boot or a pump or at least a killer Adidas runner. Part of it is, you can't turn around very fast. A kid would laugh or try to get away with something (smash one of my terra cotta plants, for example or try to give the dog chocolate birthday cake), and my dexterity with a broken pinkie toe was severely diminished. The whole "Mom's got eyes in the back of her head" concept fades quickly when Mom can't whirl around and give the evil eye.
But the power that I lost the most when I broke my pinkie toe, was the power of balance. Believe it or not, that little teeny tiny appendage, that doctors won't even put a cute little teeny tiny cast on, is responsible for your ability to balance. When I was at Mia's soccer game on Sunday, it was gusty. Winds of over 40 miles an hour. (Total exaggeration, but it makes the story better.) I was standing, trying to squint my eyes to the sun and reduce the onslaught of wind-born particulate. I felt myself buffetted by the extremes. An impressively strong gust knock me off my right-footed stronghold. And to the rest of the Y soccer parents, (who, of course, were not paying attention) I totally fell on my butt.
How often are our lives out of balance? We spend too much time at work. There's never enough time for the kids. Marriage? We spend an hour or two on the weekends, maybe. Faith? Finding just an hour on Sundays is a challenge. We are constantly struggling to find balance with all that makes life good. Worth living.
But from what I learned through my broken pinkie toe, that it is sometimes just that little thing that can help you keep the balance. Watching a thunderstorm roll in, with your daughter on your lap. Getting rainbow popcorn as a treat for school, just so your 9-year old can feel like a rock star on his birthday. Taking those training wheels off of your 6-year old's bike because you know he didn't really need them anyway. Having a Facebook "instant message" chat with your husband, even though he's in the next room. Saying a prayer for a friend who's dad just passed away.
Little things, but they keep you from falling over.
Monday, August 16, 2010
The Call
This unemployment thing is getting old. I have now been without a full-time job since December, the kids will be going back to school on Wednesday and I swore that I thought I would have something by then. The embarrassment of it all kills me. This summer, I could focus on being a partial "stay at home" mom. There's nobility in that. Now that the kids are in school, I'm just staying at home. Kind of lazy, unless I consider the options and the two options are cleaning and cleaning. (Just thinking about it makes me shudder.)
It's been very hard to find a full time job that pays enough for child care. Even with the kids in school, most daycare centers charge almost as much for school-aged kids as they do for the little ones. I suppose this covers the costs of "Early out" days and days off. I do get calls for interviews for jobs that I am over-qualified for and get nothing from anything else. I am applying for 4-8 jobs every week. (I would apply for more, but I am not a registered nurse or a shadow shopper) I am surprised at the jobs that I don't get calls on at all. For one position I applied for, I had two well-connected people send in letters of recommendation for me, I followed up with a phone call after I dropped off my resume, and I STILL didn't get a phone call for an interview. I would be fine with not getting the job, but based on two recommendations, I would have thought I would have been able to get a foot in the door. (Who would want to work for such rude people anyway?)
I do think that a lot of people look at my resume and see RADIO. Well, what else can she do but talk on the radio and play songs and be silly? Well, of course that is what I am good at, but I had the opportunity to work with hundreds of different businesses and charities and help market their messages. Contesting and fundraising and promotion. I know audio production and advertising and from a creative standpoint I'm not just an "out of the box" thinker, I'm a "Hey! It's free! What can we do with the box?" thinker.
So you can imagine how excited I got when I saw a listing on the Nebraska Workforce Development website for an audio production specialist/marketing director. It was a part-time position that could develop into full time. (Great! What's another part-time job?) It didn't pay very well, but I figured "what the heck, if they like me, maybe I could ask for more in a few months." I sent my resume and got a call the next day! I actually got a call!
He wanted to interview me the next day. I still have the kids at home, so I told him it would have to be after school starts on Wednesday. Fine. 2 o'clock. I asked if he had a website, he said that he doesn't, that they are working on one and hope to have one dones soon and if I had any web developement experience, that would be welcome too! And then he told me the address of the office......
In the basement of a building that has an ..... (I'm trying to think of the best way to phrase this) adult pajama store on the first floor. Adult pajamas and accessories. "Hmmmm," I thought to myself. "That's odd. But it is on a hill, maybe the entrance is on the hill and......"
