Pleasant

The other day, one of the ladies with whom I work stopped by my desk one her through the front office and said, “I just wanted to let you know that I love talking to you. You’re always so pleasant.”

I smiled my most pleasant smile and told her that she’s lovely to talk with too.

Yeah.

My family might disagree with the level of my pleasantness.

Hell, those who know me well would probably disagree.

One day earlier in that same week a woman came to the front window at work. I greeted her pleasantly.

She took a moment to compose herself and then explained extensively her job search. She has four kids. The youngest is four years old. She needs a first shift, Monday through Friday job. She can’t find child care. She is alone with her four kids. Life is very hard.

Wait.

That sounded sarcastic. It wasn’t mean to. I feel for this woman. I was quite pleasant to her, saying all the right things to try and ease her mind about the potential for a job with our company.

I told Alyssa once after a couple of interactions with drive-thru employees at our local Wendy’s that my face reads, “Talk to me, I care.”

I also told her that my face lies.

I mean, okay. Sure. I care. To an extent but dude, I was just ordering a couple of Frosties that day. I didn’t need to know each person’s life story or that their manager was an ass (though, I’m thinking if two people are that pissy while dealing with the public, the manager might just be an ass.)

There are days, though, after I’ve been every so pleasant to the nine hundredth person that I think to myself, “It’s just as well they never see the hate that’s in your head.” ©Les Miseràbles English lyrics Herbert Kretzmer.

Not that I hate anyone in particular. It’s just a general feeling of annoyance with the entire world.

Yeah. How’s that for pleasant?

Home Alone

Remember that last post when I mentioned how I could use a little loneliness?

Dudes!! On Wednesday, August 28th at 4:00pm, my family is leaving our house and going away…AWAY!

I will go home at 5:00pm to an empty house.

Stop and take that in.

The house will be empty.

We have lived in our house for nine years and I have NEVER been alone in it for more than twenty minutes and that was back when I was off work for cancer treatments and Tom would go to the post office and race back, lest I be without his aid and care for longer than I could stand.

They should be back home by 5:30 so yes, a half hour alone in my house.

Whatever will I do?

The possibilities are endless.

I could go to the basement and get the clean towels that need to be folded.

I could clean out the toy room, taking all the crap that Tom never wants to leave the house and putting in my car, where it will hide until tomorrow afternoon when I will drop it off at a local donation box.

I could start dinner.

I could sit and just take in the still silence.

A coworker to whom I was extolling the joy I was feeling over going home to an empty house told me I should leave work early to make the alone time last even longer.

I’m considering it.

But, and this is key, I can’t get home before Tom and the girls leave at 4ish because if I get home before they leave, he’ll want ME to take Alyssa to her voice lesson or, he’ll leave Olivia home with me while he takes Lyss to Bryan to the lesson.

I don’t want either of those things to happen. I want the three of them to get into his big blue van and drive away from the house while I am driving toward the house and then I will get to be gloriously alone…ALONE for at least 30 minutes.

I just can’t even.

One Year Now vs One Year Then

I recently celebrated(?) my one year anniversary at my ‘new’ job.

When I reached my one year anniversary at my last job, eighteen years ago, I took in cupcakes for everyone to share in my ‘big’ day.

Ha.

Hahahahahahaha.

My thirty year old self amuses me so much.

I was such a sweet girl with so very much time on my hands.

Let’s remember that back in those days, I was not only working forty hours at the job to which I took the cupcakes, I was also working about sixteen hours at the local newspaper as a proof-reader/sort-of-reporter.

Those were fun days.

But these days are fun too; just a different kind of fun.

Do I have to tell you that I did NOT bake cupcakes and take them to work on the first anniversary of my start date?

Well, if I do need to say it, let me say: I did NOT bake cupcakes and take them to work.

I didn’t have time.

Okay, so I could have made time. Cupcakes aren’t that difficult to make. But I had different things to do, things that took priority over sharing cupcakes with my ‘new’ coworkers.

The night before my anniversary, the girls’ school held its open house. Students and parents were invited to come and bring school supplies, get schedules, locker assignments and combinations, meet teachers, see classrooms, get bus schedules, etc. So much fun! Olivia whispered to me the entire time we were at the school. It’s what she does.

Alyssa put her notebooks and folders in her locker, got a job application for the Arby’s that is going in about three miles from our house and said hi to a few friends.

