Those of you who know me know I'm not a terribly political person. I leave that to Jeff, who thrives on politics -- be it local, state or national -- the way the rest of us thrive on things like food and water and oxygen (and, in my case, caffeine).
But every once in a while, I come across a political essay or op-ed piece that I feel compelled to share. This is such a piece. It's by Sam Harris, whom you either love or hate (and I love him!). The third page, in which he discusses the baffling attitude so many Americans have toward "elitism" in politics, is well worth your time, regardless of how you feel about his views on other matters.
Please read it, and give it careful consideration before casting your vote in November.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Another Mommy moment
So there I was, hovering about while the appliance repair guy dismantled our washing machine, when I had one of those heart-tugging moments that makes me wonder how I ever got a reputation for being a cynic. (Well, actually I know how I got this reputation, but bear with me here.)
I should probably mention that this particular appliance repair guy was the very stereotype of the breed, complete with heavy tool belt, way-too-droopy jeans and virtually no skills in the way of small talk. Even his name screamed "handyman." It was Ralph, who never did tell me his last name and was clearly the kind of guy who, if I'd asked, would have said, "Just Ralph."
As Just Ralph was quietly going about his business of figuring out why our washer's water flow was so slow that it took six hours (yes, SIX) to do a single load of laundry, I spotted a relic of Elijah's babyhood that had been hidden beneath the washer since 2003. It was a tiny sock, so little I can't believe that it ever covered even a newborn's foot.
"Oooooooh, looooook!" I squealed, visibly startling Just Ralph. "It's a sock from when my little boy was a baby!"
To say that Just Ralph didn't get it would be an understatement. "Uh, yeah, it's a baby sock," he said, clearly fumbling about for words that would calm the obviously unstable woman whose home he was in. "You, uh, gonna to keep it?"
I came to my senses and said no, not wanting to alarm him further. A hundred moments from those early months of Elijah's life flashed through my head, some pleasant, some not, but all worth remembering. And when Just Ralph finally presented his bill (and a fully repaired washing machine), I was more than happy to write that check. Normally I grumble quietly to myself every time I pay the exorbitant fees charged by handyman types, but this time, I somehow had a better sense of perspective.
And, finally, a washing machine that kicks ass!
I should probably mention that this particular appliance repair guy was the very stereotype of the breed, complete with heavy tool belt, way-too-droopy jeans and virtually no skills in the way of small talk. Even his name screamed "handyman." It was Ralph, who never did tell me his last name and was clearly the kind of guy who, if I'd asked, would have said, "Just Ralph."
As Just Ralph was quietly going about his business of figuring out why our washer's water flow was so slow that it took six hours (yes, SIX) to do a single load of laundry, I spotted a relic of Elijah's babyhood that had been hidden beneath the washer since 2003. It was a tiny sock, so little I can't believe that it ever covered even a newborn's foot.
"Oooooooh, looooook!" I squealed, visibly startling Just Ralph. "It's a sock from when my little boy was a baby!"
To say that Just Ralph didn't get it would be an understatement. "Uh, yeah, it's a baby sock," he said, clearly fumbling about for words that would calm the obviously unstable woman whose home he was in. "You, uh, gonna to keep it?"
I came to my senses and said no, not wanting to alarm him further. A hundred moments from those early months of Elijah's life flashed through my head, some pleasant, some not, but all worth remembering. And when Just Ralph finally presented his bill (and a fully repaired washing machine), I was more than happy to write that check. Normally I grumble quietly to myself every time I pay the exorbitant fees charged by handyman types, but this time, I somehow had a better sense of perspective.
And, finally, a washing machine that kicks ass!