I did some research. And sure enough, this company was the company that owned the ....Adult Pajama and Accessories store! I would be doing audio production and marketing for...an Adult Pajama and Accessories store!!!!!!
I started to think about what if I had never done the research and just walked into the interview. You know how some companies have their products on display in the office, Coca-Cola has logos and posters all over the place, car dealers have mini-models of their vehicles on display? Can you imagine what this office might look like? And I would have just just walked in all dressed in my "Please Hire Me" outfit and made the discovery there. There on the wall, featuring the latest products and accessories! Thank goodness for the internet.
I do feel like I have become a little bit desperate, but a 38-year old mom of three kids can't really bus the kids around from school to soccer practice to Mary Kay party to working at....an Adult Pajama and Accessories Store! Imagine career day at school. My desk at the office, I would have pictures of the kids right next to the latest "product" I needed to showcase. I suppose I would be able to get a discount, which would make shopping for the holidays easier. But all the same, I decided the job wasn't for me.
I called and cancelled the interview. He didn't even ask why. But at least I got the call, so that's something.
It's been very hard to find a full time job that pays enough for child care. Even with the kids in school, most daycare centers charge almost as much for school-aged kids as they do for the little ones. I suppose this covers the costs of "Early out" days and days off. I do get calls for interviews for jobs that I am over-qualified for and get nothing from anything else. I am applying for 4-8 jobs every week. (I would apply for more, but I am not a registered nurse or a shadow shopper) I am surprised at the jobs that I don't get calls on at all. For one position I applied for, I had two well-connected people send in letters of recommendation for me, I followed up with a phone call after I dropped off my resume, and I STILL didn't get a phone call for an interview. I would be fine with not getting the job, but based on two recommendations, I would have thought I would have been able to get a foot in the door. (Who would want to work for such rude people anyway?)
I do think that a lot of people look at my resume and see RADIO. Well, what else can she do but talk on the radio and play songs and be silly? Well, of course that is what I am good at, but I had the opportunity to work with hundreds of different businesses and charities and help market their messages. Contesting and fundraising and promotion. I know audio production and advertising and from a creative standpoint I'm not just an "out of the box" thinker, I'm a "Hey! It's free! What can we do with the box?" thinker.
So you can imagine how excited I got when I saw a listing on the Nebraska Workforce Development website for an audio production specialist/marketing director. It was a part-time position that could develop into full time. (Great! What's another part-time job?) It didn't pay very well, but I figured "what the heck, if they like me, maybe I could ask for more in a few months." I sent my resume and got a call the next day! I actually got a call!
He wanted to interview me the next day. I still have the kids at home, so I told him it would have to be after school starts on Wednesday. Fine. 2 o'clock. I asked if he had a website, he said that he doesn't, that they are working on one and hope to have one dones soon and if I had any web developement experience, that would be welcome too! And then he told me the address of the office......
In the basement of a building that has an ..... (I'm trying to think of the best way to phrase this) adult pajama store on the first floor. Adult pajamas and accessories. "Hmmmm," I thought to myself. "That's odd. But it is on a hill, maybe the entrance is on the hill and......"
I did some research. And sure enough, this company was the company that owned the ....Adult Pajama and Accessories store! I would be doing audio production and marketing for...an Adult Pajama and Accessories store!!!!!!
I started to think about what if I had never done the research and just walked into the interview. You know how some companies have their products on display in the office, Coca-Cola has logos and posters all over the place, car dealers have mini-models of their vehicles on display? Can you imagine what this office might look like? And I would have just just walked in all dressed in my "Please Hire Me" outfit and made the discovery there. There on the wall, featuring the latest products and accessories! Thank goodness for the internet.
I do feel like I have become a little bit desperate, but a 38-year old mom of three kids can't really bus the kids around from school to soccer practice to Mary Kay party to working at....an Adult Pajama and Accessories Store! Imagine career day at school. My desk at the office, I would have pictures of the kids right next to the latest "product" I needed to showcase. I suppose I would be able to get a discount, which would make shopping for the holidays easier. But all the same, I decided the job wasn't for me.
I called and cancelled the interview. He didn't even ask why. But at least I got the call, so that's something.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Morgan Freeman
One of the best money-saving (and co-incidentally time-saving) tips that I can give anyone is to get rid of your cable television. It was one of the first things that we cut when I lost the job, and we haven't missed it at all. The kids have been having a ball playing with one another, playing video games and watching a show here or there on the computer. I can get stuff done at night and we are just freed up to live.
