There's been some relief in the financial doom and gloom.

CD has found a second job. Just a little something at his favorite IT store. But it means a lot.

First, because for months upon months no one would give him a second glance. Like the Goodyear blimp squatted on his head with an LED sign proclaiming "Do Not Hire Me!" in big letters.

Spots he was outrageously qualified for would blink at him slowly and then shout "next!"

As I forged a routine with Bear, CD splashed helplessly. Even his counselor growing confused. Not understanding that week after week with application after application bringing not even a phone call, not even an email... stung CD's thin hide. Finally, CD brought himself able to discuss it with her.

Like kids who mulishly push away homework complaining that it's dumb - when inside it is them themselves that feel overwhelmed. CD at first had complained that he hadn't ever truly signed on to being breadwinner. That he felt forced into doing something he just didn't feel he should have to do.

Then, the ball of frustration and fear began to unravel. And he was able to say the truth - I'm scared. I'm trying, and not getting anywhere. What if I never find a position, don't find a way to support us in time?

And just as we faced ruin, just as we started to cash in the future to pay for today, the phone began to ring.

Ain't that the way it always goes?

So the most important thing this part-time gig brings us is hope. CD was hired. Enthusiastically and happily offered paying work. And where there is one - there is more. He can believe again that others can see his worth. That the right new full-time position will follow.

Of course, the second - and most stunningly obvious - point to this second job is that it buys us time.

Bear and I can continue having "school" here at home in the mornings. I can continue to be the one to drive him to the afternoon Kindergarten at the public elementary. And late afternoons can continue to be cooking, and cleaning. And T-Ball, and karate. And Power Rangers and popcorn and cuddling on the couch. And errands. And Go Fish. And dancing to vintage John Mellencamp or Zap Mama. And raking the growing pile of leaves carpeting the lawn. And coming up with outrageous Wile E Coyote squacoon catching schemes.

I can continue to hunt freelance writing gigs instead of looking for a weekend waitressing job or even more frightening - heading back into the corporate jungle.

(Shameless Plug and Snoopy Dance of Joy - Orbitz just published the podcast I wrote about Roscoe Village, Chicago! It's here or copy the link [http://tlc.orbitzinsider.com/File/roscoevillage_chicago.mp3]. Yay, Orbitz! I love you and your puppets. Really.)

I can continue to make a fool of myself with story ideas for a book or articles. Hanging on to that little thread of hope that maybe I could actually be a writer on my tax returns as well as in my Glenda-laden fantasies.

We can hang on.

I worked two jobs for the first 3 months of this year. I was tired, wired, and quick to snap. Of course, I also didn't have a clone of me to support me, but snickering is unbecoming so I won't go too far down that road.

Instead I'll just say that all this makes CD a bit of a hero around here and Bear and I are doing everything we can to make the 12+ hour days as bearable on him as possible.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 06:25 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
Post contains 626 words, total size 4 kb.

As we continue to seek a new job for CD and scrounge up money on my own 2.5 "free" hours a day... I realize that I have become a little nutty.

Maybe.

In between karate and T-ball and permission slips and job applications and craft projects and making do with less, I think I am just about to scream... and then something else comes up and I have to reschedule screaming.

It's like I found my afterburners.... And there's a kind of empowering giddiness to it sometimes, especially as I implement the stuff on my '100 days of towards a change' list.

So (and here's the segue) have I mentioned that we have a young racoon living in our attic? And a squirrel? Yes, both have been spotted on occasion - ripping into our soffits and skittering above our ceilings.

Clearly, they are cohabitating in some kind of Jerry-Springer "Caught on Video" unnatural relationship but they are always careful not to be caught leaving or entering at the same time. Sort of implying a time-share thing. Much like the "unproven except everyone knew it was going on Brad and Angelina" thing way back, uh... last spring.