Thursday, September 18, 2008
The answer is blowing in the wind
A couple of weeks ago we met up with some friends and their kids at a Red Robin Restaurant. For those of you unfamiliar with that chain, it is not linen tablecloths and candlelight dining, but a kid friendly place with lots of energy and balloons. (I will never forget the time Sarah, Elijah and I went there for dinner and there was a couple at the next table sipping wine and trying to have an intimate date.....at a Red Robin!!!! I 'm guessing they were there that night because Chuckie Cheese was too crowded.) After our meal, Elijah got a green balloon that he held tightly in his hand until we went to visit someone. As we approached their house, he lost his grip on the string and it was bye-bye balloon. The trauma of watching his balloon disappear into the sky made our visit short, and not very sweet. Weeks later he still looks up at the sky (or inside a building) and asks, "where is the green balloon?" I mention this because of another experience with an airborne object this past weekend.
True confession time. Even Charlie Brown is a better kite flier than me. Getting a kite caught in a tree would be an accomplishment for me as it would mean at least I got it up in the air. This, however, is not a new talent.
Years ago a friend and I got a free kite from the local grocery store and excitedly rode our bikes to the local park to watch our new toy soar. (I told you it was years ago!) After carefully arranging the two balsa sticks into a "T", we attached the kite and added a wonderful tail, torn from a sheet from my bed. We then spent the better part of that day trying to get the damn thing to fly. After numerous crash dives, the balsa sticks broke and we attempted to tie them together using pieces of cloth torn from our tail. This of course only weighed down our kite more, but it did elicit sympathy from passing adults. Finally, as twilight came we gave up and dejectedly went home.
Undeterred, we actually went out and bought a "box" kite the next day, knowing it was the equipment, not the pilots, that was the problem. Alas, the result was the same as our box became a parallelogram after numerous bounces on the baseball diamond. (It never occurred to either of us that a little bit of wind might be of some aid, thus a career in meteorology was not in our future.)
I bring this up because this past weekend Elijah, inspired by a Pooh video featuring Piglet up in the air on a kite, found a Chinese kite we had in the closet and ran through the house throwing it up in air trying to make it fly. (and having no more success than I had over forty years ago). Because of Hurricane Ike, we were having strong gusts go through our area, so Elijah and I took our kite to the field by his school to see if we could be the reincarnation of the Wright Brothers (whose maiden flight took place many years ago this week).
I am proud to report we had the "right stuff". Of course kites these days are made so ANYONE can fly one, and we proved that. With a gust of wind in his face Elijah threw the kite up in the air and it soared. In fact, I had never gotten a kite that high in the air before, so Elijah and I were both delighted. As it disappeared up in the blue sky, Elijah asked if he could hold the string. He did a great job, up until the point he decided to see how high the kite went if it wasn't held back by someone. Luckily, on the way to the ozone, our kite found a tree so I was able to retrieve and save it for another windy day. As we were leaving Elijah looked up at the sky and said, "the green balloon is up there". I was ecstatic. Not only because he had comprehended the fate of his beloved green balloon and put it into context, but, because of a large pine tree, it was only his balloon and not our kite whose demise he was discussing.
True confession time. Even Charlie Brown is a better kite flier than me. Getting a kite caught in a tree would be an accomplishment for me as it would mean at least I got it up in the air. This, however, is not a new talent.
Years ago a friend and I got a free kite from the local grocery store and excitedly rode our bikes to the local park to watch our new toy soar. (I told you it was years ago!) After carefully arranging the two balsa sticks into a "T", we attached the kite and added a wonderful tail, torn from a sheet from my bed. We then spent the better part of that day trying to get the damn thing to fly. After numerous crash dives, the balsa sticks broke and we attempted to tie them together using pieces of cloth torn from our tail. This of course only weighed down our kite more, but it did elicit sympathy from passing adults. Finally, as twilight came we gave up and dejectedly went home.
Undeterred, we actually went out and bought a "box" kite the next day, knowing it was the equipment, not the pilots, that was the problem. Alas, the result was the same as our box became a parallelogram after numerous bounces on the baseball diamond. (It never occurred to either of us that a little bit of wind might be of some aid, thus a career in meteorology was not in our future.)
