This Is Going to Sound Crazy...

Today, I'm going to share a secret. Well, it's not a really secrety secret, like I've spent time worrying that someone might find out. It's more like something that's been on my mind and in my heart for a long time and I haven't really known what to do about it, but now I'm ready to talk about it. So don't brace yourself for a big reveal or anything, just... Wow, I am intro-ing myself into oblivion. Let's start over, shall we?

If you've read my blog for any amount of time, you know all about my job and joblessness woes--more than you probably ever wanted to know. For the uninitiated: I left college, got a job with a crazy person, spent 6 months unemployed and zombie-like, took another job with a crazy person, spent 20 months unemployed, moved to Texas, got a job, and now here we are.

During the last few months of my last job and for the entirety of my second bout of unemployment, I prayed for a direction. Was I supposed to take another job in my industry or chart a new path? Where did God want me to work? Where would I do my best and make the world better and serve Him with my abilities? When no voice from heaven came and the doors kept closing on job opportunities, I got discouraged and cried out to God for any kind of relief. After a many months, God told me (not audibly--I'm not entirely crazy) to move here to Dallas. And many of you would see that as God answering my prayer for direction. It was an actual, geographic direction provided by God. Boom, prayer answered. And that's absolutely true.

Except. I never told you (and I only told a few people at the time) that I was getting an another answer from Him the whole time. Every time I prayed about my future, I got this simple and ridiculous answer:

"Be a foster mom."

It was whispered in my heart, it consumed my thoughts, it was in my face all the time. Every time I turned around, I was accidentally stumbling across adoption stories or foster care information or someone was telling me I needed to work with children or I was meeting people who had fostered. I had dreams of a four-year-old boy with dimples and adorably crazy hair, the same boy over and over again. It was WEIRD, is what I'm saying. I'm not one to see "signs" or patterns or put much stock in dreams, but I do believe in a God who is actively involved in our lives, with whom we can have a personal relationship. I had just never experienced it like this before--this overwhelming sensation of knowing what I should do.

And I knew it wasn't from me. I KNEW it, because every time I heard it, I would chuckle nervously and whisper, "You're kidding, right, Jesus?" It was as close as I was willing to get to consciously telling God, "No." I didn't want to be a foster mom, but I knew I NEEDED to be one. I wanted to get a job, get married, and have my own biological children and maybe someday WITH MY HUSBAND, adopt or foster. I wanted the perfect life, the American dream, the self-focused desire for my children to have my eyes and my husband's laugh. I was never opposed to adoption or fostering, it was just something I supported other people doing. I especially didn't want all of the fear of adoption--what if it doesn't go through? what if the birth mother wants them back? what if they're older and we never really bond? what if I'm not good at it because they're not "mine"?--and I didn't want all of the problems I'd heard about with fostering--what if they're troubled? what if I can't handle their issues? what do I do when I have to give them back? will I always hold a piece of my heart back because I know it's not permanent?--and yet there it remained, month after month, an ache deep in my heart for these parent-less children.

And the someone, not knowing about my internal struggle, brought up the Bible verse that says, "Delight yourself in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart" and taught me what the verse really means. It does not mean that God is a genie and gives you what you desire; it means he gives you the desires themselves. This was from Him and even though it was CRAZY, I could kind of see His point: I love children; I have always felt like I was created to be a mom; Even in unemployment, I was so blessed and more than many other people. So I eventually kind of accepted the premise and said, "Okay, God, FINE! I'll be a foster mom. Someday. But I have no income and I live in my sister's house. That's not really an option right now. So, thanks and all, but can I have a different answer? One that's more applicable to my immediate issues? Like a JOB?"

And then God laughed and laughed. I mean, ahem. He provided a way for me to move to Texas and start a new life here. But here's the thing: this thought? It hasn't gone away (I thought it might. I maybe even hoped it might. I thought maybe it was a phase or a far-in-the-future thing that God allowed me to get a glimpse of). It disappeared from constant view amid the moving to Texas stuff, but a few weeks into my new job here, there was a day that was like ADOPTIONPALOOZA in my life. Among other things that happened that day, I was researching something else entirely and came across a fostering site with pictures of kids waiting for homes (side note, I'm not sure how I feel about this, since it feels a little like a department store website where you can pick out the prettiest dress or something...), then a blogger I read announced they were adopting and talked about THE SAME struggles I'd had and how they worked through them, AND THEN the novel I was reading to took a radical and unforeseen turn that ended with the main character taking custody of several children. And the whispering began again, but slightly different this time:

"I gave you the job you asked for. I will soon provide a home. You're out of excuses; it's time to be a foster mom." 

And that's where I've been ever since. I'm nearly in tears as I write this, because I don't know what any of this means. I don't know how hard this is going to be, and I don't know how to accomplish any of it. I don't even know if I can afford a place with more than one bedroom, which would be required. I'm barely on my feet financially. I'm just starting to feel emotionally healthy after the angst of the last few years. And I have no idea how this will affect my future. Will I end up adopting, or will I just be a safe place for a child for a little while before they reunite with their family? Will I get married and have biological children, too, or is this a completely separate path? Is this actually some selfish way for me to be a mom without waiting through the hard stuff that singleness means? I don't have much of it figured out, but if God gave me this desire, He will provide a way to make it happen. And every morning, I wake up thinking about where I'm going to live and how I'm going to follow this leading, about who this kid is going to be. Because now? Now I don't just need to be a foster mom, I want it with all my heart.

Inane Grammar Rants with Elise: TRYING My Patience

It should surprise no one that I am somewhat of a grammarian. Is my own grammar perfect? Not even remotely. But I do understand the difference between a possessive, a plural, and a contraction ("Elise's grammar is not perfect," "Many Elises worry about grammar," and "Elise's a grammarian."). I know, and am avidly conscious, about split infinitives even though most people don't even think this is a rule any more. I try to use commas appropriately, but I am known to overuse them from time to time. I also don't really care if I end a sentence in a preposition, but I DO understand why it's a rule and that there is much debate on the subject. And I freely admit that I haven't the slightest clue why certain words get capitalized in titles and others don't, so I often just capitalize them ALL, which is not really a solution and I should just learn this.

With this said, I ALSO try not to be a snob about it. There are times I avoid Facebook simply because I CANNOT stand the lack of capitalization and punctuation (along with the plethora of inappropriate abbreviations; I'm looking at U, U-users), but I don't correct people either.

This is a rambly introduction. Sorry about that. What I'm trying to say is that I NOTICE bad grammar and GRATES. But I try to just go with the flow and ignore it, because who wants to be this guy? But every once in a while, I will point out poor grammar to a third-party. And it usually bites me in the ass. [GASP! She just SWORE! On the blog where she PROMISED not to swear! She must be tired of living up to her own expectations! Or maybe she just thought it was funnier than "bites me on the booty." Because maybe she doesn't want to sound like she's talking to toddlers? Hmmm...]

In light of the previous three (useless) paragraphs, let me tell you a story. When I was in high school, this song was popular:

Green Day - Brain Stew/Jaded:

I'm sure many of you remember it. In case you're wondering, I'm not exactly ADVOCATING this song, as the rest of this post will surely make clear. I'm just saying it was POPULAR and lots of people probably know it. You don't even need to watch the video to understand my point. In fact, save yourselves the agony, because my point involves ONLY the first line of this song. It goes a little something like this:

BUHdum BUHdum BUHdum BUHdumBUHdumBUHdum [What? It's not easy turning sounds into text!] BUHdum BUHdum BUHdumBUHdumBUHdum "I'm having trouble trying to sleep..."

Maybe you're not seeing where I'm about to go. Maybe you are and that means that you are my PEOPLE. But probably, this is just something that got warped inside of my head and no one else can see why. But this song bugs the ever-loving DAYLIGHTS out of me.

Having Trouble Trying to Sleep: A Grammar Rant by Elise Seaton

It was 2002. I'd recently had an English assignment in which I had to choose a popular song and analyze the lyrics, much like one would dissect a poem. I'd heard Brain Stew a few times, but I'd never really given it much thought before. One day, it came on the radio and my Dissector started pinging. I made an idle comment to my brother (who was driving the car that held the radio that was playing this infernal song) that it's pretty much impossible to HAVE TROUBLE TRYING something.

