A Wanted Woman

Most of my weeks are filled with tedious, mindless mom tasks, but last week started differently. I was offered a job. A job that coincided with my skill set extremely well…marketing, writing and real estate. I heard angels sing when I read the job description.

I’d been toying with the idea of going back to work. While staying at home has its perks, I miss using my mind for business. I miss interacting with adults about non-child related topics. I miss wearing dress pants and having meetings. It’s been seven years. It’s time.
I submitted my resume, was contacted later that day and landed an interview the following day. I dusted off my only pair of dress pants praying I didn’t have to bend over because the seam might bust wide open. I slipped on black heels I’ve owned for close to 10 years and threw stuff in my big purse that used to double as a diaper bag to look important.

When I showed up, it wasn’t an interview as more of a conversation. They briefly asked about my experience, but were more interested in if I was ready to work full-time. “Oh yes, I’m ready,” I said. Was I?

A plan came to mind during the interview. I would put my son in before and after school care at his preschool. I’d find before and after school care for my daughter, too. Or I have a friend who’s nanny needs more hours. Would that work? Would she take my son to and from school? Yes, we can work this out.

I cried most of the drive home after the interview. Mom guilt hit me for wanting to leave my children, for not loving staying at home, for thinking of putting my 4 year old in full time daycare, and for putting my goals ahead of my children’s needs.

I cried because being a stay at home mom is hard. It’s really frigging hard for me. I struggle with being patient. I struggle with the intense pressure put on mothers to give there kids an amazing childhood. I struggle with the boredom and isolation it brings.

I cried because it was amazing to be sought after for a job. They want me. ME! Because of my skill set and background.

The job was offered to me hours after the interview.  She offered me more than I expected and made wonderful promises. Potential to grow, pay for my real estate license, bonuses and raises.
I agonized over the decision, but decided against it. There were too many loose ends for childcare, and I wasn’t certain I wanted full time work just yet. With a few days behind my decision, I know I made the correct choice.

I was caught up in the excitement of being a wanted woman. Of being told what a great fit I was, how my talents matched so well with their needs. It felt warm, nice and intoxicating. But I sobered up and know something better will come along. Right?
So…who needs a kick ass writer to help them out? I know a good one in need of work!
#52essaysin2017

The Big Lice Scare

When the husband and I discussed having kids we spoke with friends who already had kids. They told us about late night feedings, endless diaper changes, “terrible twos,” potty training and more. But our friends left out a big gaping hole of major shit that goes down during childhood. No one mentioned the weird viruses and horrendous infectious diseases kids are susceptible to. Hand, Foot, Mouth disease, Fifth disease, and the always persistent lice. This past week we where the unfortunate recipients of a lice scare. In my books, this ranks right up there with a pregnancy scare because just like kids The Super Lice is forever. You can’t kill that shit.

The “lice call” came one evening after our daughter spent the day playing with a friend. Anxiety ran through my veins like  a lightening bolt. I raced upstairs, woke up my daughter and threw her in the bathtub. I scrubbed her blonde little head with shampoo laced with tea tree oil until she begged me to stop. My husband stripped her bedding, stuffed animals and all, and threw them in the washer. After the bath, I sprayed my daughter’s head with a tea tree oil/witch hazel mixture while I picked through her scalp like a gorilla looking for lunch.

In the morning I texted a lice-experienced friend. Taking her advice I wet my daughter’s hair with olive oil, added the oil/witch hazel mixture, and wrapped her head in Saran Wrap. The Saran Wrap combined with the oil is supposed to smother the lice? I’m guessing my friend didn’t intend for me to use Press and Seal Saran Wrap, but that’s all I had on hand. My poor girl’s super fine hair stuck to the wrap as I removed it. She might have a teeny, tiny bald patch on her head. But I didn’t see any of The Super Lice. Totally worth the pain in my opinion, but not sure my seven year old agreed. After a thorough inspection and re-application of the mixture, I sent my daughter to school smelling like a bottle of Pine Sol.

As soon as the school bus pulled away, I hauled ass to the nearest drug store. Now, I try to refrain from chemicals and use natural products when available in and around the house. But when it comes to The Super Lice, I will use all the chemicals needed to kill that shit. I stocked up on shampoos filled with chemicals that could kill lice and possibly make my daughter sterile, but it’s a chance we’re all willing to take to keep The Super Lice at bay. I threw in a big bottle of wine for good measure. The lady at the register said, “I’ve been there. Good luck.”  I left the store feeling itchy all over and counting down until an acceptable hour to pop the cork on the wine bottle.

That night our daughter stood in our shower crying while I doused her head with the lice shampoo. She said it was burning her head. I told her this is how it feels when you bleach or color your hair. I might as well put that memory into her brain now to ward off the desire to dye her hair purple during her teenage years.

So, we’re a ticking time bomb over here. I’m checking her scalp daily with the nit comb. So far, no lice, but I’m keeping gasoline and matches nearby. If we get The Super Lice in this house, I’m burning this place down.

#52essaysin2007

Why do Resolutions start at the New Year?

What is it about starting a New Year that makes people crazy about making

New Years Resolutions

resolutions? Come January gyms are swarming with new members clad in brand new workout clothes. Every mom who received a fancy camera for Christmas is launching her photography business, and gallons of booze are dumped down the sink New Years Day in hopes of having a alcohol-free year. But why does it only happen when the ball drops and we move a year forward?

A quick search showed it’s a tradition started thousands of years ago when the Babylonian’s decided to ring in the New Year with a celebration that lasted 11 days. I can only imagine the wicked hangovers they had. They decided to make promises to ensure they were on the right side of their gods and start the new year off on a positive note. Somehow, that tradition continued with the Romans except they offered sacrifices to their gods. I think we’re all glad that tradition didn’t carry on.

So, here we are today. We knocked the celebration down from 11 days to one night, but still offer up promises. I’ll admit, I’m guilty of making resolutions, too. I joined a weekly essay project (more on that later), I am relaunching my blog, created this website and have committed to doing “big things” with my writing career this year. While these resolutions have been slowly building up the past few months, I feel like the New Year will help me launch them. When I see new gym members sweating away or a fellow writer achieving his/her goals it encourages me. Maybe it’s because there’s hope in numbers?

Or is it because we, as a society, crave uplifting, wholesome stories? Numerous websites and Facebook groups exist to show us encouraging events happening in the world. Newscasts always have uplifting human interest stories from around the country. Most stations and New Year’s Eve specials showcase the most inspiring stories of the year.

Let’s face it. Most of our daily life and newscasts are filled with downtrodden and dark events. We still want light, love, laughter, and hope that we can change and make things new again.

So keep on running on that that treadmill, open that photography business and have an alcohol-free year. Try again every year if you have to, but don’t give up. If we all give up then what do we have left?

#52essaysin2017