I bring this up because this past weekend Elijah, inspired by a Pooh video featuring Piglet up in the air on a kite, found a Chinese kite we had in the closet and ran through the house throwing it up in air trying to make it fly. (and having no more success than I had over forty years ago). Because of Hurricane Ike, we were having strong gusts go through our area, so Elijah and I took our kite to the field by his school to see if we could be the reincarnation of the Wright Brothers (whose maiden flight took place many years ago this week).
I am proud to report we had the "right stuff". Of course kites these days are made so ANYONE can fly one, and we proved that. With a gust of wind in his face Elijah threw the kite up in the air and it soared. In fact, I had never gotten a kite that high in the air before, so Elijah and I were both delighted. As it disappeared up in the blue sky, Elijah asked if he could hold the string. He did a great job, up until the point he decided to see how high the kite went if it wasn't held back by someone. Luckily, on the way to the ozone, our kite found a tree so I was able to retrieve and save it for another windy day. As we were leaving Elijah looked up at the sky and said, "the green balloon is up there". I was ecstatic. Not only because he had comprehended the fate of his beloved green balloon and put it into context, but, because of a large pine tree, it was only his balloon and not our kite whose demise he was discussing.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
School days
It has occurred to me that I have neglected to inform those of you who are interested in such things (granted, this is relatively few of you) how Elijah's school year is going.
It's going quite well, particularly since we switched him from the afternoon class to the morning class.
Normally, the morning preschool classes are the biggest. But for some reason, this year's crop of parents mostly wanted their children in afternoon classes, so the school tried to oblige to the extent practical. I'll admit to being one of those whiny parents who really, really did not want to drag myself out of bed early enough to get my child fed, dressed, toothbrushed and out the door in time for the morning session. This was partly because at the time we registered, I was at work until well past midnight, all the way downtown, five nights a week. There was a bit of a more selfish motive, too -- the ice rink where I skate only has public sessions in the afternoons, and trust me when I say that taking Elijah along for a skating session is not the most productive way to spend time or money.
But after observing the classroom situation when I dropped him off every afternoon, I decided to switch him to mornings. The afternoon class had 12 kids, and while about half of them were typically developing "peer models," some of the others had fairly severe special needs and quite clearly required a great deal of individual attention from the teacher, paras and therapists. Plus, it was a noisy bunch, and Elijah is most assuredly NOT a noisy kid.
So I asked the teacher if she would like me to switch him to mornings, and she practically dropped to her knees in gratitude. It turns out that there were only seven kids in the morning class, and of those, just one was a special-needs kid. So, with the addition of Elijah, that makes for a classroom with just two special-needs kids and six -- count 'em, six! -- peer models. And they are a very quiet group, much more suited to Elijah's personality.
You almost can't beat this level of individual attention in a public school setting. When you count the teacher, two paras, a rotating speech-language pathologist and a rotating occupational therapist, there are certain days of the week in which the morning class has a nearly 1-1 ratio of students to teachers. Not a bad deal, especially considering that it's all free! (At least it is for us -- the parents of the peer models have to pay.)
Still, though, Elijah is less than forthcoming about what his day consists of. If it weren't for the information sheets that are sent home with him each day, I'd have no idea what he did for those three hours every morning. His language skills just aren't there yet.
I do know that today he served as Helper of the Day, which apparently involves things like assisting with the calendar, holding the flag for the Pledge of Allegiance (which he is just learning for the first time and loves to recite) and leading the line when the class goes to other parts of the building and out to recess.
These jobs, his teacher assures me, are "very important leadership positions." (I'm beginning to suspect that she was part of John McCain's vice presidential search team.)
So, in a nutshell, the school year is going great. And with his love of the Pledge of Allegiance and his experience in "leadership," our little boy may one day be a presidential contender. In fact, if I can't work up any more enthusiasm for either of our current contenders, I might just put him down as a write-in candidate this year.
