The Flu: It's a good thing

Yesterday I was vertical and productive for 9 whole hours. Today, I feel about 80% myself. I think I'm on the mend, and Sons #1 and 3 seem to be improving, and Hubby and Sons #2 and 4 may have dodged this particular infestation entirely. So, that is good.

What is better, though, is that I have been in bed, pretty well unable to do anything but blow my nose and wait for the angel of death.

I realized a few things.

The positions I have NOT been offered have each had some pretty serious flaws to them--flaws which I was not able to see, for the most part, until after I did not get the offer. Not in a sour grapes sort of way, more like the Dude: "I've got information, man..."

So, maybe, on the career tip, things are working out better than I'd been crediting.

Also, while I have been sick, the family has been taking care of things. That means a lot. Hubby and the Sons have been taking my bout with the flu seriously, and stepping up a bit, and I appreciate it.

And now, I think I am getting back in bed until the Sears man calls.

The "So This Is It, We're Going to Die" Calendar

We live within 10 miles of a nuclear power plant. That is not really important, most of the time, excepting the following occasions:

Noon, the first Monday of the month: the holycrap alarm sounds. Don't worry, they're just messin' with ya.

Since 9/11, about every 4 years (I think) we get iodine pills to protect our thyroid, should the holycrap alarm sound when it is NOT the first Monday of the month, at noon.

And just before Christmas, we get the Public Emergency Response Information Calendar. It's full of helpful hints for what to do in the case of a nuclear power plant-related emergency.

I just call it, "So this is it, we're going to die."

Because not only do we live within 10 miles of a nuclear power plant, we also live on a peninsula with one main road in and out. Should things go to crap, our Calendar suggests we get on the road and head south. But you know what? Everyone else got the Calendar, too. They'll ALL be going south. On the same road. At the same time. With, presumably, iodide pills in their system.

Mom says we should head north, instead, towards her. Every once in a while I explain to her that that would require we drive TOWARDS and PAST the nuclear power plant. And ain't no way I am doing that. Can't blame Mom for thinking even a major nuclear event is reason for us to bring the Grandkids up, I guess.

Eh, in the words of my grandfather, when you're number's up, you're number's up.

On the up side, now I don't need to buy a 2010 calendar.

A Personal Day, and some recommendations for your leisure time

I was discussing, yesterday, with 2 friends who are also looking for work, how the search can become all-consuming.

You find yourself thinking, "I can't take a shower, I need to apply for this job!"

"I don't have time to go to the gym, I need to revamp my resume!"

It is crazy-making, but feels totally logical from the inside, even though in your mind you know the problem is that you have no job.

No job, right? That should mean you have MORE time, not less. But as it is, ya don't.

So, today, I took a Personal Day.

I did not clean up anyone else's messes (although I did put my OWN stuff away). I applied for a few jobs, and then I did the only thing that will keep me from completely losing myself in job hunting and scut: I left the house.

Thomas Sowell's Basic Economics and I spent a big chunk of the day in front of a fireplace at a local restaurant. It's a great book, by the way, if you haven't read it yet.

I came home, did a little more job hunty stuff, and then took a walk around the neighborhood. Here are a few shots of the current state of Fall Color in the Happy Boondocks.

In other news: Hubby is at a band audition, and Son #1 is at band practice: he is now the single white member of a 16-member Christian Go-Go band. The music itself is not exactly his thing, but he's happy to be playing, and to be wanted. He just finished reading the graphic novel version of I Am Legend. He loved it and recommended it to me.

Son #2 has to have his wisdom teeth removed. He is reading Desperation, and so fits "I am going to kill you" into most everyday conversations. Between that and his eternal trench coat, the boy is bucking to get expelled. But he's a sweetheart.

Son #3 is still fascinated by mythology. "You know, Mom, you might have liked Odysseus. He was kind of an engineer. Or, at least, he knew how to build ships." This is the kind of thing he says, while eating dinner. He just finished Of Mice & Men, and I think he loved it almost as much as I do.

And Son #4 came home happy, for once: his Suspense Story was applauded by his entire English class. Hubby and I enjoyed it, too. He recommended The Skin I'm In, by Sharon Flake, and I agree: the dialog is well written.

On the cinematic front, Hubby and I finally got around to watching The Kite Runner. Enjoyed it, although I chose not to watch one particular scene. And Son #2 encourages all to see Paranormal Activities. So, you know, go do that.

Lotsa hunty, not so much gathery

Yes, I am still devoting my every waking moment (and plenty of my sleep time) to the job hunt. It is humbling.

On the bright side, several of my friends have been very reassuring--they remind me that LOTS of people are looking for work, and that I live in a kind of one-industry town at the end of a quiet peninsula, and that I have spent the past 18 years raising children instead of fostering business contacts, and that my part-time, freelance experiences really DO have some value outside of my own head, and that I will not be looking for work forEVER--my job is out there, I just need to find it, or create it. And I will.

Friends are telling me about jobs they think I might be well-suited for. They're handing out my resume. They're encouraging me to keep writing. One even put out a call on Facebook last night, so HER friends are contacting me with questions and advice.

