Less than two weeks ago I hit bottom. Although I’ve been plugging away on my novel and feeling great about the progress, it dawned on me that I can’t stay unemployed forever. As much as I want to continue to be the “Real Housewife of Arden Hills”, it’s just not an option for us for much longer.
After eleven months and 132 job interviews, the most promising opportunity I had for a great job imploded that morning. It would be another twelve months before they could legally hire me.
I lay on the couch paralyzed with fear and self doubt. Again, worry filled my mind about the mortgage payment, finances and my sanity. My husband attempted to convince me over and over that everything was going to be okay. He’s a wonderful provider for our family, but my mind had already taken over.
The next morning, Jon pulled my limp body out of bed and demanded that I get up and go to my weekly Bible study. He told me “Just let it go…give it to God. He’ll take care of us.”
After serious prayer and buckets of tears I let go of my fear that morning. Strangely, an immense sense of peace entered my soul.
I went to bible study that morning. Just after my friends prayed for my job search, the miracle happened. I turned on my cell phone and a voice mail was waiting for me. My former company agreed to let me move forward with discussions with the competing company. I could now legally work there. I wouldn't have to wait another year.
Less than a week later, I had a job offer doing the work I love. Best yet, its less than two miles from home - right across the street from my youngest son Eli’s elementary school. (No worry about being far from him should an issue arise with his health.)
At a time when I thought there was no hope left, I put it in the hands of God and he answered.
This time…it’s the right time to go back to work. I start my new job on December 7th.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Searching for Small Miracles
Miracles are on my mind this week - mostly because I just experienced a huge one. I hope to be able to share it with you soon.
Nearly eleven months ago I would’ve laughed out loud if someone said I’d still be unemployed at this point. The laugh would likely have been followed with enormous fear, then tears. Since then, I’ve learned so much about real life. I learned to stop and look at my surroundings. See the world differently. See the person I once was. The person I am again. This alone is a miracle.
Inside my red journal – the gift provided to me by my dear friend Cindy and the inspiration for my writing, I’ve begun to keep a list of the small miracles that have happened in my life during my journey of being unemployed. When I feel backed into a corner or compelled to feel sorry for myself, I break open the miracle page from the journal and look at all that God has done in my life.
Here is a miracle that I’d like to share:
Last January, after I lost my job my and husband Jon was still unemployed, we had no health insurance. Cobra was an option but the monthly payment was over $1,200. Our goal was to make it as long as possible without any doctor’s appointments or refilling Eli’s medication for his Type 1 Diabetes. Financially, we needed to hold off on Cobra as long as possible. Terrible goal to have, right? Plus, we only had thirty days of Insulin left for Eli. Eli needs Insulin to stay alive. Now, imagine our fear as parents.
My oldest son, Owen had a basketball in tournament in Anoka, MN. As always, I planted myself in the midst of the fans, yet only this time there were no seats left with the parents on our team. I sat next to a young mother of the opposing team. She had a young boy and girl with her on the small bench. Like many moms she toted backpacks and other necessities to keep her children entertained while her seventh grade son played his game. It just so happened that my son Owen was guarding her son.
For a moment, the young mom looked frazzled, frantically looking through her daughter’s Barbie Backpack. Then she looked at me and said, “I don’t know you…but would you mind watching my stuff. My daughter is a Type 1 Diabetic and I need to go to the concessions and get her a snack. She’s having a low blood sugar.” “Of course I will,” I responded to the mom as she rushed her dizzy daughter out of the gym.
What a strange coincidence I thought. My youngest son Eli had just been diagnosed with Type 1 six months prior. When the young mother came back to her seat she thanked me profusely. I let her know that I completely understood her struggles, as I deal with the daily demands of being a parent of a Type 1 myself. After a long conversation, she told me that her daughter had recently received an insulin pump and no longer needed injections. I longed to get Eli an insulin pump but knew that it would have to wait for our family to be on our feet again with health insurance.
The mom, and instant new friend, asked me what type of Insulin Eli used. It happened to be the same regime that her daughter used prior to receiving her new pump. They also had the same Endocrinologist from Children’s Hospital in St. Paul.
