Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Guilt, the backbone to society

As I said in an earlier post, I have joined the working world. (Not that staying at home wasn't working, but this time, I have to shower and put on makeup AND matching clothes before I do my new work. Also different: a check comes to the house with MY name on it.)

I have been a working mom in the past, but I had always had an exit strategy for those jobs ... like, "I'll only work here until my credit gets better" or "I'll stop when I can have my Pampered Chef business take off" or, my personal favorite, "I'll quit when I have another baby...and good God, if that takes nine months, I better get pregnant NOW." (Note: also how we have Mini Me...and why her birthday is in May. I originally wanted a December baby, but knew I couldn't take another seven months at that place.)

This time, I have no exit strategy. MM is four, and heading to school part-time this fall. It was either get a job, or look into the pearls-and-vacuum route, and honestly, my bunion just couldn't take the heels.

The plan is to work here until I'm either retiring with my gold-plated pen and pencil set, or until I get fired. And after my first day being with the HR manager, it looks like there won't be much I can't get fired for. (What? It's not good to laugh out loud during the sexual harassment video? Crap.)

So far, it's going well. I'm happy with how I'm doing and I stand to make a lot of money. My kids, however, have a different perception of how it's going.

Larry Potter and Hoover are upset that I had to cancel our first family vacation ever (with just our family, that is, and for more than one night) because I got a job. Nevermind that I rescheduled it to September when they can go on vacation AND get out of school for three days (not my first choice in how to do things, but it's how it all shook out), but "Mommmmmm, we're supposed to be at the beach for my birrrrrrrthdayyyyy."

Sorry kids, I just can't WILL myself to grow any more arms!

Mini Me, who could care less about vacations, has chosen a different route. It involves clinging to my legs, hiding my shoes, and screaming. "Honey, you're not going to Cruella D'Ville's house, just Miss A.'s, and you like it over there."

And now, because the age of four is *awesome*, the clinging and screaming has come over into everyday things. I have to have Disgruntled Husband run interference while I run out the door to get some milk at the store.

Mom guilt. They all do it so well.

This new job will give us all insurance, dental work, new appliances, a new garage door (I hope) and someday, their college educations.

But God help me if I miss another day at the local pool.

Perhaps this is just my hazing period. I'm sure it gets better. Right?

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Three Kids Walk Into A Law Office

A few days after we got the new office up and running (well, at least painted and furnished), Disgruntled Husband asked me man the office all day long. (It may or may not have been a "telling" but trust me, afterwards, it was "asking.")

With three kids, I knew it wasn't going to be easy. But, I kept a positive attitude and packed re-enforcements.

My list was:
-paper plates
-paper cups
-vanilla wafers
-four dvds
-DH's computer to watch DVDs on
-Capri Suns

The plan was for me to sit in the front and answer phones/pretend I'm on Boston Legal and have the kids sit in the adjacent room watching movies on the floor with their snacks.

Except, when we got there and I plugged in DH's laptop, nothing worked. A phone call later revealed that though the cord was working okay, it had since died and we needed a new cord to charge the laptop battery.


So I packed them into DH's office, around his giant desk and turned the monitor around. I distributed the snacks, threatened them appropriately, and went back to the front of the office.

And I was able to answer the phones and set things up.

For 15 minutes.

"So help me, kids, I will use this sword! Hear that! It's a good thing I have this blindfold on, or you'd all get it!"

Every four minutes or so after that, I had at least one child within arm's reach, wanting something, complaining about something, or tattling on someone.

Just like at home.

I don't know why I thought they would  be different at the law office. Maybe it's that whole stress thing I had going on. Maybe I was jut delusional in general, but either way, I was dead wrong.

They watched one movie. Four minutes at a time. Then we went home for lunch. When I announce we were going back to Dad's office after our PB and Js, the response was less-than stellar.

"Whaaaaaaat? We have to go back?"
"I want to go swimmingggggggg!"
"Can I bring more food with us?" (That was Hoover, of course.)

We headed back to the office and I popped in another movie. This time, it was every two minutes, and I had at least one child next to me at all times.

"No, I don't have any crayons here."
"No you can't make paper airplanes out of my one pack of copy paper."
"No, you can't play Facebook games on my computer out here."
"Please stop laying in the bottom shelf of the bookshelf."
"Stop floating the Vanilla Wafers in the toilet."
"Quit playing with the lights!"

Now, this was all annoying and horrible, but it doubled the non-fun when I heard the insurance office next door's Pandora station of Phil Collins. On low.


If I can hear them, then they can hear me.

And the kids.

And me yelling at the kids.

I packed up the movies, the food, the juice boxes and the children before DCFS could arrive.

That was their last day in the office, and consequently, mine as well.

