Category Archives: It's Not a Living

Feels Like the First Day of School

These past few days since accepting the job offer, I’ve had to remind myself frequently that the adjustment I’m trying to prepare ourselves for isn’t that much of an adjustment when it comes to the overall picture. While I did lose my job almost two and a half years ago, I’ve only been home full-time since January.

But in the smaller, cynical picture, I can’t help but worry about losing this quality time with Aitch and Doodicus. What makes it a bit easier is that Aitch has been going to the daycare for a couple hours a day while I worked out and ran some errands. Doodicus will be done with school on Wednesday, so I won’t be stressing about his schoolwork (if only for the next three months). He’s very excited about going back to daycare full-time, and I have to admit, him being at daycare will provide him more activities than being at home with me who doesn’t like to do battle over how much time he needs to spend outside, or actually anything but playing TV and video games.

Related: the other day I “made” him come outside while I planted some flowers with Aitch. A wasp happened to be nearby and Dood nearly pooped his pants. I may have told him to suck it up. A post for another day.

I’m sure that my nervousness has a lot to do with the fact that this isn’t like me going back to work after maternity leave, it’s because I’m going back to work at a completely new job at a position I’ve never had. What if I hate it? What if they hate me??

Other worry-inducing changes are minor, if not petty. I didn’t even bother working out this week because I won’t be able to once I go back to work. Until we get Aitch onto a new schedule, I’ll be out of the house before she even wakes up. Half hour lunch breaks means endless sack lunches and no more lunch-dates with Sparring Partner. The projects I had lined up with remain just that: projects. The house will revert into a pig sty that I will have to spend my weekends cleaning. And I’ll miss my friends’ updates on Facebook and their blogs.

See? Stupid and petty worries. These are normal, right? I keep reminding myself that I’ll feel productive once again. I won’t have to justify every bank account transaction. Lastly, and probably the most importantly, we’ll finally have health insurance coverage…correction: Aitch, Doodicus and Sparring Partner will have health coverage. I, on the other hand, will have some coverage, but I may have to wait at least 18 months for the pre-existing term to pass before I get the coverage I really need.

Monday is my first day.

What You’ll Never Hear Donald Trump Say: You’re Hired!

(Link below fixed…I think)

Well Mother’s Day as a “day” was shit. Thank god I have the other 364 days to make up for its singular full on suck. Sparring Partner and I had a humongous fight. I’m almost afraid to mention that a bloody nose was involved, but before anyone gets their panties in a bunch, it was the bloody nose that actually brought on the fight. It took about 24 hours before Sparring Partner and I were talking to each other again.

Of course I had to break the ice because Monday morning my sister and I were going to The Metro to do some bonding over shoe shopping and being that annoying couple of women who talk and giggle at each other through the dressing room walls and I wanted to spend some moola. We had planned the trip a week earlier, so I had been trying to figure out what was lacking from my closet. What is NOT lacking from my closet was the too-small and out-dated office-appropriate clothing that I noticed were getting a fine sifting of dust.

I was trying to get Aitch distracted by breakfast and Dora when my phone rang and it was a local number. My stomach lurched. I knew it was coming and I both dreaded it and anticipated it with hope. I was being offered a job.

Backing up a bit: a couple of weeks ago I received a phone call from a speciality clinic in town. I had applied for a position in their office but I was not hired, however a different position within the clinic came open and my resume was reconsidered. I interviewed with the physician and the person I would be replacing, and while I knew I would be a great fit, I had already mentally geared myself for a summer off to be with the kids. My first summer as a SAHM. Landscaping projects that had been blown off for the past couple years were restarted.

But as with all the good interviews I have had in the past, I figured that yet again I would be overlooked. A couple of days later I received another phone call from the clinic requesting a second interview. Again it went well (it wasn’t one of those canned-questions-with-canned-answers kind of interview that I loathe. It was a let’s-sit-down-and-get-to-know-each-other kind of interviews, which I prefer for their casual honesty. Admittedly, the physician is well-liked, respected, popular. I could do worse, I thought, after the second interview. That’s when I knew I wouldn’t get the job: because now I wanted it.

That leads us back to Monday morning’s phone call. I accepted enthusiastically and graciously while my daughter, who I walked away from and closed the bathroom door on so I could have a fairly dignified phone conversation with, screamed and cried for me. I nearly changed my mind when she wailed, “I want you! Mommy! I want youuuuu!!”

It was her face that was in the forefront of my mind when I finally called my husband. I was in the car, driving out of town, my daughter content once again at home with Grandma nearby. I announced I had a job and then I cried while my heart broke.

When I start to get weepy, like I am now writing about that moment, I remind myself of how I couldn’t have asked for a better opportunity. The specialist is top-notch. The clinic is under a corporation and there are health insurance benefits and investment opportunities. I’ll be able to utilize my decade of experience at the hospital. And the cherry? During my probationary period, they will start me at the salary I was making at the hospital and then I’ll be eligible for a raise.

It took 36 months from the time we were referred to a Reproductive Endocrinologist (July 2005) until we actually had a baby (July 2008). It took me 29 months to find a new job. Wrap your brains around that for a moment.