Then….the miracle happened. She had a six month supply of Insulin that her daughter wouldn’t be able to use with her pump. The very next day, I met the young mom in Hugo, MN, just twenty minutes north of my home in Arden Hills. She proudly gave us the six month supply of insulin.
There is no doubt in my mind that God placed this young mom in our life for a reason. At a time and place where I’d least expect it. God supplied us with the needed insulin for Eli. He also provided Jon a new job two weeks later so we could avoid the $1,200 monthly Cobra payment altogether and Eli could see his doctor again.
My point is friends and fans…please look for the small miracles in your life. They happen every day. Not always as significant as six months of free medication to keep your child alive, but the little miracles that bless us each day.
Nearly eleven months ago I would’ve laughed out loud if someone said I’d still be unemployed at this point. The laugh would likely have been followed with enormous fear, then tears. Since then, I’ve learned so much about real life. I learned to stop and look at my surroundings. See the world differently. See the person I once was. The person I am again. This alone is a miracle.
Inside my red journal – the gift provided to me by my dear friend Cindy and the inspiration for my writing, I’ve begun to keep a list of the small miracles that have happened in my life during my journey of being unemployed. When I feel backed into a corner or compelled to feel sorry for myself, I break open the miracle page from the journal and look at all that God has done in my life.
Here is a miracle that I’d like to share:
Last January, after I lost my job my and husband Jon was still unemployed, we had no health insurance. Cobra was an option but the monthly payment was over $1,200. Our goal was to make it as long as possible without any doctor’s appointments or refilling Eli’s medication for his Type 1 Diabetes. Financially, we needed to hold off on Cobra as long as possible. Terrible goal to have, right? Plus, we only had thirty days of Insulin left for Eli. Eli needs Insulin to stay alive. Now, imagine our fear as parents.
My oldest son, Owen had a basketball in tournament in Anoka, MN. As always, I planted myself in the midst of the fans, yet only this time there were no seats left with the parents on our team. I sat next to a young mother of the opposing team. She had a young boy and girl with her on the small bench. Like many moms she toted backpacks and other necessities to keep her children entertained while her seventh grade son played his game. It just so happened that my son Owen was guarding her son.
For a moment, the young mom looked frazzled, frantically looking through her daughter’s Barbie Backpack. Then she looked at me and said, “I don’t know you…but would you mind watching my stuff. My daughter is a Type 1 Diabetic and I need to go to the concessions and get her a snack. She’s having a low blood sugar.” “Of course I will,” I responded to the mom as she rushed her dizzy daughter out of the gym.
What a strange coincidence I thought. My youngest son Eli had just been diagnosed with Type 1 six months prior. When the young mother came back to her seat she thanked me profusely. I let her know that I completely understood her struggles, as I deal with the daily demands of being a parent of a Type 1 myself. After a long conversation, she told me that her daughter had recently received an insulin pump and no longer needed injections. I longed to get Eli an insulin pump but knew that it would have to wait for our family to be on our feet again with health insurance.
The mom, and instant new friend, asked me what type of Insulin Eli used. It happened to be the same regime that her daughter used prior to receiving her new pump. They also had the same Endocrinologist from Children’s Hospital in St. Paul.
Then….the miracle happened. She had a six month supply of Insulin that her daughter wouldn’t be able to use with her pump. The very next day, I met the young mom in Hugo, MN, just twenty minutes north of my home in Arden Hills. She proudly gave us the six month supply of insulin.
There is no doubt in my mind that God placed this young mom in our life for a reason. At a time and place where I’d least expect it. God supplied us with the needed insulin for Eli. He also provided Jon a new job two weeks later so we could avoid the $1,200 monthly Cobra payment altogether and Eli could see his doctor again.
My point is friends and fans…please look for the small miracles in your life. They happen every day. Not always as significant as six months of free medication to keep your child alive, but the little miracles that bless us each day.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
The Garage Sale: Another sneak peek into my novel.
Hello! I’ve had several requests for another sneak peek into my novel. I thought it might be fun to share the beginning of the story that started my desire to write.