And thus, a decade-long, entire-family-versus-just-me disagreement began.

Think about it, though. You can have trouble sleeping. That's reasonable. You lie down in bed [FULL DISCLOSURE: I just had to look up the correct use of lie/lay bacuse that one is still tricky for me], you close your eyes, and you count sheep only to find that you are STILL AWAKE, despite your best efforts. I have been there. I understand this. I understand this ALL TOO WELL. You have ATTEMPTED to sleep and you have been unsuccessful in ACHIEVING sleep.

BUT! Think about what you're saying if you're having trouble TRYING to sleep. You attempt to lie down in your bed to attempt sleep and there is a force-field between you and your bed. Or you continuously lie down and fall immediately out of your bed. Or you attempt to close your eyes, but someone holds them open and you strain and strain to get your eyes closed. That is what having trouble TRYING says to me. That you are ATTEMPTING to sleep and that you have having trouble with your ATTEMPT.

BUT! Even then? You are having trouble GETTING INTO AND/OR STAYING BED. You are having trouble CLOSING YOUR EYES. The trouble is not in the ATTEMPT, the trouble is in the ACTUAL DOING. As Yoda says, "Do or do not. There is no try." Except the grammar of THAT statement is also questionable, so FORGET I USED IT OMG.

What I'm TRYING to convey here, and perhaps I am failing in the ACTUAL CONVEYANCE, is that you cannot have trouble TRYING. You can only have trouble DOING.

And I'm pretty sure I'm right about this.

By now, you may be asking yourself: "Why the hell is this important? [She swore again! She must be riled up! Except that really? She just made YOU swear. Which is different than actually swearing. It's like quoting a movie--it's not REALLY swearing.] It's one line in one song that wasn't all that good [I'm projecting good taste on to you, just go with it] and isn't really ever on the air anymore anyway. Not to mention all of the other songs with greater grammar issues. Why is it such a big deal?"

And I will tell you: IT'S NOT. It is not important AT ALL.

EXCEPT! I made an idle comment TEN YEARS AGO and this is STILL a family joke. They think I'm being a grammar snob. And they also think I'm WRONG in my clearly-outlined and completely RATIONAL AND LOGICAL conclusions stated above. So every time I hear this song, it sets my teeth on edge. Partly because it just stands there in its WRONGNESS and is flagrantly WRONG, but also because of the hassle I'm going to get from ANY MEMBER of my family if they realize what song it is. Or if I use any combination of the words "trouble," "trying," and "sleep" in the same sentence. This has reached LEGENDARY status, people, and not in the awesome-Barney-wait-for-it-Stinson kind of legendary.

I don't even argue back anymore, because it will just ENCOURAGE them and AGGRAVATE me to no end. But I'm ashamed to admit how often I still argue this out in my head. So the other day in the shower, while I was yet again arguing with myself and my mental versions of my family members (what? shower time is THINKING time), I decided to write this post. I figured 1) this is my blog; 2) if nothing else, I will be able to get my whole argument laid out on record (whatever kind of record a blog is...) without interruption; 3) the Internet is huge and maybe I will find someone to stand with me in this never-ending battle; and 4) this is the perfect subject for the kind of ranty-style post my blog has been missing since I left my rantastic job.

I have clearly thought about this far longer than is reasonable or necessary.

SO! In conclusion: You cannot have trouble TRYING, you can only have trouble DOING. Tune in next week for Inane Grammar Rants with Elise, in which I explain how absolutes with binary states (unique, pregnant, equal, etc) CANNOT and SHOULD NOT be paired with adverbs denoting intensity (really, very, somewhat, etc). This should be a rip-roarin' good time.



P.S. I know that I just painted a giant TARGET on my blog that will encourage OBNOXIOUS people to go through this and other posts and point out all the times that I have used less than perfect grammar and you know what? I'm not even going to dissuade them. Because I DID kind of ask for it and these people are not the type to be dissuaded anyway. But fair warning? I will point out any grammatical flaws in your comment if you do this. As is my right. Let the obnoxion begin.

I Am A Secret Agent Of Travel (Which Is Different From a Travel Agent)

My vacation is over. I’m writing this from the air over Pennsylvania (and probably LOTS of other states), on my way from Philadelphia to Minneapolis, where I will spend 10 (probably long) hours before I fly home to the Far North (Ha! You totally thought I was going to give you a city name there, didn’t you? Admit it!). Three weeks away from home feels like forever and also doesn’t feel like nearly enough time with Niece and Biggest Brother and Sister-In-Law. 

To commemorate my last night in town, Niece attempted to kill herself. Okay, it wasn’t nearly that extreme, but my racing heart sure felt like it was. She took a header off of her “big girl chair” at the dinner table, landing on her chin and biting through the side of her tongue, which bled and bled and made her pregnant mother nauseous with both worry and blood-related aversions. Then, after she had calmed down and sucked on a few ice cubes and had her bath, she bonked her head on a doorframe, trying to avoid being more than three inches away from her mother’s side. Needless to say, the evening was a slightly traumatic way to say good-bye.

Since Niece is so verbal and has such an excellent memory (Example: when my parents visited two months ago, my mother made a comment about how, when Niece was a big girl, she could maybe ride a horsey, since she was so enamored with them. Now, any time we praise her for acting like a big girl, she asks, “Me ride horsey now? Ride black horsey? Mommy, daddy help?”), we decided to prepare her for my departure a day or two in advance. 

In order to help her understand that I wasn’t going to live with them permanently, I started asking where various people in her life live, thinking I’d ease in. But her response to every question formatted “Where does _____ live?” was “in church” or “to work.” So I started asking her where people slept. For some reason, that worked and she understood that I usually sleep in a bed in [Far North] in the same house as Sister (This is where I REALLY wish I used our real names, because then I could phonetically spell out the adorable ways she pronounces our names with her version of Auntie in front of them). But every time I tried to explain that I needed to go back to that bed and that I wouldn’t be there for Easter, she would frown very seriously and say, in the most matter-of-fact voice, “But me need you, Onta [Elsie].” Break my heart, kid. Go ahead; I don’t mind. 

Anyway, leaving was ridiculously difficult (I welled up a little, then did my classic feeling-avoidance moves and read about other people’s feeling son blogs) and I imagine she’s going to ask for me for a while and probably refuse to talk to be on the phone because GIRL CAN HOLD A GRUDGE! So, I’m totally looking forward to that… Compounding the issue was the obnoxion that was trying to check in for my flight on Delta. I cannot BELIEVE the things they are charging for these days and the hoops they are making us jump through. Okay, I’m sure I’m not the first to complain about this and y’all are probably all, “We’re SO over it by now. Oh, and also? Stop complaining about the ‘new’ body scanners already, that’s so 2011…”

But man, I miss my civil liberties and the money that used to be in my bank account. I guess this is just the cost of living safe in the land of the free. Wait… Huh? Okay, I’ll avoid getting all politically ranty up in here, since it’s PURPOSEFULLY not my style (on the blog anyway—meet me in real life and we will have a very different conversation), but can I just say that I HATE them? And that I stand inside them with my hands above my head with (what I hope is) a clear demonstration of my rage on my face and in my posture, just to make sure that those who are looking at my digitally naked body understand that I’m COMPLYING, but I am NOT HAPPY ABOUT IT (because, as a habitual Rule Follower, I am destined to be a chronic Hoop Jumper, no matter my level of indignation)? And also: that it boggles my mind that we have them at the Airport of the Far North, but Philadelphia doesn’t? Because that seems inconsistent and strange. 

I seem to have lost the thread of this post… Ah yes. Ending my vacation. I loved everything about this trip and am really sad it’s over. Pennsylvania, you’re kind of awesome (well, the twenty square miles of you I saw). You’re awesome enough that I started looking at job opportunities in the Philadelphia area, JUST IN CASE. You know, in case I get a sudden signal from heaven that PHILLY IS WHERE IT’S AT, ELISE. GO FORTH AND LOVE THE AMISH! Or something. 

