And the World Goes 'Round

When I first started this blog, my primary objective was to find a creative way to organize my thoughts after my world had been turned upside-down (laid off). The objective has changed over the years. I like that I have a small following of readers who seem to identify and enjoy these essays but now I write for my girls. I know one day they will be interested. I also know that that day might come at a time in my life when I have returned to drooling. Telling stories, let alone remembering them may be too challenging.

So for purposes of continuity, I am writing today to catch up.

It begins with a new job. In September, I was in hot pursuit of a job that seemed an answer to all my needs. It was sales. It was local. It was an interesting business (education). It had benefits. And it was established. It was a very long process but in November - after a day of stacked interviews - I was offered the position. I would start two weeks later, on December 5th, what would have been my mother's 75th birthday.

So I was saying good-bye to unemployment. It was also my last year in three of being at home. I had a job in 2010 for a new magazine (now folded), but I worked from home. I did a project for a non-profit in 2011 - also from home. So with the reality of having to return to a job - at a location with a desk and specific hours, one where I would be required to shower before I started working, one that necessitated shoes and makeup and hair spray and watching my language - I decided it was time I got started on all the projects I should have done over the past three years. And I had two weeks to do it.

So I ordered new carpet and painted the interior of the house - including the baseboards, etc. and Bob installed new floors in the foyer, kitchen and dining room. But the Herculean effort of the task kept me busy and distracted enough that when Monday the 5th rolled around, showing up to my new job honestly felt more like I was running an errand than starting a new career.

Here's what I will tell you about my new job. It takes me 15 minutes from my front door to get to my desk. The pay is not great. The benefits are. I pay $15.00 a week (unheard of) to get basically 100% coverage for my entire family. There are no deductibles. I go to my own doctors. They cover everything. Even the stuff that good insurance with other companies won't. Like ambulances. MRIs. Preventative medicine. Each member of my family has up to $1,000 a year to spend on massage - for stress management. I am not kidding. And they will pay for my gym membership. And weight loss programs. And they will pay 100% for ANY classes I would like to take to further my education, as well as all of the materials I would need to take the class. And I mean any class. Like I could learn to fly a plane if I wanted to and they would foot the bill. Seriously. AND they pay for all my girls' college text books that get them to their B.A. degrees. And if you have kids in college, you know how expensive those are.

Another perk - every Friday they cater lunch from a different restaurant for the entire company. And the people are nice. I am however, clearly the oldest person on the floor. By a lot. Something I am reminded of daily as I hear my knees sing like crickets every time I climb up and down the stairs to the second floor. (No elevator).

All told, I am extremely grateful.

Amanda and Jennifer came home from school for Christmas and when they left, they took Christine with them. All three girls are away at school now and suddenly the house is bigger. We have Grace still but the three of us seem dwarfed in this place. It is odd. But do I miss them? Well, yes and no.

One of the things about raising children that I am actually good at is recognizing that they are at an age where they are old enough to begin their own lives. I saw it coming. I accepted it. I embraced it. I was ready for it. So were they. So seeing them go has been a little celebratory - not because I couldn't wait for them to leave, but because I really was excited for them to fly. I remember what it felt like and it is a wonderfully adventurous time. So from this perspective, no, I do not miss them.

What I do miss are my little girls. Once, when I was about 25, my mother said to me: "You

know Valri, you don't have to have children." This was her pathetically veiled attempt to tell me that she didn't think I should have children. At 25, that was a pretty strong indictment. Anne told me she didn't think I should have children either, but later, when seeing me hold Amanda, she relented slightly and revised her statement to allow for "maybe one". And I must admit, I am not a natural.

So I look back at so much I missed with my little girls. I mean, I was there, but I was preoccupied - with work, with stress, with depression actually, and I missed much of the experience. And certainly the joy. Look at them. I want those girls back. I remember those girls but I didn't take it in.

And I really do miss those little girls.

Frankly, it makes me a little weepy. It is dawning on me that I really cannot get that back. Not for a day. Not for a minute.

Life is strange.

The Relative Mental Health of 12-Year-Olds

So tonight Grace went to a dance at her Middle School. She is really enjoying her 7th grade experience and I am so glad. I am thrilled that she has friends and she seems well liked. She gets involved and is gaining confidence and independence. All is well - apart from the fact that being 12 is a mental health issue in and of itself.

