Dilemma

You wanna know a secret?

We're thinking about moving.

We've actually been thinking about it for like two years now. Longer than BK's been alive, we've been thinking about it. The Agent's headquarters are moving to Illinois, and we have to either move there, or get out of the business. We've known this was coming for awhile now, and it looks like the end is near. His company wants The Agent to move in July, with me and the kids following by October.

We've lived in California all our lives. Our families live in California. I enjoy the sun. I have no idea how to drive in the snow.

We own a home in California. Well, a bank owns it, we make payments to the bank, and they let us stay there in exchange. It is worth approximately $100,000 less than what we paid for it 8 years ago. Friggin' California. We can't sell it, or even rent it out, without taking a huge loss. We would have to find a place to live in Illinois, even if it's a rental, and paying for two houses every month would be very difficult. It seems that houses in Illinois are not experiencing the decrease in value that we have to deal with here, and a comparable home will cost what we originally paid for our California home. It is likely that we would eventually lose our home in California.

There are no jobs in California. We hear every day on the news that we are living in a dead state. We thank our stars every day that we both have well paying jobs. But if we don't move, The Agent will be jobless, with no prospects of finding a new job. I don't know that we could pay the mortgage, along with all our other bills, on just my salary. It is likely that we would lose the house eventually, even if we stay here.

Would I rather be homeless in Sunny California, or the Windy City? Hmmm.... no brainer. At least I'll be tan here.

If we move, I might be able to transfer, if there's an opening. There is an office that's within 30 minutes of The Agent's new office, so it is possible. I don't know if they need anyone, and with my recent career drama a couple months ago, I don't know if I'd even get a recommendation (although that was something from personal life that drifted into my work life.... it didn't in any way affect how I performed my job, so jury's still out on that).

We have warned my father and stepmother that this was coming, and they were understandably very upset. They do not want us to move. They said that family is the most important thing, we must always stay near the family, everything else will be ok as long as you have your family around you.

(I haven't told my mother yet, that would straight send her off the deep end)

The Agent does not want to move. He likes our house, he likes the town that we live in, dead that it is. He doesn't like the snow. He doesn't expect that he will like the requirements of the new job (he will have to do more off all the stuff he likes least, and less of all the things he likes about his job.) He would rather stick it out here. He can be a stay at home dad for two years and we would be ok on the income he could take in from unemployment.

The max on unemployment, I believe, is 90 weeks. So what happens after that?

I don't want to move. Moving is a pain. Everything we know is here, and change is scary. But here's the thing:

The man I'm married to must have a job.

Do you have any idea how upset I will be every single morning when I get up to go to work and he rolls over to go back to sleep? Or when I come home from a hard day at work and find that there's dishes in the sink, laundry on the couch, and the kids are still in their pajamas? Or if I refrain from buying a sweater but then I see that there's a 12-pack of beer in the fridge? Oh, no. That doesn't work for me. You gotta have a J-O-B if you wanna be with me.

And I'm not even saying it will be his fault. He'll look for another job, I'm sure. But he's been an Agent for 20 years. That's all he knows. And his field is very specialized. It's not like my job, where I could apply at one of 40 different companies, and work in one of a hundred different offices. No, there's like maybe 3 other companies who need someone like The Agent. In the whole country. And what is he going to do? Go from being a CIA agent to having some.... I don't know, some REGULAR job? He would never be happy with that.

So, I am in favor of moving. He keeps his job, I can get a transfer or go to work for a competitor, we make new friends, I would know that my parents would definitely call first before popping over. Everyone's happy.

Well, except for my parents. And The Agent. And the kids probably wouldn't be too thrilled. And it would probably be cruel to even take the cat.

Sigh. I don't know.

A Memorable Date

(I originally wrote this a couple years ago, but it fits the topic and it's an entertaining story!)

I was not a big dater in my dating days. I would rather snuggle on the couch with someone I care about than get dressed up every Saturday night in an effort to impress a guy I barely knew. I’ve been on a very few first dates that didn’t turn into a long term relationship.