I’m pretty sure that as soon as I get home, I will remember all of the reasons I moved back there in the first place, despite the six feet of snow remaining in my yard (which will probably still be there in May, even though the rest of the country seems to have collectively made a 2012 New Year’s Resolution “to prove some variation of the global warming theory and confuse meteorologists, just for kicks”). Added to this will be my DEEP LOATHING anything dealing with a) packing; b) moving; and c) things that are packing/moving ADJACENT, including but not limited to 1) house hunting, 2) cable/Internet installations, 3) learning new road systems, and 4) realizing that NO SINGLE PERSON WITH NO MONEY SHOULD HAVE THIS MUCH CRAP. All of this means I am probably NOT moving to Pennsylvania anytime soon. But you never know (See my capslocky rendition of the voice of God in the previous paragraph).

Which means that there is no longer any barrier to me looking for and, you know, OBTAINING some form of employment in my hometown. I kept putting it off because I was always just BACK from travelling or just ABOUT TO travel or in the MIDDLE of wearing yoga pants and watching television. But really? My last official day was October 3, 2011. It is now April 2012 (in case you somehow missed that fact). Enough is enough, Elise; get off your rear and be productive already.

But before I end this rambling diatribe masquerading as a blog post, I need to comment on the travel thing. I did not leave Far North ONE SINGLE TIME in 2011, so this year has been very weird. I did some math (counting calendar squares is math, right?) and I have spent a grand total of 47 nights in my own bed in 2012. That’s less than HALF of this year so far.  Wow, that might comes off kind of dirty. Let me assure you: except for seven nights spent stealing the covers back from Roommate and failing to keep her from sleeping in my armpit (oh, and the endless fights with Satan’s Cat to JUST STOP SCRATCHING MY FACE ALREADY), I have spent all those nights in other beds ALONE.

January started off normal, but I think it was just lulling me into a false sense of security. Then February hit. I spent three nights of February in my own bed. First, I went to see Roommate on my way to Phoenix (and PJ’s @ TJs). When I got home, Sister was out of town (being frivolous and learning how to do her new job, pfft) which meant I was in her room with Satan’s “I USE MY CLAWS TO SHOW MY LOVE” Cat. I thought March would be fine, since I only had the two night retreat, but then Pennsylvania called and I was off again. 

I’m not complaining, by the way—I feel truly blessed with all of these opportunities. I just find it all very unusual. But here is my one complaint: most of the other beds I slept in were queen-sized, which makes it more and more difficult to return to my pathetic little (broken) twin bed. And actually? I won’t even get to spend tonight in my own bed, even though I’ll be in my own house, since Sister is in Alabama being a Groomswoman for a college friend. So I will sleep in her bed to better corral Satan’s Cat. 

Maybe this is not noteworthy to you… Maybe you spend the majority of your nights in beds other than your own. Maybe you even do this in the fashion I unintentionally implied. Maybe you make a habit of sneaking into mattress stores and trying out a new bed every night just to be eccentric and have anecdotes of your eccentricity to put in your autobiography someday. Whatever. It’s notable for me. I am a creature of habit and I CRAVE stability. So 2012 has been a little more topsy-turvy than I’m used to. Not bad. Just DIFFERENT. 

Wow, apparently being trapped on a plane with no internet access—and no toddlers tugging me to “come on; me show you sumpsing”—makes me wordy. Wordier. Whatever. I wish I had a great way to wrap this up, but I have two hours of flight time left to ponder the imponderable and gaze at my navel, so I think I’ll just cut this off by saying that a Dunkin’ Donuts large iced coffee is indeed LARGE and I need to mosey down the aisle to avoid an unfortunate public incident. 

Until next time, when I’m sure I will again stun you with my limitless fount of blogging prowess. Have a Happy Easter. Or, you know, don’t. It’s really up to you.

On Vacation (From My Not So Strenuous Life)

Hi guys! Thanks for all of your wonderful comments and support on my last post! I didn't intend to leave it up there for so long with no new content to push it down the list, since it's quite depressing. And there's even a part of me that wants to deflect and obfuscate and say that I didn't really mean a lot of it, that it was late at night, I'd had some wine, and was feeling sorry for myself. Or to make a joke of it all. Because that way it seems less real. But the truth is, I meant it all. And it's all still true, whether I'm comfortable with that concept or not. So it took me a while to be brave and be able to write a post that didn't brush it all under the rug.

And then there were all kinds of busyness on my end. Well, who am I kidding? I'm unemployed, so "busyness" to me is anything that requires me to wear something other than yoga pants. But I did go on a weekend church retreat with about 30 teenagers (five hours on a bus there 40 hours at the camp, and five hours back, with very little sleep in between), which was fun. Fun and exhausting. And for a split second, it was terrifying, when one of the boys put another one in a headlock and accidentally choked him into unconsciousness. But then the boy came to and seemed okay and his parents decided we didn't need to take him to the ER, so it all turned out okay. No last brain damage to date (that I know of), so I think we're cool.

My sister-in-law (who is married to Biggest Brother) called on the Monday morning after the retreat and asked me if I wanted to come visit. We'd been trying to arrange a visit for me for a month or so, since they had some spare air miles to use up, but we hadn't nailed down any dates. So we looked online and talked and the just... booked a ticket. For the following Sunday night. So I jumped up and did loads and loads of laundry and sent e-mails to get out of my (very limited) duties at church. And before I knew it, I was eating frozen yogurt at the airport waiting for my flight. Almost 20 hours later, I was landing in--

You know what? I'm getting kind of sick of my own secrecy on this blog. I bet you guys are, too. It's entirely necessary and sometimes I love the anonymity of it and I'm not going to stop on a lot of the important things like my name, location, or profession (basically anything that is easily google-able). But it's stupid to be so secretive about where I am when I'm traveling! So I'm just going to tell you.

Biggest Brother and Sister-In-Law (and Niece and soon-to-arrive Niece or Nephew) live in AMISH COUNTRY. Yep. Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. They just recently moved here from the suburbs of LA, so it's a huge change for them. And they LOVE it. There are rolling hills and farmland and horse-and-buggies and COWS and all kinds of countrish things. And it is wonderful. Brother has been known to yell "LOVE IT!" at random intervals while driving. It's actually unpleasantly loud and screechy (sorry, buddy), but the enthusiasm is infectious.

Also, Niece is in love with all things "horshie" (she just turned two years old), so this is like heaven on earth for her. Although I'm pretty sure everything dragon-related (what she calls "heynows" because of an Aussie kid's show called Jane and the Dragon, which has "Hey now, hey now now" as the chorus in the theme song) is quickly eclipsing the horshies. Heynows and drain-gons and Ell-ee-ut (Elliott from Pete's Dragon) are some of the favorite topics of conversation.

I've been here for almost a week and a half, which is exactly halfway through my trip (It's amazing how easy it is to travel when you have no responsibilities and someone else paid for the ticket! I could totally get used to this!). Niece's vocabulary skills are exploding! She speaks in paragraphs now and it's amazing some of the things she tells me. She calls me "Onnie [adorable child version of my real name that I wish I could share with you, but I cannot]" She even learned one of the songs from Pete's Dragon, "I love you, too," which she sings as "Ahlowah, too." That's also how she says "I love you" at bedtime: "Ahlowah, too, Daddy! You okay? Guhnite!"

The other day, she looked at me and said, very seriously, "Me two. [holding out two fingers] You a hunna dolla." We're still not sure if that means I'm worth a hundred dollars or if I'm a hundred dollars old, and whether that's big or little. But it was adorable nonetheless. She knows "hunna dolla" because when she sings "Tomorrow" from Annie, she sings "bet your bottom dollar" as "bet ya hunna dolla." I cannot get enough of this kid!

I'm loving it here and am actually considering a relocation. Wait! Pause. Slow down (Mom and Sister, especially). Don't get ahead of yourselves. I have no actual plans to move. But after my two failed attempts at being a Responsible Grown-Up with a Reliable Income in the Far North, I'm contemplating going back to school for some kind of grad work and any decent school would require a new address. Plus, the last few times I've been out of Far North, I've felt this pull to stay where it is warm and sunny and cheap...

BUT! I have not given the job search the old college try yet this time. Oh, Lord, this time? My life is kind of a trainwreck, huh? Okay, don't answer that. Where was I? Oh yes, reasons to stay in Far North. It's about to be spring there, which means there will be less snow on the ground soon, as opposed to the MONTHS of accumulating it ad nauseam. PLUS? I have a pretty sweet deal with Sister and I live so close to family. AND? More school debt? Not really an enticing idea.

