Don't I Wish

Writer's Note: This post deals with my new job with the Georgia Mafia family business. At said business, my mom is the Administrative Assistant and answers the phones. Sometimes, I wish she didn't have a filter. You can guess which part of this conversation is fake, cause I ain't tellin' you jack.

Mom: Hello?

JW: Yes. My name is John Whatshisnads and I'm calling to speak with Heather Doofus.

Mom: Heather Doofus isn't in right now. Would you like to leave a message?

JW: Yeah. I'm following up with her regarding my job application for the position of fluffer*. I have a question. Is there actually a Heather Doofus at your company?

Mom: 'Scuse me?

JW: Because I've listened to your company telephone directory and Heather Doofus isn't listed. Does she even exist?

Mom: Does Heather Doofus exist? Let's see. Does she exist. Well, at around 4PM on February 5th back in 1972, I went into labor. My husband took me to the hospital and I stayed up all night. In labor. LOTS of pain. Not happy and nothing happened. My water broke but my cervix refused to dilate. So at about 5 AM, the head nurse walked in and said, 'Well missy! Let's get you going so you won't need a C-section!' At the critical moment, we realized that Heather Doofus, the person you don't think exists, was coming out of my vagina BUTT FIRST! Yes, this nonexistent person was folded in half, trying to squeeze her way out of my body. And I refused a saddle block and ether because I didn't want to be sick. I was all about the hardcore-no drugs thing. Finally, at 8:35 AM on February 6th, Heather Doofus was born. All 8 pounds and 14 ounces of her. Folded up. Pushed out of my vajay-jay. So, Yes, she exists.**

JW: *Click*

*OMG. Seriously. We're not a porn company. I swear.

**Yes. Mom is still employed.

Missing In Action

OR

WHY IT TOOK AN "ARE YOU OK?" EMAIL FROM ADAM TO GET ME TO POST

Yeah. Life around here? Crazy.

I'm a fairly busy person (Hello? SAHM of three on line four? Yeah, you sound a bit frazzled. HEY! LADY! PUT DOWN THE CHOCOLATE ICING AND NO ONE WILL GET HURT! Geez. Somebody call the cops.) and what do fairly busy people do when they're, you know, fairly busy?

Well, yeah, nap. DUH. What else?

Said people take on a job.

No kidding.

Do you remember that proposal the Ty-man had to write? The proposal that took over two months and much gnashing of teeth? Yeah. We should be hearing from the customer aaaaaaany second now. What's interesting about this contract is that if and when (Must. Think. Positive!) we are awarded it, we have to be able to hit the ground running with twelve new employees. These people have to be hired with the knowledge that, yeah, this is a six year contract (Woo hoo!) that we don't yet have and if we don't get it (Grrrr...), well hey, you got paid for two whole weeks, what's your beef?

Fun.

Ty-man came home from work two weeks ago fuming. It's gonna cost me $90,000 for a head-hunting service to post these jobs and pre-screen the applicants! And what if we don't get the contract?!? That $90,000 our company wouldn't have to spare!

I blinked a few times and half-jokingly noted, Heh. I work for cheap. Pay me Montessori pre-school tuition for three kids and I'm your Girl Friday!

Ty-man took that half-joking statement, slept on it, and hired me.

Wow. It does pay to be cheap.

So, not to worry. I didn't run off to Bonaire (yet) or get arrested (yet). I'm just a working girl with not much time on her hands. And the moral of this story?

Don't work for cheap unless you're bored. Or insane.

Ba-dum-dum-cccchhhhhhh!

Hey, Ty-man? About that raise...

Scarce

As you may have noticed, my posts around here have been a bit scarce as of late. As have comments from me on many of your blogs.

It's because I'm a single mother.