Excerpt from The Garage Sale:
One man’s trash is another man’s treasure. Isn’t that how the saying goes? In my household, it seems that the men in my life believe the saying is true. Well, at least by the hundreds, no thousands, of miscellaneous items they have picked up at local thrift shops and garage sales. “Look at the great deal we got on this mom.” “Don’t we need another couch, honey?” “But it only cost a $1.00.” My idea of a peaceful house is one rid of clutter. Not so in the case of my three men. My patient nature has allowed our house to become a mass of random items with no cohesion or order. Over time, I’ve allowed it not to bother me so much.
I was surprised when my oldest son, Charlie, begged me to hold a garage sale. It was the first week of summer vacation, the first I’ve ever spent at home with my children, and he saw dollar signs when he heard that our neighbors across the street had earned several hundred dollars at their recent sale. Reluctantly, I agreed to help Charlie organize the sale. We scoured the calendar for a Thursday and Friday that had not already been filled by our busy summer schedule. “Guess what, Mom,” said Charlie. “Next week would be perfect.” “Ugh,” I thought. “Oh, the work. The work. Oh well, perhaps a project is exactly what I need right now; still adjusting to unemployment.”
To my surprise, the process of preparing for the garage sale was therapeutic for me. What I didn’t realize was the life-changing insight I was about to face. I had the chance, and permission, to rummage through our accumulated belongings and determine once and for all that which is trash and that which is treasure. The back room was scoured, the closets were organized and the basement rooms which had become the holy dumping ground of wanted and unwanted items was slowly unraveled. We had more than enough stuff for the sale.
Thanks to modern technology and the luxury of wireless internet access, I was able to set up my job hunting shop inside the garage during the sale. Still very much in the mode of diligently seeking work, I wasn’t interested in losing two precious days. After tallying the meticulous records we kept, the boys earned $245 which seemed like a pittance in comparison to the amount of work that we conducted to prepare for the sale. (That’s one hour of consulting work I thought in typical Corporate Diva fashion.) To my boys, they were as business savvy as Donald Trump. Best of all, we were rid of hundreds of clothing items, books, old toys and games.
What didn’t sell went to charity. As I logged the clothing that I would give to charity for my tax deduction, I wondered how I could have accumulated thirteen chocolate brown jackets, eighteen pairs of black dress slacks and seven business suits. “I just cleaned out my closet last season,” I thought. “Was I really that vain that I needed new clothing for nearly every business trip?” The sale was a success, but that is not what this story is about. It is about the clean-up from the sale.
Still in the mood to de-clutter and finish what I started with the organization project, I ran across an old set of papers under the bathroom sink. The papers were stapled and carefully folded. (Unlike the crumpled napkins and old receipts that were strewn about.) My first instinct was to simply toss them out with the rest of the garbage I found, but I took a minute to review the contents. It appeared at first glance that the faded paper and faint writing were journal entries written by my husband, Ben. Strange I thought. As I perused the dates, the journal entries were from 1985, just a few months before Ben and I met and began dating. Why would he have kept these papers so long and why are they under the bathroom sink? They must be important, I thought, so I began to read.
***
That’s all for now. The clean-up from the sale is the best part of the story. You’ll just have to wait for my novel to be published. I'm still pulling it all together and filling in the gaps. I’m in the editing phase now. Cross your fingers…
Excerpt from The Garage Sale:
One man’s trash is another man’s treasure. Isn’t that how the saying goes? In my household, it seems that the men in my life believe the saying is true. Well, at least by the hundreds, no thousands, of miscellaneous items they have picked up at local thrift shops and garage sales. “Look at the great deal we got on this mom.” “Don’t we need another couch, honey?” “But it only cost a $1.00.” My idea of a peaceful house is one rid of clutter. Not so in the case of my three men. My patient nature has allowed our house to become a mass of random items with no cohesion or order. Over time, I’ve allowed it not to bother me so much.