We have been going to the Redbox to rent movies though. If you haven't used the Redbox yet, you probably will soon. These little vending machines are popping up all over taking the place of traditional video stores. (By the way, the best job I ever had was at Take 2 Video in Fargo, ND. Just walking around and helping people pick out movies. Old school, but I loved it!) It's only a dollar a night to rent a movie, the only catch is that you can only rent what is in the machine at that time. So if you pull up hoping to rent the most popular movie out at that time, you may be severely out of luck.
Its hot again in Lincoln, so Mia (my 5-year old) and I decide to get some shakes from Sonic and then I decide to rent a movie for after the kids are in bed. I am not in the mood for a fluffy romantic comedy, all nauseatingly sweet with impossibly happy endings. (Seriously, as women, are we only supposed to fall for the guys that disgust us?) I am not in the mood for an action movie or a gore fest. (For some reason, I can't watch any horror movies since I have become a mother. Protective instinct or something, but I can't stomach them). So I chose Invictus-with Morgan Freeman. I still haven't even watched the movie yet, but I had a basic idea because I saw the previews.
Mia is fascinated with my movie choice. "Is it not for kids, Mom?"
"No, it's a movie for grown-ups, honey," I say
"Is it violent with lots and lots of blood?" She wonders.
"I don't know. I don't think so." I say, not really knowing. But I know that most Morgan Freeman movies aren't really the explosion, possessed killer dolls hell-bent on revenge types.
"Are there lots of bad words?" She quizzes.
"There might be a few," I answer. But I know that Morgan Freeman is playing Nelson Mandela in this movie, and it wasn't directed by Quentin Tarantino, so I felt pretty okay that there wouldn't be too much swearing.
"Well why is it only for grown-ups then?" she asks me.
"Well it's a drama, sweetie, and dramas can get pretty serious," I tell her.
She pauses for a moment to process and asks, "Like if a monster seriously wants to bite someone's head off? Seriously?"
"Yes, sweetie. That's it."
I love Morgan Freeman. (And not just because he used to be on the Electric Company.)
We have been going to the Redbox to rent movies though. If you haven't used the Redbox yet, you probably will soon. These little vending machines are popping up all over taking the place of traditional video stores. (By the way, the best job I ever had was at Take 2 Video in Fargo, ND. Just walking around and helping people pick out movies. Old school, but I loved it!) It's only a dollar a night to rent a movie, the only catch is that you can only rent what is in the machine at that time. So if you pull up hoping to rent the most popular movie out at that time, you may be severely out of luck.
Its hot again in Lincoln, so Mia (my 5-year old) and I decide to get some shakes from Sonic and then I decide to rent a movie for after the kids are in bed. I am not in the mood for a fluffy romantic comedy, all nauseatingly sweet with impossibly happy endings. (Seriously, as women, are we only supposed to fall for the guys that disgust us?) I am not in the mood for an action movie or a gore fest. (For some reason, I can't watch any horror movies since I have become a mother. Protective instinct or something, but I can't stomach them). So I chose Invictus-with Morgan Freeman. I still haven't even watched the movie yet, but I had a basic idea because I saw the previews.
Mia is fascinated with my movie choice. "Is it not for kids, Mom?"
"No, it's a movie for grown-ups, honey," I say
"Is it violent with lots and lots of blood?" She wonders.
"I don't know. I don't think so." I say, not really knowing. But I know that most Morgan Freeman movies aren't really the explosion, possessed killer dolls hell-bent on revenge types.
"Are there lots of bad words?" She quizzes.
"There might be a few," I answer. But I know that Morgan Freeman is playing Nelson Mandela in this movie, and it wasn't directed by Quentin Tarantino, so I felt pretty okay that there wouldn't be too much swearing.
"Well why is it only for grown-ups then?" she asks me.
"Well it's a drama, sweetie, and dramas can get pretty serious," I tell her.
She pauses for a moment to process and asks, "Like if a monster seriously wants to bite someone's head off? Seriously?"
"Yes, sweetie. That's it."
I love Morgan Freeman. (And not just because he used to be on the Electric Company.)
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