BUT! The East Coast would be great for school and would be warmer for more of the year and also would be close to SOME family, especially the growing and changing portion of the family (see: Niece and soon-to-arrive Niece or Nephew), which I ache to know that I'm missing out on this for most of the year.

SO.

I have no idea. I'm really conflicted. And a lot of it is the fact that this winter has been hard. Don't get me wrong, Far North winters are always rough and getting to lay around in yoga pants all day kind of sounds like a dream. But spending a long, dark, cold winter cooped up in the house with Snow Anxiety and nothing to accomplish and beginning to feel like you left your job for no other reason than you are stupid and selfish and a coward who can't hack it is not really the delight it pretends to be. So I should probably give Being Employed in My Hometown one more chance before I make any radical decisions. I think....

What I do know is that I miss blogging. I REALLY miss it. I dream about it. I write posts as I'm drifting off to sleep (hey, do you think that might be why I dream about it?). And it's not like I've RUN OUT OF THINGS TO SAY! I've just gotten lazy. And a little discouraged by my laptop/Internet issues. And, as far as excuses go? NaBloPoMo was a lot of work, but it was fun and I loved having a relationship with my readers. But afterward, I felt kind of burned out and I totally used that as a crutch. But this is a thing I CAN accomplish. And I should pour a little bit back into the thing that kept me sane through my last job-failure. So while I am searching for and (hopefully) adjusting to a new job, I'm going to be here, yakking your ear off, come hell or high water.

Having good Internet here at Brother's house and a set nap time for Niece should totally help. Here's hoping I can find my rhythm again.

I Can't Do Resoultions, So I'm Asking Jesus for the Things I Need

I've never been much for New Year's Resolutions. Partly because it was never a THING in our family and in my general social group--we just didn't do it. And partly because I have absolutely NO FOLLOW-THROUGH (see the month of December on this blog). So I don't make resolutions and I don't keep them. So, you know. That makes January 1st really hassle-free. And also kind of a let-down.

This year, however, I was smacked in the face by the appearance of 2012. I mean it. Sister and I were sitting at our front windows watching the neighbors shoot off fireworks (it was nice: we got to see a beautiful show without spending any money or putting on pants). They started at about 10:00 pm and then took a break. We went back to our TV show and a while later, we heard more cracks and pops and rushed to the window to see the next act.

Sister asked, "Is it midnight already?"

I looked at the clock and it was 12:04, so I said, "Happy 2012!"

And she replied, "May it be so much better than 2011!"

We made jokes about having jobs and also having jobs that DIDN'T suck in 2012. And then one of us made the Friends quote about "NO DIVORCES IN 99!"

And then all of the sudden, I wanted to weep. Because 2011 sucked in a big way. It had some really great moments and cannot beat 2010 for the emotional scarring I went through. But 2011 still really bit it. Here are just a few examples:

• I moved (temporarily) to an island town that I hate, for a job that was both amazingly fulfilling and also soul-sucking.
• My beautiful niece fell off her changing table and hit the back of her head and neck on the near-by bed frame, leaving all of us in a panic about concussions and brain injuries and her life never being the same again. She recovered well and by her first birthday only a few weeks later, it seemed as if it had never happened (thankyouthankyouthankyou, Jesus!), except for the terrified memories her parents still hold and the chest tightening the rest of us experience when it's mentioned.
• After years of searching, our church hired a new Youth and Family Pastor and Brother, Sister-In-Law, Sister, and I were incredibly relieved to have the burden of Youth Group on a paid staff person's shoulders and that we could return to being ONLY volunteers. Less than a month after hiring said pastor, our church had to fire him. And even though it was for perfectly legitimate reasons and none of us wanted him to stay, Youth Group got difficult again.
• Sister got fired for reasons we still do not understand.
• Brother and Sister-In-Law went to California for a month, so that Brother could have a fourth sinus surgery, since the three others (two within the last four months) had not solved the excruciating headaches and vision changes. This surgery did not entirely solve the problem either, but he's doing okay.
• My grandmother, my beloved Nana, was admitted to the hospital for internal organ failure and sepsis after a too-long-undiscovered bowel perforation, where she stayed (gravitating between fighting and getting stronger to being completely uncommunicative and needing three of her major body systems controlled by machines and medicines and back again) for over 6 weeks before her body gave up and she went to be with Jesus. 
• I returned home from my relocation and stayed with the job, even though my pay had been cut significantly without my knowledge and without explanation and even though my coworker sabotaged me at every step and I was bored out of my mind.
• My best friend asked me if I would be willing to be Godmother to her son and to any future children she and her husband may have (one of which is due to make his or her appearance in August 2012). This is the highest honor anyone has ever given to me and also one of the most humbling things I have ever experienced. I pray that my role of Godmother will only ever be figurative and that my relationship with him remain Auntie Elise. Not because I would hesitate to take him if anything ever happened to her and her husband, but because I pray NOTHING ever happens to her and her husband.
• I started this blog, which has been a constant source of joy (and an occasional source of guilt...) in my life and is one of the highlights of my year. I joined Twitter soon after and found that my job was more bearable because of all of the strangers willing to stab my boss for me if I ever needed it. 
• Every job that Sister applied for disappeared without explanation--not that other people got them, but that the jobs/positions CEASED TO EXIST for various strange reasons.
• Roommate visited Far North for the first (and maybe last? I hope not) time and we had a WONDERFUL ten days together. I constantly miss her, but it is much easier to deal with if I have seen her in the last six months--we've recently passed this threshold and I am planning a visit to her place in February, as long as I can find some money.
• I bought an AWESOME PURPLE COUCH!
• Things became more strained at work and I experienced several ethical dilemmas before coming to the conclusion that I needed to quit and distance myself from the emotional devastation and the bad behavior of my boss and coworker that might damage my future career prospects.
• I realized I have put on ALMOST ALL of the weight I had lost at the end of college, meaning most of my clothing do not fit and I have hit the lowest self-esteem point in years.
• I developed a belated case of SNOW ANXIETY that I continue to battle with.
• Biggest Brother struggled to finish his PhD in a series of frustrating circumstances, heaped on top of years of frustrating circumstances. His wife and daughter had to move across the country without him for several weeks because of these frustrating circumstances.
• Things got worse at work AFTER I quit and the problems followed me into the next month and are things I really wished I could blog about but are secret, so I ended up writing an angry and vague post entitled CAPSLOCKTRAINWRECK.
• Biggest Brother finished his PhD! Now he and his wife and daughter have settled into their new home across the country and--
• BABY NUMBER TWO IS ON ITS WAY!
• Oh, and?
• SISTER GOT A JOB!!! Today is her first day.

Along with all of these things, here are a few things that were not date specific: I did not meet my future husband; Sister did not meet her future husband; Sister-In-Law did not start a LONG-AWAITED (5-6 years of waiting) pregnancy; I did not buy the car I have been trying to buy for over two years.


As you can see, 2011 had its ups and downs, with a lot of BIG downs. Most of these things were unexpected and many of them were unwelcome. I know this sounds like I'm focusing on all the negative and I AM grateful for all of the blessings I have received over the year, including the ability to quit my job and survive financially for several months. This was just a pretty rough year, not just for me, but for many of the people closest to me. And I can't help but think that any resolution I would have made would not have been accomplished in 2011.

So as 2012 breaks over the horizon, I will not make resolutions. But I will whisper a small prayer:

Lord, please bless my family and keep them safe. Let us not lose anyone this year, but let us add to our number, even many times over. Place good men and women in authority over us, that we may be fulfilled by our daily work and earn enough money to keep us well-fed, well-housed, and able to give to others. Grant us health and fitness, that our bodies would be better able to serve You and bring You glory. Let us not wander away from You, that when difficulty comes, we may lean on You for strength and guidance. We praise you because we are fearfully and wonderfully made and we know that Your plans for us are for good, for hope, and for a future. So, Lord, please let 2012 be a year of hope and goodness.

