@ Home in the World

What is the Universe trying to tell me now?

They called me last night to offer me a 3-month contract. I accepted, although the logistics are far from ideal. Somehow the energy of the people who interviewed me was contagious, and then in my research, I found a former co-worker I spent hours and hours with, several jobs ago. Our cubes were across the aisle from each other, all those years ago. We did the three hour car trip to corporate headquarters more than once. We wore jeans one day in protest of a nasty-gram from the CEO. Now he will be my contact on one of the first projects I will do for this new company. We have both been in the industry so long that it is getting to be a very small world.

It occurs to me that every one of the men that went through my department during the years I was there are managers now at different companies. Very few of the women are. I know a lot of that has to do with family choices, but it is still depressing.

So as much as I thought I would be using this time to change direction, it seems that after nearly six months, I'm taking a great big U-turn. Of course as we look at the bills we are still holding for the house renovation and the national unemployment rate hitting an official 10 percent, I am also relieved.

Interestingly, directly after I accepted the offer, I had two calls from other organizations about my resume. One was from a university, and after I hung up with them, I wished I had had the presence of mind to go through the motions of the interview with them. What I have is a contract after all, not yet a permanent position. I have always wanted to do ID at a college.

So now, I have to figure out how to handle this position without letting it consume my life, as the last one did. By the time the job ended, I had pretty much run myself into the ground. I seriously needed the six-month vacation I just had.

I have next week to wrap up some things before I re-start commute and cube life. What's interesting is that I have the strongest urge to de-clutter and get the house more manageable than it has been. I went through my closet this morning and threw out at least ten pairs of pants that were either ill-fitting or outdated. I wish I could say that it made a dent.

Halloween is over, the candy is dwindling. Now that the job thing is settled for now, I find myself looking forward to the holidays.

Diner

 
There's nothing like the smell of bacon and coffee when you come inside from the cold just after sun up. Though it's early, it seems as if half the town is already there, tucking into their eggs and toast.

The waitress, and old Al behind the counter, know you by name and probably know what you'll have, though they may try to sell you on a different kind of omelet or a new muffin they're trying out this week.

You sit at the worn, Formica, counter, give your order and spread the newspaper out before you, grabbing a headline or two as the coffee is poured. When you leave, you'll drop the paper in the basket by the door, left there so the next guy will get the news for free. It's tradition.

You nod and exchange a few words with the others at the counter. You know them, they are loggers, or lobstermen, or they have shop in town. They're headed to work after breakfast, so the meal must be filling.

If it's later in the morning, the patrons coming in will be couples, and groups of older women catching up. You'll know most people in the room by sight and some may stop to greet you as they head over to their tables.

The food is coming, placed in front of you with a satisfying plunk, and a gentle warning about the temperature of the plate. The waitress tours the room, coffee pot in hand, looking for a mug in need.

The din is louder now. Silverware clatters as it's cleared and set. Seats emptied, table wiped, then filled again. The papers in the basket have been broken up into sections, and one article or another has started conversation; taxes, or the town manager, or someone's grandchild in the school play. There may be two or four at your table, but you are really a party of forty-five. It's hard not to overhear, turn around, check in, ask a question, share a joke or condolence.

In spite of the warmth of the room, women hunch, fingers curled around the heavy, white, stoneware, sweater sleeves pulled up to their thumbs, clutching their mugs as a reliable source of heat. The coffee keeps flowing.

Breakfast never takes long. Patrons come and go; in and out like a life force pumping through the heart of town. Check paid, tip left, you're out the door and ready to start the day.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I wrote this because the image of the diner mug popped into my head and wouldn't leave. The scene is an amalgam of two diners in New Hampshire (one has people arriving via snowmobile in the winter), and a breakfast place here in town. Going out to breakfast is one of my favorite simple pleasures. For breakfast, I find that small town diners are better than regular restaurants or pancake chains. They may be the happiest places on Earth.

Vexed

I haven't written much about my job search, partly because there hasn't been much to say, and partly because although I blog mostly anonymously, I'm still a little worried about any possible professional impact. Also, I try to keep the whining to a minimum. I do, and get, enough of that in real life.