Monday, July 18, 2011

I'll take a Karma-el Sundae, Please

Welcome back!

(Oh's just me that's left. Thanks for watching the place while I was gone. Did I get any mail? Packages? Did the cats give you any problems?)

For those of you on Facebook, I hope you saw my excuses list reasons for not blogging the last week or so. I got a job.

An actual, honest-to-goodness, dress-up clothes job.

Here's what happened: Back in May, I interviewed for an old job I had, that I was very qualified for (duh) where the adoring public knew me and respected me and constantly told me what a good job I did.

Well, my boss didn't feel the same way. It got to a point where nothing I said or did was good enough. (I happened to see the movie The Devil Wears Prada during my tenure there, and had to literally bite my tongue when discussing the movie with her. "I think anyone who's....had a boss....can relate to that movie.")

Fast forward four years, my old job is up, I'm ready to get back in the workforce, and figure four years has mellowed her and matured me, or at very least, I could handle her moody fits better. So I applied. And in the meantime, did freelance work for her. Good freelance work. She called me for an interview.

I go, and she closes the door and says, "I'm not going to hire you."

Then why the F did you call me in?

I'm 99% certain it was to satisfy HR, since I was a past employee, held the job earlier, knew my way around it, and in all honesty, most everyone there liked me and knew I did good work.

I came home from that "interview" and feverish applied for a bunch of jobs I found online, plus e-mailed a few contacts I had that could point me towards openings.

(Anger is how I get stuff done, apparently.)

Suck it, former boss. You really shot yourself in the arse this time, didn't you?

Again, this was in May and I had been looking since December...applying and resume-ing and interviewing. I told myself that if I didn't get anything by the Memorial Day, I would put the job hunt on hold for the summer and start again when the kids went back to school.

About six weeks after my "interview" at the old job, I see in the paper that the new person my old boss hired had written a story about himself (all in the first person, which is a newspaper no-no, I'd like to point out) saying he hadn't even applied for the job, my old boss had called him straight from his college graduation to ask if he'd like the position.

Oh, I was hot. I can tolerate many things. I'd even begun to get over the "interview" (even when both of my parents and husband said I should tell him or her to F off). But to hire a recent college graduate with no experience over someone who had the job before and excelled at it was humiliating and degrading. I seriously thought about filing some sort of discrimination suit. (He/she said I couldn't do the job because I had kids.)

A week after that not-awesome story came out, I got a call from one of the places I applied in May. Very long story short, I went through three interviews, a background check, and a drug screen, and was offered the job. Making about three times what I would have made at the other job.

(The Blaze of Glory happened as I was on my way to the final interview. Timing is everything.)

And then, a few days later, I glanced at the want-ads. My old job, up for hire again.

I called my old co-worker. Mr. No Experience lasted three weeks.

And then I got an e-mail from my old boss, asking if I could cover some stories this week.

Saying I gotten a new job and couldn't help anymore never felt so good.

I'm not sure if it were Karma at work or God, or if I'm even supposed to believe in both, but the smile on my face just wouldn't come off. I know you're not supposed to enjoy other people's misfortunes, but I think in this situation, it was definitely justified.

After this feeling wears off, I'm sure I'll go by the old Liberace quote, "I cried all the way to the bank."

Thursday, July 7, 2011

Delusions of a Goodwill Employee

Dear Goodwill Employee Deb:

Last week, I came to your store in search of furniture for Disgruntled Husband's new office. I found a nice computer desk for $10 that would work well for us and brought the tag to you.

You rang it up and indicated that someone would help me load it in The Limo if I brought it around front. Which I did. Everything was loaded up and brought back to the new office.

This week, as I was calculating all of the expenses of the Blaze of Glory, I entered the cost of the desk, from the receipt, on to my Excel spreadsheet.

Here it is:

Did you happen to catch what I saw? Here, let me point it out for you:

Hey Deb, I'm all for discounts and everything, but you're a good 30 years older than I am. If you think I get the SENIOR DISCOUNT because you do, one of two things is happening:

1.) You are delusional if you think you look to be about the same age as me...which is 32.
2.) I need to do a full-on glitz pageant beauty regiment before I shop at Goodwill.

I know I wasn't looking fabulous when I went to your store that day...I believe I was wearing a black sleeveless shirt, jean shorts, sandals, and no makeup, but in no way did I look to be 55, which is what I'm assuming your "seniority" starts at.

I saw people in there wearing mis-matched crocs and faded Sea World shirts, so please assure me it was you making the mistake that day.

I don't think I'll be back at your location any time soon. And, side note, I'm about at Platinum Shopper level at since I discovered my discount. I'm sure they thank you.

A few years away from Botox,
The Snarky Mom