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 |  Crazy things my kids, husband and pets do, workplace nonsense and exhusband skewering |
| Events from the everyday life of a working mother of three, business analyst at a major company who tries to exist in a world of corporate bureaucracy, and prevent her children from turning out like her pathologically lazy and underemployed ex-husband. Enter at your own risk. |
| Rather difficult to type now that the broken pinky finger, along with most of my right hand, is in a cast. This cast will come off in 9 days so the finger can be x-rayed again. Then maybe just a splint if it's healed enough. Not one to put too much stock in old wives tales, but I've heard that bad things come in threes. I think I'm done: 1. My mother forgot my birthday, leaving me in a gloomy, pissed off mood all last weekend. 2. Tripped over stupid dog and broke my freakin' finger. 3. Air conditioner went caput Wednesday and needs new compressor - no hope of repair until, best case, Tuesday. Add to the obligatory list of three crappy things the not so great teacher conferences for two of my three offspring, I'm asking myself, 'Why exactly did I stop drinking?' |
| After the crazy weekend we had, the work week started off uneventfully. Monday I worked until early afternoon because we had a conversion scheduled for that night which meant I would be back at work from 7PM until around 10:30. I also had a parent teacher conference with Sean and Ryan's teacher at 4:30. As I expected, Sean's part of the twenty minute conference took five minutes, and the rest was devoted to Ryan. It's amazing to me how different these two boys can be. Born of the same parents, within 30 seconds of each other, reared in the same surroundings, subject to the same rules and expectations, but worlds apart in terms of personality. Sean is the rule follower, the hard worker, the worrier, the people pleaser. His mother, made over. Ryan is the by-the-seat-of-his-pants, procrastinator, dreamer, excuse-maker. Not his father made over, but too close for comfort. He turns work in when he feels like it, and seems to not notice that everyone else is busy completing assignments and turning them in, because he's in his own little world inside his head. In terms of intelligence, they are neck and neck. In terms of work habits and attitude, Sean is way ahead. BUT, Ryan still manages to do well, mostly, because he captures and retains information without seeming to try, and makes very good intuitive guesses. I suppose there's a lot to be said for that. Needless to say, Ryan and I had a very long talk and I made it clear that my expectations for him are high. He has to work harder to stay focused because school will only get harder, not easier. We'll see if he's up for the challenge. So Monday night went reasonably well, with the only problems stemming from on-site staff failing to do things in advance and having to rush to fix resulting problems. Got home around 11PM, and could NOT go to sleep. Tuesday started miserably, without rest, rushed to get kids to school. Then Laddie, world's best dog, ran out the garage door as we're trying to leave, and would not come to me when called. I am wearing high heeled sandals and a skirt, chasing this dog all over the street, frantic because we are LATE already, and all the neighborhood kids standing out at the bus stops on our street keep calling him. I manage to get four feet from him and he darts away. I am near tears when I finally grab him and hook the leash to his collar. While dragging him back to the house, just as we get almost to the garage, he darts in front of me and I fall over him, skidding on our aggragate driveway, chewing up my left knee and my right hand. Grateful my front teeth are not broken (number one irrational fear of mine) I look up and Laddie is looking at me like "What the heck are you doing down there?" Now I'm officially in tears, realizing I don't even have time to patch myself up before going to work, and drag Laddie into the house, and get in the car, by this time just BAWLING! Later that day, my pinky finger on the right hand began to swell and bruise, and is throbbing like an S-O-B. It has continued to throb and is very painful to move. I finally broke down and went to the doctor this morning and the x-ray confirms it is broken. The orthopedic surgeon will take a look tomorrow and tell me what happens next. I am currently typing this slowly with a splint on my right (dominant, of course!) hand, and my pinky finger is taped to the ring finger, making them both useless. Oh, almost forgot to mention Molly's parent teacher conference. Molly is a very bright child. So bright, in fact, that she is constantly trying to scam her teachers, requiring frequent potty breaks, and claiming she can't participate in various physical activities because of regularly scheduled 'feminine issues,' which seem to occur all throughout the month. I let them know, in no uncertain terms, that she is to be shut down immediately. This type of behavior is disrespectful, and insulting to her teachers. They are to start punishing her with maximum consequences for pulling these tricks. She and I went for a drive after I got home and we have an understanding. She wants more priveleges, but she will have to behave more responsibly. And I had better see this very soon. Oh, yes, and our air conditioner went out yesterday. It was 82 degrees outside when we got home, and 90 degrees inside. Last night and this morning were miserable. But we got rain overnight which cooled things down quite a bit. It's looking doubtful that it will be repaired today, so the drop in temperature is very welcome. As a postscript, my mother finally called on Tuesday to say she was sorry she didn't call me on my birthday. She only said things had been crazy, she hadn't forgotten. Not sure what could have been going on, but I didn't press it. I learned a long time ago, it just doesn't pay. She wants us to go out to eat with them Sunday. I told her I would check with Grant, and call her back. I'll make her sweat a few days... |