I was surprised when my oldest son, Charlie, begged me to hold a garage sale. It was the first week of summer vacation, the first I’ve ever spent at home with my children, and he saw dollar signs when he heard that our neighbors across the street had earned several hundred dollars at their recent sale. Reluctantly, I agreed to help Charlie organize the sale. We scoured the calendar for a Thursday and Friday that had not already been filled by our busy summer schedule. “Guess what, Mom,” said Charlie. “Next week would be perfect.” “Ugh,” I thought. “Oh, the work. The work. Oh well, perhaps a project is exactly what I need right now; still adjusting to unemployment.”
To my surprise, the process of preparing for the garage sale was therapeutic for me. What I didn’t realize was the life-changing insight I was about to face. I had the chance, and permission, to rummage through our accumulated belongings and determine once and for all that which is trash and that which is treasure. The back room was scoured, the closets were organized and the basement rooms which had become the holy dumping ground of wanted and unwanted items was slowly unraveled. We had more than enough stuff for the sale.
Thanks to modern technology and the luxury of wireless internet access, I was able to set up my job hunting shop inside the garage during the sale. Still very much in the mode of diligently seeking work, I wasn’t interested in losing two precious days. After tallying the meticulous records we kept, the boys earned $245 which seemed like a pittance in comparison to the amount of work that we conducted to prepare for the sale. (That’s one hour of consulting work I thought in typical Corporate Diva fashion.) To my boys, they were as business savvy as Donald Trump. Best of all, we were rid of hundreds of clothing items, books, old toys and games.
What didn’t sell went to charity. As I logged the clothing that I would give to charity for my tax deduction, I wondered how I could have accumulated thirteen chocolate brown jackets, eighteen pairs of black dress slacks and seven business suits. “I just cleaned out my closet last season,” I thought. “Was I really that vain that I needed new clothing for nearly every business trip?” The sale was a success, but that is not what this story is about. It is about the clean-up from the sale.
Still in the mood to de-clutter and finish what I started with the organization project, I ran across an old set of papers under the bathroom sink. The papers were stapled and carefully folded. (Unlike the crumpled napkins and old receipts that were strewn about.) My first instinct was to simply toss them out with the rest of the garbage I found, but I took a minute to review the contents. It appeared at first glance that the faded paper and faint writing were journal entries written by my husband, Ben. Strange I thought. As I perused the dates, the journal entries were from 1985, just a few months before Ben and I met and began dating. Why would he have kept these papers so long and why are they under the bathroom sink? They must be important, I thought, so I began to read.
***
That’s all for now. The clean-up from the sale is the best part of the story. You’ll just have to wait for my novel to be published. I'm still pulling it all together and filling in the gaps. I’m in the editing phase now. Cross your fingers…
Sunday, October 25, 2009
The Three Mile Trance
Recently, I realized that I have two new addictions in life…writing and running. When I lost my job several months ago, one of my five goals was to get fit again. To be exact Goal #4: Get that smokin’ hot body that I had before years of corporate torture. Easier said than done.
Something called C6/C7 Radiculopathy got in my way the first few months - but nothing that a twenty-something doctor, hot physical therapist and a six inch needle in my neck loaded with a steroid injection so strong it made me pass out couldn't fix. Now…I was ready to take on the challenge.
Why running? It’s the perfect excuse to get out of the empty house. A basement full of gym equipment just wasn’t going to cut it this time. I proudly left Body by Jake, Chuck Norris, and my desperately needed elliptical and spinning machines behind. I needed to get out. With less than fashionable running clothes and new pair of Assics, I was ready for action.
My quest to run began just as the snow started to melt. Quite a challenge, I couldn't even get to the end of our cul-de-sac. Many four letter words were uttered those first few weeks as I am a less than patient person when in competition with myself. One thing was for certain, with all of the life changing events that happened to our family over the past six months, my body was the only thing that I had control over. In the beginning, my body controlled my mind which irritated the blank out of me.
But then, day by day, I could run a little further. Run a block, walk a block. Run a mile, walk a mile. Run five miles. Run ten miles. It was absolutely crazy how a little drive and persistence could lead to something amazing. The stress (and pounds) dripped away mile by mile.