Today, I'm going to throw caution to the winds and try to work this problem out somewhere other than in my head.

Except for my deliberate and extended maternity leave, I think this is the longest I have ever been unemployed. Somedays it's extremely discouraging, and other days I really enjoy the opportunity to be here when the boys get home, work through their homework and take them to practices and appointments as need be. There are a few things that have come up with the boys that I just wouldn't have been able to handle as effectively had I been working full time. I wish that I could find a way to do this and still be bringing in money.

I've been sending out resumes regularly, and even getting a few interviews. What's been so different this time around is that even the interviews that go well haven't resulted in offers. When you are sitting there aceing the interview questions it's easy to forget that there were a huge number of other applicants and one of them is bound to have more experience, or say something that hits the interviewer in exactly the right way. I'm also starting to wonder if my age is becoming the factor that motherhood became in my last job search. Maybe they are actually looking for someone with less experience that they don't have to pay as much.

I'm starting to wake up to the fact that shifting careers at this point may not only sound good to me right now, it may become a necessity.

Some kind of course correction was on my mind when I was still employed. After five years of chasing after children with some consulting mixed in, day after day of heads-down-at-my-desk work wasn't really sitting right with me. I need to be up and about, collaborating with other people. Part of the reason I was so anxious to return to work was that I missed being part of a team. What I found when I got there was just as isolating as being at home for five years.

I recognize that complaint is more about me than the work or the workplace. We're all cut out for different things and the things we are cut out for sometimes evolve.

So the big question now is how to change direction and what direction to take. If I knew the answer to that, I'd probably have a job by now. Or at least a plan.

How it's going

So I think we are on week four of Tigger-on-meds. Long enough anyway, for me to lose track.

He has come home with a few notes in the first couple of weeks praising his behavior. The principal wrote him a note and sent it to our home so that he could get it in the mail. I am assuming that he would do this for any kid who has pulled off this kind of turnaround, and not just because he knew how utterly conflicted I was about the whole thing.*

Someone, I forget who, asked me a question that has been rattling around in my brain, but that I almost can't afford to worry about right now. The question went something like this "Is he proud of himself, or does he feel that this is the medication and not really him."  The short answer is that he is proud of himself, and is not self-conscious about the medication, or about the fact that he is taking it. I do know families with children who fight taking their medication. We do not have that issue. I guess that we are lucky.

The more existential question, if that's the right word, I just can't deal with right now. It helps that he is not a zombie, and that his personality has essentially not changed. Riding up to New Hampshire last weekend, with both boys picking at/feeding off each other for the entire 3-hour ride up and the 3 hours back (omigodmakeitstop!), Piper asked me if I really could see a difference with and without the medication, because he sure as hell couldn't.

With first hand experience of trying to get through homework with Tigger, pre- and post-meds, I have to say that I do see a difference. I also see more instances where Tigger's behavior is more age-appropriate than inappropriate. Yesterday, instead of finding him upstairs in front of the television, where he always goes when he sneaks off away from us, I found him in his room building something with blocks, something he has never done on his own.

At the risk of sounding overly dramatic, it's as if we have been living in the prison of our children's behavior. You know the old saying "I can't take you anywhere?" For us it was literally true. But it also meant that we really couldn't go anywhere, either. Everything had to be carefully planned, talked through with the boys, over and over, and even then, the excursions we took were risks. We risked spending the entire outing breaking up squabbles, we risked disturbing everyone around us, we risked losing Pumpkin in a crowd, because he would not stay with us or threw a tantrum if we insisted he hold the hand of an adult. Any successful outings were worthy of celebration, and totally, utterly, unpredictable. More often than not, we did not take those risks. We stayed home.

With the advent of Tigger-on-meds, it feels as if someone has cracked a window of that prison, and a little bit of sunshine is peeking in. Some weight has been lifted off my shoulders, but that sunlight has also served to illuminate that we have multiple issues to tackle here; Tigger's issues, Pumpkin's issues, and the Tigger-Pumpkin dynamic, which can be overwhelming. It's a reminder, as if we needed one, that Pumpkin's issues are far, far more complex.