| I work with a lady named Marilyn who told me the FUNNIEST story the other day, and I hope I can do it justice in writing. A friend of hers named Diane is a short, rather stout lady with a very large ass. Diane got out of her car at church one Sunday, and was running late, so she was walking very fast toward the church entrance. She heard a man's voice behind her call her name, but was in a hurry and didn't slow down, still walking as fast as her little stubby legs would go. She heard the man's voice again yell, "Diane!" but she kept walking. Then she heard the man running up behind her, and she looked back over her shoulder to see the man, a friend of hers, come running up to her. He told her that she had a GLOVE stuck between her butt cheeks, and when she was walking so fast, it looked like a hand waving! I laughed so hard at this story I cried, and I just can't get that mental picture out of my head... This same lady at work told another story about her parents. Her mother and father had been married over fifty years when her father died. Marilyn and her sisters had promised their dad they would have him cremated when he died, and they kept their promise. His ashes were placed in a small box which their mother kept by her bed. Their mother said when she died, she wanted his ashes to be buried with her. So when she died, Marilyn and her sisters brought the box with the father's ashes and told the mortician to put it in the casket. He asked where in the casket, and Marilyn said, "Pry her legs open and put him between her legs. That's where he would want to be." She said the mortician turned as white as a sheet, and she and her sisters fell apart laughing and crying together. I have no idea where they actually put the box with the ashes. |
| Yesterday was my birthday. Big deal, right? When I got to work and logged into email, I had 19 emails from friends remembering my day, offering their best wishes and reminding me of how many great people I have in my life. All through the day, phone calls and people stopping by my desk. G and his daughter LeeAnn took me out to dinner and LeeAnn gave me a beautiful card with a gift certificate to a spa for some 'Me Time.' Around seven last night, even my brother had called to sing me his signature birthday song. But as of this morning, no word from my mother. To say my mother and I have a complicated relationship is a gross understatement. I understand that the mother-daughter bond is supposed to be complicated, and I'm starting to feel that with Molly already. But my mother is another story entirely, and it's hard for me to go into it without getting lost and wandering around because there's just so much ground to cover, and the terrain is very dangerous. What I will say is this - my mother only has two children, not eight, so it shouldn't be hard to remember. If I was in PRISON I would still expect her to call me on my birthday. But I'm not in prison. I'm in Franklin. She has my numbers at work and at home. I have voicemail. I can see missed calls. I just talked to her Monday, and she was alive and well and apparently not pissed at me for anything I could discern. And I am a good daughter to her. Not to beat this point to death, but I make the mortgage payment, pay the insurance and the taxes on the house she lives in, every month, even though that money would be much better spent going into college savings for my children, whose birthdays I could NEVER imagine forgetting unless I was in a freaking COMA! Nine times out of ten when I call her, her line is busy. She is on the phone all the time talking with her friends who, I would bet you my left leg, she calls on their birthdays. Part of me wants to call her and make sure she's not dead, or horribly sick, just to see if she had an excuse, and maybe just to rub her nose in it. But another part wants to wait and see if she ever calls and mentions it at all. The twins' birthday is Sunday, and she may or may not call them. We shall see. |
| Birthdays are great when they're someone else's. I would rather mine be ignored entirely. I know I should be grateful to have a birthday - beats the alternative, right? I just feel that the counting down of years is such an unimportant measure of my worth and who I am. My physical age says absolutely nothing about me. Yet that number, if known, leads to a perception of me that is certainly wrong. Okay, okay, I'll be forty-eight years old. Even typing that sends a chill up my spine. Forty-eight seems ancient. I remember my mother when she was that age, and she'd already given up on her marriage, her career, her children, and become obsessed with a hobby that lead her to financial ruin. Game over. I see Molly's friends' mothers, who are all younger than me, and seem worn out, sporting old lady hairdos and old lady clothes and old lady faces, devoid of life, full of defeat, just going through the motions. In fairly sharp contrast, I have worked very hard to get where I am. I've made it through some very bad times, and am stronger and oh so much smarter because of what I've been through and how I made it to the other side. I may not look like a movie star, but I don't look like a grandma, either. And I know my mind is sharper than ever. I am challenged every day with my job, my children, and writing, always pushing to work smarter, more efficiently, more creatively, stretching to find the right solution, the perfect word, the most reasonable compromise. Who cares about the countdown of days, weeks, months, years, decades? It's meaningless. My age is no more important than my hair color or my shoe size. It says nothing about who I am or what I have to offer. There are many people half my age who have incredible depth and perspective, and others my age or older who couldn't survive for a week on their own, just stumbling from one day to the next. So I'll wake up tomorrow and embrace another year. Another year with more laughter than tears, more success than failure, more hope than despair, and more love than I deserve. Bring it on! Oh, and dear Lord, thank you for the gift of this last year, with all its hard-learned lessons, and bringing me through safe and healthy, with my family intact. With your blessings I'll make it through another. |
