Thursday, May 20, 2010

Little Miss Independent

Pretty soon, my precocious daughter will be telling us that she's got a job and a car and her own place. It's very funny, though, to be getting your marching orders from a three foot tall, six-and-a-half year old who knows everything. She loves to boss people around. Martin and I often wonder how we've survived this long without Mia's guidance, because clearly, we are incompetent. Just ask her.

I pity the man who falls for our Mia because she's going to run him like well-oiled machine and he'd better hop to it.

She doesn't have to be on the school bus until 7:30 but she's still up at the butt crack of dawn. In fact, who needs an alarm clock, with Mia around? I'm often asked, at 6 a.m., "Mommy, do these earrings match my outfit?"

Lately, she's taken to preparing coffee for Martin and tea for me in the mornings. She loads up the coffee pot and microwaves water for my tea. I came downstairs one morning to find a hot cup of tea steeping on the counter and when I asked Martin, "Did you make me tea?!?" (he hasn't in years, other than when I've been deathly ill), Mia very firmly set me straight: "NO, Mommy, I did. The lemon kind, your favorite."

She loves to pick out clothes and shoes for both of us. If I dressed in what Mia picked out for me, I would look like an insane collage of every conceivable shade of pink or purple (or both!) of sequins, feathers, ruffles, and flowers. I would always look like I was on my way some sort of Pink and Purple Cosmic Disco, where no doubt unicorns jump over pink and purple rainbows. She is past the point of dressing herself like a blind bag lady and is now onto cute. Everything must be cute. If it's shiny and pouffy, it's that much cuter.

When she spots something she particularly likes, she almost squeals. "Oh Mommy! Loooook at these shoes!"

Atta girl.

If Mia weren't such a sweet little girl, I suspect she'd be a big pain in the ass. She never says anything in a mean way, she just knows that she knows better than you and is happy to pass her knowledge along. I worried about Mia going to school; I was afraid she'd end up being such a goody-goody, the other kids would give her a hard time. It can be tough living with Cindy Brady. Everyone loves Mia, though. She's always happy and truly just wants to be everyone's friend.

I'm so very proud of our girl.

Friday, May 7, 2010


This new job I have, that I like so much? The hours are perfect, the pay is just right, my responsibility is at the level that justifies all this; I like the people I work with and it's a positive, relaxed atmosphere with the right attitude.

I got "Let Go" today. I haven't had that happen since I was working at O'Connors Deli, long since gone, in Brighton, MI. O'Connors had the bonus of a drive-thru window, although you did have to go inside to buy booze. When I worked at O'Connors, it was for a summer, their busiest season. Everyone hired knew that we were gone the first week of August. It was a job with a finite ending.

There's a sucker born every minute and if it seems to good to be true, it probably is.

Or, it could just be me.

Three people were hired when one job was advertised. I think the Boss Lady liked three applicants very much and made an impulsive decision to hire all three of us. I think, after three weeks, I was the most expendable. I'm fairly certain that financially, I cost as much as each of the other two did for full time work while I was working part-time.

I'm guessing she thought she could sit me in front of a computer with a minimum of training and I would just do it. It was as much as admitted in the bye-bye speech that she didn't have the time to sit down with me and train me and she had to go back and correct my mistakes.

I was also told to freely use them as a reference and that they liked having me there, but it just wasn't working. I was even given a couple leads.

To my mortification, I cried.
I didn't sob, or snivel, or anything like that. I just shed a few tears once I realized what was going on.

I sometimes feel like ">Kate Bush just running up that hill.

My paycheck was going to help us toward a big-ass down payment on a house and then, once we cut our housing costs by a couple, three hundred a month, mortgage vs. renting, it was time for a car for me.

And it probably was me. As my Gran used to say, I got too big for my britches. I was too happy. I still had my troubles, but I was dealing with them much better and I was proud to add to our family income. It boosted my always fragile ego tremendously and my self-confidence was higher than it's been in a decade. I had a light in my eyes and glowed, and it wasn't only the spray-tan.

I was told that it wasn't anything to do with me, not to take it personally; I was even given job suggestions with free use of their name.

It's hard not to take it personally.

I'm trying really hard to not let this be a spiral down into the deep depression. I don't like sleeping on the couch all day and on the verge of tears constantly. I know Martin is very worried about me because he keeps hugging me (I am NOT into hugs unless I am mucn more miserable and needy) and telling me to not worry about it til Monday.

Did I mention that I cried? And I am mortified that I did?

Maybe I'm just too far out of the game and too far out of touch. Maybe I'm too old. Maybe I'm just not meant to do this work thing anymore. The time I spent with Mia was diminished by more than half. The time I spent on my house was nearly non-existent. Both Bennie and Luna were quite put out with their Momma gone. If I'm not meant to earn a regular paycheck, I still need some sense of a worthwhile purpose which includes a paycheck.

I'm hurt. My ego and self-confidence are totally shot, again. Filled with doubt, and twitches, here I am.

I'm really tired of making lemonade.

Sunday, May 2, 2010

Lunch At The Airport

It's really not that strange that Martin chose to take Mia and I to lunch yesterday at the airport. He works for a company that is located on the campus. I make four round-trips to the airport every day now that I am working. (And yes, that is getting really old really fast, the driving part; I like the working part.)

The Indy Airport is really quite impressive. It's all shiny and new and features that cool moderne vibe that I love. The airport boasts some really interesting art (the breathing sculptures, which are red and look something like bellows) and some very la di da shops and restaurants. Did I mention it's all shiny and brand new?

We ate at the Indy 500 restaurant there. Unfortunately, they don't seem to have a website. The food is awesome, the Cosmos are to die for, although they should bloody well be, at ten bucks a pop in an over sized thimble of a glass. Mia had chicken tenders (I realize that this is a huge shock to everyone who knows Mia), Martin had a pork stacker sandwich and I had a wonderful tomato and bleu cheese salad with mustard vinaigrette dressing and homemade crostini.

The best part of lunch at the airport, of course, is the people-watching. At the same restaurant as we were, there was a girl who can best be descried as (to paraphrase a great Glee line) looking like she was taking her fashion tips from Lindsey Lohan, who looks like she belongs in The Hobbit. Said girl had on a tee-shirt dress, lavender tied died. I use the word "dress" optimistically; it was really a long tee shirt and all the world was her gynecologist. For footwear, she chose square-toed motorcycle boots. This spectacular display of Fug was topped with stringy, unwashed over dyed black hair and a John Deere trucker cap. I shit you not.

I really wanted to get a picture, but there was no way of doing so without being very obvious and she was kind of scary looking (or just really dangerously hungover) and I didn't think it would be good idea. I wasn't in the mood to be spat upon.

I finally bought a new bag this week-end. I originally wanted a shiny purple one, but I decided to be practical and buy a black one. It's HUGE and I love it. Where the rule used to be, "She who has the biggest earrings wins", the new mantra is "She who has the biggest, coolest bag, wins." I may not be the winner, but at least I'm in the running.