She is like most 12-year-olds - past and present - who for a season cannot find any peace with the fact they inhabit the same planet their parents inhabit. There is no reaching her. Her dad and I are the catalysts for all the insanity. Were it not for the fact that we breathe the same air, she would be fine - but our mere presence keeps her in a constant state of high anxiety that we might commit the slightest faux pax and reveal to the entire universe that her parents are incurable dorks. You'd think we were Ma and Pa Kettle on the farm. In overalls. With fingers in our noses. Farting.

If we are at the mall, she walks about 5 steps ahead of us - close enough that we won't embarrass her by calling out for her to slow down but far enough away that we won't embarrass her by being directly associated with her at a glance.

She prefer I not speak directly to her friends unless I clear exactly what I am going to say ahead of time. She is so afraid I will ask them if they get good grades or take drugs or just say something stupid like "what are you interested in?" that she prefer I just remain mute. At least until they get to know me a little better and won't judge her by my fuddy-duddiness. (Oh and see? There I go - saying "fuddy duddy" instead of "lame". Its just so -- lame!")

Last week, we attended a mother/daughter function where we had to learn a hip-hop dance. Now you need to know that I loathe all things hip-hop, I have no interest in being able to dance to it, or look good doing it. But I went. Because we are part of a group that signed up for it and because maybe it would be some silly fun. (I'll bet "silly" is on the endless list of lame words I shouldn't use...) Anyway, while all the girls did a respectable job, all but one of the moms were terrible and we nearly wet our pants laughing at ourselves. Still, I paid attention and asked the choreographer questions because, well, why the hell not? If she was going to ask me to do something, it seemed reasonable that I might ask her how. Uh oh. Should have checked with Grace.

When the class was over I asked if she had fun. "Well, sort of", she replied. "You were embarrassing".

"Embarrassing?!?! In a room full of women who were tripping all over themselves, how was I the single embarrassing mom?"

"They were hilarious because they were just goofing around. You were seriously trying."

"Seriously. I was trying. That's what you thought. Like, I thought I was going to be a successful hip-hop dancer. Like I thought I would look good. You are out of your mind."

"Yeah. You kept asking questions and watching yourself in the mirror. You were trying. You were embarrassing."

Yes, my daughter is mentally ill.

So back to the dance. Naturally she needed a ride to the school. So at 6:40 she walked into the living room and asked who was taking her. After both Bob and I waited for the other one to volunteer, we agreed to both go. This was met with stress-filled resistance. I immediately knew the reason. If we both went, she would have to sit in the back. Which is so embarrassing. On the way there, we were instructed to pick her up where we usually do after school - across the street (where our exposure would be minimal). Driving into the school parking lot we saw that we had arrived a full 10 minutes early. With panic in her voice we were instructed to park in the unlit lot and wait with her because she didn't want to be early (something I can honestly relate to). But soon, we were interested in finding out whether the crosswalk lights worked after school hours so Bob commenced to moving the car to the front of the school, where it was lit and other parents were parked , so he could get out of the car and test them.

"No!! Stop! Park the car right now! Don't pull up in front! Stop, dad! I mean it! Stop the car! Right now! Why aren't you listening to me???? Stop it, dad! You're such a jerk! I don't want you to pull up in front. Why are you doing this??"

And the moment he finally stopped the car - in front - the back door flew open and out she bolted without so much as a "good-bye". Clearly, of the two embarrassments presented to her - being early to the dance or being seen in the back seat of a car with her parents - the lesser of the two evils was the former.

I am way beyond taking this personally. This is the fourth time I have been through it after all. But it is amusing insanity she suffers from. The idea that somehow, if she is careful, by keeping us silent and out of sight, she might convince her friends that we don't exist at all. They might think she lives alone in the house on the hill.

Now don't get the wrong idea. She loves me now more than ever. I come home from work and she throws her arms around me and wants to cuddle. She calls me into her room to talk about "personal things". With a little coaxing, she will even confide in me. Its just that she can't take me out in public.

After watching her endure the irrevocable pain of having to be my child in public for the past several months, I felt compelled to remind her that I do, in fact, have many friends and that I am even considered by many people to be "cool". To this she shuddered and begged me not so say "cool" as apparently it sounds "weird" coming out of my mouth.

Who knew? I've been saying it since I was 12.