Where I've Been and What I've Been Doing (Or Not Doing)

I don't even know how to start... I made a promise at the end of NaBloPoMo that I would continue posting every day but Sundays. And then promptly stopped posting for sixteen days. Only a few of those were Sundays. I have many excuses and even a few reasons, but I hate to be one of those bloggers who is always apologizing for their lack of posting--it makes me feel like an idiot and it really doesn't help you at all. So instead, I'm going to tell you about a few of the things I've been doing in the last sixteen days. And make a few excuses along the way. Because I'm a chronic apologizer.

The first day of December, I purposely did not post. I was tired. I had kind of run out of words--I had used A LOT OF WORDS in November. So I took a break and read someone else's words. During the madness of November, I had been unable to stick my mind to books. It was the strangest thing. The more I put my own words out there and the more I developed a story line for my novel, I avoided other people's words and story lines. At first, I was afraid of unconsciously stealing someone else's work. Then I just couldn't make my brain focus.

The the first thing I read once I finished the Na____Mos was the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants series by Ann Brashares, so that I could read the newest addition. On December 2nd, I started the new book at about 10:30 pm and put it down at 6:30 am, when I had read the very last page. I was exhausted, but I did not regret it at all! That book was incredible! I laughed. I wept. I felt as if I was one of the characters, experiencing all of the same emotions they were. I'd recommend it for anyone who enjoyed the first books or the movies or, you know, enjoys good books in general. Just read the first four--they're meant for teens, but you need the back story.

After that, I fell into a little bit of a funk. The book followed me for a few days and I felt like I was still grieving all that had happened, which is kind of strange, I know. But good books stick to me. That's how I know that they're good. It was during these days that I meant to post and never managed to do so. I had TOO many words in my head again.

And then I just got lazy. I admit it. JUST PLAIN LAZY. I was so relieved not to have a daily deadline and THINGS TO DO (unemployment has completely spoiled me) that I found all kinds of reasons not to post. We watched a lot of TV and a lot of movies. I played a lot of Sims 3. And when Sims 3 is running on my computer, I can't access the internet. It was the PERFECT EXCUSE. The perfect excuse to avoid the thing that I actually enjoyed, but had somehow convinced myself was a giagantic burden... Kind of strange.

I have also been house-sitting for my parents, who are visiting my mom's dad. Last Sunday was his NINETIETH birthday. That's CRAZY, right? Ninety! All five of his kids and some of the cousins came to his house from across the country to celebrate with him. That man is amazing. He accomplishes more everyday at 90 than I do at almost 25. He's still very spry and alert, although slightly curmudgeonly. Aw, heck. If I get to be ninety, I'm totally going to be a little grumpy, just because I CAN!

I have very little excuse for not posting at the parents' house, since their Internet is MUCH better than mine. Except? Sims 3. And television. And Firefly. And John Adams. And letting the dog out every five minutes and letting him back in, because he's barking, less than ten minutes later.

OH! AND! A few weeks ago, Godson's mom texted me a picture.

A picture of a positive pregnancy test.

YAY!! A brand new godson or goddaughter to dote on! She had her husband had been trying to conceive for almost six months and she had been getting worried. And then both her sisters-in-law (one of them being Sister's best friend) announced that THEY were pregnant. And Godson's mom was even sadder, because no one else knew they were trying, so it kind of looked like she was just being rude to those who were full of joy. But now, there will be three new grandchildren in her family sometime next summer. We were all very excited! Her mother's head is practically exploding with all of the babies coming into her life.

The next day, I go another text. Another person very close to me is pregnant. I can't say who, because I do not have permission. But it is very exciting and jump-around-the-room worthy. YAY! Babies. Babies and more babies!

Except? I have a black part of my heart that was not so happy. Because I am single, childless, unemployed, overweight, and all around dissatisfied with the direction my life is traveling. So while I was BEYOND excited for these new babies and their parents, I was also feeling a little bit sorry for myself. Because OF COURSE the world revolves around me.

For a day or two, I was kind of overwhelmed with the fact that my life is going NOWHERE. Funny thing is, I have some level of control over at least half of the things I think are wrong with my life. So basically, I'm just a whiner. And lazy. SURPRISE! Not.

Whether my feelings were rational or charitable is not the point. In those days, I knew I SHOULDN'T post, because anything I said was going to be something I would regret. And it's not that I don't already love these children. I do. I really do! It's just that I'm self-centered and have a black part of my heart where I apparently think other people having babies is some kind of indictment of my own lonely status. Because that's rational and reasonable and NOT AT ALL ridiculous. Sure...

And then I got another text about a pregnant friend. But this one was different. This one was sad on many different levels. This was the most difficult to wrap my mind around and is a lot of the reason I haven't posted THIS week.

A twenty-year-old friend of mine (a girl I had once babysat and who has become a dear friend) had been pregnant and had miscarried. And while the timing was awful--she's unmarried, still in college, and barely supporting herself--she wanted this child in her life. And yet, because the timing was so bad, she's also relieved that her life won't change so suddenly. And she feels guilty for feeling relieved, because her child is dead.

I am sad on so many levels. I am sad that she lost her child. I am sad that she slept with her boyfriend. I know many of you will probably not understand this, since most people don't give a second thought to sleeping with people they are not married to (and this is no judgement on either you or my friend). But I believe that there is all kinds of pain and devastation wrapped up in sex when it is not done in the right relationship or in the right timing. And I know that my friend is already feeling that pain and devastation. I am also sad for her future relationships--either continuing with this boy who is probably not mature enough to be a father or in a different relationship that will bear the burden of these poor choices. I am sad for her parents, who hoped for so much more for their daughter. I am sad for this boy, who many never understand that he DID NOT dodge a bullet. He just caught a different one than the one he expected and it may take him years to understand the wound.

As you can imagine, this situation has greatly changed my attitude. It helped me see how selfish and whiny I was being. It also reminded me why my life is where it is right now--the timing is just as wrong for me as it was for my friend. And I want to do all of this in the right time and in the right way. As much as I wish that the timing WAS right, I know there is so much I need to do before I get there. I knew all of this. But my friend reminded me in a way that my own brain could not accomplish. It also reminded me how to be a good friend, which I am ashamed to say I have been neglecting lately.

So these are just a few of the things I have been doing (and/or NOT DOING) while not blogging. I'm sure there's more, but I'm too lazy to think of it saving it for future posts. My parents get home this afternoon and I'll be back in my own bed tonight, which is kind of a relief. House-sitting is not difficult-- as we all know, I am a CHAMPION "sitter while in houses" --but the bed I'm sleeping in here is a queen-size and I'm afraid I'm getting used to it. And it has an electric blanket, so I'm been slow-cooking myself every night. I need to get home to my cold, small bed before I CAN NEVER GO HOME AGAIN.

Welcome to the Apple Factory

As I am sure that many of you are, Thanksgiving is this week. Well, it is for us Americans, anyway. Which is very sad for the rest of you, I think. Unless your country has its own day some other time of the year. But still... Anyway, I'm looking forward to having a legitimate excuse to gorge myself on delicious food. Instead of the usual, "Hey, it's Tuesday! Let's eat two pizzas because one of them is free!" And I'm looking forward to it for another reason: come November 28th, it's back to WeightWatchers. For real. None of this meandering around, sometimes staying in the points, but usually chucking the whole program by noon. I figure it's ridiculous to try to start anything the week of Thanksgiving, but the FATNESS must END. So Thursday will be a Farewell Feast for my fat. Or something like that.

Our family's custom is to gather at Sister-In-Law's mother's house. This means everybody. Mom, Papa, Sister, Brother, Sister-In-Law, both her parents, her two sisters, their husbands and their children, and maybe even her father's brother and his family. Sister actually has three sisters, but one of them moved away a few years ago. Otherwise, they'd be there, too. It's always a packed house. And even though we have SO MANY PEOPLE, we always end up with more food than we can possibly eat. Oh, but we TRY! And even though I tell myself not to, I ALWAYS end up eating so much I'm in pain. And then I have pie. And then I have second pie.