There was one notable exception, a first date that had the makings of a hit romantic comedy. I think I’ve mentioned George before. He hung out at the same coffeehouse that I did. I would sit at the bar and write my poetry and flirt shamelessly with the bartender. I never noticed George, who sat two stools away, and who was always there when I sat down.

So I was surprised on the day that George asked me out. But I was single, and I wasn’t getting anywhere with the bartender. And George had tickets to see The Phantom of the Opera in San Francisco. I said yes.

After an uneventful drive into the city, we parked the car in a garage. We were going to dinner before the opera started, and George had reservations at an Italian place near the park, but he didn’t know which way we needed to walk. He asked a passing bum if he knew the way.

“Sure I know,” the bum answered. “You got any money?”

George gave him two singles. The bum looked at it, then back at George. “This all you got?” George handed him a five, and then the bum gave us directions… the exact opposite way we needed to go.

We walked all around the park, near the Exploratorium, still having a nice time, just chatting about our lives. But it was starting to get dark, and I was still enough of a small town girl to be worried about being lost in the city after dark. George found a pay phone, called the restaurant, and got directions. We were back on track again. As we passed an ATM machine, George stopped, saying he wanted to get cash out before going to the restaurant.

George put his card in, but instead of getting cash, an error message appeared, saying that the machine was out of service. Then the machine went black. Not only did we not get cash, but George lost his ATM card.

I was beginning to get worried.

George assured me that everything was ok, he could just use his credit card. We got to the restaurant, had a great dinner. Time to go to the opera.

You know what happened.

His credit card was declined.

As George negotiated with the restaurant manager, I debated calling my father. Not to pay, mind you. It did not even cross my mind to have me or anyone I knew pay even one cent of this dreadful night. No, I was more interested in getting home. George could stay and do dishes all night, but I had a mid-term in the morning.

It didn’t come to that. George ended up calling his mother, she gave her credit card number over the phone, the meal was paid for. We were free to go.

Unfortunately, we had already missed the beginning of the show, George was embarrassed, and I was turned off. I hinted that I had a lot of studying to do for my test the next day.

George took me home.

(I’m not even going to mention how he took the parking attendant around the corner and did Lord knows what in order to get the car out of the garage… or how he drove the wrong way down a one way street… twice)

George never asked me out again. Even worse, I never even saw him again-- he never again went into the coffeehouse while I was there.

I always thought it was because he was so embarrassed… but maybe he was upset that I didn’t even offer to help him out. Hey! I was a starving college student! And he was the one who asked me out! And I didn’t even get to see the Opera!

Several months ago, George found me on Facebook. Here is our email exchange:

HIM: No way you are the same girl I took to see phantom of the opera. No way. I only say that cause I make that as a "bar" of dates ever since.

ME: That's me! I've written stories about our crazy date in the city!

HIM: HA! I wonder if you tell the story in the same way I do. Just so long as you don't leave out the best part - me offering the waiter my watch as payment. Boy, was my face red. Sorry about that.




I had NO IDEA he tried to offer his watch as payment!

A Poem

For My First Valentine

From the moment I was first in your arms

I knew that you’d always be there

You’d always protect me

Always would guide me

And show me how much you care

You’ve been the hero I always could count on

The teacher of right versus wrong

A shoulder to cry on

A man to rely on

My love for you will always be strong

We don't always see eye to eye

Some years in the past have been tough

A few thoughtless words

Other words go unheard

But in the end, you were always enough

Who is this man, who walks above men?

Who brings out the good from the bad?

My guiding light

My shining knight

My first Valentine… his name is Dad

The Nose Knows

(Have you entered my first blog contest yet? Go here to enter!) 

So, I was laying on the floor in the living room last week, chilling with the kids while The Agent was making dinner in the kitchen. BK was sitting next to me, Bug was snuggled up on my other side. Suddenly and without warning, BK leaned forward and then threw himself backwards. He often does this back of the head WWF slam onto beds or pillows.