Anyone care to start a petition drive?
It's going quite well, particularly since we switched him from the afternoon class to the morning class.
Normally, the morning preschool classes are the biggest. But for some reason, this year's crop of parents mostly wanted their children in afternoon classes, so the school tried to oblige to the extent practical. I'll admit to being one of those whiny parents who really, really did not want to drag myself out of bed early enough to get my child fed, dressed, toothbrushed and out the door in time for the morning session. This was partly because at the time we registered, I was at work until well past midnight, all the way downtown, five nights a week. There was a bit of a more selfish motive, too -- the ice rink where I skate only has public sessions in the afternoons, and trust me when I say that taking Elijah along for a skating session is not the most productive way to spend time or money.
But after observing the classroom situation when I dropped him off every afternoon, I decided to switch him to mornings. The afternoon class had 12 kids, and while about half of them were typically developing "peer models," some of the others had fairly severe special needs and quite clearly required a great deal of individual attention from the teacher, paras and therapists. Plus, it was a noisy bunch, and Elijah is most assuredly NOT a noisy kid.
So I asked the teacher if she would like me to switch him to mornings, and she practically dropped to her knees in gratitude. It turns out that there were only seven kids in the morning class, and of those, just one was a special-needs kid. So, with the addition of Elijah, that makes for a classroom with just two special-needs kids and six -- count 'em, six! -- peer models. And they are a very quiet group, much more suited to Elijah's personality.
You almost can't beat this level of individual attention in a public school setting. When you count the teacher, two paras, a rotating speech-language pathologist and a rotating occupational therapist, there are certain days of the week in which the morning class has a nearly 1-1 ratio of students to teachers. Not a bad deal, especially considering that it's all free! (At least it is for us -- the parents of the peer models have to pay.)
Still, though, Elijah is less than forthcoming about what his day consists of. If it weren't for the information sheets that are sent home with him each day, I'd have no idea what he did for those three hours every morning. His language skills just aren't there yet.
I do know that today he served as Helper of the Day, which apparently involves things like assisting with the calendar, holding the flag for the Pledge of Allegiance (which he is just learning for the first time and loves to recite) and leading the line when the class goes to other parts of the building and out to recess.
These jobs, his teacher assures me, are "very important leadership positions." (I'm beginning to suspect that she was part of John McCain's vice presidential search team.)
So, in a nutshell, the school year is going great. And with his love of the Pledge of Allegiance and his experience in "leadership," our little boy may one day be a presidential contender. In fact, if I can't work up any more enthusiasm for either of our current contenders, I might just put him down as a write-in candidate this year.
Anyone care to start a petition drive?
Monday, September 8, 2008
Artist in Residence
I've mentioned before that we live with a budding young artist. Since he's an only child, I really don't have anyone to compare him with developmentally, so I was a little skeptical when people who saw his drawings and handwriting, starting when he was 3, gushed over how advanced his fine-motor skills are and what a good eye for detail he had.
Then I saw his classmates' work on the walls at preschool and thought, well, yes, he is a bit advanced.
I'm still not sure he's the next Picasso, but since my duty as a mom is to proudly tout my child's achievements, I thought I'd post a few of his drawings here. Like I said in an earlier post, he is not a nature lover; therefore, these drawings are not replete with verdant landscapes. Think strip malls. Corporate logos. Cars and trucks. Basketball goals. And, of course, traffic signs -- some of which, if taken to heart, would cause chaos on the roadways of our nation ("Right lane MUST turn left" comes to mind.)
Here are a few of my favorites from the last six to eight months (from age 4 1/2 to a couple of months past his fifth birthday):
No, it wasn't anyone's birthday in particular. But why not have a festive greeting ready, just in case?
This one is a reproduction (isn't that a nicer word than "plagiarism"?) of the cover of one of his favorite books, which features a little boy who always manages to get into trouble. Elijah really seems to identify with poor, beleaguered David.