I went hog-wild on my shopping trip. The credit card’s strip was melting by the time I headed home with several large shopping bags in the back, including one with a pair of these shoes – in blue – and these (one of my fave brands of shoes). While most of what I got was mine, I did get both kids a few things for the summer. Doodicus will probably hate what I got him and that will mean a return trip to The Metro.

My credit card will be cooled by then.

Stepping Up

I’ve mentioned at different times my friend who I use to work with that also struggled with secondary infertility. She got pregnant in high-school and now has a sweet teen-ager. Several years ago, shortly after she met and married a wonderful man, they had tried to get pregnant. This is also the same friend who has a great deal of faith and while they agreed to give a few rounds of IUIs with clomid a try, they didn’t feel IVF – or any further ART – was for them for religious reasons. They then started on the path towards adoption, just completing their profile a few months ago and are officially waiting.

This friend, who we’ll call Sasha, can be quite exasperating, but what friends aren’t on occasion? We definitely don’t see eye to eye on religion, ART, or even adoption (at this point, she wants a closed adoption), but I have an unbelievable amount of admiration for her. Once pregnant at 16, she could have easily become one of the majority of single teen moms and drifted through her adulthood, but she finished school, moved out on her own with a baby, worked full-time, got a college degree and soon after her masters.

When my ex-boss was promoted, his position was left unfilled for nearly a year. Several times I would encourage Sasha to apply, but she always waved away my suggestions (and her husband’s and her other friends’) by saying she wasn’t qualified. But Sasha’s hard work within that department didn’t go unnoticed and eventually the CFO went to my former boss and told him to find out if she was interested in the management position. Finally she figured, “what the hell”, applied, interviewed and quickly became the new director of the department. I am over the moon for her, and I can’t help but be glad I no longer work there, as we would no longer be able to sit in each other’s offices and have our bullshit sessions or disappear for an hour-plus lunch.

Sasha has completed our taxes for us for the past few years. Sparring Partner and I always talk about paying her, but she refuses. I think she’s just being polite, silly woman. This year was no different even though she admitted that with her new position, she might not be able to get them done as quickly. However, true to form, she finished them as quickly as before. So this time, as not only as a way to show our appreciation for putting up with our tax issues but to congratulate her on the promotion, I am doing something for her that she wouldn’t think of doing: Getting her new shoes.

Here’s a young woman who is now in a prominent position with one of the largest employers in our town and she’s running around in shoes from Payless. Not that there’s anything wrong with that… She just doesn’t know how to reward herself so I’m going to surprise her with these:

I’m very proud and happy for Sasha, so I want to make sure her career takes off on the right foot.

I know. Bad pun. It’s the one I’ll include in her greeting card as well.

Little Annoyances

Yes, I’m blowing off the Photo Ops. It’s called “procrastination”. Get use to it.

Tailor Wannabe?

My husband noticed that I had “fabric glue” written and struck through on the grocery list, because during one of my errands I picked up a bottle. Sparring partner asked what kind I got and I just looked at him stupefied. “Uh, the kind that glues…fabric…?” As if he knows anything about fabric glue.


I used the fabric glue to adhere some fleur di lis patches to the back of my daughter’s jeans, which were initially very plain. To ensure good adhesion and to keep them flat, I grabbed a concrete paver from the front deck to lay on the jeans while the glue dried. I finished my project and hung up the jeans and set aside the brick. Sparring Partner asked why it was in the closet of the bedroom. I explained. Are you going to take it back outside? he asked. If it bothers you, take it out now. I responded. Hurumph was his reply. I just walked past the closet. The brick is still sitting there. Apparently it bothers him enough to roll his eyes at me but not so much to take care of it himself.


My ex-employer has an annual fund-raiser. It’s a hoity-toity affair. During my employment I did attend a couple of times. Since I’m no longer employed there, I don’t go. Obviously. My SIL works there so she’s always getting FIL involved with contributions. He asked Sparring Partner if we want to go to the fundraiser and my this was husband’s response, “Not just no….”

I “contributed” ten years of my life there for what?? Did I ever tell you how my ex-boss emailed me while I was on maternity leave “strongly urging” me to make sure I contribute to the expansion project?! I did and was fired a month later. If that wasn’t enough, when the stalking co-worker gave my ex-boss a sob story about her empty pockets, he contributed in HER name. Oh boo-hoo, bitch. So, yeah, no. Thanks for the offer, but we won’t be going to the gah-la.

Thank you for coming in and saving us the cost of a stamp.

Photo Ops are going to have to take a break for a bit. I’m wholly uninspired. An hour ago I was on my stomach taking pictures of the flotsam made up of crumbs, noodles and I think what may have been a couple of gray hairs that was under my kitchen counter. You think I’m kidding? I guess you’ll have to just wait on those pins and needles to see, won’t you?

I had another interview earlier this week. Once again they professed their adoration for me as I was sitting there, promising me a second interview as well. I’m fucking adorable, I tell you! After I got in my car, my ego all stroked up and confident about the next step, I recalled the interview itself and of course worried some of my answers might not have been as strong as they should have. Like I should have answered that I don’t have kids when they asked me if I did. I should have said I was just diagnosed with malignant melanoma when they asked me if I was in good health. I should have said that my husband has excellent health insurance when they asked me if he did. I should have said that I have serious issue with God and we’re not on the best of terms when they asked if I had a problem with joining in their daily “prayer games” (my term, not theirs).

