TheMommyBlog

Saturday, September 06, 2008 Bad Mood Dude

So you know how I helped found a nonprofit that would change the way the sector viewed and used grantmaking software forever? No? Well, I did. And we did an awesome job on the preliminary studies and reports. And then funding ran out. And suddenly it was harder to secure grants to continue the work. Foundations generally have all their yearly grant money committed or as good as committed by the end of the summer, so you gotta act fast and strike early.

So, when we ran out of money, I waited. I hoped. I pitched. I had faith. I ran out of money, too.

I finally applied for unemployment last month when it became clear that I couldn’t wait any longer and needed the help. They have approved my claim, but denied my request to have it backdated to the week after I received my last paycheck, the first week there was no work for me. Rarely do they grant an appeal after a denial. Well, my claim was denied this morning, and I can appeal, and will, but it’s exceedingly rare for these sorts of backdating requests to be approved unless the employer has made some huge mistake in filing or dating a claim. Not filing out of hope I wouldn’t need it is not something they honor.

I explained that it would have showed poor faith in my organization to have filed at the first sign of a skipped paycheck. It would have destroyed the possibility of receiving back pay if we did receive funds. So I waited, and am now out three months of unemployment assistance I could have collected. That’s roughly two mortgage payments. Shit on a shingle.

So if I seem lackluster or absent, please excuse me. I’m getting ready for another appeal and trial. So much fun after the last one.

Thursday, September 04, 2008 Bad Mood Dude, Familybits

I’ve never had one of those naked-in-front-of-an-audience dreams, but I do have some of the other standards such as forgetting where class is, missing tests, and getting lost in hotels, malls, and campuses. There’s also a plethora of dreams in which I must pack a vast amount of family clothing into hopelessly inadequate luggage, knowing full well that I will never make the flight on time—AGAIN—and that I will end up wheeling everything (sleeves and pant legs hanging out every zipper) to the curb to get a taxi home. Trouble is, I either don’t know the way, have no money, or get caught up in some underworld espionage drama where I am forced to ditch the luggage and run for my life.

I’ll let you insert your own all-too-obvious analysis here.

Last night was back-to-school night for all three my my kids, in first, third, and fifth grade. They split up the times so that grades K-3 were the first hour and 4-5 were the second hour. Only I thought it was K-2 and 3-5. You know, three and three, all logical and whatnot. What do I know? I’m not even employed.

So, of course, I went to the first grade class, knowing that it was important to get to know the teacher that would be grading my child FOR REAL, and not at all with the latitude given in Preschool and Kindergarten.

After than, I prepared to split my time between the boys’ classes, and was agonizing over which to hit first when I saw a friend outside the fifth grade classroom. “Boy, am I happy to see YOU here! Well, in general, but also because you can give me the scoop on this class while I go do third grade.” Score!

I ran over to the third grade room, which was…dark. And empty. Whafuaaa? Ohhh no. No no no no. I flagged down a teacher. “Is it at all possible that some classroom intros are not being held, say in the portables?”

“Which teacher? Oh! Well, third grade was in the first session. She’s gone home.”

Oh dear mother of God marinating in a sardine tin.

Dylan’s class was the one I didn’t want to miss. The one I need to be on top of. I will need to make a separate appointment to get the materials, warn the teacher about a few things, and ask her to feel free to vent anytime. Man, I hate the thought that Dylan is sitting at his desk, thinking that his parents were the only ones not to show. I did, but could only be in one place at a time. My poor little guy. Maybe I’ll go over at lunch time to give him a hug and tell him I’m sorry I missed meeting his teacher.

And then I’ll corner her, which I am sure is her favorite kind of lunchtime surprise.

Tuesday, September 02, 2008 Other people who write

Kids and the elderly sling harsh words at Brad Meltzer’s THE BOOK OF LIES in this engaging spoof of critics’ negative reviews of the author’s newest thriller. 

Monday, September 01, 2008 Familybits

Hey everyone - just got back from visiting friends at their home and winery, Cole Bailey Vineyard. Now, I don’t say this about every stay with friends, but I would totally have chosen their Sesquipedalian Sauvingon Blanc and Cabernet over just about anything else on offer (WHY did we not raid the wine cellar after everyone passed out last night??), and that coupled with great company, terrific dining, and gorgeous setting made us want to stay a week. Which we might do next time.

Cole Bailey produces Sauvignon Blanc and estate-grown Cabernet Sauvignon. Each of the wines is noble, with the understated yet pulchritudinous aroma typical of a blue-blooded Brahmin. Nevertheless, from the first sip it’s clear that Cabernet, Syrah and Sauvignon Blanc “Sesquipedalian” are mouthfuls. Like a character from a Faulkner novel, they come right at you, powerfully forging ahead full-throttle, stunning reflections of their respective vineyards’ terroir. These wines speak to a worldly palate and have no patience for those anchored to the jejune in life.

Our friends have a son Logan’s age, and they were completely inseparable, as were we with Jen and Bob. (You may remember that Bob is the guy the Otter Character was based on in Animal House. He’s a scream. Last time we saw them we were all wearing togas at an Otis Day and the Knights concert and Delta House reunion.)

Also - just put up some photos from my 40th birthday! You’re welcome.

Friday, August 29, 2008 Familybits

I haven’t left the house in three days. Since I broke my current eyeglasses, I have a choice between wearing them one-stemmed and crooked or wearing the ones that are two prescriptions old. I’ve stocked up on books from a new favorite author, but she writes so much like me that I get all frustrated that I can’t get it together to redo my first book and finish the second, and maybe split them up four ways. She must have an awesome editor. I need an awesome editor. It’s two hundred degrees out and I hate the heat. I took off ten pounds as of last week, but my current routine will put them right back on unless I go climb an ancient structure for four hours twice a week. My mom is selling her house and moving, and I want to help and am ready for the call, but I don’t know that I want to see the house all torn apart (termite repairs) and empty because my heart will hurt. I haven’t seen where they are moving, but hope to when they get the keys in a week. I’m constantly re-juggling furniture and room dimensions in my head so we can have a plan for how to make room for Phil once we’re married. We need a bigger dresser, but the one I have is a family heirloom, was my mom’s and then mine since I was five. Daphne needs a smaller bed, but ditto on the brass bed. It was mom’s, then mine as a child, and now hers. Sense a theme here? We cling to things that have been touched extensively by previous generations with a desperate sort of alacrity. I can’t bear to give them up, and it breaks my heart to see the marble dresser that matches my night stands (handed down from Mom) in Gil’s house, minus half the marble for the top. I don’t know what I’m going to do when the garage is drywalled and I have to put all that crap somewhere so we can use the middle of the room. Why do I have all this crap anyway? There are roughly five hundred books in my shelves, but they represent countless hours of escape and entertainment and learning, hours that saved my sanity and opened the world to me. The same world I’m avoiding by sitting in here, day after day, in my pajamas. Fortunately, I will have to change out of them to pick up the children this afternoon. I need them. I need to parent. It helps me do grown up things, to take care of the house. To take care of myself. Because when I’m alone I’m just on hold.