Job Title

I sat in the doctor’s office hesitating over a stack of forms. It wasn’t the health history section causing me such anguish. I whizzed through those questions, checking “no” next to every known medical calamity on the list. It was the place marked “occupation.” At first, I skipped it, but now I had finished the other pages and felt obligated to complete the entire packet as requested. I couldn’t bring myself to write housewife or homemaker or stay at home Mom or even worse, none. I finally scribbled domestic goddess and returned the clipboard to the nurse.

Later that week, a fellow domestic goddess and I decided to treat ourselves to a rare evening out. We gussied up and headed to a fancy restaurant. We sat at the bar and ordered two martinis. The conversation flowed.

“Name one thing you would change about yourself.” She asked.

I thought for a moment. “I wish I could bowl.”

She thought I was joking, so I explained that I had never been able to perform any sort of recreational sport very well. It had always bothered me.

“But you have so many other things you are good at!” She argued. “You are a good writer and a great public speaker. Who cares if you can bowl?”

“You don’t hang around with your friends and write. You play tennis. You ski. I am terrible at all of those things.” I explained. We sparred over the subject for awhile and then roped the bartender into settling the discussion.

“Okay.” I challenged him. “Would you rather be able to bowl a perfect game or speak in front of a large audience?”

“No question.” He answered. “I would rather be good at public speaking.”

Okay, maybe bowling wasn’t his thing. I changed it a little. “Would you rather be able to golf a perfect game or speak in front of a large audience?”

“Public speaking.” He laughed and changed the subject. “What do you do?”

I hesitated. “She’s a writer.” My friend answered.

Was that the truth? He asked me what I wrote and I explained that I had just started a book. Okay, that was true. I mentioned that I was still new to the area and trying to find a place to publish a few essays. That was true too. But was I really a writer? It’s not like writing was my job. To me, an occupation was something you got paid to do. On the other hand, I had been pretty occupied by my writing.

Lately words were spilling out everywhere. Entire paragraphs were forming in my head while I drove through the carpool line, cluttering my mind. I had been getting up at five A.M. just to let them out, my computer screen glowing in the predawn hours while my family was still sleeping. I signed up for a writing workshop. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe you did hang around with your friends and write. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was a hobby. So I started reading about writing. Turns out almost all of the real writers started just like me. They felt driven to put words on paper. Sometimes they got lucky enough to be paid for it. A female author from the seventies described her writing as “clawing her way out of the kitchen.” I am sure she was referring to the burgeoning women’s movement of her day, and yet something about her raw need seems familiar to me. I certainly feel like I am scrambling towards something.

I am still not sure I feel comfortable with the label, but I am trying it on for size. I’ll keep writing and submitting. I’ll peck away at my book. I’ll devour stories about other authors. Who knows? Maybe next year at my annual checkup, I will even have the courage to list writer as my occupation.

Yummy baby

The little guy is almost 18 months old. He is into everything right now, so he makes my day a little crazy. He is also incredibly cute. He is starting to look like a boy, but his little thighs are still chubby and yummy. So yummy, in fact, that I might slather him with peanut sauce and nibble him for dinner tonight...

Not perfect, but close enough for now

"I need a jooooob." I whined to my best friend.

"So, get a job." She replied, handing me a glass of wine. It wasn't that she was not sympathetic. She had just heard it all before. A million times. I was tired of hearing myself talk about it too, so we changed the subject.

A few minutes later, we were laughing about the challenges of getting our kids ready for school. Her little guy started preschool this year, and I have a first grader. The lunches, the last minute potty trips, the wardrobe malfunctions. I admitted to pulling through the carpool line in Pj bottoms a few times.

"I don't know how the working Moms do it." My friend said. "Can you imagine having to be ready for work on top of all of that?"

"No." I replied. And then it hit me. I didn't just want A job. I wanted the perfect job. One where I didn't have to be at my desk before my kids went to school. One that had me home in time to pick them up. One that paid well enough to afford childcare. One that was satisfying and challenging and creative, but not so stressful that I would have to start scheduling those weekly therapy sessions again.

One that probably doesn't exist.

When I owned my business, I was fortunate enough to schedule myself around my family's needs, but spent many sleepless nights worrying about the budget. When I worked as a project manager, I made killer money and put in twelve hour days. Now that I am at home, I wrestle with boredom and loneliness. It is never perfect. It's never going to be.

No, I am not going to work on my resume any time soon, but I am going to work on my attitude.

To Do

Taxes
Talk
Take
Try
Type
Toys
Toddler
Tuck
Text
Tired

Press 2 followed by the #@!! sign

We have have been reviewing all of our financial statements carefully and scrutinizing our expenses. As part of this process we have decided to cut back, but not eliminate certain services like XM and Netflix. There are also a few business related accounts that we are able to close now that the end of year has arrived. While going through all of these statements we also discovered several cases where we were being charged for things we were no longer receiving. In one case it was the New York Times, which inexplicably started billing us again for a paper we haven't gotten in over a year.

These things all mean ONE thing. I have to get on the phone and work the automated answering services. That entails a careful section of departments and account numbers, until finally I get a person. When you want to cancel, you always get a person.

Except sometimes you don't. You get a ringing phone. (I know, a ringing phone?) You get disconnected. You get transferred back into to the original recording and have to start over. In more than one case, I would actually speak to someone, give them the relevant information, and then they would put me on hold or need to transfer me. Click.

I am usually not the type to be a conspiracy theorist, but I have called five different companies and experienced some sort of technical glitch with all of them. I don't like feeling like I have to put forth extraordinary efforts just to end a business relationship. I want a real person who isn't on some crazy incentive plan to retain me at all costs. A sales pitch is one thing, a disappearing act is shady.