But whatever kind of Republican-baiting kind of lifestyle they are engaging in, it is time they stopped doing it in our house. So we borrowed a small animal live trap from a friend and set it up in the attic.

No joy in Mudville.

For a week of nights, the racoon-squirrel (squacoon!) outwitted us, folks.

So CD got the idea to leave the trap in the driveway just under their favorite soffit with a Mighty Beef can of cat food as bait.

You know what Mighty Beef bait catches you?

A cat.

Stunning, ain't it?

There it was. A big puffball of neighborhood cat. Blinking and shivering. Maybe feral. So we called the town's non-emergency police number specifically set up for animal control.

And got their voice mail.

Left a message.

24 hours later, they hadn't called back and Puffball was REALLY pissed. And thinking about pressing aggravated kidnapping charges.

We let her go.

It was either that or adopt her.

Undaunted in his squacoon mission, CD reloaded the trap.

This morning, on my way to drive Bear to school, we stepped out the back door to find... Son of Puffball. A little gray thing, scrunched up against the cold rain.

I sighed, and bustled Bear off to the van.

25 minutes later, I pulled back into the driveway. Son of Puff was dripping wet and watching me with big eyes. In the dark gap of the ripped-open (again!) soffit above us, I swear I saw golden eyes blinking - with smirk. Cheshire-cat kind of smirk. The kind of smirk that makes me want to buy a BB Gun. Yes, me.

I squatted next to the trap.

"Puffy," I said to the gray tribble. "Puffy, you picked the wrong can of cat food."

Puffy didn't say much back.

"I'm supposed to call the Police so they can put you to sleep. Kill you, really. 'Cuz you're not only homeless and probably rabid. You are also, clearly, stupid. Dumber than a squacoon, for damn sure."

Puffy shook his fur.

With a sigh, I slipped open the trap and let him run free.

I told myself it was because I am just too busy to be dealing with cats taking up space in a squacoon trap.

But it was nice to watch him run like a blur through the bright green grass of our backyard. For a place where no laundry needed doing, and no list needed checking off.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 12:48 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
Post contains 625 words, total size 3 kb.

T-96 days to go in my 100 days of Change and I've run into my first semi-major snag.

See these glasses? Well, if anyone finds them - please let me know. The reward is my sanity and my brain, which aches.

I think Flipsy stole them.

Flipsy is the stuffed Mammoth in the picture. He and his twin (yes, we have two) are Bear's favorite stuffed animals. Flipsy 1 and Flipsy 2 enjoy randomly attacking me. Like Kato from the Pink Panther movies, they're always flying out of another room or sneaking up on me.

Usually with a giggling 6-year-old running the show.

In the past, it has been known to happen that there would be the Flipsies, coquettishly cuddling on Bear's bed in their usually place of honor. One of them, oh so casually, wearing my glasses.

(Yes, my son mastered the art of the subtle snark before he could even talk the language.)

But not today. They are GONE. GONE, I said. I've looked in all the usual spots - including their rightful home on the bookshelf.

Man, oh man.

Now, I have often said that I don't really need glasses. My left eye is a little weak, always has been. "No big deal. I can get along without my glasses."

LIE!!

I miss .... my missing glasses.

I needed them to be on the computer 10 hours a day, back in the day. But when I left that gig, I got lazy about my glasses. I mean, besides writing articles and blog entries and helping Bear with his coloring.... what kind of strain did I really have ahead of me?

A lot, as it turns out.

See, Kindergarten is very paper-intensive. No one warned me about this. It wasn't true of Happy Montessori. But Public Kindergarten sends me home the equivilent of a small forest in paper each week.

With itty bitty tiny words. Which I am supposed to read and respond to.

And it is utterly freaking out my unglassed eyeballs.

There is homework, every night.

And an in-school project, every day. And then the 'required' forms - permissions for flouride and pictures and field trips and immunization record reminders.

And then the school notices - assemblies, closings, PTA meetings, athletic games, optional nighttime activities, police notices about safety; town meetings and ward meetings and "hang out with the mayor" meetings.

