A Little Burst of Sunshine in the Nine-to-Five

I just love my job. I am paid not-insignificant wages to sit in my house, at my computer, searching the internet for interesting (at least to me) information. I can do it whenever I want, there are no real deadlines, and there is no commute. My dog is at my feet. My children are playing happily next door with their way-cool babysitter, and if one of them gets sick I can be there in thirty seconds. And the wardrobe? Jeans and flax, baby, jeans and flax.

What is weird about this? Many things. I took five years off, and assumed I would have to start from scratch, career- and reimbursement-wise. Instead, this company basically found ME, and gobbled up my hodge-podge resume with relish, saying I was perfectly suited for them. Each person I spoke with told me how excited they were to have me on board, and they offered me more than I made at my last job.

I am still in shock, waiting for the other shoe to drop and the bubble to burst. (“Oh, did we mention that you have to do all of this UNDERWATER, writing with your own BLOOD in SWAHILI?”) I was used to explaining and deemphasizing my flaky past--”Oh, well I didn’t really end up using that Classical Civilization major...” “The poetry award? Yeah, well, that was a different time.” And I didn’t even have to mention the utter dominance of my children over my career, free time, and workday. Almost all of my coworkers are women, moms, and most of us work in home offices while running households. I tell you, how much cooler has the world gotten?

At my most recent in a series of seemingly dead-end jobs, I worked evaluating the financial losses of folks who have been injured (hi, Bob and Heather!). While performing this work I came across a disturbing little nugget of information: a college-educated woman who takes time off to raise her family loses approximately one million dollars of earnings in her lifetime. That comes from taking time off for childbirth and childrearing, fewer and smaller raises because of the loss of professional experience, taking the lower-key positions which are more compatible with the demands of family, etc, etc. One million dollars!

But what is lovely, and circular, and contributes to my belief in a guiding higher power, is that the experience I gained at that job (which seemed so meaningless and frustrating at the time), is what landed me this lovely, rewarding, fantastic position which will certainly help make up for my million-smacker loss. So Bob, remember when you gave me that new, “senior” job title instead of the raise I expected, and I looked at you in disbelief and more than a smidge of anger?

Thanks.

Pediatric Conflict Resolution

Biggie: “Sit down for a minute, I want to talk to you.” (Wee One sits on the nearest available chair, which happens to be the potty. She pees.) “The dalmation puppy you’re holding is very special to me. Do you remember that I got it at the Salvation Army?” Wee One: “Mm-hmm!” Biggie: “And you know how special it is to me?” Wee One: “Mm-HMM!” Biggie: “So can I have it back now, please?” Wee One, standing and wielding the puppy in question: “MOPE!” (=”Nope!”)

And You Thought You Knew Me...

I am probably the only person in the universe who has both Dooce.com and Flylady.net on her bookmarks bar.