| I don't remember fourth grade being this difficult. In fact, I barely remember it at all. I do remember getting a bad grade for penmanship once, and feeling sick because I knew my mother would crawl my ass. But I don't remember hours of homework. From the time we got home tonight, around six, until bedtime, Sean and Ryan were doing spelling and math homework. They had to handwrite their spelling words, in cursive, alphabetized, with definitions, which had to be looked up in the dictionary, and indicate the part of speech. Then they had to go on a website and create a crossword puzzle with their words. Pretty neat, actually. You just type in your word, followed by a clue, and it creates a crossword puzzle or a word search puzzle. What's interesting is that there's as much emphasis on computer usage and typing as on spelling and handwriting. That's good, I guess, since everyone, even McDonald's workers, have to use computers now. Anyway, I'm worn out from shepherding two nine year olds through this process. 'But Mom - I'm tired, my head hurts, I'm hungry, can I just stop and get a drink of water.' And the TV has to be off or they'll be distracted and this crap will take twice as long. Finally got everyone tucked in, and now that I have some time to myself, I'm too tired to even think. After all these many years, I still hate homework! |
| Some days I wish my grandmother was still here to tell me how great I am. To pat my face and tell me I'm the prettiest thing on Earth, I'm the smartest, the sweetest, the best granddaughter in the world, and for just a few minutes, I could actually believe I'm worth something. She was the only person in my life growing up who made me feel worthwhile. In her eyes, I hung the moon. How I long for that sort of unconditional, blind love now, when it seems like the world is on my shoulders. I wonder how I would be now if I hadn't had her in my life as a child, telling me she loved me more than anything, just because I was hers. I haven't written much about my mother in this blog. I don't spend a lot of time thinking about her because when I do, I get this uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach, the feeling that I'm in trouble for something. That I've done something wrong and I don't even know what it is, but that it's going to come out and it will be very bad. That's how I feel when my phone rings and I see that it's her number. I know I have to answer because it might be important. There may be something wrong with my dad, or she may have wrecked the car again, or the water heater might be broken. But I hesitate, wondering if she's just calling to bust my chops about something, complain about something in the house, complain that I haven't called or haven't brought the kids to visit. God, I hope my kids don't feel that way about me when they're grown. I want them to want to visit me, to ask my advice, to just want to talk to me. I want them to grow up and be independent, but not to want to get the hell out of the house as soon as they can. I've heard from people who know my mother that she brags about my kids all the time, about how well behaved, and cute, and smart they are. I wonder sometimes if she can do this because they're her grandchildren, where she could never do that for me. It's like she couldn't form the words in her mouth to praise me. I don't understand it. My children are everything to me. I can't say enough about them, and try not to brag about them to the point I just annoy my friends with my constant updates on their sports and academic achievements. I tell them every day how much I love them and how awesome they are - how absolutely blessed I feel that God entrusted them to me. Oh, how I pray they will never for one tiny moment feel like they are not cherished. |
| I've been wondering lately if I should be doing this at all - writing, that is. If I should just be grateful that I'm able to make a living to support my family, be a 'decent' mother and wife, a dutiful daughter, a helpful friend. If allowing the time to write is a selfish pursuit that takes away from the things I should be doing. Spending more time where it might actually matter. Trying not to feel sorry for myself that there's just not enough time in the day (or night) to do everything, and never enough time for me. Also, I'm feeling a bit intimidated and rather unworthy as I read so many postings here that are so much better, cleaner, wittier, than anything I write. I am realizing I am just not that interesting. My life is work, kids, church, chores. Little drama, mostly around ex-husband, and I'm trying to keep that to a minimum for mental health reasons. I'm told I'm fairly clever, but I'm struggling to convey that in my writing to the extent I do in my conversations. It's interesting how your mind works when you come to the realization that something you want may very well be unattainable. I started college many, many years ago with the intent to be a pharmacist. Mastered biology, chemistry, physics, then took Organic Chemistry and hit the proverbial wall. That proved to be the point at which important, life changing decisions had to be made. I had to admit that my brain was not able to grasp those concepts, and a career as a pharmacist was not in my future. By that point in time, I had to make a decision on what I could do in order to graduate in four years, and chose a degree in English. An easy way to graduate, but not the right choice. Later I had to go back to school to find a way to make a living, and chose Accounting. Probably a better choice, but still perhaps not the best choice. And now, at almost forty-eight years old, I'm still struggling with decisions about how I will spend the rest of my life. How I spend the years I have left, painfully aware that they are not unlimited. And wondering how my actions affect my children in the short term and the long term. And really thinking about what defines me as a person. Approaching another birthday which is perilously close to a 'milestone,' wondering what it all means and how I fit in, and how I will be remembered. I know what is in my heart, the good and the bad, and have this excrutiating desire to communicate the essence of me to everyone, understanding that most people could not give a rat's ass. But still... If you've read much of my blogs, you'll know that most of who I am revolves around my family. I love my children and my husband so fiercely that just writing these words brings tear to my eyes. I need their love to live, like air and water, but equally important, I need them to know how much I love them, how much loving them is a part of who I am. I am best when I'm interacting with them, teaching, guiding, and supporting them, and