It's not a job, but it is support from a broad and loving community. And for that I am grateful, today.

My "best" career match

I've been searching for FT work since May. No dice. But most days I dive back into it for at least a couple hours, and most of the time I can keep a fairly upbeat attitude about the whole thing.

Today I got an email from one of the job search sites I frequent. They give me "best job matches" to pursue.

Today's best job for me? Manager of Sales, for some outfit in Boulder, Colorado.

So I guess I just need to hop on that plane today, huh?

That, or breathe into a paper bag.

So, What Do You Do, With All That Extra Time?

That is, apparently, the phrase that pays, this week. Because all 4 kids are in school, all day, for the first time ever.

I have stopped freaking out about it, which is good. Sons #3 and 4 have classes they like and classes they don't and #4 has even befriended someone he described as "the only girl in the entire building who does not curse." Clearly, she is a saint among middle-schoolers. Son #3 has already decided he wants to take German classes over the summer, so he does not lose what he's learning. Initiative, man, he's got it.

Son #2 is settled in, I think, although he tends to brush off most inquiries.

And Son #1 has collected 7 girls' phone numbers, so far. I remind him, on occasion, that he also has some school work he should fit in, while he's there. And he says he'll get to that. Probably. At some point.

As for me? I am carving out a schedule of sorts. Mainly that means I am taking care of stuff around here and searching for work, sending out my resume and making plans to do some more serious writing at some point. I've also managed to go out to lunch with Hubby twice (he is cramming in the Thai food) and get back into yoga, a little, because I need something to counterbalance the cycling class.

And after about 2:30, I am helping w/homework, printing stuff out, and signing rafts of pointless paperwork for the school, while making dinner and absorbing Teen Drama.

Don't get me wrong, I am grateful for the Teen Drama. It is good to have a front row seat on our Sons growing up into strong, young men.

Today, I am pinned to the house until Fedex arrives. Which probably means I'll get a lot done around here.

And yes, for those who are wondering, yesterday I did find myself scrubbing the fireplace grout with a toothbrush. I think I am safe to work on non-houseworky things, huh? My God. I could really obsess.

Pray for me

Today, as Hubby was leaving for work after coming home for lunch, he called to remind me that we have some overgrown vines in the front yard.

Oh, dear.

As you may recall, I got a wicked case of poison ivy a few weeks back. I'm still a tad itchy, even. I've been avoiding the yard like poison BECAUSE IT IS FULL OF POISON.

But he is right. The yard needs help.

And so, I am wearing long pants and long socks and a long-sleeved shirt and gloves, in the heat, hoping to protect myself. I'm only going to stay out there for one hour, to minimize the potential for exposure, because I have proven to myself that I could not identify poison ivy to save my skin. And then I am going to shower with dish soap, because I read that works.

After that I think maybe a sage smudge, and a couple times through the rosary, and I'll donate cash to Benny Hinn, and anything else y'all suggest. Because I hate poison ivy, but I don't need the yard looking like we are bucking for Rednecks of the Week, either.

Anticipation, Frustration, Obama-Nation

Anticipation: Two weddings, in eight days. e haven't been to a wedding in years (and that one was doomed at the altar, no doubt), and now we've got two. I am looking forward to bringing my camera to both, and also to contributing actual food to the wedding reception for one.

I have received my Food Assignment and I am on it like Paula Deen on a stick of butter. Oooh, yeah.

Frustration: I am NOT getting what I want, on pretty much all fronts, these days. The car is still in the shop, even though they were sure it would be ready yesterday. I keep sending out queries for work and get back, well, the sound of crickets. So far, this week, the dog has peed on my purse, three leather coats, and a carpet. AND YET I AM NOT SUPPOSED TO KILL HIM, or even want to. Hubby's band is defunct, and I have no idea what comes next on that one, so no dancing to slap bass for me anytime soon. I keep telling the Sons to handle their business and my reward is a general sinking feeling that I am becoming an ineffectual nag.

The Beach suggests I get an air horn and striped shirt, for handling all those episodes of Brotherly Love. I think she is a genius. Just gimme that whistle on a string.

About half of our CD collection has been bogarted by a Son, I guess. I keep opening cases and finding nothing. HOW DARE HE MISPLACE GEORGE THOROGOOD? That's just wrong. I may have to toss his room.

On the bright side, the poison ivy seems to be clearing up, Son #1 has been asking my advice on a very sweet project of his own devising, school is almost out and my nail polish is pristine, for once. (Honestly, a successful manicure does lift my mood. I am more girly than I thought, I guess.)

And the Obama-nation?
Well, I just am speechless. We are out of money? Shutting down businesses run by owners who did not contribute to Obama's election? Choosing a Supreme Court justice because she is a Latina? (Hey, maybe she's okay, but her job is to follow the Constitution. Don't need a uterus or a Compelling Personal Story for that.) I haven't been blogging on all this stuff because, well, I don't want to turn into a ranting nutbag, and Dhimmi Carter has that effect on me on a pretty consistent basis.

