The Future's So Bright, I Gotta Wear Shades (?)

The question mark in the title is mine. While I'm loving being in school (get up off the floor, Mom & Dad), I do know that graduation is coming up faster rather than slower. My classes end in February 2011, even though I don't "officially" graduate until June 2011. And, before anyone asks, yes, there will be two graduation parties: one here in MOFN and one in NJ at Dad's house.

(Oh, Dad, did I mention that? Is that cool?)

Fun stuff like grad parties aside, I've begun The Great Job Search. It's never too early to see what's out there. Since my school is located in New York, I'll automatically be taking the medical assistant exam for New York State. I can also take the Pennsylvania exam for a small fee and, since about 60% of the girls who go to EBI live in PA, I shouldn't be alone in the testing center. I figured with both exams under my belt, I can either stay up here (I can hear Erick screaming "NO!" in my head as I typed that) or we can try to relocate closer to NJ via southern PA.

I know I don't have to tell anyone how hard it is out there, but doing a search for "medical assistant jobs in {fill in state}" dished up tons of jobs. I did a little happy dance in my seat before I started actually reading the job posts: True to form, the search engine brought up every job that had "medical" and "assistant" in the text. So pretty much any job that offered medical insurance was listed for me.

Rolling my eyes, I started to weed out the irrelevant jobs (oh, like pet grooming assistant at Petco, which offered medical and dental insurance). It took forever. Umpteen hours later, I finally had a coherent list of jobs. Time for another happy dance.

Well, I happy danced too soon. Every job wanted 1 - 2 years' experience. Most of the jobs in New Jersey and southeastern Pennsylvania wanted 3 - 5 years' experience.

Cancel happy dance. Commence flop sweat.

I tried not to panic. I tried to stay cool. I tried not to burst into tears. I suddenly felt very much like a real college student, facing a real problem that real college students face:

"HOW IN THE NAME OF THE SWEET BABY JESUS DO I FIND A JOB WHEN I HAVE NO EXPERIENCE?!?!"

(Okay, deep breaths, Aim. Calm down.)

So I'm thinking that as much as I hate to admit it, we may be stuck up here a little bit longer than planned. EBI helps you get interviews, which is invaluable in a place where things are so far apart and a lot of jobs are word-of-mouth and not actually advertised, but it also means we can't escape as soon as we wanted.

That being said, I put out this request (or what I'm picturing in my head as me throwing myself on the ground in front of everyone, prostrate with grief, clasping my hands, rolling my eyes and gnashing my teeth): "SOMEBODY FIND ME A JOB!!"

Preferably one that doesn't require experience.

Surveying the Damage

Friday marked the end of my tenth year of teaching. (It would have actually been the eleventh, but I took a year of maternity leave with Liam.)

As I cleaned out my room, I was reminded of what a rough year this was. Handouts and worksheets going all the way back to September sat in tall, completely unorganized piles. Student papers, which had been collected with the intent of grading, sat alongside in their own messy stacks-- ungraded. The notices on my bulletin boards were outdated and the supply caddy on my filing cabinet had been emptied long ago except for a few paper clips and some nonfunctional pens.

As I arrived home on Friday, I began surveying the related damage at home. There are months of fingerprints accumulated on every possible surface and small mountains of laundry in the basement. The refrigerator, the stove, the bathrooms... just about every room needs an overhaul. Cabinets are stuffed with kids art projects and receipts and mystery phone numbers and dates scrawled on random envelopes. The kids' dressers are full of winter clothes that need to be packed away and the front closet is packed with shoes that will no longer fit. There are bags of mulch in the driveway and an inch of pollen and dirt on the trampoline. As a matter of fact, just about everything in my backyard is begging for a power wash.

Thankfully the summer is my time to regroup. Time to spend with my husband and kids. Time to organize and put my house back together. Time to plan for next school year.

There's only one problem. Eight weeks doesn't seem like nearly enough time.

The Biggest Loser

I started a 'Biggest Loser' competition at work about ten weeks ago. Twenty-three coworkers signed up for the challenge. Everyone was excited and determined.

Weekly weigh-ins would be optional. All that was required was a $10 deposit into the 'prize pot' as well as an initial weigh-in and then a final weigh-in ten weeks later. A chart was hung in a central location so that people could log their progress if they chose to do so.

