My husband got laid off from work last week. He had been with the company for more than nine years, since just around our first anniversary, when we moved from that gigantic crappy flea-infested place in the Poconos to the teeny little basement apartment in Quakertown. It's not really my story to tell, it's his, but I thought I'd mention it, because it warrants mentioning. Definitely it helps to explain why I may be a bit "on-and-off" lately.
We're fine, just so you know. Still a little disoriented, still trying to find our bearings and the missing socks and underwear and Little People, still trying to work out a schedule that works for the both of us -- so, you know, living our lives pretty much as usual. Maybe we're a little more concerned about money than we used to be, and perhaps we're being a little more boring and quiet than is strictly normal in our house, but that could also be due to the various and sundry plagues that he and I have had on and off for the last approximately eleventy thousand weeks.
One of the unintended and unexpected benefits of this change is that he and I both get to spend more "quality" time with Shae. We've left her in school for full days, for now anyway, because she really loves it and seems to be doing great. But now she starts a little later and gets done a little earlier, and we're not constantly in a rush to get her up and dressed and packed and ready to go. I am going in to work earlier, which means I get done earlier, so I am home before dark now, and we can all spend a little time playing outside while the weather is nice.
Shae loves being outside -- my goodness, she pitches a right holy fit if we try to make her go back in the house before she's ready. Yesterday we played some catch and some soccer, did some climbing on the playhouse, inspected the back steps and walkway for bugs, and smelled the flowers.
And we took some time out to blow on the dandelions, because hey, why not? (Where do kids learn this, anyway? I know I never taught her to pick that fuzzy flower there and blow on it and watch what happens. It must just be something that all little girls know, that is programmed into their DNA, like how we all just automatically know the lyrics to "I Will Survive.")
I wish I knew what to say (as either a feminist, or just a mom in general) about this "Girls Gone Wild!" foolishness -- she just doesn't understand that "nice girls" don't pull their shirts all the way up over their heads to show people their bellies. And she loves to show people her belly (she has pregnant teachers and I think she thinks there's a baby in there). I see this picture and I think, "My God, does this kid have a tapeworm?" She eats all day long and is always hungry and doesn't seem to gain weight. I'm so jealous.
The really good news is that Shae doesn't seem to realize that there is anything different going on; we're not hiding anything, but we're not running around the house yelling "Daddy is out of work oh my gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!" either. We're trying to make the best of a situation that, let's face it, could be way worse than it is. I mean, aside from the fact that you can practically see her intestines (does she have a tapeworm?), does it really look like this kid is deprived in any way?
We'll be fine, seriously. After a couple of sandwiches.