just enjoying them. And when I'm enjoying their personalities and watching them grow. But I fall short often, drop the ball, miss the mark, and often need an attitude adjustment. Another part of me is work, and I have very mixed emotions about that. I sometimes enjoy what I do, and feel like I'm good at it. But what does it mean? Beyond making a living, what benefit is my job? Hopefully I'm teaching my children responsibility, which certainly means something. But I'm not changing the world. I'm not curing disease, not eliminating hunger, or resolving world conflicts. I'm just making money, and there's never enough of that. Perhaps that's why I want to write. I don't really know. Something pushes me to share part of me, the part that isn't well known, in writing, to make a different reality. Sometimes I think that what I write, in terms of fiction, is an effort to resolve internal conflicts. A character who is loosely me is better than me, smarter than me, and gets what I want in the end. Characters who are not me are representations of others I've encountered who are dealt with in ways I could never accomplish in reality. The same reason I read - escape - is why I write - to create and inhabit a world in which anything is possible, whereas in reality, somethings are just not to be. In my fiction, there is pain, growth, enlightenment but, ultimately, a happy ending, a resolution to the conflict, and a reward for some and punishment for others. And that's the reason, I guess. An opportunity to control destiny in a world where we really have so little control. I'm not sure. Maybe I don't have enough opportunities in my real life for rejection... |
| Don't really want to talk about work today, although conversion went well tonight - no issues, thank goodness. Sean's not feeling too well- allergies, coughing, stuffy nose, but no fever. Molly had softball practice tonight, and did well - had a good throw to first base. Ryan's already on page four-hundred something of a new book he just got this weekend, so we barely see him. So nothing really going on here to bitch about, and isn't that always wonderful?! Thought of a few other things I really like that I didn't mention before. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Sometimes there's just nothing better, with an ice-cold glass of milk. Being right. It doesn't matter what it was about, but especially if you couldn't convince someone else of your point. Just feels good when things come to pass that prove you were right all along. Sometimes bittersweet, though. Best not to gloat. Admitting you are wrong. This feels good, too, but in a very different way. It feels good to offer the apology or admit you were wrong, because that load is heavier every day you carry it. It feels even better when your apology is accepted, and things are actually better than before because of how it was handled. Animal Planet - Always fascinating. Never fails to leave me in awe of the incredible variety of creatures, how they survive and interact with each other. Sean, Ryan and I watched a show tonight about Extreme Animals and their methods of fighting. Did you know llamas spit at each other? Not just spit globs, but actually SPRAY spit at each other. Guess I shouldn't try that at work. Brownies - never met one I didn't like. I like them chewy, fluffy, with nuts, without nuts, with icing, without icing, fresh home made, from the bakery, pre-packaged, warm, cold, basically any way you can eat them. I just love brownies. The incredibly intense chocolately fudgy flavor along with the texture which is not like cake, not like pie, not like a cookie. Just the smell of brownies baking is like a drug to me. Wonder which of these things I'll dream about tonight? Probably brownies... |
| Laddie, our crazed Husky/Collie mix, has been shedding to beat the band lately, and even after a very thorough brushing to remove the the puffy white fluff from under his more silky fur, he still is losing tufts of fluff nonstop. I sweep or vacuum every day, but every time I walk across the room, I see the accumulated 'dust bunnies' move, ever so slightly, from the corner of my eye, in my wake. I'm not the most meticulous housekeeper, but this situation is annoying me to no end. So, as traumatic as I know it is for Laddie, he simply must be bathed. We usually take him to a 'doggy spa' where he is treated like a king for the day, but he still hates it, and shivers and shakes when he realizes that's where he's going (instead of just taking a fun ride in the car with his people.) We couldn't get an appointment for him as the 'spa,' so he had to go to a more traditional groomer, with 'no frills,' but for his part, he doesn't care. He's away from us in a strange place, and it wouldn't matter how kind they were to him or how posh the accomodations, he's not with us so it's torture for him. And when we drop him off, he looks at us like we're abandoning him forever, forsaking him, tossing him aside like yesterday's garbage. So I made G take him this morning before church, because I just can't stand seeing that look in Laddie's face. I am, after all, the mom. So today started out a bit strange, and just got stranger. We went to the 9:00 service at church, and everything started out just fine. The associate pastor instead of the senior pastor was there, and that was okay because I like him just fine, even though he's not as lively as the senior pastor. That's okay with me - a little variety. Got there in time to get decent seats, although it was quite crowded. Then we realized it was the Sunday the third graders are presented with their bibles with their names engraved. So probably more people showed up for that, with grandparents, etc. Got through that and the scripture readings, and THEN it got strange. G and I had noticed for the last few weeks these two large screens mounted to the wall on either side of the stage (for lack of a better word.) We attend the contemporary service in the gym because the traditional service is just too stuffy for us, and the traditional crowd is a bit stuffy, too, if you know what I mean. We had speculated that the screens were for a bible study presentation, or something like that. But today after the scripture reading, the screens came to life with the image of our senior pastor, smiling, and standing in front of the alter in the traditional