Well, it’s only been about ten days since I’ve taken to the keyboard on this here blog, but apparently, ten days can leave a path of destruction in this little life of mine. Most of the time, my life is like the little house on the prairie: set back far from the dirt road, nestled behind some big trees and tall fields of grain, surrounded by serenity, love, and the laughter of my family.
<Insert Record Scratch Here>
Oh, who the hell am I kidding? It’s always chaos, organized and happy, but chaos nonetheless. I have ten days of catching up to do, so hang on because my brain is all over the place. Imagine Tucker (my fur-kid who is always in trouble and totally lovable) just knocked over a full trash can that has a week’s worth of coffee grounds imbedded in every crevice…that spilled trash is my brain and those coffee grounds are my thoughts. Bear with me.
So, anyway, my last blog ruffled a few feathers in that sweet man of mine and I had to do some clarifying to him to make him understand. This lead me to believe that perhaps I should do some clarifying publicly as well. Here’s what I said:
“My husband wants me, every minute of every day. He never stops wanting me. He wants me to be happy, he wants me to smile and get laugh lines, he wants me to turn gray with him. While this feeling is reciprocated, it is not enough. There are others we expect to want us throughout our lives. The one other person I knew for a fact wanted me is gone. The one I want to want me seems like he doesn’t give a shit on any given day.”
I am going to try very hard to convey what I meant in the clearest of ways, so not to be confused or misspoken further. In every way that he is my husband, my best friend, my companion, my protector, and my provider, he is enough. He will always be enough. When the moments over take me and I feel like a small child who’s lost and searching for her parent, I cannot find mine. That is a role my husband cannot fill, nor should he. That would be asking too much of him, not to mention impossible. He should not have to pay for mistakes my father or anyone from my past for that matter, made. My husband makes me happy as his wife, yet as a daughter, I find myself struggling to find that warm, fuzzy, daddy’s girl feeling.
So, now that I have clarified, let me just say that I am so sick of whining about my dad! Ugh. God. Somebody just shoot me already. So I have daddy issues, big deal. Millions on millions of women have daddy issues. Why is mine so pressing?!? Well, because its mine, dammit. I feel like maybe it’s starting to get better, but it’s summer and if history serves as a basis for the future, it will be short lived. Time will tell.
Now, about that husband I’ve been talking about…I have to get all mushy gushy for a minute. We just celebrated our sixth anniversary this week. My memories of our wedding day have been replaying all week in my head, and the congratulations posts on Facebook keep popping up on the Timehop. For the record, I would marry him all over again, twelve times, three months earlier, and twice the day after if I could. I love that man. I like him a whole lot, too, so that helps things along quite nicely.
It’s the little things, it really is. The things you would think are entirely insignificant are major mood enhancers for me. Earlier this week after getting out of the shower, I wrapped up in my towel and then used his towel to wrap up my hair. I proceeded to our bedroom to get dressed while he got in the shower. A few minutes later, he got out and yelled “where’s my towel?!” The hunt ended by his fourth step when he exited the bathroom and caught me like a deer in the headlights with a mound of terry cloth on my head, lips puckered, and applying deodorant.
“One wasn’t enough?” he asked with a smile.
“You’re lucky you’re cute.”
This is a common phrase from my dear husband. I’d be in trouble all the time if I was ugly. It’s the little things.
The laughs come frequently in our house, and outside the house—at my expense. Recently, I seem to have contracted a virus that leaves me unbalanced and uncoordinated. I am constantly dropping something, running into a wall, or falling. I didn’t mention this in my vacation blog, but I actually dropped my son on his face while we were at Disney World, in front of everyone. It was horrifying. My son was fine; he made out with a tiny scratch, a small bump, and a giant bag of ice on a really hot day. But I was scraped up from my knee to the middle of my shin, complete with skin flaking off, tomato soup colored blood trying to burst through the scrape cracks, and the beautiful two-tone, purple and yellow bruise that accompanies contusions. And it freaking hurt.
The other day, while we were out for our anniversary, I apparently decided to see if I could one-up his face-plant with one of my own. I tripped trying to step into the road while crossing the street, holding a tackle box and two lawn chairs. I landed firmly on the black top, face down, with my knee under me trying to break the fall. Talk about awkward. I stood up and grabbed the chairs and the tackle box, looked down at my knee, and saw that it was once again scraped up from the knee to mid shin. I looked up at my husband, and right there in the middle of the road we just busted out laughing. I can’t catch a damn break. Well, maybe I shouldn’t say that…I may end up in the emergency room and proving myself wrong. I’m just glad these things didn’t happen on the way to any interviews!
Yes…interviews. I’ve had one interview so far and I have another on Monday. I’ve already received a job offer from the place I interviewed at previously. They want me pretty bad. Are they desperate, or am I that good? I have decided that if I receive a similar offer from the place I’m interviewing at on Monday, then maybe I really am that good. If not, then they are desperate and I just can’t see myself working for them. They offered me the job before the interview was even over. That’s like proposing on the first date. You just don’t do it unless you’re a 40-year-old virgin living in mommy’s basement (at which point, you’re weird and should probably seek counseling).
Here’s my other concern: neither of these interviews are for occupations surrounding the degree I’ve been pursuing for the last two years. I am proud of the degree I have been earning. I have been on the Dean’s list nearly every semester that I have been enrolled. I have campaigned, been elected, served, and passed the torch to my successor as Vice President of the PSA. I have brown-nosed and kissed so much professor tail to make sure they knew my name and assure that I had connections when I graduated. And for what? To go right back to the industry that has fired me not once, but twice, after long tenures? I’ve been trying to decide what my problem is. I’ve narrowed it down to two things: 1) I’m a freaking chicken. I just can’t pull the trigger. I’m afraid to step out of my comfort zone and get my feet wet. I haven’t had any experience yet (internship is next semester), and while I’m not intimidated by any means, the idea of actually working with attorneys really kind of turns me off. My professors are awesome, and if I’m a client, attorneys are awesome. But I’m afraid that as an employee of an attorney, somehow they’re going to morph into some other worldly demon that I’m going to have protect myself with thick skin, bubbles, pepper spray.
2) The starting pay for someone in my new field, fresh out of school, is stupid low. I can make twice what they start at by staying in the field I know. And in the right position, with the right company, I know I could be happy—and the degree would be an added bonus. But, I love the law, and if I went back to my previous profession, I would no longer get to dabble in all things law related, with the exception of HIPAA.
So I have a choice to make after this next interview. Do I take one or the other, or neither and just finish school without the added stressor of a new job? I’ll admit, not having a job the last two years—while financially stressful at times—has been awesome. I have struggled hard with my depression, I have grown as a mother, I have evolved as a student, and I have rebounded from being the wounded employee. But eventually, my internship will be over, and I will need a job anyway, so maybe I should decide my after school special sooner rather than later. Oh…how I will miss my couch.
For now, though, I think I will just enjoy my weekend. I don’t have any decisions to make. I only have a couple of assignments to work on for school, my family gets uninterrupted time this weekend, and now that we have our fishing license, it’s a great excuse to haul the kids out and make them bait the hooks with the worms. Well, that is, if I don’t trip and fall and send the tackle all over the road.