He apparently thought my head was a pillow. The back of his head landed square on my nose. It hurt so bad. I was instantly dizzy and I needed to rest in a major way. I closed my eyes and blocked out the world.

The Agent heard the crack from the kitchen and came running. “Babe, sit up,” The Agent said urgently. “Sit up! You’re going to choke!”

(Choke? What is he talking about? I just need to rest.)

The Agent pulled me up to a sitting position, and I was pretty sure I was going to pass out. Blood was gushing from my nose. BK was crying, 100 miles away. “Check on the baby,” I gurgled through the blood had been going down my throat.

And then I lost a minute. I suddenly found myself in the bathroom, leaning over the sink. Blood was still streaming steadily out my nose. The Agent was next to me, holding BK and trying to get me to put a bag of ice of my nose. Somewhere else in the house, Bug was freaking out. “I don’t want to hear her cry! I don’t want to hear her cry!”


(Am I crying?)

“I think I’m ok,” I said. “I just need to lie down.”

Babe, I think we need to go to the hospital,” The Agent said. “I’m pretty sure he broke your nose.”

Ugh. That would suck. I do not want my nose to look like Owen Wilson’s.

You’ll be happy to know that I don’t have a broken nose. At least, I don’t think so. I showed The Agent that I was able to touch my nose without passing out, and we didn’t go to the hospital. My nose still hurts, but I think I will survive.

BK was totally fine. He started crying because Bug was crying, and Bug was crying because she saw all the blood and freaked out. The Agent, however, was not so fortunate.

“Are you sure your nose isn’t broken? It looks huge! It’s swollen to twice the size of a normal nose…. Nah, I guess that’s just how your nose looks on a daily basis.”

He still hasn’t woken up from the coma.

A Letter to Bug

(Did you enter my first blog contest? Go here to enter!) 

Dear Bug,

You’re about to turn 5, but I know I’ll blink my eyes and 8 will flash by and suddenly you’ll be 13. I want to tell you a few things about being 13 that Grandma never told me. And stuff that your dad won’t get. If he’s even still alive by then. There’s every possibility that I will have killed him by now.

Clothes are important when you’re a teenager. Mom may or may not have the ducketts to buy you the latest pair of $200 jeans, but luckily there’s E-Bay. Remind me that I bought my first $100 jeans from Ebay for only $18. I hope I’m still wearing them when you read this.

You need to get involved in something. Ballet, cheerleading, sports, band, chess club, whatever. Find something that you love and be passionate about. When you were 5, you loved to draw. I would love you to play piano. Daddy is hoping you take an interest in golf. School is important, yet. But the grades aren’t enough. You need to make a mark, Baby Girl.

Mommy and Daddy were both very shy in school. We know already that you’re not going to be like that. You’re already such a social butterfly. I know that we have a future of many parties, dates, and girlhood drama ahead of us. Here are a few things to remember: girls are mean to each other. I’m mean to others, girls will be mean to you, and I think that even you’ll men to other girls. Try to remember that when the cattiness starts. Don’t take anything personally. Treat others like you want to be treated. Not everyone will want to be your friend, even if they act like it.

You don’t need to date every boy who asks you out. Be friendly, be polite, but be choosy. Remember that Daddy and I will want to meet every boy you want to go out with, and if we don’t like him, you won’t like life. Remember that a boy who doesn’t respect you, who doesn’t treat you like a princess, is not welcome in my house.

You will apply for every single scholarship that you even remotely qualify for. You will go away to college. You will spend the first year of college becoming a woman. Use your head, Baby Girl. You’re smart, so act like it.

The important piece of advice I can give you is this: don’t ever let anyone try to turn you into someone you’re not. Plenty will try-- boys, girls, probably even me and Daddy. Don’t lose sight of who you are. Be true to yourself.

Love you forever,
Mommy

PS- I hope your cowlick has relaxed by the time you become a teenager, but if it hasn’t… maybe it’s time to wear your hair curly.