sanctuary, welcoming us to the 9AM service, announcing it was the first SIMULCAST - something they'd been working on for a long time. Well, my first thought was - why didn't I get the memo! And my second thought was - If I wanted to watch church on TV, I could have stayed at home! It took several minutes before I stopped being angry, and could actually start to listen to the message. But after a while, and after some gentle conversation with myself, I calmed down a bit. It wasn't so bad, but will definitely take some getting used to. G and I speculated all the way home on why the church leaders would decide to do this. My thought was that the associate pastor, Roger, is just not as popular as the senior pastor, Lynn. We've noticed that on Sundays when Lynn presides over the service, attendance is higher. Some people just think they're not getting their money's worth if they get Roger instead. But I'm not sure I'm going to be content with a pastor on a screen. We're building a new church because there's just not enough room, and perhaps this is the answer until the new church is built. I also wasn't happy with church in a gym either, but have gotten accustomed to that and don't think much about sitting in metal folding chairs. We also had a notice in the bulletin about the confirmation class for junior high. Starts in January and goes through April - every Sunday morning at 9AM. How the heck is Molly ever going to be able to do that? If she's with her dad on every other Sunday, he certainly will not bring her to our church even though it's something she has the right and the responsibility to do. And all her friends from church will be going. Her dad doesn't take the kids to church at all, because of whatever reason sounds good that day. I would like to have a conversation with him about that, but a conversation is bound to turn into something else - something that involves shouting and insults and threats. What I would really like is for Molly to understand that confirmation class is important, and attending worship service is important, and for her to challenge her dad to do this FOR HER. Because anything he sees as something I want would mean he's doing something for me. And he wouldn't pour water on me if I was on FIRE! He could actually attend our church for the weeks during the confirmation class, take the boys to their regular Sunday School class, and just sit through the service for an hour. It wouldn't kill him to do that. Might even be good for him... |
| You may have noticed my novel, Barely a Trace, posted on WDC. It took years to write, and has so much of me wrapped up in it that I waited a very long time before I was brave enough to submit it. I'm not a huge fan of rejection, and if you've read much of this blog, you'd know the novel has a lot of 'similarities' to my life. It's not 'the truth,' but it's a version of the truth in many ways, and the writing of it helped me survive something pretty awful. An awesome WDC reader has helped me immensely by patiently reading every chapter I've posted, and provided helpful and encouraging comments. Thanks to his support, I decided I'm ready to take the plunge, so I submitted a query to an agent with a synopsis, and they asked me to submit the manuscript. I'm optomistic but not so naive as to get my hopes up. But for me it is a big step. Nothing is ever going to happen if I just sit here wishing and hoping. Six years ago I realized I was never going to find a good man unless I took the risk of rejection. Likewise, if I never submit the book, no one is going to ring me up and ask if they can read it. I found a wonderful man, and I may just find a publisher! Take a look if you get a chance. It's a long read, but goes pretty fast. Someone said 'Success is the best revenge.' That revenge would be extra sweet! |
| Today was a day in which I was able to just keep my head down and do some mindless, repetitive work. Most would rather shovel shit behind an elephant, but to me, it was blissful. It had to be done, and there is no one else to do it, and there's just something to be said for a day's work well done, regardless of how simple or mundane it is. The work was something that needed to be done for our future rollouts over the next couple of months. It was something that I could do easily since I've done it several times already, so I was definitely in my 'comfort zone.' And while I performed these simple tasks, I was not sitting in a confrontational meeting trying to sooth battered egos, or diplomatically deliver bad news, or referree disputes, or carefully steer anyone away from a bad decision. I was alone with my simple distraction, analyzing thousands of rows of data, compressing and distilling, inserting formulas to ultimately provide a definitive listing of all potential systems users for the remaining facilities. I can almost hear you yawning... I think back on my long and rather unimpressive career, and I can honestly understand why I have not reached a higher rung on the corporate ladder. Where most with ambition spend more time trying to find someone else to do this sort of task than the time it takes to do it themselves, I would just do it. I have no true desire to delegate mundane tasks. Instead, I revel in them. I simply love to do work. I eagerly attack these tasks and usually do them well and efficiently. And I am pathologically practical. I find it painfully difficult to waste time trying to explain something to someone else, when I realize I can just do the thing and be done with it. Part of the problem, I feel, is that whomever I attempt to educate on the process usually exhibits ZERO enthusiasm for what is being relayed. I think I have enough of the 'teacher gene' to explain and demonstrate effectively so that anyone making an honest effort to understand would be in great shape to take over such tasks. But there is a serious lack of ownership and accountability these days. Wow - I'm sure I'm sounding really old with that statement. "Why, these young people nowadays are just damn lazy and worthless!" That's not exactly what I mean. I'm not talking just about younger people. I see it in all ages. I see the attitude that work is beneath us. We are too important to do these things. We are being paid to think, imagine, decide, consult, strategize. Not to WORK (notice it's a four-letter word!) But someone has to do the work. And on those days when I don't have to think, imagine, decide, consult or strategize, I'm more than happy to do the petty, unglamourous, mundane, repetitive tasks. That's a luxury I don't want to give up. Because while I'm doing these simple things, for at least a few glorious hours the possibility of failure is almost nil. AMEN! |