So this year, even though Thanksgiving is going to be a kind of last hurrah, I have made a deal with myself: I will only have ONE of anything. I will try as many things as I want and will put decent sized portions on my plate. But after I have eaten the serving I have given myself, I WILL NOT have any more of it. In other words, no seconds. If I'm still hungry (okay, not hungry, just wanting more food) after my first plate, I WILL ONLY have vegetables. I think this is an effective strategy--no deprivation, but no pain in the end either. I'll let you know how it goes. Because apple pie may be my downfall...

As is also our custom, Sister, Sister-In-Law, and I get together at one of our houses the day before Thanksgiving to bake up a storm. I'm usually in charge of rolls, since bread seems to be my forte. Sister makes some sort of pumpkin-y whipped dessert or pumpkin muffins--yum! Sister-In-Law usually makes pies. This makes the house smell amazing! But this year, we're doing it at Sister-In-Law's house, since she has finally finished her kitchen remodel (complete with new counters) and she wants to test it all out. This means it will be her house that smells good, not ours (luckily, this also means I don't have to clean our kitchen).

So, in the spirit of the holidays, we've turned out house into an Apple Factory. We have a scented oil thing that plugs into an outlet. It needed to be changed today and Sister found last Christmas's impulse buy of cinnamon-caramel-harvest-holiday-spice-OMG-APPLES type of scented oil. So: APPLE FACTORY. We plugged it in about an hour ago and about ten minutes ago, I was like HOLY APPLES BATMAN! In unrelated news, I'm hungry again. Hmmm... I may have to rethink the Apple Factory and WeightWatchers combination.

Head Injuries Make Awful Love Stories

After yesterday's anti-sleep propaganda post, I sat and twittered (tweeted?) for a while. Then I tried to novel. And my eyes crosses and everything got pretty blurry. So just as the sun was finally lighting up the world (about 9:45... yeah, I know, right?), I went and curled up on my couch and finally drifted off to sleep. Sister woke me at 12:45 to say she was leaving to go shopping with Mom and offered me her non-broken, lovely queen sized bed for further sleep. I slept until a little past 3:00. At which point the sun was hanging low in the sky. So basically, I got about 2.5 hours of daylight yesterday. Oh, Far North, how I have mixed feelings about you...

I'm happy to report that I got about 6 hours of sleep last night and about three more this afternoon, which will hopefully only keep me up until 1:00 or so tonight and I'll be back on track. Or I'll become a bat and only flit about the world at nighttime. Whatever... Not that ANY of you cared to know this much detail about my sleeping habits. Because, seriously? Who else cares but me? And maybe my mother (Hi, Mom!). Moving on.

Since I spent most of yesterday like a zombie (LIKE a zombie, not BEING a zombie--hold off on your blowtorches and machetes, zombie killers) and most of today churching or napping, I don't have anything really interesting to report.

Well, except that Papa was struck with a very painful headache last night (rapid onset and high level of pain) and actually AGREED to go to the hospital to get checked out, which was pretty scary. He hates going to the doctor, so you know his pain has to be ridiculously high when he agrees to go. Anyway, it turned out to be an abnormal presentation of a migraine, not a stroke or an aneurism (not that my mind jumped to those conclusions or anything), but they gave him some pretty hefty painkillers and sent him home. The only thing is, he still had a terrible headache, he was now just woozy and disoriented on top of that, because the drugs didn't touch the headache. So Sister and I spent a lot of last night waiting at my parent's house for news about his brain and then an hour or so trying to be helpful with a very sedate and funny Papa.

But, again, that's probably not that interesting to you guys either.So I thought I would tell you a story. The story of my first kiss. I know. Awesome, right? Are you ready for this?

I was four (shhhh! I'm telling a story; don't interrupt with your laughter). His name was Jordan and he was three (which is kind of funny, because I have never again liked a younger man). His mother babysat me a few days a week (maybe less, maybe more... I'm not sure; I was four) and Jordan and I would play together for a few hours. My favorite thing to do was to dress up like Belle from Beauty and the Beast and make him waltz with me all around their basement playroom. It was my favorite movie at the time. I had a satiny yellow dress like the one she wears in the ballroom scene and my mother made me a blue cape with a hood, just like hers. So I would make Jordan be the Beast and I would play Belle and we would dance ALL DAY. Because I was a nice friend and never monopolized out playing time.

We also played other things, including Tonka trucks, which I thought were kind of awesome. We also colored, played in his sandbox, and did all of the general "kid" activities one does with a friend at age four. His mother was the first to introduce me to rhubarb, which I hate to this day. His mom also gave birth to twins at some point that year, which was the first time I had ever encountered that concept. Let's just say, my mind was BOGGLED by the idea of two babies at once and the fact that they could possibly look EXACTLY THE SAME (these two didn't, because one was a boy and one was a girl). Actually, I'm pretty sure that's why I have always wanted twins. The funny thing is, if I had been just slightly older and had noticed how tired and frazzled she looked and how difficult it was for her to get both of them to sleep at the same time, I probably would have a life long aversion to the idea.

Anyway, do any of you remember doing that thing, where you're at a friend's house and your parent shows up to take you home and you hide? Anyone? It wasn't a naughty kind of hiding, like I hated my parents or I was going to refuse to leave this person's house or I'm hiding JUST to frustrate and annoy my mother. It was more of a, "Hey, let's be funny and hide in this closet and giggle as Mom walks past on her way to the playroom, then jump out and say HI!" type of thing.

One day, I hear my mother upstairs, talking to Mrs. Jordan's Mom and he says, "Hide!" And I giggle and run around looking for a spot. He opens the laundry closet, which is basically louvered doors in front of a space exactly the depth of a washer and dryer. In order to do laundry, you have to open the doors and you can't stand in there when they're closed. But if you're four, you can sit cross-legged on TOP of the washer and the door closes just fine. So I'm sitting on the washer and I can see Jordan through the slats of the door. I hear my mother call for me and I giggle again. Then Mrs. Jordan's Mom calls for him and, being a very obedient three-year-old at the time, he immediately opens the laundry door to tell me we have to go upstairs.

But as soon as he opens the door, I LAUNCH myself at him, all flying squirrel-like. I hit him in the shoulders, knocking both of us to the floor and squashing him underneath me. Then, impulsive like I have never been since, I peck him on one cheek, then the other, then his lips. Then I jump up giggling and flounce up the stairs as if nothing has happened. I'm pretty sure my mother told me to say goodbye to Jordan, which I just yelled down the stairs in his general direction, and we were out to the car before he appeared.

And that is the story of my first kiss. It was a good one, right? I wasn't ashamed of it or anything, but I also never thought to tell anyone about it. Until my first year of college. A bunch of us girls were sitting around talking about our first kisses and I was slightly embarrassed that I was eighteen and had never been kissed. And then I remembered Jordan. So when it seemed like my turn, I told that story, not letting on that I had not been kissed since. The girls thought this was an incredibly funny and also enormously original way to kiss a boy.

And it became this thing. They would say something like, "I really like him! Maybe I'll take him to the laundry room and just tackle him, Elise-style..." with a licentious eyebrow waggle in my direction. And I would remind them that: A. the laundry room was not private, by any means, so they would need to be cautious if "tackling him" meant anything other than kissing; and B. the laundry room floor was poured concrete, which meant they were far more likely to concuss their love interest than they were to kiss him. None of them ever seemed to listen to me. But none of them ever tried it either, as far as I know. No traumatic brain injuries occurred in the basement of our dorm building while I went there, anyway...

One of my friends, who had been there when I told the story, was completely enamored with one of our guy friends. She claimed he had given her all sorts of signals, but she was still waiting for him to "make his move." And even though each of us had gently tried to help her see that he wanted nothing to do with her whatsoever and had told more than one of us so, she remained smitten. In fact, she would devote significant portions of her day (and our conversations) to planning their wedding and naming their children. She was a little... off-kilter. But she was particularly fond of my story and the idea of "tackling him in the laundry room." And every time I hung out with him, I had the strangest urge to go all PROPHECY VOICE on him and say crap like, "BEWARE THE PLACE WHERE CLOTHES ARE CLEANED" or "DETERGENT AND SOFTENER MEAN DEATH TO ANY HE WHO ENTERS HERE."

But, instead, I stopped spending time with crazy people and boys who play with girls' emotions. Three years later, I ran into both of them, separately, around graduation time. All she was could talk about how much she liked him and wondering when he was going to make his move (!) and he didn't know who I was talking about at first when I mentioned seeing her. She's engaged now and I think he's a priest. So it all worked out for everyone, I guess.