And as of now, they are still eluding diagnosis. I may have mentioned that the neuropsych evaluation raised the issue of the autism spectrum, and then backed away from it. It mentioned Executive Function Disorder, which often goes along with ADD, but ADD has not been indicated in this case so far. We have a seven-year old, who has caught up or surpassed his age cohort academically, but is continuing to behave like a three- or four-year old.

Some days are great, and I still marvel over Pumpkin's huge leap in language over the past year. We can have a conversation, he asks amazing questions, he takes in all the information that his grandfather gives him, processes it and applies it to other learning. He has this interest in the natural world that's only really surfaced in the past few months.

Other days, it's like living in a zoo, where, at least the monkey isn't throwing feces, but he can not stop talking about it. He has the worst table manners, and family dinners are a constant litany of "use your fork, stay in your seat, use your fork, don't shovel your food." You look at him, and you expect to see a toddler, wearing a bib. I think it must be some kind of sensory thing, because nothing else makes sense.

I find myself making mental lists of the things we still need to get to the bottom of. On the really tough days, I wonder if there is no bottom.

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* Somewhere in the process of looking into ADHD meds for Tigger, some healthcare provider asked me if they had been recommended by his teacher. Sensitive as I am to the over-diagnosis of ADD/ADHD, and the potential use of these meds as crowd control in schools, I have to admit, the suggestion got my back up. But I shortly realized that the answer to this question was NO. Not ever, not even once.

I mentioned this to the principal some time later who told me that it was policy. Teachers, in his view, should not be pushing medication. I not only agree, I'm extremely grateful that I was allowed to come to this decision on my own, even if it took longer than it might have. Julie has a really interesting discussion of the issues surrounding boys in schools. So much of it has to do with culture changes alluded to in her post, which can be unbelievably frustrating, but I find myself here with an example of how a public school got it right.

The dress and the bag

When I was a child, I used to play dress-up at my grandparents house.

My father's mother made all her own clothes and, this being the 70s, most of them were flowing, brightly colored, and polyester. My grandmother took many of them in for me, but there was one dress she never permanently altered, but pinned temporarily while I played princess in it.

The dress was simple, but beautiful. It was a grey irridescent silk in the style of the 40s, with a handful of tiny rhinestones scattered on the bodice. Cue the Big Band music. The shape of the dress would be very flattering on my grown-up body, and I sometimes regret that it was never rescued after she died. If it truly did fit, I'd not only be wearing something that I loved since childhood, I would be wearing a piece of history.

I once asked my grandmother why she pinned the dress for me instead of sewing it, and she told me that the dress was very special to her. It was the dress she had worn at a party with Eleanor Roosevelt.

Now Eleanor was a woman I admired very much, and so this explanation impressed me quite a bit. I wish that I had been old enough to ask for details, but if I had, I probably wouldn't still be playing dress-up.

As the years passed and my mother became more and more estranged from her in-laws, I saw less of those grandparents, but learned more about their background.

Among other things, they were very poor Germans living in Ohio. I have my grandfather's gold football pin that says Middletown '22. They came to New Jersey after my father was born for my grandfather's job. He worked for "Ma Bell" for his whole career, as so many men did in those days.

The more I learned, particularly about their socioeconomic status, the more it seemed unfathomable that my grandparents could have crossed paths with the Roosevelts. One day, I asked my mother about it.

Turns out my grandmother's brother was the bagman for FDR's campaign, charged with impressing the locals with the need for campaign donations. Emphasis, apparently, on the pressing.

Now, on my mother's side I can trace my lineage, DAR style, to Roger Williams and "Mad" Anthony Wayne. However it is this story, of a great uncle's involvement in the seedier side of old time politics, that fascinates me to no end.  I just wish I knew more.

Three Ring Supermarket

Twenty years ago, a friend who had moved to rural Colorado from a busy neighborhood just outside of Boston, wrote and told me that the big excitement in her area was the opening of a new Wal-mart. The retailing giant was not quite as giant as it is today and had not yet reached the Northeast. I had no idea what it was and when I found out that it was a retail chain much like Caldor, Bradlees, or Lechmere (remember those?), I didn't quite understand what the big deal was.