I discovered the drug of endorphins, the runner’s high. A feeling so unbelievable. It kicks in miraculously at mile three. I call it the Three Mile Trance – the perfect point in time when the mind begins to control the body. Running never gets easier. Every day I tell myself…just one mile…just one mile. The first three are hell, but then it’s pure ecstasy.
Words of wisdom to those of you looking to take the leap into getting fit: You can change your body. One block at a time. Start slow and don’t give up!
P.S. Running is not pretty! Just ask my feet. Broken toe-nails, blisters, bruises, swollen ankles. It’s all worth it.
Something called C6/C7 Radiculopathy got in my way the first few months - but nothing that a twenty-something doctor, hot physical therapist and a six inch needle in my neck loaded with a steroid injection so strong it made me pass out couldn't fix. Now…I was ready to take on the challenge.
Why running? It’s the perfect excuse to get out of the empty house. A basement full of gym equipment just wasn’t going to cut it this time. I proudly left Body by Jake, Chuck Norris, and my desperately needed elliptical and spinning machines behind. I needed to get out. With less than fashionable running clothes and new pair of Assics, I was ready for action.
My quest to run began just as the snow started to melt. Quite a challenge, I couldn't even get to the end of our cul-de-sac. Many four letter words were uttered those first few weeks as I am a less than patient person when in competition with myself. One thing was for certain, with all of the life changing events that happened to our family over the past six months, my body was the only thing that I had control over. In the beginning, my body controlled my mind which irritated the blank out of me.
But then, day by day, I could run a little further. Run a block, walk a block. Run a mile, walk a mile. Run five miles. Run ten miles. It was absolutely crazy how a little drive and persistence could lead to something amazing. The stress (and pounds) dripped away mile by mile.
I discovered the drug of endorphins, the runner’s high. A feeling so unbelievable. It kicks in miraculously at mile three. I call it the Three Mile Trance – the perfect point in time when the mind begins to control the body. Running never gets easier. Every day I tell myself…just one mile…just one mile. The first three are hell, but then it’s pure ecstasy.
Words of wisdom to those of you looking to take the leap into getting fit: You can change your body. One block at a time. Start slow and don’t give up!
P.S. Running is not pretty! Just ask my feet. Broken toe-nails, blisters, bruises, swollen ankles. It’s all worth it.
Friday, October 23, 2009
A Mother's Journey (Kleenex Warning)
Today is my birthday. Not my favorite day of the year. Unlike most of my family (especially the boys), I’m not fond of hoopla, surprises or an audience. OK – I do love an audience…I am a writer, musician and public speaker, however NOT on my birthday.
My ideal birthday is a day of quiet reflection. So today, I’m going to share with you my first short story – just written two months ago. It’s a peek into my soul – a mother’s reflection on the year long journey with my son Eli’s Type 1 Diabetes. If you are a parent or have a child that you love deeply, please read my story.
Still deciding whether or not to attempt to jump into the enduring process of begging to get my short story published, I shared A Mother’s Journey with a friend a few weeks ago and asked for her feedback. Her words to me were so moving, “Reading your story felt as if you had given me a key to enter your soul. I was inside your head – not sure whether or not I was allowed to be there. I want more.”
I hope my story moves you as well.
Copy and paste link into your browser:
http://docs.google.com/Doc?docid=0Afd_hPIdgsb9ZGQ3OTRyODVfMGMyNzZmbmZ3&hl=en
My ideal birthday is a day of quiet reflection. So today, I’m going to share with you my first short story – just written two months ago. It’s a peek into my soul – a mother’s reflection on the year long journey with my son Eli’s Type 1 Diabetes. If you are a parent or have a child that you love deeply, please read my story.
Still deciding whether or not to attempt to jump into the enduring process of begging to get my short story published, I shared A Mother’s Journey with a friend a few weeks ago and asked for her feedback. Her words to me were so moving, “Reading your story felt as if you had given me a key to enter your soul. I was inside your head – not sure whether or not I was allowed to be there. I want more.”
I hope my story moves you as well.
Copy and paste link into your browser:
http://docs.google.com/Doc?docid=0Afd_hPIdgsb9ZGQ3OTRyODVfMGMyNzZmbmZ3&hl=en
Thursday, October 22, 2009
What happened to my character?