Don't forget the fundraisers. Oy! He went to private school for 4 years and NEVER did I see the likes of such fundraising. Book sales. Wrapping paper sales. Knick-knacks. And awards for highest sales, that are used to incentivize the children during even mroe assemblies. And deadlines. and daedline REMINDERS. IN ASTROBRIGHT COLORS. Don't forget the pleas for donations of ASTROBRIGHT PAPER.

And if all this wasn't enough, there is my 100-day plan. Which has me finally assembling, reading, and organizing the mountain of paper by my desk. And pitching article ideas. And begging for work.

The good news is - since leaving Mega I think I have popped maybe 3 Tums. DOwn from a dozen a day. The bad news? I am running riot on the Tylenol for my eye-strain headaches.

If this keeps up, I will actually have to break down and buy a new pair. Because to continue on my quest to change a life - I really must be able to read all the fine print.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 04:11 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
Post contains 577 words, total size 3 kb.

When I was first diagnosed with Lupus, I was relieved.

I'd never heard of it before. I was just so freaking glad to finally know the boogyman. After months of knowing I was not crazy, just sick. I had begun to feel... crazy.

After each battery of exams, we would learn - it was not this, it was not that.

I had just started a new career, and spent over 6months on a derailment. Living on my savings and the generosity of my family as I suffered from a host of bizarre symptoms (like falling suddenly - oof, the bruises).

It took about 3 months after my diagnosis to get me well. And to realize - oh, man, this is actually kinda a serious thing.

How obnoxious I became. They told me that infections and illnesses that are fine for people without Lupus could prove fatal to me. I started carrying Lysol with me and washing my hands like a fiend. I mean, at one point my hands were so red and chapped from constant washing that they became infected.

It was crazy-making.

It took a year before I had it all under control. I learned what set me off into a Lupus flare. I learned where to relax, and where to remain viligent.

I put down the can of Lysol, and stepped away slowly....

It will never go away. But eventually it becomes normal.

That's where we are with CD, now. In that place where he has been getting better since his most recent flare. But we don't yet feel normal.

He's been late to work twice this week. Sure, it could be a bad alarm clock. Or the effects of a new med. But it could also be the rain or stress triggering his brain to another dark flare. And if it is, how deep will it take him?

Will he be able to work? To take care of himself?

I live on pins and needles. Deep breaths and decaf tea.

I want to be a good partner. But most days I hum with a kind of low-grade fear. I just wish we could fold time to a little bit in the future, where we've learned what normal will be.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 02:57 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
Post contains 382 words, total size 2 kb.

After first wrote this, I realized what I'd written. Nothing, really. But everything....a little drama, a teaspoon of heroism, a sweet and curious son. But think about what a major difference it is, for us. After years of so much struggle and knife-edged cold war, we are living the swirls and patterns of life as a family.

Between better treatment for CD and me being home, the last months have glommed together into a place where, well, we don't keep a bottle of Tums in every room.

And it suits us. This is what we risked it all for.

It is comfortable and normal to be having this life, now. Like an old blanket pulled from the dryer.

Even the little dramas of family life. We embrace them because this is how it should be - hard work. But faced together.

The one last night brought courtesy of the rain...

Oh man, the rain!

This global warming shit is really getting on my nerves. All those icebergs melting off the North Pole and raining on my house. Seriously, don't help me with the math - I know what I know. It is raining former glaciers on me and no one can prove different.

We haul the Thwacka door out to work on it. Then we quickly stuff it back in the garage as clouds darken. This has now been going on for 2 weeks. You wouldn't think it would take that long to get 2 coats of varnish on one side, 2 coats of paint on the other, and a new lock mechanism installed. And it wouldn't. If only I had a nice airplane hangar to work in.