Last week, a new supermarket opened in the town next to ours. I know this doesn't sound like a big deal, especially since we already had two other supermarkets in the area, but it is. See, we're not easy to get to where we live and the two existing supermarkets were taking advantage of this fact by charging astronomical prices for their offerings; close to $6 for a gallon of non-organic milk for example. Infuriating!

So many people in this area found themselves making a weekly pilgrimage to a place we'll call Market 3 located 20 miles away from where we all live. It wasn't unusual to bump into a neighbor and congratulate one another for refusing to pay the extortion fees charged by Markets 1 & 2 closer to home.

About a year ago, maybe more, we began hearing rumors, eventually confirmed that Market 3 was finally, finally(!), coming to our area. They had been trying to get here for decades, but there was always some zoning dispute or NIMBY-eruption blocking their entry. At last, a mall developer was clearing (literally) the way and Market 3 would finally force Markets 1 & 2 to behave as if they weren't the only weren't the only game in town. I can take or leave a new mall, but I wanted to see a Market 3!

This fight wasn't easy either. People objected to the destruction of a wooded area that was slated for development anyway. There were wetlands issues, of course. There was the traffic light, omigod, the traffic light. There were literally people driving around town with bumperstickers reading "Fight the Light," and guess what, they won! There was the closing of a school adjacent to the property, the reasons for that were more complex, but no one's admitting it had anything to do with the mall development. Finally, there was some property tax break that the developer got that people were incensed about. The bumpersticker for that? "No FREE LUNCH!" That battle, they lost.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not typically pro-development, but I've seen decades worth of good project proposals fought against for any number of trumped-up reasons because certain people in this area do not want to move forward in any way, large or small. The ones that really infuriate me involve existing and often abandoned buildings left to rust and rot because people don't want a hotel or condos near them. They'd prefer to look at the decaying buildings day after day. Unbelievable!

Now, I wasn't really planning to go to the opening day, but I had some time, and a list, so I did. Okay, it wasn't like the opening of a new IKEA (I went to that in New Haven years ago, big mistake!), but it was crowded and busy. There were jacketed employees everywhere greeting people and straightening items on shelves, making everything look like it has just been placed there.

There were people directing traffic at the deli, people restocking shelves, managers standing around joking and  laughing (which is so odd because usually they are telling their employees not to do that). There was a manager on the PA system calling out bargains like some carnival barker - "Ritz Crackers, one dollar in Aisle 5!"

But the really weird thing, the thing that you never see in supermarkets, was that everyone, including the customers, was smiling. Seriously, the atmosphere was such that you expected people to lean forward on their cart handles and click their heels in the air, or maybe perform synchronous carriage twirls in the aisles.  Shoppers were giddy.

Was it the prices? Was it the novelty? Or was it the fact that after many, long years, the mighty forces against progress that I christened the "anti-brigade" were vanquished just this once.

Zoom, Zoom!

It was race weekend in Louden last weekend. Yep, NASCAR came to New Hampshire. So we packed up the car and headed up North to

Oh, HELL NO!

Though the Pumpkin would be perfectly content to watch cars go around in a circle for hours and hours, the rest of us really don't get it.

We did go to New Hampshire, but this was more our speed.

Those little things in the background? Those are go karts. They are little motorized cars not much bigger than a wheelbarrow, and not quite as high off the ground. This was the highlight of the boys' trip to see their grandparents this weekend. We drove for 45 minutes to get there, paid $5 each for two 15 minute trips around a roughly 8-shaped track. Then we left.

Really, that was it. It wasn't part of a park where there were other things to do. Their whole business was this track, maybe two dozen go karts, and some vending machines. It was amazing to me that they made money off of that, but perhaps they do. They may also have owned the building next door. Decidely NOT family oriented.

New Hampshire is littered with Tattoo shops, especially near the border with Massachusetts. Tattooing was illegal in Massachusetts until a few years ago.