This is Jesse, from the "Toy Story" movies. He also draws a sharp-looking Prospector and an elaborate sheriff's office.
I don't really know what the story is behind this one. But he loves to draw happy houses!
I'm also clueless about this one. But I'm all for anything that involves a delivery of gifts!
His fascination with basketball goals, along with the pattern of the stitching on the balls themselves (as well as the pattern of all the lines on the court) is, thankfully, beginning to fade. His therapists have always referred to it as a "perseverative interest," which is therapy-speak for "autistic kid's obsession." (We preferred to think of it as "persistence"!)
No explanation needed.
Elijah is a big lover of hotels -- as long as we remain people of modest means and stay in non-suite places like this, where the beds are perfectly spaced for leaping back and forth.
Unlike me, Elijah is a big fan of live music. This is his rendering of a band that Jeff took him to see at a Fourth of July celebration at our city park. (Yes, that's a keyboard there on the left).
Mommy's coffee got spilled on this one. Please note that Mommy was NOT the one who spilled it.
This was inspired by the oh-so-cheesy YouTube video of the '60s song "Everywhere a Sign," or whatever it's called. You know, the one about how long-haired freaky people need not apply. (Can you tell I'm not a flower child?)
Last but not least, we have the world's happiest fish. This one has earned a place of honor on my computer at work for several reasons. At least we now have something smiling around that place.
I have more of these to impose on you at a later date (including some very happy butterflies), but I think I've probably pushed the limits on everyone's little-kid-drawing tolerance for now. And besides, I need to straighten up the house. Because for every one of the 10 or so drawings he completes every day, there are at least five or six false starts, each of which is tossed aside in disgust by our little perfectionist. If you do the math and then consider that several days often elapse between my housecleaning sweeps, you can just imagine the state of the house right now.
I try not to think about the toll his paper use is taking on the majestic old-growth forests of the Pacific Northwest. If any hard-core environmentalists are reading this, you'll just have to accept my apologies. But at least we keep the paper-recycling workers of the world gainfully employed.
Then I saw his classmates' work on the walls at preschool and thought, well, yes, he is a bit advanced.
I'm still not sure he's the next Picasso, but since my duty as a mom is to proudly tout my child's achievements, I thought I'd post a few of his drawings here. Like I said in an earlier post, he is not a nature lover; therefore, these drawings are not replete with verdant landscapes. Think strip malls. Corporate logos. Cars and trucks. Basketball goals. And, of course, traffic signs -- some of which, if taken to heart, would cause chaos on the roadways of our nation ("Right lane MUST turn left" comes to mind.)
Here are a few of my favorites from the last six to eight months (from age 4 1/2 to a couple of months past his fifth birthday):
No, it wasn't anyone's birthday in particular. But why not have a festive greeting ready, just in case?
This one is a reproduction (isn't that a nicer word than "plagiarism"?) of the cover of one of his favorite books, which features a little boy who always manages to get into trouble. Elijah really seems to identify with poor, beleaguered David.
This is Jesse, from the "Toy Story" movies. He also draws a sharp-looking Prospector and an elaborate sheriff's office.
I don't really know what the story is behind this one. But he loves to draw happy houses!
I'm also clueless about this one. But I'm all for anything that involves a delivery of gifts!
His fascination with basketball goals, along with the pattern of the stitching on the balls themselves (as well as the pattern of all the lines on the court) is, thankfully, beginning to fade. His therapists have always referred to it as a "perseverative interest," which is therapy-speak for "autistic kid's obsession." (We preferred to think of it as "persistence"!)
No explanation needed.
Elijah is a big lover of hotels -- as long as we remain people of modest means and stay in non-suite places like this, where the beds are perfectly spaced for leaping back and forth.
Unlike me, Elijah is a big fan of live music. This is his rendering of a band that Jeff took him to see at a Fourth of July celebration at our city park. (Yes, that's a keyboard there on the left).