So, you know, I'll shut up now.

Spit out that Chantix!

This weekend I was talking w/Hubby's friend and he told me he just got MS.

From taking Chantix.

Yeah, he was trying to stop smoking because smoking is bad for you, and now he has multiple sclerosis.

Apparently, it is a known, but rare, side-effect.

Or, as he put it, "It's like taking an aspirin that gave me AIDS."

So, um, if you are taking Chantix maybe you want to check that stuff out. Holy crap, you know?

Not feelin' the love

I keep sending out queries, and hearing nothing back. My editor's inbox is so full, she can't open the photos I sent to go with my latest travel piece. "Wait a few days, until I can clear it out," she says. My own inbox is crammed with spam, and little else. About the only creative writing I do is to describe my latest offerings on eBay.

I am just not feelin' the internet love, these days. I think I'll have some cookie dough.

I am "The Man": A Parenting Epiphany

Remember when you were a teenager and your parents were all suspicious? They wouldn't let you hang out with your boyfriend in your bedroom, even though that meant you never got to have a private conversation, because your little sister kept butting in?

And no matter how much you explained that you weren't DOING anything, they still gave you that look with the one raised eyebrow, and told you, "Fine, but, you can be not DOING anything out here in the den, with your brothers"?

Remember how your younger siblings kept walking up to you and saying stupid crap, and no matter how much you complained about it your parents never stopped them? Like they had NO IDEA how frustrating and annoying and embarrassing that was?

Remember how your boyfriend's parents were a little more lax, but if they saw you making out they would look at you, their son's adoring girlfriend, like you were a complete idiot who didn't have the least instinct for self-preservation? And like you ought to hold out for a guy who at least had his own car?

As it turns out, it wasn't because they didn't understand you. It was because they understood all too well, and had no. interest. in. becoming. grandparents. yet.

So, it all makes sense. The Sons can have privacy with their girlfriends when they are old enough to sign a lease on their own place.

So do I say anything? Who do I call?

I know the 14-year-old who was found unconscious on his bathroom floor: cocaine.
I know the 14-year-old who sold it to him.
He's still buying drugs, though not cocaine, today.

These kids used to be friends with one of the Sons, but then we pulled the Sons out of the local public school for a while and they lost touch. So I have a soft spot for both families, and an accompanying "thank God the boys lost touch--what if it were MY boy getting involved in this crap?". Used to be friends with one of the parents. Still run into the other set, from time to time.

Do I call the drug dealer's mom, in case she doesn't know? She probably wouldn't believe me.
Should I call the drug user's mom, in case she doesn't know he's still buying drugs?
Should I call the school, since these transactions are going on on the school bus?
Should I call the sheriff's anonymous tip line?

A low point in parenting and basic judgement

Our little crappy theater doesn't show movies unless they are Guaranteed to Make Money, so we often have to wait for the DVD. This time, though, 4 girls they know from school invited the two oldest Sons to a theater in Annapolis.

I didn't want a seventeen-year-old girl, distracted by the mighty mojo of the Sons, driving them an hour and 45 minutes each way. (Yes, the theater is actually that far.)

So, the Sons checked. The girls weren't driving--a mom was. Fully reassured, I gave the go-ahead.

OK, so I'm new to this High School thing. I don't know most of their new friends. They meet people at school, do much of their socializing at the school, and so it all remains mysterious to me. But when a woman pulls up to take my kids for the next seven hours, I figure I should go out and introduce myself. Let her know I'm a reasonable person she can call if, for instance, the Sons act the fool, or her car breaks down. My parents live minutes from the theater to which they're heading.

So I go out to their car, and the mom rolls her window down, and she has only shards, where her front teeth should be. She has an odd look on her face--a little glassy-eyed, and confrontational and distracted, at the same time. I am...distinctly uncomfortable.

"That looks like meth mouth," I think.

And then, I think again.

"I have a false tooth. If Hubby were not a good provider, I would have a gap in my mouth. Maybe she's just broke. And maybe having people judge her by her lack of teeth puts her in a crappy mood, so she hates meeting people who look like they just decided she's not capable of driving their precious darlings to the movies. And the flu is going around."

In a moment of Kumbaya Spirit, I smiled and went back in the house, where, I'll admit, I worried. The boys had a great time at the movies, and I decided I was a bigot for having thought anything about that poor woman's teeth.

Yesterday those Sons were invited to 2 different events, at people's homes. And then Son #1 mentioned the mom who had driven them, last week.

"Her mom is CRAZY. She was driving all over the road. I thought she was going to crash, seven times. And the first thing she said, when she pulled out of the driveway, was 'You motherfuckers better not spill anything in my car!' She was screaming curse words at us the whole time. I was glad you let us go, but I was REALLY glad we made it home."

So, yesterday, I went in. I chatted. I got to know Trevor's mom, and Hilary's mom and dad. I felt better.

I think they felt better, too. As it turns out, "I'm new to this whole high school thing, and still getting used to the idea that I don't know their friends," is a great ice-breaker.

Honesty, I guess, is still a good policy.