Kathleen Cei Photo
The past week was filled with paranoia and guilt and exhaustion.
Last Sunday I had an all-day adventure with my two girls and my mother-in-law, who volunteered to help me drive my older daughter to camp. She chose to attend a Girl Scout camp out of state, sight unseen, because it offered a baking program she loved. We prepared for camp by watching baking shows on Netflix (as we don’t have cable), and scrambling to buy new T shirts and shorts (as she wore a uniform to school every day and doesn’t own a lot of clothes).
I was nervous to drive her to the camp alone in my car on a hot day with no air conditioning, and was very happy when my MIL offered to help me. I figured I would drive her and the kids in her car, but she surprised me by driving the whole day, urging me to sit back and relax.
Fast-Food Guilt
We made a day of it, and I actually did relax (somewhat) during our trip. We visited a museum halfway to the camp and splurged on drive-thru fast food for lunch. I felt guilty because even though I had mapped our route from home to museum to camp, I somehow underestimated the time it would take, and forgot completely about lunch.
I eschew fast food, for the unhealthiness of it, to the advertising lies, to the too-cheap prices that ensure the employees are underpaid. I am a discount grocery store and farmer’s market devotee, and felt like I failed a bit in succumbing to eating McDonald’s for lunch.
I soon realized that I was the only one of the four of us who thought so, as everyone else ate and drank and was happy.
Family Circus Redux
We hit another bump in the road getting to camp, as the maps I had and the GPS in the car did not take into account the dirt roads surrounding the camp area. We got lost, asked for help at a public campground, and checked into the camp almost an hour and a half after the cutoff time.
I felt embarrassed, apologetic, and exhausted. My daughter was excited, smiling, and only slightly annoyed that we were late. She seemed to think that everyone may have already made friends by now, and she might stick out. I wonder where she gets that from.
The drive home was easy. We found that we were near a main road the whole time we had been lost, and that getting back to Connecticut took minutes, not the hours I had anticipated.
Looking over the maps later, I saw where we had driven, and what we had done; it reminded me of the old Family Circus cartoons where Billy says he came directly home from school, but the route he took shows he looped through the whole neighborhood, often going over the same spots twice.
Ballet Guilt
I felt good going to work on Monday morning. I had worked on Saturday, because that was part of the deal: every weekend off except the last Saturday of the month and one random Sunday. I had missed seeing my husband most of the weekend, as he was away on a guys-only camping trip.
I was still nervous about the Monday-Tuesday late night switch, and the ballet class that was to start. I figured that I would leave at 5 p.m. on Monday and get to spend time with my younger daughter before her 7 p.m. bedtime. So that would alleviate some of the issues surrounding guilt I felt about missing her Tuesday night ballet class.
But I had completely forgotten about my schedule change. I had a 5 p.m. appointment and a 6:15 p.m. appointment for Monday. So I was planning to work until about 8 p.m. anyway.
By the time I got home, I was sweating my guilt. My little girl was in bed, but she was still awake, waiting for me to say goodnight.
She asked me to read her a book and hold her hand while she fell asleep. I tried not to sigh and think about the ballet class she didn’t know I was going to miss tomorrow.
I was sad the minute I woke up Tuesday morning, thinking about working until 8 p.m., knowing the ballet class started at 5:30 two towns over from where I work.
Since Tuesday was the day before the holiday, we weren’t very busy. Our manager had private meetings with each of us, going over our sales in June, reevaluating our goals, talking about ways to improve. I had to tell him I was going to write this column. I told him what it was going to be about. He said he’d like me to keep names and details out of it. Done. He asked when it was going to go live. Tomorrow or Thursday, I said.
He jokingly thanked me for the warning, and wished me good luck.
I told him about the ballet class; he offered to let me leave at 5 p.m. to go see it. I was grateful and surprised — then remembered that I couldn’t leave anyway. I had people coming in at 5:30 or 6 that night. (Our manager surprised us all again later that night when, seeing that there were no customers, he let the sales staff leave at 7 p.m.)
Facebook Scoop
I felt great driving home, an hour early, hopefully early enough to see my little one as she went to bed. I sang the whole drive home; I couldn’t wait to hear about the first ballet class.
I ended up beating them home and actually saw photos of ballet on Facebook before they arrived home. She was excited about the class, told me about playing some games with the other little girls there and how great it was to wear the tutu and shoes. She was happy. She didn’t ask me why I wasn’t there, why I missed her first class, or where I was.
I may have worried for nothing, but am concerned that next week she will notice I’m not there again. Guilt is hard to work through sometimes.
Scams.Com
My husband has been looking for work since last summer. He’s had only two interviews, and been able to garner some freelance design work, but nothing more. Every job I ever got was off of Monster or CareerBuilder, with the exception of my high school jobs. I figured that it would be easy for him to find work. I figured that even in a bad economy, an experienced, skilled worker would be a prize of an employee to find.
What I didn’t plan on was the number of scammers and spammers online. There seem to be two types of ads online: well-written but vague or overdetailed but too good to be true. I am the type of person who applies for every job, and then gets upset when it turns out to be scam or spam. I’m the type of still-naive girl that is honestly surprised at the trickery and strangeness I find online.
As he continues to look for work, online and in the paper (yes, they still print those) and networking with friends, he still comes up with nothing. I can’t help but wonder if there is a shelf life on certain degrees. He earned his degree in Studio Art in 1996, and graduated from Southern with a goal of working a long and successful career as a graphic designer. And he had a great career working for the Connecticut Post, the Bargain News, and the New Haven Advocate, which is where we met. He had the good fortune of working steadily until July 7, 2011. And that’s when everything collapsed; he hasn’t been able to recover from it yet. Apparently his great resume and his impressive portfolio may be horribly outdated, as they don’t include computer graphic design work and programming.
Add the fact that he wants a job to support his family, not just a part-time internship. Then ice the cake with the aforementioned bad economy. I’m not sure there are any jobs, no matter how good an employee he would be.
I’ve encouraged him to apply to every job no matter what it looks like, what it pays, or where it is located. I’ve asked him to try and wrap his head around changing his career path midlife. I told him about the story I read where a man had a thirty-year career as a baker, then got sick. His doctor told him he had become allergic to flour, and had to find another career. He was crushed, but had to find another way to make a living. It’s easier said than done. When you’re approaching forty and it seems like your college degree has expired, what other choice do you have?
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Note: I guess I stirred the pot too much when I agreed to start writing this column for the Independent. The comments seem to both support and vilify me, and use me as a comparison for things that are right and wrong in America. I am just one person writing about her experience. I am not representing all of motherhood, womanhood, familyhood, or any other group. That being said, I have to admit I have been both shocked and surprised by the feedback, both online and in person. Let’s keep the discussion going in the upcoming weeks.
I trusted a few friends at work to read last week’s column ahead of time. One said great, good for you, blowing off steam. One said: Great, you’re being brave and telling it like it is for you. One said: Don’t worry, no one reads this Independent you’re writing for (her words, not mine!). And one put his hand on my shoulder and told me I should remember to write about the people who like me and support me. So this is for them.