CD picked up some overtime last night. One of the few beneifts of his working for LowCeiling -I'm so snappy with the pseudonyms, eh?- is that they were too cheap to make him salaried. Which means, ah, overtime. Sparkly, happy overtime.

He worked 6 hours of overtime last night on an extra project. Meanwhile, I was supposed to lightly sand the door between coats, so it was on sawhorses out back.

I was on the phone with my friend Cee when it got dark. Ominous dark. Possibly organ music was playing.

Into the rising gusts thinking 'Oh, Not Again with the Rain!' I went. Got a tarp and wrapped the door on the sawhorses. Closed up the windows. And then, someone took a chisel to the sky.

Rain literally dropped, like a wall of wet.

Off and on all afternoon, into the night. The winds rising and shivering against our windows.

Bear and I played cards, tackled computer games, snacked on popcorn, snuggled in for Scooby Doo movies. Everytime I tried to leave him and get something work-ish done, thunder would slam into the house and we'd end back up in a people-pile.

It was after 10 when CD came home. We were both up to greet him.

But he quickly changed and headed back out.

"What? Stay in, get dry. I'll heat you up some..."

He shook his head. "I've got to get the door in, the tarp is completely blown off. And I have to try and do something about the flooded street."

20 minutes later, picked my way through the mist and the wet and the really dark night to where my husband stood - literally knee-deep in water on the street in front of our house.

"Oh, God." The road was entirely submerged for about a 30 feet stretch. "Is it going to reach the house?"

"No," he told me. He had a long pole and was working at the sewer grate. "The leaves have caught in the sewer entrance."

We heard a lot of sirens in the distance. A cop drove by, slowing down as the water reached over all its tires. Up and down the street the water wasn't as high, but the asphalt was only visible in the middle of the road.

I went in and wrapped Bear, who was watching from the living room, in a long raincoat. Carried him on my back out into the slowing rain.

CD had miraculously cleared the sewer opening. A small funnel appeared in the water by his calves, as the worst of it drained. The water levels receded down our driveway, inch by inch.

"It'll clog up again," CD told us as we moved back into the house. "But the rain's pretty much stopped. I think we'll be all right."

This morning, we awoke to sunshine. CD already gone for work. Bear climbed into bed with me. "Mommy! The leaves are in the street and the water is gone! I saw a real flood! The biggest flood ever! Where did it go?"

"Mmmm, good question..." I yawned.

"It's a beautiful day," he insisted, nudging me with one of his little sharp elbows. "Let's go outside and see what the flood left!"

Pulling myself from under the covers, I managed to steer Bear towards the hallway without tripping over his excitement too badly.

"Mommy?"

"Yes, Bear?"

"Is Daddy a hero for fixing the flood?"

"Well, I think he's a really smart and good daddy to go out there in the cold and fix it..."

He gave me look. "No. He's a Hero Daddy. What if we had to swim to bed last night!"

And what else could I do...but agree?

Posted by: Elizabeth at 04:16 AM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
Post contains 906 words, total size 5 kb.

1 I will trade you the rain for the 95 degree heat here that is the direct cause of those melting glaciers! Daddies make the best heroes.

Posted by: Cheryl at October 03, 2006 04:21 AM (n20Y8)

2 he sounds like a hero daddy to me. in a hero family. lovely post.

Posted by: jen at October 03, 2006 02:45 PM (dWF9+)

3 I'm so pleased y'all are doing well. Every daddy is or should be their child's hero. I miss mine everyday. Thank you for continuing to post.

Posted by: mommytowahid at October 04, 2006 01:33 AM (xvU5A)

4 Kiss that super smart Bear of yours on the forehead for me, okay?

Posted by: undercovermutha at October 04, 2006 08:17 AM (l97iS)

5 I just love your writing style. It's so engaging, and fun to read! Thanks for sharing your life-stories. I really enjoy them! It sure did rain

Posted by: Eyes at October 05, 2006 02:27 AM (L67iN)

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