| Molly is VERY artistic. Everyone at her school could submit a design for the school T-shirt, and several from different classes spent the weekend drawing and coloring, preparing theirs for submission. Molly decided at the last minute to submit a design, and drew hers during lunch. Several others from her class prepared designs also. Her class voted for her design to represent their class. And today, her design was selected by the whole school! She was so excited! Way to go, Molly! |
| I don't want to go into too much detail about my work because, to most, it is boring. My own husband can't handle it. I can see his eyes glaze over when I go into even the slightest bit of detail about something that went wrong, or even something that went right. So I know how dry this stuff is. But having said that, I'm going to delve into it just a little bit... I'm a business analyst, and I'm told a pretty good one. The true test of a business analyst is how quickly they can absorb information and understand business processes that they have not encountered. So it's not a requirement that the business analyst have experience in a field. It is a requirement that they have what we call 'soft skills' - communication, negotiation, facilitation. We have to be able to work with all sorts of people from the business - some are arrogant assholes, and some are brilliant technicians but horrible communicators. At the end of the day we have to get what we need from all these people to develop requirements for system changes, and acheive consensus. But today... Today I had to work with some nice ladies who insisted they knew all about a certain process that we were trying to incorporate into our system. Since they knew all about it, they were very insistent in their 'knowledge' and very skeptical of my understanding. Their superior knowledge came from the fact that they had worked in the field, and were very aware of how this particular processed worked because of their experience. And because I had never worked in the field, I was obviously uninformed or misinformed as to how this process worked. I took the high road, and didn't remind them that they hadn't worked in the field for over ten years, and they'd never performed this process the way it's done now, and that things have changed a lot in that time. I just gently provided them with hard evidence to support my suppositions. I showed them account numbers which included the type of payments we are trying to encorporate, showing the transaction volume in each account, then explained the particular issues which are requiring a change to the system. But it was tough for me to be sweet and humble about it. These nice ladies are responsible for testing the changes we're making, and also making sure what we changed doesn't break something else in the system. What makes me mad is that I don't tell them how to do their jobs or second guess what they do. I don't think they have the right to second guess me. We each have a job to do. And what they don't understand is that I've been on many project where I didn't know my ass from my elbow about the business processes when I started. I didn't know human resources processes, but helped develop a system used across our company to model pay rate increases based on various factors, review the affect on the financials, then approve and process the increases using workflow technology. I also didn't know anything about electronic payments, but helped develop a process to submit the entire company's child support withholdings electronically to thirty different states banks, helping custodial parents to get their money more quickly. So the fact that I had not worked in these areas did not seem to prevent me from understanding those processes, and developing solutions to improve those functions. "Soft skills' are valuable in every business area. The ability to develop relationships with a wide variety of people, win their confidence and trust, and offer creative solutions to their business is what has allowed me to transition from one project to another, and has, so far, kept me employed. But those ladies really pissed me off today. I feel like after sixteen years with this company, I'm still having to prove myself every day. If someone plucked THEM up, out of their comfort zone, and plopped them down in a new environment where they knew nothing, I wonder how long THEY'D last! Anyway, tomorrow is another day =] |
| We celebrated my dad's birthday yesterday at our house. Granny and Papa, and my brother and sister-in-law were coming at about 1PM for a lunch of grilled burgers, baked beans and chips. My nephew Chase had spent the night with us, and had been very well-behaved, thankfully. I ran out after church yesterday morning to pick up the birthday cake, and G patted out the burgers while I was gone. After getting the cake home without incident, I chopped up some apples, oranges, peaches, and strawberries, threw in some red grapes, and called it fruit salad. Since the kids won't each vegetables, I at least make sure they eat fruit. I saw the pan in the fridge with the patted burgers, covered in foil... Later on when G brought the grilled burgers inside, I couldn't help but laugh. They looked more like meatballs. Tiny burger bites, nice and round, but only about 2 inches across! I remembered thinking when I bought the buns, 'Gee, I hope these buns are big enough...' That would not be a problem, for sure!!! I guess when you delegate a chore, you should just shut the hell up when it's not done the same as you'd do it. What I find funny about a lot of things is that someone can WATCH you do something a hundred times - G has put the burgers I patted out on the grill at LEAST a hundred times - and still have no concept how it's done. You would think he'd notice how DIFFERENT they look. Anyway, everyone went on and on about how good they were, tasted fine, etc. I wouldn't know - I don't eat beef. My veggie burger was excellent. And flat! |