Mommy's coffee got spilled on this one. Please note that Mommy was NOT the one who spilled it.
This was inspired by the oh-so-cheesy YouTube video of the '60s song "Everywhere a Sign," or whatever it's called. You know, the one about how long-haired freaky people need not apply. (Can you tell I'm not a flower child?)
Last but not least, we have the world's happiest fish. This one has earned a place of honor on my computer at work for several reasons. At least we now have something smiling around that place.
I have more of these to impose on you at a later date (including some very happy butterflies), but I think I've probably pushed the limits on everyone's little-kid-drawing tolerance for now. And besides, I need to straighten up the house. Because for every one of the 10 or so drawings he completes every day, there are at least five or six false starts, each of which is tossed aside in disgust by our little perfectionist. If you do the math and then consider that several days often elapse between my housecleaning sweeps, you can just imagine the state of the house right now.
I try not to think about the toll his paper use is taking on the majestic old-growth forests of the Pacific Northwest. If any hard-core environmentalists are reading this, you'll just have to accept my apologies. But at least we keep the paper-recycling workers of the world gainfully employed.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Buyout blues
Things are fairly grim around the office these days. As you may recall, my company is in the process of significant downsizing -- again. Our departmental meeting last week consisted of exactly what we knew it would (which is good, considering that about half of us could barely hear the proceedings because our ears were still ringing from the Springsteen show the night before).
According to the official announcement, the "majority of" employees are being offered buyouts. Apparently "majority of" means every full-time employee who has been with the company for at least one year. Given our very low turnover rate, that's a hell of a majority. Somewhere upward of 90 percent, according to the office grapevine (which, by the way, has a pretty impressive record of accuracy. We're journalists, after all!)
The hope, we are told, is that enough people will participate in the "voluntary separation program" that there will be no need for an "involuntary separation program." And we all know how ludicrous THAT hope is.
As luck would have it, this announcement, along with the accompanying stacks and stacks of ominous-looking manila envelopes, each bearing the name of an "eligible" employee, landed with a thud on the very day that my status shifted to part-time.
That means there is no decision for me to make. Now that I'm part-time, I'm not being offered a voluntary separation. And I have no control over the possibility of an involuntary one.
So I just proceed as normal, while all around me, talk turns to the merits of the various buyout options and the mysteries of job-hunting in the year 2008, such as as: Do people still actually use paper resumes? Or resumes at all? Do online applications ever really get reviewed? Do employers prefer to see a full-blown Web site detailing every accomplishment you've had, as well as links to any reference to you anywhere on the Web, not to mention all your favorite blogs and other sites? Let's hope not, because if the dreaded "involuntary separation" comes my way, the closest thing I have to a Web site is this. Heaven help us all if my career options are shaped by what's written here!
In any case, it's an interesting time. When you're in the situation we're in, all the normal rules of professional caution pretty much go out the window. I've seen people engaged in heated arguments with people who are several levels above them in the hierarchy. No one seems audit their own conversations regarding plans to leave, and everyone who is looking for work feels pretty free to let the boss know about it. Unless, of course, you have reason to believe that your boss is closing in on an interview for the same job you're angling for.
But there IS a bright side: I have finally reached the point where I can get up and walk out at the end of my shift without the slightest bit of guilt for things left undone (a very handy approach, considering that I now work one short shift a week in which I leave four hours before everyone around me does). After all, my reason for switching to part-time was to get more sleep and to stop sacrificing my health. There's simply no point anymore in giving up so much of myself to an industry that has nothing to give back.
For those of you who really couldn't care less about my professional tribulations, I apologize for going on for so long. (But why are you still reading, anyway?) And for those of you who really are just interested in how Elijah's doing (Hi, grandparents!), he's doing just fine. And he's turning into quite an impressive little artist. Jeff has scanned some of his drawings into the computer, so I'll be posting them within the next couple of days.