The Sunday before that, another day I could have baked cupcakes, the girls and I went to see a movie as a last ditch effort to wring the most out of a summer that is ending much too quickly.

We saw…get ready for it…the live action movie Dora the Explorer.

And get this, it was freaking adorable. Seriously. Sure, there were moments of sheer stupidity but it was seriously so much fun.

And best new yet? Olivia liked it so much that when she had to pee, she didn’t want to leave the movie. We did end up using the bathroom near the end but this is SUCH an improvement from when she has had to use the bathroom five times during a movie because she’s bored.

So yeah.

Life has changed for me a little bit since 2001. And I’m more than okay with that. That girl back in 2001 was lonely. She wouldn’t have admitted it for anything but she was lost and lonely and trying to figure out where she fit in the world.

Today? Honestly, I could use a little loneliness.

But seriously, I am so lucky to be where I am, in this moment in time. I’m lucky to have to try and find time to bake cupcakes…or not.

Here’s to more years with the ‘new’ job and many, many more years taking care of and loving my family.

Three?

When I got home from work one day last week, we had about an hour before we had to go to the football field and ‘meet the teams’. More on ‘meet the teams’ below.

During the hour between getting home and leaving to meet the teams, I started a load of laundry and made Olivia change her shirt because the one she’d been wearing had Spaghetti-O stains on it. Apparently, she STILL doesn’t really understand that napkins are for wiping mouths as well as hands.

Sigh.

I also brushed her hair because it had probably been three days since she’d had her hair brushed because it’s summer and no one else seems to think daily hair brushing is necessary. Ahem. After brushing the mess, I braided it because, well, she asked me to.

So…meet the teams…yeah, it’s as fun as you can imagine. The high school and junior high football teams, cross country teams, cheerleaders, marching band, golf team and volleyball teams were there.

The stands were actually pretty full. The parking lot was VERY full. We left with two minutes to spare because Tom had declared earlier in the evening that there wasn’t going to be any problems with parking. He was WRONG.

We perched on the bleachers in the front row and before the dude announcing the athletes even started Olivia asked, “When are we gonna leave?”

I rolled my eyes and whispered to her, “This is your own personal hell, isn’t it?”

She giggled at my use of the word ‘hell.’

Then she asked me again when we could leave.

We met all the teams, the marching band (the whole reason we were there, hi Lyss!!) played three songs.

Then, and only then, was it time to leave.

But because we’re MEAN parents, Tom and I stayed with Olivia in the bleachers and waited for the traffic jam taking place in the parking lot to let up before we finally left.

When we got home, it was about 7:15 but Liv needed dinner. So that happened.

Finally, it was 9:15 and time for bed. Yes, I’m old.

Olivia and I went about our routine and I noticed that the shirt she’d had on for THREE hours was filthy.

I asked her, “What are you, three?”

She laughed and looked down at herself, finding the mashed potatoes she’d dropped down her shirt and into her bra hilarious.

For the rest of the evening (our bedtime routine can sometimes take an hour, thanks 5p- syndrome) she quoted me, saying with a laugh, “What are you, three?”

She probably laughed over that one sentence at least five times.

It’s a good thing her feelings aren’t easily hurt, because damn, sometimes, I’m a really insensitive mother.

Argumentative

This just in: Tom is wearing T-shirts!!

Why is this big news? Well, let me tell you! Back when he broke himself, he started wearing button up shirts because he couldn’t lift his arm high enough to put T-shirts on. He declared the day after he was broken that we’d know he was feeling better when he started wearing T-shirts again.

For the record, it only took nine weeks for him to start wearing T-shirts.

This morning, he was awake before I was, which, again, is a sign that he’s feeling better. For the past nine weeks he’s woken up as I’m walking out the door to go to work.

Anyway! He was awake because he needed to pack a 50 pound item that had sold on his eBay page. While he was broken, he had put his page on ‘vacation’. So having to pack means he’s back in business. Whew!

I asked him if he’d started packing even though there was no sign of packing.

He said that once I’d left, he’d sweep the kitchen floor and start packing.

See, apparently, he doesn’t like to pack on a dirty floor. Okay. Whatever. I’m just glad the floor gets swept by someone other than me once in a while.

While he was talking about the filth in which we life, he said that he doesn’t like to pack his items on the carpeted floor of the family room because of the hair.