Last night I re-watched the movie Never Been Kissed starring Drew Barrymore. Although I’ve seen it at least a dozen times, I watched now with a new point of view - a writer’s point of view.
There’s a quote toward the end of the movie that states, “Someone once told me to write well, you have to write what you know, and this is what I know.” It’s a bit spooky when I heard this line from my new perspective. Although writing fiction, clearly there are some stories loosely based on my past experience. The fun comes by taking what you know…and fictionalizing it. The danger can be a clouded sense of reality while in the head of a character.
While writing my novel, I’ve discovered something strange. If not careful, one can slip into a character’s life – while living one’s own. I call it creative research. Others in my life call it darn right insanity. At times it feels a bit like having a double personality. Surely, actors experience this as well when throwing themselves into their role. The other day, I accidently called my husband by the name of a character in my novel. He looked at me as if I were on another planet.
My novel is based on a middle aged woman’s reflections on her formative years - high school, college and young married life. A typical coming of age story and a quest for a woman to understand how she got to be the woman she is today. Sure…I write what I know, but the characters and experiences are fictionalized.
The process of writing naturally draws me to life experiences from over twenty years ago. What happened to these former people in my young life? What are they like today? Did the doctor in training that pursued me in college find his perfect trophy wife? Is The Beautiful Man that rejected me still beautiful… or he is bald, fat and ugly?, etc.
Life is not like writing fiction. You can’t just make things up as you go.
So tell me fans… Is it important to understand who the former people that shaped your young life have become today? Or… do you just leave them as they are cemented in your memory?
Please comment. I want your opinion.
There’s a quote toward the end of the movie that states, “Someone once told me to write well, you have to write what you know, and this is what I know.” It’s a bit spooky when I heard this line from my new perspective. Although writing fiction, clearly there are some stories loosely based on my past experience. The fun comes by taking what you know…and fictionalizing it. The danger can be a clouded sense of reality while in the head of a character.
While writing my novel, I’ve discovered something strange. If not careful, one can slip into a character’s life – while living one’s own. I call it creative research. Others in my life call it darn right insanity. At times it feels a bit like having a double personality. Surely, actors experience this as well when throwing themselves into their role. The other day, I accidently called my husband by the name of a character in my novel. He looked at me as if I were on another planet.
My novel is based on a middle aged woman’s reflections on her formative years - high school, college and young married life. A typical coming of age story and a quest for a woman to understand how she got to be the woman she is today. Sure…I write what I know, but the characters and experiences are fictionalized.
The process of writing naturally draws me to life experiences from over twenty years ago. What happened to these former people in my young life? What are they like today? Did the doctor in training that pursued me in college find his perfect trophy wife? Is The Beautiful Man that rejected me still beautiful… or he is bald, fat and ugly?, etc.
Life is not like writing fiction. You can’t just make things up as you go.
So tell me fans… Is it important to understand who the former people that shaped your young life have become today? Or… do you just leave them as they are cemented in your memory?
Please comment. I want your opinion.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
The Real Housewife of Arden Hills
I’m going to be absolutely frank with you. I don’t have a domestic bone in my body – so my new identity, which my husband adoringly calls The Real Housewife of Arden Hills, has been quite a transition since the loss of my job. So much that I’ve written about the experiences in this strange new world.
Excerpt from my novel – loosely based on my recent life’s experience.
A strange thing happened tonight after my oldest son Charlie’s football game. Ben asked why I didn’t sit with the other ‘at home’ moms.
“What do you mean by that?” I scowled as if it was a poke or an insult.
“Well, you’re one of them now. You know… a housewife. A real housewife.”
“So you think just because I’ve been unemployed for nine months, my status in life has changed?”
“Well, yeah. Sort of how it looks, hon. Plus, nine months is long enough to have a baby,” he smiled at me longing for another child.
“Stop that!” I looked at him in disbelief.