Except for me, the girl who STILL hasn't been kissed. And I used to be embarrassed about it. But when I think back to all the stories those girls told, most of them regretted who they kissed or it was awkward and disappointing. So I figure it will happen when it happens and when it does, it will be GOOD. And until then, I am content in knowing that I was once bold and impulsive and an example to amorous college freshmen and that I make an impressive flying-squirrel.

And Now, A Word From My Sponsor

[A while ago, I gave you guys an opportunity to ask me questions and one of you asked for a guest post from my mother. Well, ask and you shall receive... after about six weeks. Because I'm bad at follow-through. And that explains her pirate comment.]

The World’s Oldest Profession

A guest post by Mom

So, one of Elise’s readers requested a guest post by me, Elise’s Mom. Did you notice the M of “mom” is in caps? That’s because it is part of my proper name. I am also known as Big Brother’s Mom, Sister’s Mom and Brother’s Mom and have answered to Dad’s Wife on occasion. Actually the commenter’s request was for a guest post from Elise’s Mum. Since I also answer to Mom, Mommy, Mama, Mamah (accent on the second syllable) and Mumsy, I think Mum must also be me.

[Sometimes, I even call her Marmalade... And sometimes, I call my dad Papaya. But that's neither here nor there. Sorry, I'll shut up and let Mom talk.]

When I first heard of this request I immediately thought that this was by big chance to tell all of Elise’s readers some fun little facts about her. You know, how she didn’t like to be called “Young Lady” because she was sure she was in trouble. She would say in her adorable little three-year-old voice, “I AM NOT A YOUNG LADY!” Trust me, it was very cute. Hard to stay mad when you are busting up on the inside. Actually, I now realize she was probably smart enough to know this would waylay whatever punishment was about to come, because truthfully, she probably was in trouble. (A small diversion here. I have never written out the word “waylay” and was not sure I had it right.  So, I highlighted it and checked synonyms. Among the many choices was “bushwhack”. It was really tempting to use this word instead, since, at the moment I am writing this, Elise, Sister, Sister-in-Law and I are all preparing to leave today for an annual ladies’ retreat where the theme for the weekend is Pirates. YO HO HO! No rum however. It’s not that kind of retreat.)

Now what was I saying? Oh, yeah. The blog.

I was awakened this morning at 6 a.m. by a phone call. Since I have a job that requires me to be available at all hours, I was expecting it to be work. But it wasn’t. Even without my glasses, I was pretty sure I did not recognize the caller ID. When I answered, this gentle male voice asked, “Well, who is this?” to which I replied, “Who did you call?” He stuttered a bit and told me he was looking for his niece, Theresa. When I told him he had a wrong number, he said “No” in a voice that one would use if one had just been told Theresa was dead. I thought he might cry. I assured him there was no Theresa here (I actually briefly entertained the idea that maybe I should get up and check). There was a long silence before he hung up and left me wide awake and imagining the scenario.

So, lying there, in my wide awake state, I began thinking of all that I had to do to be ready to leave here by 10 o’clock with my favorite girls and realized that I had been given the gift of an extra hour from Theresa’s uncle. My thoughts turned to the blog. Instead of telling you Elise stories (maybe another post, another day) I think I will speak to my favorite profession. The world’s oldest profession. Motherhood. Had you going for a minute there, huh?

I realize that motherhood is not what most people think about when they hear the phrase, “the world’s oldest profession” but seriously. That cannot be. Eve was NOT one of those. Think about it, even if she wanted to be one of those, who was she gonna “sell” her wares to? If ever there was a faithful wife, she was. However, Eve was a mom. Now, it could be argued that she was first a wife. But, that is not a profession in my mind. It is more of a position. You know, like Queen. He’s the King and she’s the Queen.

But Motherhood. Now there’s a job. Also, a calling. But definitely a job.

Let’s look at a “job description” for Motherhood.

Mother: Must be able to stay awake for undetermined amounts of time. Must have the ability to problem solve while cooking dinner, sewing a costume, wiping a nose, baking enough cupcakes for the whole  classroom (while remembering, Edward is allergic to chocolate and Amanda has to be gluten-free), at the same time being “on hold” for 15 minutes to schedule dentist appointments for 4. Must be able to endure sticky fingers, sneezes to the face (occasionally accompanied by baby cereal), and noxious odors. A mother’s job may (translated probably) include: scheduling, chauffeuring, nursing including minor surgery, nutritional guidance, interior decorating, zoo-keeping, toy repair, toy assembly, home maintenance, costume designing, plumbing, party planning, gardening, religious instruction and stain removal. Must be able to lift increasing weight, eat with one hand while holding a squirming toddler (on occasion two) and get gum out of hair. Mothers will be responsible for all holidays including having gifts available, serving dinner without a hitch and having a camera ready at all times. This applicant will also be in charge of waste removal, ranging anywhere from dirty diapers to the weekly trash. Mothers should be prepared to participate in on the job training in conflict management (clairvoyantly determining who touched who first), financial management (no you may not have money for designer jeans) and career counseling (selling greeting cards door to door is not a career).  A mother will, on occasion, have an assistant depending on what’s on TV. All mothers must be willing to accept “other duties, as assigned”.

Compensation for a mother is not measured in usual monetary units, but is a series of intangible benefits. Mothers often receive half eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, bouquets of dandelions and a variety of bugs in a pickle jar. Wet kisses and crayon drawn pictures are common. Breakfast in bed may be served on Mother’s Day and typically consists of cold burned toast, a glass of orange juice filled to the absolute brim (and spilled over the edge) and a cup of coffee so full of milk and sugar that it is cold and syrupy. (But, hey, it’s the thought that counts, right?) Subordinates share many things with a mother including colds and influenza.

Entertainment is one of the fringe benefits. Examples include: Knock-knock jokes, endless games of Chutes and Ladders, who can blow the biggest bubble with their bubble gum contests and brothers being dressed up in sister’s clothes.

Shifts are 7 days per week, 24 hours per day. Time off may be granted for occasional retreats but must be preplanned well in advance. Sick time is also rare, but will be granted on a case by case basis.

So, you see, mothers have the hardest and often most thankless job in the world, but also the best job ever. No other profession influences our world as much as motherhood. No other profession knows the pride and joy of watching a ballet recital (for 2 and a half hours!), listening to the solo at the Christmas program at school (choosing to ignore the feedback on the microphone), seeing the little leaguers first home run (inside the park no less) and seeing the blue ribbon at the science fair (who knew staying up till midnight helping build a volcano could be so rewarding?). Who else applauds when a toddler goes pee in the potty or a kindergartener ties her own shoes?

At bedtime, when chubby arms come around your neck and a little voice says “I wuv you Mommy!” no amount of compensation in the world could tear you away from this job. Seeing the surprise on a child’s face on Christmas morning, wiping the tears as your 6 year old giggles because he just lost his first tooth, having your student run from the bus stop to tell you first that she just got the big part in the school play, or watching as your young man or woman walks to the podium in cap and gown is matchless joy.

I wouldn’t trade a moment. I have the feeling that millions of other moms across the globe feel just the same way.

Schlumpy Funks and Their Antidotes

I've spent the whole morning watching LOST with Sister. And then I washed piles of gross dishes so that Sister-In-Law can make meatloaf at our house. Why? Because I hadn't done dishes all week and there was no counter space. Oh, you mean why is Sister-In-Law making meatloaf at my house? Because her house is inexplicably out of power. And her husband is finishing up a 14 hour shift. So, he will be hungry. And there will not be warm food at his house.

Then Sister and I fought with my computer and my Internet and all of the things I need to get this here post... posted. Because our house is some kind of Internet VORTEX OF DOOM.

But even with the laziness, the dishes, the bad technology, and the fact that I probably need to put pants on when my brother comes over, this has still been a better day than yesterday. I've only used capslock twice in this post so far, and one of the time it was because that's the naming convention of the show. I think.

And the thing was, yesterday wasn't so much bad as it was WEIRD. But you guys caught that nuance, right... I was pretty sure you did. It was difficult to tell, but you guys are pretty perceptive...