Wednesday was the final weigh-in. Eight people showed up and only five people had lost ten or more pounds.

Disappointing? Yes. Surprising? Not really.

Taking care of yourself is hard.

Upon starting back at work this fall, it took me all of six months to gain fifteen pounds. FIFTEEN. I was taking care of my students and job responsibilities, taking care of the house, taking care of my kids. Myself? Not so much.

I ate ALL of my kids' Halloween (Christmas and Valentine's too) candy. There were nights that I ate dinner... twice. When I was alone in the car, I'd hit a drive-thru window for one (or two) large orders of fries. I finished my kids' waffles, chicken nuggets and ice cream. I couldn't walk through the kitchen without grabbing a handful of something-- sugary cereal, cookies, chips. When Liam would wake up crying in the middle of the night, he would get a bottle and I would get a few handfuls of M&Ms. I was like a human vacuum cleaner.

I was 'too busy' and 'too tired' to work out. I deserved to sit on the couch every night.

Soon, my closet started shrinking. I was having a hard time putting together enough clothes for the week that fit. I was changing outfits two, three, four times each morning-- trying to find something that looked decent. My jeans became unbearably tight and yoga pants became my new best friend.

I'm not sure when I bottomed out. Maybe it was after Will and I made two dozen chocolate chip cookies one night and he woke to find all said cookies gone. Maybe it was when I found myself eating day old french fries from Liam's car seat. I was getting winded by the stairs at work and racing my four-year-old was getting harder and harder. Maybe it was the impending dread of chasing my kids around Hurricane Harbor and running into current and former students in a bathing suit. It was probably a combination of things.

Ten weeks later and I'm down those 15 pounds-- back to where I started this fall. It was hard. But it wasn't THAT hard.

Binging on cookies, fries and ice cream is good; but buying a great dress and being proud of the way you look is better. Sitting on the couch with munchies in hand every night is good; but the pride of finishing a few miles on a cool night at the shore is better. Feeling good about yourself-- the choices you make and the example you set for your kids-- that's the best.

TGIF

Balancing two children and a full-time teaching job is pretty rough stuff.

I never feel fully prepared for my job. Papers sit ungraded for weeks and lessons are planned at the very last minute. Keys are left at home, passwords are forgotten and deadlines are missed. I'm late for morning help, behind in my curriculum and I can never seem to find a pencil.

At the same time, I never feel fully engaged as a parent. My kids spend nearly nine hours at daycare/preschool. NINE. The morning is a delicate fusion of mad rush and gentle coaxing. Getting the kids out of their nice, warm beds and comfy pajamas in order to be at their respective schools by the ungodly hour of 7:30 am. Prying toys out of their little hands and shoving waffles down their throats as we stuff their arms into jackets and strap them into car seats. We drop them off, give them kisses and hugs and don't see them again until around four o'clock that afternoon.

Some weeks are better than others. Some weeks we almost seem to make it all work. This was not one of those weeks.

The brief time we spent as a family was earsplitting. Liam was crying. Will wasn't listening. Liam was screaming. Will was acting crazy. They were fighting over toys and snacks and sippy cups. Liam demanded to play with staplers and scissors and kitchen utensils; preferring to just dump his eleventy billion toys all over the floor and throw them against the wall rather than actually play with them. Will was running in circles, refusing to share or clean up and talking shouting like a baby, giving us his best "Max" impression.

From experience in my work, I've learned that when a lesson goes badly, the students are rarely to blame. It's usually the structure of the lesson or the decisions made by the instructor that are responsible. I have a similar attitude towards parenting.

Bill and I were tired this week-- mentally and physically. We didn't get down on the floor and play. We didn't pull up a chair and color. We cooked and cleaned. We gave baths and changed diapers. We dolled out snacks and brought down baskets of toys from shelves too high to reach. We warned and yelled and gave time-outs, but ultimately, we weren't in the trenches as usual. We were counting down the hours until bed time, wishing away the few precious hours that should be most important.

So I'm renewing a promise that I often make and occasionally forget. Dishes and laundry can wait and dinner can be grilled cheese or pancakes and eggs. Mental baggage from work can be checked at the door. When patience has been depleted at the end of a school day, it must be renewed. When energy is exhausted, it must be restored.

Next week will be better.

And in the meantime... thank God it's Friday.