Suddenly I realized that Ben had given up on my job search. Secretly, I knew that he enjoyed being the sole provider of our family. It gave him a newfound sense of responsibility and status that I'd deprived from him our entire marriage. My drive and ambition to crawl the corporate ladder and become a wealthy executive with power and status often left Ben in the dust. Leaving him to manage the household and nearly single-handedly raise our boys. At times, I’d travel out of state up to 50% of the month. I’d become a self centered, over confident snob. Addicted to a first class executive lifestyle. An undeniable Corporate Diva. An alter-ego that my friends and family coined “hotel snob”.
Was Ben right? Am I a real housewife? What is a real housewife? I have no idea. Since age sixteen, I’ve had a job. With the exception of six weeks maternity leave with each of my children I’ve never really had any length of time off of work. Time off for me always included checking email and voicemail from my constant companion, Mr. Blackberry. I knew ‘at home’ moms as acquaintances of my boys, but not well. I secretly wondered about their lives. To a ‘corporate mom’ these mothers were foreign to me; they had a completely different reality. They were a tight knit group, not letting just anyone into their circle, especially a working mom. Many asked how I did it; managing a career and a household. In response, I’d tell them I just don’t know any other way.
One thing is for sure as it relates to my husband’s quest into transforming me into a housewife, I am not domestic. I never learned the art of cooking, cleaning and other home-related tasks. Really, I’m not a snob in this regard; I was just never taught. Now was my chance to prove that I could master the art of managing a household. As any good marketer would, I decided to make a profile of the optimal twenty-first century housewife. What internet sites does she visit? What televisions shows does she watch? Where does she shop? What magazines does she read? Where does she live? No. No. This is all wrong. I’m not selling Clorox or spinning the benefits of fewer Fritos in a bag of chips.
***
Well fans, that’s all you get for now!
Just Live Your Life….hey..ay..ay.
Excerpt from my novel – loosely based on my recent life’s experience.
A strange thing happened tonight after my oldest son Charlie’s football game. Ben asked why I didn’t sit with the other ‘at home’ moms.
“What do you mean by that?” I scowled as if it was a poke or an insult.
“Well, you’re one of them now. You know… a housewife. A real housewife.”
“So you think just because I’ve been unemployed for nine months, my status in life has changed?”
“Well, yeah. Sort of how it looks, hon. Plus, nine months is long enough to have a baby,” he smiled at me longing for another child.
“Stop that!” I looked at him in disbelief.
Suddenly I realized that Ben had given up on my job search. Secretly, I knew that he enjoyed being the sole provider of our family. It gave him a newfound sense of responsibility and status that I'd deprived from him our entire marriage. My drive and ambition to crawl the corporate ladder and become a wealthy executive with power and status often left Ben in the dust. Leaving him to manage the household and nearly single-handedly raise our boys. At times, I’d travel out of state up to 50% of the month. I’d become a self centered, over confident snob. Addicted to a first class executive lifestyle. An undeniable Corporate Diva. An alter-ego that my friends and family coined “hotel snob”.
Was Ben right? Am I a real housewife? What is a real housewife? I have no idea. Since age sixteen, I’ve had a job. With the exception of six weeks maternity leave with each of my children I’ve never really had any length of time off of work. Time off for me always included checking email and voicemail from my constant companion, Mr. Blackberry. I knew ‘at home’ moms as acquaintances of my boys, but not well. I secretly wondered about their lives. To a ‘corporate mom’ these mothers were foreign to me; they had a completely different reality. They were a tight knit group, not letting just anyone into their circle, especially a working mom. Many asked how I did it; managing a career and a household. In response, I’d tell them I just don’t know any other way.
One thing is for sure as it relates to my husband’s quest into transforming me into a housewife, I am not domestic. I never learned the art of cooking, cleaning and other home-related tasks. Really, I’m not a snob in this regard; I was just never taught. Now was my chance to prove that I could master the art of managing a household. As any good marketer would, I decided to make a profile of the optimal twenty-first century housewife. What internet sites does she visit? What televisions shows does she watch? Where does she shop? What magazines does she read? Where does she live? No. No. This is all wrong. I’m not selling Clorox or spinning the benefits of fewer Fritos in a bag of chips.
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Well fans, that’s all you get for now!
Just Live Your Life….hey..ay..ay.
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