In addition to the WEIRD incident, I spent most of yesterday evening in a draggy, schlumpy kind of mood (it's a thing, I promise). I wrote maybe 100 words on my novel, which is kind of funny, since yesterday was the first day I started on track. Apparently, I cannot write if I'm not behind.

But here are a couple things that were good about yesterday (these may or may not have happened the night before, but yesterday was so WEIRD that I can't keep the details straight):

1. Sister joined Twitter. Follow her @NBNickleby!

2. I joined Goodreads. Follow me as NotBagels!

3. I figured out why my novel sucks and a possible fix. I haven't written anything yet today (of course...), but as soon as I eat dinner, I'm headed into the Writing Nook. Oh, and you can totally be my NaNoWriMo writing buddy here.

So I'm back on track, I think. Although, Godson's mom texted me and wanted to do lunch and I wasn't showered or ready and I could have gotten ready, but it would have been a rush and then I would have had to drive somewhere. In the snow. That has been plowed off the streets for days, but still. So I asked for a raincheck. So maybe I'm not as out my funk as I should be...

But if I can just jump back into writing this novel and make one of my characters a little more CRAZY, like she's supposed to be (instead of the whole Elise-vibe she's got going for her right now, by which I mean cautious and boring) and to make the other character a little more loving and less OBNOXIOUSLY SELF-RIGHTEOUS, like he's turning out to be, I think things could start picking up again.

Now, because I like this blog to be interactive and it hasn't been lately, I have a question or two for you. First, what is the WEIRDest situation you've even been involved in? Use as many details as you would like. Second, how do YOU pull yourself out of a funk (not sad or depressed or even any emotion, just... schlumpy)? Tips and tricks are helpful, but mostly, I'd just like to start the conversation. TELL ME ABOUT YOURSELF!! Please?

Today's Word Count: 0 (so far)

Monthly Total: 11,931

Necessary Inventions, Unnecessary Details, and Tea

I'm kind of stuck in my novel right now, so I thought I'd change the channel on my mental TV and tell you guys a story.

There once was a girl who was unemployed, single, and childless who decided to write a book. She failed. She remained unemployed, single, and childless for the rest of her life. The end.

Just kidding! It's actually going well. Or it's going okay... I'm not exactly sure. This is one of the first times I've just let the characters lead me, instead of having a plot and trying to make it all happen. I think this is a better way, but it totally makes me sound a little crazy when I say things like, "I didn't know you were in the ARMY!" or "How the heck did you end up in a crime scene? I thought I was writing a romance, not a crime thriller!" But at least it keeps things interesting.

In that vein, I have an invention, a service of sorts, that I would like one of you to develop. Preferably in the next week or so. It would be like the Butterball Hotline (which they apparently call the Butterball Turkey Talk-Line, but I'm not getting paid by them or anything, so I'm going to be lazy and leave it as it is), but instead of free advice on cooking turkeys, it would be free advice/brainstorming help with other writers who have no agenda, but simply want to help you discover what's already in your own mind. It would go something like this:

CHRIS: Writer's Block Hotline, my name is Chris. How may I help you?

CALLER: I'm writing a book. It's kind of a romance, but it's set during World War I and is really more of a mystery/whodunnit. 

CHRIS: Okay, I'm sending you over to Brenda over in Historical Fiction. She's our resident expert on World War I. She'll set you up on a conference call with Debbie, one of our romance novelists, and Peter, who has sold over a million copies of his latest mystery "Who Didn't Shoot J.R.?" They'll help you talk out your plot points and see if we can't some new synapses firing. Please hold.

That? Would be AWESOME. So somebody get on that, would you? I'll be over here, trying to figure out if I'm dealing with a serial killer, a disgruntled lover, or a time machine.

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This is really apropos of nothing (when has that EVER stopped me?), except that I mentioned the Butterball Hotline and so now I ask you to go watch this clip, which ranks pretty high on the list of my all-time favorite West Wing moments. No, seriously. Go watch it. Now. I'll wait.

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Did you watch it? I thought you might not. Seriously, go watch it and I'll wait right here.

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Also in novel-related news (if one can squeeze "odd factoid about Elise" into a the category "news"), I have recently found a tea that I love quite a bit. Now, I grew up drinking tea all the time. My Nana was a tea enthusiast and we had tea parties (actual tea parties, not political rallies, which I guess makes me a tea hipster or something, since I was tea partying before it was cool... or something...).

Anyway, while I was on relocation this year, I discovered a new tea. Bigelow: Green Tea with Lemon (And I'm not sure why they feel the need to specify it as gluten-free. I was unaware that was a common tea ingredient, but, then again, I've never lived with a food allergy, so no complaints or anything). Now here's the "odd factoid about Elise" part: I don't like green tea and I NEVER take my tea with lemon. But for some VERY strange reason, this tea is DELICIOUS to me. It might be gluten-free, but I fear it's not crack-free... This stuff is addictive.

And before you ask, yes. I did think that maybe my tastes had changed and I have tried both green tea and also other teas with lemon. Still gross. But? This tea still tastes good. I'm pretty sure it will become the one of my Writing Staples. Not like the metal things that will fasten together papers that I've written on--tea leaves make extraordinarily poor binding agents. I mean that this tea will probably become something that I need to have to help me write. Like some people need a giant bowl of M&Ms and others need particular music. But I think you probably got that, huh? Moving on.

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I know I'm not usually one to talk about current TV shows (much) or give away spoilers or anything. but can I just say, "Private Practice, where are you GOING with this? ANY OF THIS? Because I don't think it's any place good and I'm not sure I want to go with you..."? Because all of those things need to be said and I have a blog, so I'm saying them. And I apologize to any of you who are enjoying the current season or are waiting for it to come out on DVD. Please don't let my rant spoil your good time. I may not know what I'm talking about. All I know is that I needed to say these things and I happen to have a platform. So, yeah. Done with that...

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I hinted at it in yesterday's post and I'm only going to hint about it again. My former job is not as former as I would like it to be. There are certain circumstances, which have to remain secret (both for the original Rules reasons, but also because what is happening is kind of confidential), that have my blood pressure rising and are reminding me of all the reasons I quit in the first place. It also been a pretty good reminder that I really don't want to be in that particular section of my field for a good long while, so this may have answered my quandaries about a possible job offer I vaguely alluded to in a DIFFERENT post. 

That whole paragraph has served as nothing but a waste of your time, probably, because of how vague I have to be and I maybe shouldn't even post this because you don't know what I'm saying and it doesn't really help me to say it so vaguely, but I'm going to leave it because I typed it and I'm supposed to be ignoring my delete button this month for NaNoWriMo and I would hate to get into a bad habit so early in the game. So chalk this up to another "Unnecessary Detail" and forget I said anything, okay.

Someday, I hope I'm able to tell you all of these secrets I'm keeping. Except that by the time that happens (if ever), it probably won't be interesting to any of us anymore, so it would be kind of anticlimactic anyway. So, sorry for that. And for the above paragraph. Again.

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I'm going to Brother and Sister-In-Law's house for dinner tonight with the whole family. We have to leave in an hour and I'm not wearing any pants. Okay, I'm wearing yoga pants. But I always say, "If you're not allowed to wear them out of the house, they don't really count as pants." This dinner thing means I have a perfectly valid excuse for not reaching my word count goal for today. Except that I was already behind. So EVEN THOUGH it is COMPLETELY LEGITIMATE, I'm having a little bit of The Guilt. So I should end this post and see how much further I can get before pants are no longer optional. 

Have a good night and a good weekend. I'll see you all tomorrow!

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[I was not paid by Butterball Turkeys, NBC, Aaron Sorkin , Bigelow Teas, ABC, Shonda Rhimes, or Vague Job Industries for any of the preceding statements. I have not, at any time, received compensation for statements I have made on this blog, unless you count Sister slipping me a twenty to keep me from telling embarrassing stories about her (which actually never happened... the stories or the twenty). All of the opinions expressed on this blog are the sole opinions of the writer and probably not even that. No one would pay me to type this drivel. But if the would, I'd totally take it. As long as the didn't ask me to do any REAL work....]

 

Today's Word Count: 1560

Monthly Total: 4887