I laughed and said something about our long-haired daughters.

He said that sometimes he found hairs about six inches long too.

I told him that even those couldn’t be mine because, hello, my hair is maybe four inches long.

He proceeded to argue with me about how long my hair is. He pulled up a few strands and used his hand to measure them.

Whatever. My hair is not six inches long yet. I wish it was that long. I can’t wait until it is; but it’s not there yet.

He finally let it go, realizing I wasn’t going to agree that my hair is as long as he was insisting it was.

A few minutes later, he suggested that something that had happened with Olivia the day before might mean that she was about to start her period.

I said it could be but it seemed like she’d just had it a couple of weeks before.

He was sure it had been at least three weeks, perhaps four.

I shrugged, muttering something about how since I took care of her during these times I might know a little better than he did about when it happened.

He laughed and declared that I was being really argumentative.

“No, I’m not.” I argued, “I’m just explaining to you how I’m right and you’re wrong.”

Then I kissed him and left for work because that’s just how we do things around here.

Sweet Revenge

Remember that time I took Alyssa for her first HPV vaccination? That was the time we went in expecting her to get one shot and she left having gotten five.

Yeah, she was not very happy with me that day.

What can I say? I want her to grow up and be able to complain about me to her therapist.

She took much glee in the fact that I went to the dentist for two fillings and left with three. I think it even amused her that while sure, her five shots hurt for a bit, the real pain of them went away pretty quickly while the pain in my mouth lasted more than twenty four hours.

I do believe she feels like we might just be even.

That’s a load off my mind, let me tell you.

Two Years

Around this time two years ago, the employees in the plant where I worked were assembled and informed that Corporate was closing our facility. We were told that by December 31, we would all be out of a job. They told us that we’d receive a ‘stay bonus’ if we continued to work until December 31. We’d get a severance package whether we stayed or not. That would include a week’s worth of pay for every year of service we had with the company.

I’d sensed the coming of this announcement. There were just too many meetings taking place behind closed doors, super stealth whispering going on, weird phone called with doors being closed.

I was also a little preoccupied by the pain in my left breast. I’d seen my regular doctor by this point two years ago and he was all about waiting and seeing.

I was also seeing a doctor about my stupid left foot. I’d been diagnosed with tendonitis and plantar fasciitis. Whee, my left side is a real disaster zone.

I’d just recently decided that waiting and seeing about that weird pain was a bad idea. I hadn’t actually seen my gynecologist yet but I was psyching myself up to make the call. Each night, I’d promise myself that if the pain was still there the next morning, I’d call.

We all know that I did finally call.

I’m edging in on my one year anniversary at my new/current job. It’s fine. I’ve had a couple of good reviews with my immediate supervisor as well as the lady with whom I work the most closely. So…that’s good, right? I don’t want to be stupid and say something like, “Yeah, it’s going great!” because yeah, we all know the universe is just waiting to slap people who say things like that right the hell down.

I just…keep waiting for the next thing to happen.

I mean, right? Isn’t that the way things have been for a while?

Every time management closes a door, I think, “Here it comes.”

Each time I have an appointment with a doctor, I wonder, “Will this be the time the give me bad news again?”

I know, logically, that the odds of that happening are slim. But…the odds of getting triple negative breast cancer at 46 years old were slim too. So forgive me for feeling a little stressed sometimes.

For anyone googling post-cancer life, I’d like to mention that the side effects of chemo and radiation are mostly gone. Last summer I could feel the rays of the sun on my skin, like little pin pricks all over any exposed skin. This summer, nothing. It’s all good. I don’t seem to burn any more easily than I did before radiation.

At my most recent dental cleaning, my hygienist said that my dry mouth is abating. It’s still there, but getting better. I’d noticed that too. My skin has bounced back.

Hair still doesn’t grow under my left arm, but I’m most certainly not complaining about that one.

Heck, even the lymphedema is responding well to the exercise and self-massage prescribed by the physical therapist. So really life is going well.

Hey, universe? Please don’t see that last sentence as an invitation to punch me in the face, kay? I know how lucky I am. I say thanks every single day for everything that I have, everything that I am. I know it could all be snatched from me in an instant. And maybe that’s what I’m so tentative to believe that all’s well.

Because what if tomorrow it’s not?