I had a job interview on Friday. It came in the midst of some rather massive milestones in our lives. George was in San Francisco at a conference – a very important juncture for him. We signed a contract on a house a few days before he left and the loan company wanted lots of information from my files and from my bank accounts and from my life.
The children needed dinner and breakfast and an education. Animals needed feeding. Normal life had to run and so did this new rising. I’ve wanted to get back to work, and it seemed close, but I didn’t realize it could be right under my nose! And here I was, with an interview.
Coordinator. I think I focused too much on my professional self as I prepared to interview and didn’t think about the idea of “coordinator” as I prepared. Now I think that is what I might do better than anything else . . .
I didn’t really know how to describe myself. It felt surreal to even think about. Who am I?
Well, let me think. Do you want the last 24-hour person, the last 2 year person, the last 8 year person the last 12 year person?
Friday, at the interview, I should have gone with the 24 hour person . . .
I am a wife and a mom and a friend and a runner and a teacher and a chef and a seamstress and a cleaner and a secretary and a daughter and a writer.
In the last 24 hours, my children and I made 100 ham parmiers for a Valentines event and delivered them last night at 8:00 p.m. But before then, we took a handful of papers to the bank. This morning, I woke early and got my outfit ready for the interview before reading and praying and checking the news and weather.
When the kids awoke, we read some books together on the couch and talked about the day before I made some French toast. Babysitter arrives. Explained school stuff, routine stuff and food stuff.
Served French toast and headed out the door for the gym and some quiet. Eliptical was essential. Had to process and think and clear out the brain. Coffee and on my way! And the question I didn’t answer so well at the interview and back home again, after another trip to the bank.
We ate our lunch, played outside, read and worked on math before we talked about Manet and painted with him in mind before off to the bank again and friends for dinner.
In the meantime, Lucy, our sweet dog, was bit by a tick over her eye and it was infected immediately. So George, kids, dead pig, and swollen eyed Lucy all loaded up and headed to butcher and vet.
I stayed here and cried over Bowler and started on the day. Laundry, dishes, sweeping, loan information to process, call the car dealership, call the doctor. Make a banana oatmeal bread with the breakfast that was forgotten in the pig slaughter rush.
Everyone returns, except Bowler, may he rest in peace at the butcher. We give the medicine to Lucy and the children have a great need to run and play. Banana bread snack and out the door. Finish up some laundry before loading up a picnic to take on a bike ride because it is beautiful out and we should.
Bike ride through the warm air. Stop for a picnic on the basketball court in an adjacent neighborhood. Dribble basketballs, eat mango and pickles and corn chips.
Home again for nap. Math lessons and read and writing.
Start the Ethiopian Lamb Stew. It takes way to long and a trip to the store and I trip over at least four cars, airplanes, and buses scattered across the floor.
Dinner and hot tea because throats hurt and a cold seems to be coming on. William has it already. I write a note to banker and real estate agent, do the dishes and start writing. I lay out running clothes for the morning and think about sleeping – finally.
This is my work and my play and my passion. But I do, believe it or not, know that working professionally will only make this all better and stronger. Focus and resolve and dedication and commitment and excitement for what our community is doing. I want my children to see that and learn and grow and participate in that process. It will make this, as crazy as it seems, flow and move with more meaning and that is what I think I wanted to say.