Right now, I think we're off to the park. We're fortunate to live in a city that has a great number of free outdoor performances of the symphony, ballet, etc., in the summer and early fall. It's part of an outreach effort to introduce the arts to the great unwashed masses (like us). And as a mom, it is my duty to make sure Elijah experiences such things. (Jeff and I long ago worked out a list of parenting responsibilities in which he is in charge of sports and rock-n-roll, and I am in charge of classical music and the performing arts.)
So it's time to stop thinking about work, stop thinking about resumes and stop thinking about all the things on my to-do list. We're off to Ballet in the Park, where we'll be in a beautiful rose garden surrounded by elegant fountains and enormous trees. A good break for the soul.
Thanks for checking in!
According to the official announcement, the "majority of" employees are being offered buyouts. Apparently "majority of" means every full-time employee who has been with the company for at least one year. Given our very low turnover rate, that's a hell of a majority. Somewhere upward of 90 percent, according to the office grapevine (which, by the way, has a pretty impressive record of accuracy. We're journalists, after all!)
The hope, we are told, is that enough people will participate in the "voluntary separation program" that there will be no need for an "involuntary separation program." And we all know how ludicrous THAT hope is.
As luck would have it, this announcement, along with the accompanying stacks and stacks of ominous-looking manila envelopes, each bearing the name of an "eligible" employee, landed with a thud on the very day that my status shifted to part-time.
That means there is no decision for me to make. Now that I'm part-time, I'm not being offered a voluntary separation. And I have no control over the possibility of an involuntary one.
So I just proceed as normal, while all around me, talk turns to the merits of the various buyout options and the mysteries of job-hunting in the year 2008, such as as: Do people still actually use paper resumes? Or resumes at all? Do online applications ever really get reviewed? Do employers prefer to see a full-blown Web site detailing every accomplishment you've had, as well as links to any reference to you anywhere on the Web, not to mention all your favorite blogs and other sites? Let's hope not, because if the dreaded "involuntary separation" comes my way, the closest thing I have to a Web site is this. Heaven help us all if my career options are shaped by what's written here!
In any case, it's an interesting time. When you're in the situation we're in, all the normal rules of professional caution pretty much go out the window. I've seen people engaged in heated arguments with people who are several levels above them in the hierarchy. No one seems audit their own conversations regarding plans to leave, and everyone who is looking for work feels pretty free to let the boss know about it. Unless, of course, you have reason to believe that your boss is closing in on an interview for the same job you're angling for.
But there IS a bright side: I have finally reached the point where I can get up and walk out at the end of my shift without the slightest bit of guilt for things left undone (a very handy approach, considering that I now work one short shift a week in which I leave four hours before everyone around me does). After all, my reason for switching to part-time was to get more sleep and to stop sacrificing my health. There's simply no point anymore in giving up so much of myself to an industry that has nothing to give back.
For those of you who really couldn't care less about my professional tribulations, I apologize for going on for so long. (But why are you still reading, anyway?) And for those of you who really are just interested in how Elijah's doing (Hi, grandparents!), he's doing just fine. And he's turning into quite an impressive little artist. Jeff has scanned some of his drawings into the computer, so I'll be posting them within the next couple of days.
Right now, I think we're off to the park. We're fortunate to live in a city that has a great number of free outdoor performances of the symphony, ballet, etc., in the summer and early fall. It's part of an outreach effort to introduce the arts to the great unwashed masses (like us). And as a mom, it is my duty to make sure Elijah experiences such things. (Jeff and I long ago worked out a list of parenting responsibilities in which he is in charge of sports and rock-n-roll, and I am in charge of classical music and the performing arts.)
So it's time to stop thinking about work, stop thinking about resumes and stop thinking about all the things on my to-do list. We're off to Ballet in the Park, where we'll be in a beautiful rose garden surrounded by elegant fountains and enormous trees. A good break for the soul.
Thanks for checking in!
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