When I was reminded by my friends to make sure to send a thank-you card, I decided to go one step-further. I addressed a card to each of my interviewers with a personalized note in each and while Sparring Partner took care of lunch for Aitch, I drove into town and hand-delivered them personally. Aren’t I clever?!

I was thrilled when one of my interviewers happened to be at the front desk and she took them from me with a great smile and told me how they really enjoyed meeting me and that they really liked me (they really, really liked me!), but…

They just hired someone else.

You would do ANYTHING? Here’s my bank account information for the transfer.

When I was trying to get pregnant or found out I was going to miscarry, there were certain phrases that people seemed to think were helpful. Many of you know these phrases and their just-as-annoying variations all too well:

  • It’s God’s will.
  • You just need to relax/take a vacation.
  • If you adopt, you’ll get pregnant.
  • Just watch mine for the day and you’ll change your mind.

Being the recipient of such useless remarks would make my blood boil, but there really is nothing that can be done except go to my blog and complain about them. And it definitely isn’t just me. Google “things not to say to an infertile person” if you really want to know.

Now that I’m an Involuntary Stay At Home Mom (ISAHM), I’ve heard the following response to the announcement I am no longer working enough times to make me want to beat the person about the head with a used toilet brush.

“You’re SO lucky! I would do anything to stay at home with my kid(s)!”

I am so lucky?! How is losing nearly half our annual income, investment portfolio, and health benefits “lucky”?? My children who had formed bonds at daycare and established routines now feel lonely and bored at home because their mother, who has never been unemployed has no idea what to do with her children at home except help one with homework, put together puzzles, or watch entirely way too much TV.

I would do anything…is such a crock of shit. Anything? Hey, it’s not that hard to do. No magic genie needs to be summoned in order to become a SAHM/D. You just need to quit your job. Simple. Oh, you don’t want to lose your health insurance and then worry about how every specialist that you need to see means that down the road if you want to purchase private health insurance, it means a major hike in premium and that’s IF they will even cover you? Heaven forbid you get cancer and become uninsurable. Or your son get diagnosed with psychological problems. Don’t worry if you have asthma or if your spouse is overweight.

So no, you wouldn’t do anything. You like the idea of it, and sure it even sounds great to me, but the reality sucks. Unless you know the person who just told you they are a SAHM is doing so voluntarily, please keep that “lucky” and “anything” remark behind closed lips. That’ll keep me from taking better aim.

My IRL Friends Suck

A couple of weeks before Christmas, I sent a text message to two of my friends who still work at the life-suck pit where I was fired from, asking them if they wanted to do lunch; a get together before the holidays. I was hurt when I didn’t hear back from either of them. That night I sent them an email that basically said that I know that since I don’t work there anymore, it’s hard to stay on the radar, but it would’ve been nice if they would’ve at least replied even if it wasn’t going to work out that day.

While one replied she didn’t get the text (which I can believe as she’s not very technologically savvy), the other replied that she was in another town and wouldn’t be back into the area by lunch and that when she did get back to work, she got busy. I’m sorry, but how long does it take to reply with a text, “Can’t today. How about Friday?” I’m sure she had plenty of time to sit in the other’s office and complain about whatever we always went into each other’s offices and complained about…I didn’t bother responding to either of their emails.

So yeah. I took it very personally. I also realized that each time we have arranged to get together, it has ALWAYS been under my initiative. Neither of them have called me or emailed me to get together. And that hurts a lot.

I haven’t had any contact with them since then because I figure after two years, if they haven’t taken that first step, they aren’t going to start. But then a couple of days ago I got an email from one asking if I wanted to work at a school function with them. I haven’t replied because quite frankly, I’m peeved.

Let me just segway here to add that a few days ago I filtered out some of my FB “friends”: those who I’ve never had interaction with. One of those people was my techno-deficient friend’s husband. Granted he had once commented on one of my wall posts, but I then noticed he had friended the ex-coworker who had stalked my blog AND who had given my blog address to the HR person where I temped for 18 months. Now he can be friends with whoever he wants, but you know what? I don’t want him to have ANY information about me that he could let unintentionally slip to her. No way. No how. So I cut him.

Man, I can’t believe what a paranoid and crazy bitch this makes me out to be.

Anyway, still peeving about the whole scenario. I’ve even illogically expanded on why I’m mad: no inquiry as to our holidays (BTW, for the past three Christmases I sent them both cards and never got one in return); she couldn’t have called me? It’s not like I’m working! And she knows that. Also, I’m almost certain that if I accept, they’ll end up not being there and I’ll be stuck with two other school moms that will make me wish I had started drinking at 8 (in the morning).

Did I mention paranoid and crazy?

I will probably accept, but I think I’ll wait a few more days before responding. Not that they’ll sweat it out or anything. Hell, my luck? They’ll tell me that since I didn’t reply earlier, they got someone else to help them.