Now, before all of you get your panties in a wad, my Facebook status still lists me as Married and the Ty-man and I are still nuptially bound and in love, but he is scarce around our home. Without going into specifics, Ty-man's company has 35 days to write a detailed proposal for their main customer. Said proposal will be long, in-depth, and it will take just about every waking hour of said 35 days to write. The proposal is due back to the customer on January 5th and if the customer chooses another company over us? Let's just say that would be bad. Really bad. So, between now and then, we're more like roommates than husband and wife. He kisses me and the kids, catches some shut-eye, and that's it. My partner in crime is not accessible and I'm not sure how to deal with it. The sharing of our days, hugs, laughter, all of it, is on hold. And that drives me nuts.

I honestly don't know how single parents do it. It's not just the madness of toddlers and the fatigue that brings you down, it's also not having that other half to depend on, bounce ideas off of, whine at for no reason. I find myself dragging through each day, not knowing how I'm going to finish it. I'm sleeping like the dead each night and napping through the afternoons with the kids. Is it because being a full-time parent is wearing me out? Is it depression? Is it that I just want to sleep through December and get to January 5th ASAP? I don't know. I just know that I'm barely making it.

I can't even come up with decent blog ideas. I stare at the screen and all that comes to mind is the dirty dishes or the Christmas cards to be sent or the broken toilet that needs to be replaced or the minivan that needs an oil change and 30,000 mile service or... well, you get the idea. Blogging is my emotional outlet and when I can't even muster the emotion required to write a post that is readable and doesn't embarrass me with its poor subject matter? Well, then something is definitely wrong.

I'm going to be scarce and I hate it. I'll be here, but I'll be watching, quietly. I'm conserving my energy for when the Ty-man is back. Mentally and physically.

First Days

The twins started back to Montessori pre-school on Monday. This year was nothing like last year. No struggling to put on shoes. No waving of arms. Minimal chaos. No tears. Just lots of excitement because we're all old pros at this. Good Lord, you'd think they were starting their first semester at M.I.T. Oh, wait, with that whole time relativity thing, that will be next month. Never mind.


Aren't they just the cutest? Fine, I am biased, no need to remind me. Even J-man got in on the action with a lunch box and backpack of his own. I figured I might as well break him in early since he starts the whole school shebang in January.

Monday was a first day for me as well. It was my first day in years, YEARS I tell you, to drive up to an office building, talk to an HR rep (Who, by the way, looked like Willem Dafoe's twin brother from another mother. Seriously. I was waiting for him to chuck a pumpkin bomb at me. I kept flinching throughout our meeting.), fill out tax forms (Pssst! Ty-man! I haven't filled out a W-4 in... well, ages! What do I do! Hello? Hello, Ty-man?), get a tour of a company where people actually sit at computers and, you know, work (Yep. That's a cube farm. Yep, those employees are prairie dogging. Ah, memories.), and meet my boss (My boss is my sorority sister/college roommate. Nepotism? Technically, no.). It was surreal. Even though I'll be doing this Social Media Blogger gig from home, I went through the motions of Welcome aboard! Glad you're here! Girl, don't even eat poppy seed bagels for the next couple of months because we may make you randomly pee in a cup, thus causing you to positively test for opiates, even if it was opiates with cream cheese, in which case we'll chuck you outta this place. Head first. It's so great having you as part of our team! I drove home with a spinning head.

And then, it happened. It being a picture for my ID badge. An ID badge I'll probably never use except for dart target practice, because oh. my. GAWD! Will you look at that train wreck?



There it is. Right there. Proof that I was a butt-first baby. My whole face is crooked, people! My left eye is higher than my right and what's with said left eye being all droopy?!? Mr. Dafoe probably thought I was getting a head start on the opiate thing. No wonder he smirked when he said, What a great photo! Must remember to un-alphabetize all his files, pumpkin bombs be damned.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm not a big advocate of change. In fact, I fear it. Even if it would do me some good, change generally makes me grumble like Old Mr. Schneider pissing and moaning about the teenagers down the street. Every time change occurs in my life, I wonder if I'll manage it, will I be good enough, will I live up to the expectations of others (which, I know I shouldn't care about but I just do anyway , thankyouverymuch), and will I come out the other side better? Or worse?

I'll let you know.