My Moment

Last night, I had a "moment".  I threw my hands in the air and said these words to my heebab in a mildly insane voice: "Sometimes I just want to be immature! I want to turn on hip hop music and shake my buns, I want to have photo shoots and giggle, I want to have a farting contest!"  Yes, friends, this was my moment.

Let's back up a teensy bit.  I had had a really long day at work, got home and immediately went grocery shopping and started dinner, only to realize the dish I had picked out (and started) was going to take too long to cook and we had somewhere to be.  I then proceeded to throw a tantrum (aren't I a gem?) while my ever-patient huzzah threw some pasta in a pot.  

Then we went to the church so Sir Boy could run sound for worship practice, and I just felt tired and off all night.  Cue "moment" on drive home after I realized how insanely boring I must appear to all those around me.

During college, I felt so incredibly free and happy to just be myself, and now I am still struggling to find that.  We've lived here in Portland for almost 10 months (woweee!), and I still don't feel like we have any friends who I can truly be myself around.  I have small talk or even serious conversations with people, but we never share a joke or have a wee little gigglefest.  I can't steal food off of their plates at restaurants or sing them the made-up songs that are always in my head.

I'm tired of being so serious all the time; I'm even boring myself.  But I guess in the past I always let the other person be weird first, waiting for permission to show off my self-created genius choreography to that song on the radio.  How do I cross that little bridge of polite behavior, when I really just want to burn it to the ground and do a jig on its ashes?

I think I'm pretending to be a grown-up, even though I still don't feel like one.  I don't have any answers yet obviously, but my wise man-mate suggested this solution: 

"Let's go home and do all those things then!  We can dance around and play games and giggle."

Exasperated me: "It's not quite as fun when it's just the two of us."

"We can have our cat join in!"

Dear Lord, there's no hope for us.

It's Party Time!

So back to the pity party with me, myself, and my computer with 26 tabs opened to different jobs.

I kept hoping I would read a job description and think, “That’s it!!  My destiny all wrapped up in 60 words or less!” No such luck.

So finally I turned to my safe zone.  Nannying.  I was not thrilled about this prospect, but applied partly out of desperation and partly because of that voice in my head screaming, “Get out before the cat pillows and embroidered cat sweaters get you first!”

I applied for a couple of jobs that I thought might actually be fun.  No word.  I got a couple of messages from moms interested in my profile, but none of them fit what I was looking for except one. So I responded to that one, while still applying to others I thought would be more fun.

Well, what do you know, I finally got an interview with the not-so-fun-looking job.  I interviewed, loved the family, and loved the kids!  I could work part time and still make more than I was hoping to make, plus they gave me some vacation days and paid holidays!

The final dilemma was the car situation.  I would need the car twice a week, but if I had it, my dear other half would have to work for more than 9 hours those days.  Well, here’s the kick in the pants, reader. 

Three weeks before my job starts, my hubbub gets called into a meeting where they tell him he can now work from home one day a week, any day he chooses.  Hallelujah and thank you Jesus, problem solved. (He works just one long day and gets a short day in return, which he needs in order to pick me up in time from the job. Could it get any more perfect?)

And after all my whining and complaining (and a dash of sulking), I realized God had done exactly what I asked him to do.  Never once did I get an interview with Starbucks or any other nanny job.  He opened the doors, and gave me a great job.

An awesome God, indeed.

Be Careful What You Wish For

The second blessing God gave us came in the form of my job.

When we moved, I gave myself a couple of weeks to settle in and figure out what I wanted to do.  But when the time came to get a job, it roared into town with a fury!

All of a sudden, I didn’t want a job, I needed a job.  What was I doing all day?  Why did I suddenly become so boring? Where is my life going? What if I forget how to talk to people? HowlongbeforeIbecomeacrazycatlady?? I was bored and lonely and needed desperately to get out of the house.  So the search began.

But not so fast, I had a couple of problems.

Problem #1- Hubby and I share a car.  He has a full-time job which he uses said car to get to.  Me=carless. Therefore, I needed a job that was either within walking distance or on the way to his job with magical hours that perfectly coincide with his.

Problem#2- I haven’t the slightest idea what to do with my life.  I got a degree in early childhood education because I really like hanging out with kids. I discovered, however, that I do not enjoy teaching them.  They are much more fun to hang out with than to teach.

So Google and I became very good friends.  Monster.com and careerbuilder.com were invited to the party as well.  I prayed and prayed and prayed over this (thus far nonexistent) job.  I prayed very specifically (which I rarely do) that whatever God wanted me to do, he would open the doors, because I hadn’t the slightest clue. Even MORE specifically, I prayed that if he didn’t want me to get the job, I wouldn’t even get an interview.

In my floundering, I turned where most directionless recent-grads turn: Starbucks.  There were two within walking distance, I worked in food service for many years, and I really do like the coffee shop atmosphere.  I applied, feeling pretty confident (here’s where that college degree pays off *nudge nudge*), and mentally gave myself a week to hear back from them.

A week came and went, and nothin’.  So what’s a stir-crazy housewife with no kids and barely any “house” to do?

Sulk.  That’s what.  But all the pouting in the world didn’t give me a job, so back to the drawing table, friends.

(There really is a blessing in all this.  I’ll get to it next time.  If you’re going to stick around, you may as well know that I don’t know how to make a long story short, but boy oh boy do I know how to make a short story long.  Need proof?  Look how long this parenthetical paragraph is.)