| Saturday for our family usually means some kind of sports game or practice. Often more than one. Thankfully the boys' soccer games don't start until next Saturday. So today we only had Molly's softball game - her very first ever, and it was a double header. She was nervous, although she wouldn't admit it. She did quite well, considering she'd never played before. I felt better about her lack of experience when I saw that most of the girls, even though they've played for years, still don't know what to do when they get the ball in the infield. The pitcher, catcher and first base players fumbled to get the ball to each other, and let a lot of players get on base and run home. I'm the last person to criticize - I know I could never keep up with all the other players and the right thing to do in every situation. It seems too much like work to me. But Molly is very good at strategy games like Spades and Connect Four, so she should be able to quickly assess the situation and know the best thing to do. Tonight my nephew Chase is sleeping over. We met my brother at the movie theater and saw Balls of Fury this afternoon. I'm almost embarrassed to admit I laughed my ass off in this low-brow comedy full of childish humor, with an overabundance of gags involving 'balls.' Sean, Ryan and Chase LOVED the movie, and Molly even admitted to liking it. I thought it was a harmless diversion from all the serious crap I'm dealing with at home and work, and that was fully appreciated. G's daughter LeeAnn and her friend from Oklahoma came for dinner tonight and we had grilled salmon, green beans, and salad. Since we knew they were coming, we had an excuse to clean the house top to bottom this morning. It's not like we don't ever clean, we just don't ever seem to get the whole house clean at one time. It's usually, laundry one day, clean bathrooms another day, clear out kitchen/mail clutter another day, etc, until it's time the do the laundry again, and the cycle starts over. Today it was the whole ball of wax. It feels good to have a clean and tidy home. I won my first contest on WDC! The Daily Flash Fiction contest. This made me feel really good because I'm still struggling to keep it short and not over explain. In school I was always struggling to come up with enough words for term papers, and now I'm trying not to have too many. It's just a very different approach to writing, since the first thing I wrote was a three hundred page novel. In that genre, you have so much freedom to fully develop your characters, go back in time and fill in the backstory, and I never felt like I had to keep anything short as long as I was contributing something to characters or plot. I'm finally starting to get more comfortable, and appreciate everyone's encouragement and support. I've also entered the Quotation Inpiration contest, the 55 Word Story Contest, and the Worst Date contest. Take a look if you like - they're saved as static items in my portfolio. Hope everyone has a safe and happy Labor Day! |
| I've read some stories on WDC that made me laugh hysterically and cry like a baby. Some are grammatically correct but boring pap, and others are painfully insightful but structurally a total mess. And some are virtually incomprehensible ramblings probably not meant for public consumption. But some things I've read have left me with that serene feeling you get when you realize the ideas, concepts, characters, setting, EVERYTHING was presented perfectly. These carefully crafted compositions make the reader and aspiring writer want to keep trying, work harder, dig deeper and pull out a larger piece of their soul. What makes us all do this? It's said that comedians are damaged souls and tell jokes to mask the pain. Why do writers write? Why do we bare our souls to strangers, and create elaborate fantasy worlds? Are we our own therapists? Do we work out our internal issues by throwing our fears and dreams at clean white paper and then organizing the mess into something more acceptable? Do we exorcise our demons by dissecting them on the printed page? Or are we all just frauds, crafting a careful conceit to trick the unsuspecting reader into paying us the respect we crave? We are complex beings, to be sure. Most of us have busy, complicated lives apart from our writing. We're workers and bosses, teachers, doctors, fathers, mothers, and friends. We're painfully shy, party animals, slackers, overachievers, volunteers and selfish pigs. But we've all got something to say, and a longing to be heard. I am a true fraud, with little to say of any consequence. Nothing special here. Just a cold lump in my heart that melts a little whenever I let the words pour out. If anyone identifies with what I have to say, the pill is a little less bitter going down. Thanks for reading. |
| I could just go on and on about how crappy stuff is, how arbitrary some things are, blah, blah, blah. But who gives a rat's ass anyway, right? I want to leave all that claptrap for now and talk about somethings that are good, and right, and downright awesome. What? You think you've stumbled into the wrong blog? Who are you and what have you done with i'mthemom!!!??? Tonight G and I went to Molly's seventh grade Open House, and her school is so wonderful, it just makes me want to cry. It's that good. Great, caring, dedicated teachers who are obviously not in it for the money. A principle with thirty years experience, a PhD and a creative approach to engaging students at a very difficult developmental age in learning by treating them with respect and absolutely zero tolerance for bullying. Molly's homeroom/language arts teacher went on and on about how discipline is just not a problem in her class. The kids are well behaved and want to learn. Her Algebra teacher said everyone in her class is doing well and having no issues with the material, even though Algebra is not required in seventh grade. No one is falling behind or in danger of having to move back to pre-Algebra. The science teacher was so animated and enthusiastic, not at all like I remember science teachers. I can only imagine how much more I would have learned if it had been presented to me by someone like him! Chorus and Art are taught every day. No PE this nine weeks - alternates with Art, but there is physical activity everyday in the form of intramural sports among homeroom groups. We moved here for the