Seven days working. Methinks that merits a chip or a ribbon or a DRANK. And I've only cried once. A day. Almost every time in the car.
I have to say, the people in my circle of hell are pretty pleasant, and the work itself seems to be fairly low stress, so far, anyway. The cast of characters is all there - The Busybody. The Mother Hen. The Weirdo. The Gunner. The (Barely) Closeted Gay Guy. So that's somewhat entertaining. But The Day? She passes sooooo slowly. I'm watching the clock and thinking of where Peach and Olive are at every moment. For now, the amazing Mama Turista has swooped in to handle afterschool fun and activities three days a week, and T-Bone is taking the other two. Once we all get properly transitioned (if ever), we'll look into hiring someone OR, thanks to my lottery winnings, I'll take the reins back myself. Whichever.
One funny lawyer story: A friend took her tweenage daughter to court with her one day, and the daughter was telling her grandmother about what she saw, including a very strangely dressed woman she described as "bad" (like scary bad). For whatever(!) reason, the grandmother said, "Well, was she a prostitute?" And the daughter said, "No. No, my mom was the only prostitute in the courtroom." And then she said, "It's prosecutor, isn't it?"
But when I have things like this to spur me on, I know I can make it: Last night, Olive fell asleep on the way home from an impromptu dinner with my BIL and his bunch. As I was carrying her grogginess up to bed, I was whispering, "Let's go get in your bed, my love. My sweet love." etc.. When I put her down, she rolled over and whispered, "My mommy. My gift."
I swear the child is a walking, talking Disney princess.
It's off to Hell I go. Tomorrow is my first day of work in over eight years. Well, not counting the four and a half years I worked from home for LawNerds. When I quit working to stay home with Peach, she was five months old. She'll be nine years old in December. That's how huge this is for me. For all of us. Granted, Peach and Olive are both happily ensconced in school everyday, but for the first time ever, I'm not going to be here when they get home. And I'm not going to be the one watching their dance classes or taking them to the dentist tomorrow, which just so happens to be the first appointment Olive's had since her procedure in July, so that should be fun.
I always planned on going back to work, and I've been trying to prepare myself for months. But the closer it got, the more things I wanted to make sure to get done before I didn't have the time, and the more I felt like I was preparing to not be here be here. Dramatic, I know, but I'm a Leo, so I'm wired that way. I'm just really sad that a most precious time in my life is over, even though I'm sure there are many more happy days to come, if not between 8 and 6, M-F. I'm so thankful I've had a front row seat to The Peach and Olive Show for this long, but I hate that it's all gone by so fast. And THEN, I have to go and turn 40, on top of jumping headfirst back into the World of Law, a place I didn't really enjoy all that much the last time I visited. What in the fuck am I thinking.
I would love to have a job that was creative and/or helped people and/or made a difference in the world. I would love to work part-time and interfere with my children's routines as little as possible. I would love to work with like-minded people, with families and lives that I could relate to. The Job I'm starting tomorrow is none of those things. Not ONE. The Job I'm starting tomorrow is Gubment Paper Pusher of the First Order, with an agency I interviewed with right out of law school and lost the job to a young upstart with the initials T. Bone. The agency is huge, my office is in a GD ratmaze of a building, and I am the youngest person in my section, by a lot. The Job is full time, balls out, no exceptions, and it is so UNcreative, I was told by my new boss that it borders on being mind-numbingly boring. The Job couldn't be any further from what I want my job to be.
Except that The Job does have a paycheck. A fairly nice paycheck, but not by private sector standards, I'm sure. The Job has great benefits and crazy, made-up holidays like Confederate Heroes Day and LBJ's birthday. And The Job is (hopefully) a springboard to the job I really want, which, when I figure out what that is, I'll let you know.
And for those of you wondering how Abuelita Turista weathered the storm, she's fine and now at my cousin's house, which miraculously has power. She lost some trees, as did both my aunts, who also have houses on the same property, but we are so thankful that the bayou 200 yards from her house didn't get the storm surge they were expecting. As hard-headed as she is, even she admitted that it was bad and unlike any other storm she had been through. And she knows from storms. Maybe, at 90, she's learned a lesson and will get the heck outta Dodge next time, but somehow, I doubt it.
Bless your heart. I know I've neglected you these past two weeks, and for that, I do apologize. But the truth is, I've had so much going on, the majority of which I feel pretty ambivalent about, that didn't want to just unload on you. Until now. Kidding. The main thing stuck in my craw is this whole Going Back to Work for the First Time in Eight Years Thing, but there's been good stuff happening to. Which would you prefer? Thought so.
The new school year has gotten off to a wonderful start, with both Peach and Olive thoroughly enjoying their classes. Olive's teacher has said several times already how "eager" Olive is to get new lessons every day and that she moved right into the classroom like she'd always been there. Peach was thrilled to find out that all 3rd through 6th graders will be taking guitar once a week this year, so she and T-Bone scoured the Internets for the perfect 3/4 size classical guitar, which should be arriving momentarily. The girlies have both also settled into their new dance classes, and I think Peach is really hep to do (gulp) The Nutcracker again this year. Lord, deliver me. Actually, it would be with a different, much closer studio than last year, and without all the required fundraising and volunteering bullshit. So we'll see.
In other news, I am healed! Almost! With a pretty gnarly scar on the bottom of my foot, but still! I ended up taking out the GD stitches myself because it was either that or just cut my entire leg off. A couple of days later, I threw down the crutches and have been slowly but surely putting more and more weight on my bum foot. Of course, I have plenty of weight to go, but baby steps, ya know. Literally.
Last week, I spent 45 minutes at the framing counter at Michael's, where the New Girl tried to write up my very simple order but the computers weren't working and the manager was having car trouble and the other manager was on maternity leave and it must have been the coupon that freaked the computer out and can't anybody else in the GD store pick up a friggin' page already? Finally, some 15 year old got the order put in, but I'm really not feeling to confident about the final product. Who the hell knows how it's going to turn out.
The next day, I spent an hour at the Driver's License Office renewing my GD license, which expired on my birthday because that's how effing OLD I am. Yes, I know you can renew online, but I had to show proof of my SS#, probably because they think I'm eligible already, so I joined the masses in the Coldest GD Waiting Room on Earth, which was actually pretty comforting when I considered how many germs were probably dying at that temperature. Such a nasty place. When my number was finally called, I was waited on by absolutely the Most Bitter Government Employee in the History of the World. Really, truly. I'd put my guy up against ANYBODY you got, and he would scare the everloving shit out of them. I called T-Bone afterwards, and I told him that if that building ever goes up in flames or a disgruntled employee ever goes off his nut and shoots up the place, I would TOTALLY know who did it. The only upside to the whole experience was a commercial I saw on the requisite TV set to close-captioning in the waiting room. The captions are on a bit of a delay, so they don't always match up with what's on screen, which annoyed the crap out of me. That is, until I saw a McCain ad followed by a Macy's sale ad. Right when the Macy's Girls were modeling some of their lovely bras and underwears, the caption above them read, "I'm John McCain. And I approved this ad." Yeah, he did.