Pumpkin told me I wasn't a very good driver in the go karts, and he was right. These things were way too low to the ground for my tastes and I couldn't hug the curves, couldn't even stay in my lane in the turns, they way I expected. I kept feeling like the kart was going to tip even though it was wide and low to the ground. Piper and Tigger wound up lapping us before the end of our session.

As much as I love the look of those Smart cars that have finally made their way to the US, I'm really a big car girl. I don't like being that low to the ground. I told Piper that driving those go karts was like being back in the Tercel he drove when we first met. Was that mean? I hated that car.

From the race track, we moved on to this cute little place.

 

Mmmm. Waffles and ice cream! Actually, all we had was the "make your own" sundaes. Waffles were a separate thing. But a Belgian waffle with warm apple slices on top - my favorite thing in the world! We'll have to go back for those.

The go karts weren't the only encounter we had with strange transportation. On the way home, we encountered this contraption. Can you see it up there?

 

At first we thought it was just parasailing, but it really looked like it was self-propelled.  It also sported a blinking light - to warn the passing airplanes, perhaps?

Of course we got into the raceway traffic on our way home, but even that had a side benefit. Just as all the spectators were leaving Louden, so were the race cars themselves. We must have passed a dozen of those race teams on the highway. We didn't see the cars because they were riding in their own souped up trailer transport - like Lightning McQueen rides inside of Mac. The trailers themselves were enough to keep Pumpkin interested for miles.

Piper speculated that Pumpkin might want to work on those kinds of cars when he grows up. To which I responded  - "if by working on you mean designing, well then I'm all for it."

Viola! Sarah Palin has written a book.

(Yes, the typo in my title is deliberate.)

Sarah Palin has reportedly finished her book ahead of schedule. Hopefully her editor has blocked out a good chunk of time to work on it before its planned November release.

She made it look so easy. I'm jealous!

Fortunately she left some tips with David Letterman.

I don't know whether it's guts or a complete lack of self-awareness that allows her to keep putting herself out there like this, even if most of us wish she wouldn't.

I'm almost at the point with her that I was with the old Seinfeld show where I would have to leave the room whenever the George Costanza character was a major focus of the episode. It's difficult to watch people embarrass themselves like that.

Of course, it's good fodder for a joke, but one of the best I've heard wasn't intended as a joke at all.

Yesterday, some guy on Good Morning America announced the title of Palin's book as "Going Rouge."  A title that might actually be more appropriate.

"Lucy in the Sky with Divers"

You know, I'd correct him, but it's not like the real lyrics make any more sense.

No stronger believer than a convert

TIgger on Meds, Day 1 = Calm, got his homework done without fighting it. No fighting with Pumpkin, no grabbing at the dog. Sat down and paired socks with me.

Tigger on Meds, Day 2 = note home from teacher praising his behavior in class.

Really, the biggest change I'm seeing is his attitude. He's not constantly getting scolded so he is feeling better about life. I'm not constantly after him, so I'm not as harried.

He's begun telling people that he's on this medicine that's helping him. He seems to be okay with it, and maybe I should just let him be okay with it and not go probing into how he's feeling so that he starts thinking it's a big deal where maybe he didn't before.

When I was that age, I told everybody everything. I knew I was different and it was important that people knew why. It never occurred to me that the kids would use it against me. I'm not sure how much it mattered. Those kids who liked me, did so anyway. Those who didn't were probably going to bully the weak kid regardless.

I had an IEP meeting with Tigger's team earlier this week. He will take the MCAS for the first time this year and the plan is for him to have extra time and take it in a small group with a scribe. The testing period is in March. It will be interesting to see how much this effects of the medication allow him to improve his spelling and reading skills between now and then.

I still have questions about how this all works. Are there things that we can teach him while he is on this medication that will have an impact when he is not? Will his ability to understand consequences, right and wrong, cause and effect, stick with him when he is not on the meds? 

A couple of other things that had been "stuck" over the summer seem to also have broken loose, so between those and the meds, the tension in the house is way, way down.

Phew!