schools, and have never regretted it. Housing costs are so much higher in our county, but considering what you get, it's a bargain. Molly LOVES school, and I don't know what more we could ask for. She's getting everything she needs to be successful, in an environment where she is valued and taught to value others. Okay, I'm not always one to buy into all the new age theories about how to protect kids' self esteem, and how competition can damage their self image, and valuing their individuality. I've never really thought that was the school's job - that was MY job. But I have found myself recently just LOST when dealing with Molly. Sometimes I just don't get her. Sometimes she doesn't talk to me, and I know I'm the last person she would confide in and whatever I say is so obviously WRONG. So I am even less of an expert than I was. I am in fact ignorant on how to deal with my pre-teen, pubescent, precocious, very intellegent daughter. So I'm having to put my trust in people who've seen it all and done it all, and really do care about her and take great pride in what they do. And I am so very grateful. |
| Today we were scheduled to bring up another 28 facilities on the new system I support. We were ready, and all the pieces were in place to make it happen almost effortlessly. Yeah, right. Whenever you start to say or even THINK something will be easy, no problem, piece of cake, you should just shoot yourself. For all the preparation, checking and double checking, there's only so much you can do to make it a success. All it takes is one asshole to screw it up. Today, our asshole was a know-it-all, told you so, power hungry director who was only peripherally involved in our project. She brought up the fact that turning off the old system and bringing up the new one would prevent several sites from taking payments for a very small, insignificant number of accounts that shouldn't be using our application anyway. But since they hadn't worked out an alternate process, then they couldn't go live on the new system until the alternate process was devised, or our application was changed to allow payments for that type of account. So nine of the 28 facilities were postponed for two weeks, to go live in our next scheduled rollout, taking that total to 33. So once that decision was made, at the last possible minute, so much had already been done, that we had to undo things that were never meant to be undone. When the time came to start the process tonight, the most important job crashed and I had to manually update masterfiles for 19 facilities, in order to get all the facilities back up. No reason, just blew up. So in the end, the 19 facilities were successfully deployed, and payments had been processed for 12 of them. But work should not be this hard. I'm so tired of bullshit posturing. And weak leadership. And no accountability. With trying to bring up approximately 30 facilities every two weeks, now we have to slam in a change to the application to allow payments for a certain type of account that was specifically excluded based on the business owner's requirement. Code, test, regression test, change documentation and training material. In two weeks. Sometimes success is your worst enemy. Every time we're able to accomodate a change for the business, get it done and make it right, they expect us to do that every time. And if it's wrong, it's our reputations and our asses. Sometimes I hate this job! |
| Today was not as hot as it's been, but still toasty. G and I played tennis for a couple of hours this morning, and my Irish face is still red and hot. We both hit the ball pretty well, and got some much needed exercise. When I say we played tennis, what I really mean is we hit the ball back and forth to each other. We don't serve, we don't keep score, and we don't observe the rules. The goal of our game is to keep the ball in play for as long as possible. Any shot is good if the other person can get to the ball. So the double lanes are legal, and the baseline is just a 'guideline.' We are just out there to have fun. We know ourselves and each other well enough to know that if we were keeping score, we would both play to win, and it wouldn't be nearly as much fun as making crazy shots from outside the lines just to get the ball back over the net. People think tennis is a snooty sport, but for us it's cheaper than anything else. All you need is a racket, a can of balls and some decent shoes. The public courts are free. Certainly cheaper than golf! Our fun was interrupted several times by the blaring ring of G's Blackberry. He has to carry it everywhere when he's on call, and this weekend was a complete cluster, with networks down and hardware problems. The kids got home from their dad's around 6PM, and it was around 7:30 before I realized they didn't bring home their backpacks. He Who Shall Not Be Named picked them up from after school care on Friday, with their backpacks, but left the bags in the car when he brought the kids home. Sean called him tonight and asked him to bring the backpacks home, but he said he'd have a courier from 'her' work bring them to my work tomorrow. 'Her' being new wife who was perfectly happy to support him in his effort to reduce his child support to $92 a month for three children. I guess she figures that's fair. Wonder if she'll still think it's fair when she has to sue him for child support? Anyway, the kids seemed happy to be home with us, and we enjoyed watching America's Funniest Videos together. I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I LOVE that show! It's just pure silly fun. Crotch kicks, babies spitting up, redneck mishaps with above ground pools and ATV's, drunk grandmas and weddings gone horribly wrong. That's a lot of bang for your entertainment buck! Tomorrow night at work we go live with another thirty facilities on the system I'm supporting, so I'll be working till around eleven o'clock. So I need to get some sleep. Hope everyone had a great weekend, and a wonderful week ahead! And thanks to everyone who's responded to my blog with such positive and encouraging comments. This really is such a wonderful site because of the beautiful people! |
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The kicker is they have seen my pic on my blog...but I have no idea how they look. 
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