Archive for March, 2011

So here we are, T-minus four days and several assorted hours.  Spring break. 

Ordinarily I am not one to hie south for spring breakery, but since my parents want to visit relatives and I don’t feel safe in letting them (read: my mother) drive themselves, and an absence from this town and Spawn’s life for a week would be impossible to say the least — I am taking the ‘rents and the kid and we are headed south during school spring break. 

This is a two-day trip by car. 

Through spring break traffic. 

With a one-eyed man, a nervous nelly, and a chatterbox. 

And my sweet, sweet bottle of Lorazepam. 

I did this trip once before, a couple of years ago, and I’m here to tell you, two days on the road like that and I’m ready for a long walk on a short pier.  Or at least a really strong drink. 

I don’t relish this plan, is what I’m saying. 

Oh, I tried to get my parents to fly down.  Seems they only want to fly somewhere that would be impossible to drive to, like Hawaii. 

Still, the notion of a little bit of sand between my toes and some of my lovely, lovely book sale finds in my bag is propelling me forward.  I could use the break, and the change of scenery. 

Wonder what they’d do if I just dropped them off and kept going until I met the end of US Hwy 1. 

— Mox

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Remains to be seen.

I am of two minds about my interview the other day. 

One mind, the logical one, is telling me that I need to want this very badly, since a) this is a job with a 50-year-old company that for all intents and purposes will be around another 50 years and b) it pays. 

The other mind, the “yes, but” mind, is telling me, “meh.” 

Which of course is not to say that either of my minds is 100% right on the subject, only that I feel pulled and a little dubious.  I mean, things on the surface look good, with what appears to be a pretty toothy assignment, 40 hour workweek, benefits, etc.  Literally two minutes from my house.  So yeah, there are the positives.  However, they were asking me about some abilities and qualifications that I just don’t have… y’know, things like graphic design and photography, which are functions that I have no real experience with.  ‘Twould appear that they need an all-in-one person, who can not only provide the social media content but also pull an eight-page catalog out of their elbow. 

Alas, this person is not me. 

How important this sort of stuff is to them, really, I have no way of knowing.  It may just be a wish list for all I know. 

And really, honestly, truthfully…. a 40 hour week?  I haven’t worked a 40 hour week in ten years.  There’s a little thing called “work-life balance” that I feel would be woefully out of whack with this job.  Not that I have an aversion to hard work — God knows motherhood is hard work — I am concerned that my priorities will have to be redrawn and quite frankly currently my priorities are not out of whack as far as I can tell. 

I suppose it would be different if I had a husband who could/would be more available.  Or, you know, if I were doing the single mom gig the priorities would be way different anyway. 

After I left the interview I hied on downtown to apply for another position, which would be part-time and also would be paid.  Since it’s a public position there’s a certain amount of uncomfortability that I would have to deal with, being that I am not a public person. 

~sigh~  I just don’t know. 

I’m trying to not invest a lot of energy worrying about either one, since in the end things will work out as they are meant to. 

— Mox

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I have a job interview. 

To say that I am terrified would be an understatement.  All these lovely platitudes that everyone has been murmuring to me about “just relax” and “be yourself” really have no bearing on the quaking that is going on in my shoes right now.  It’s the flight or fight response. 

I’m of two minds about this.  One, that I really do need to move on from what I am doing before it’s too late.  And Two, that I really don’t want to. 

Logic dictates that I get off my arse and do this.  Of course, I am not at all hot to work a 40 hour week again, since I haven’t really worked a steady 40 hours over the course of 7 days in, oh, ten years.  But in Podunk, it is what it is.  And what it is, is a 40 hour workweek.  Considering that I have been averaging about 16-18 hours a week, reentry will be painful. 

I think I worry more about being able to balance the rest of my life against a full-time job than I do about the actual responsibilities of the position. 

Perhaps I am getting the cart before the horse.  That’s one of my talents.

My current plan is to hit the gym tomorrow morning and try to blow off some of the edginess, come home and take a shower, and present myself on time, if not a bit before.  Have a couple of extra copies of my resume, a sheet of references, and some questions at hand. 

Heaven help me. 

— Mox

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Get your read on.

This is a fraction of the books for sale at our school’s used book sale this weekend.  The camera on my phone doesn’t have a wide-angle option, so you’ll just have to take my word for it. 

I have spent three weeks working on this sale.  It is by far my favorite thing to donate my time to on behalf of the school.  Sure, there are moms (and a few dads) out there who volunteer at the school so much they have a laminated ID card instead of a smiley-face visitors sticker, but I get all my volunteer hours in during the weeks leading up to the sale.  That, and I get first look at all those books.  I brought home two boxes this year. 

I told my husband as I came in last night with a box full — “Just send me and this box somewhere warm and beachy and I’ll be a happy camper.”  Really, my idea of a perfect vacation is a box of books and a beach umbrella.  Wish my husband would hurry up and win the lottery. 

By the actual sale, I am officially done.  I choose not to work the public sale because that would mean me having to cashier, and let’s just say there is a reason I was an English major in college.  Me and numbers?  Not friends. 

— Mox

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I remember quite clearly the first time the term “Ma’am” was directed at me. 

I was very much still a “Miss” but I was working in a jewelry store, and the (younger) girlfriend of my (younger) ex-boyfriend came in.  I, being the consummate professional (as only a 19-year-old can be) waited on her with the same politeness I gave to all the people I waited on, and in the course of my duties asked her a yes/no question, to which she replied,  “Oh, no, Ma’am.” 

At 19 I was still much too young for anyone to call me Ma’am.  Obviously. 

(Sidebar:  did dating a underclassman in high school make me something of a cougar?) 

I remember being taken aback by being called “Ma’am” by this snot-nosed high-schooler.  I’m sure I didn’t cover well.  I know I fumed to my coworkers after she left.  A “Ma’am”?  Me?  What? 

They say your first is memorable. 

I don’t know how many times I have been called “ma’am” since that day, but I’m guessing it’s plenty.  I mean, I’m an old married lady now, and “Ma’am” is part of the territory.  I don’t even notice it.  Much. 

The only time I really hear it is when Spawn says it.  Between Catholic school and taekwondo, they drill the “Ma’am” and “Sir” into kids pretty good.  And every time Spawn responds to me with a “Yes, Ma’am,” I think, “damn right.” 

— Mox

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A quick snapshot from the swirling chaos that is currently my life: 

Amigos at the altar

Yesterday was Spanish Mass day for the entire 4th grade.  What fun!  After Mass we had a fiesta in the parish hall, complete with tamales and dancing lessons.  It took up half the morning and the kids had a most excellent time. 

And then I went and put in some quality volunteer hours sorting books for the school’s upcoming used book sale.  Which is my most favorite thing during the school year.  Because I come home with a box full of books every time. 

And today I am literally running on the fumes of a large coke, because I am totally wiped out from a) not sleeping well, and b) hefting many hundreds of pounds of books.  And also, I am planning on giving up cokes for Lent.  So, carpe cola, or whatever. 

And that, dear reader, is all the news that’s fit to print right now. 

— Mox

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