Nothing says cornucopia like a furry, rotting pumpkin on one’s front porch. Daily the squirrels nibbled the tasty morsels, and when the sun shone on the droopy orange delicacy, the flies congregated and held snacking parties on it. My husband made me remove it and the scattered seeds from the porch. Hopefully some random seeds were scattered into the front yard so another fantastic pumpkin patch will rise up next summer and produce some pun’kins for next year’s residents, who will hopefully not be us.
Last Thursday and Friday something strange happened in child/parent land. In my house. I actually felt like I was doing a good job as a parent. This isn’t a feeling I have frequently, amid fighting, competing, stealing, wrestling daughters. There was an unusual calm and focus from both girls in their own realms, sitting at the kitchen table.
Beenie worked on one of her many “books”– drawing pictures of things and people, then writing the names of the objects she drew. Her letters are beautiful and exact, like her. And Mimi was also drawing and writing, in her own way, usually her name, forward and backward, and drawing other miscellaneous letters, too. And singing. She loves to sing and has a strong, clear voice. Both girls were supportive of one another. Both were calm. It was strange and wonderful. And I hope it happens again today.
Though I don’t really define my self by my children’s actions, their actions inevitably affect me — this experience of parenting can be so hard. Especially when trying to do the right thing for both girls, at the same time. Two girls who are so completely different. Whose ways of learning are so different. I can’t wait to have them in different classes so they can grow into their own, fantastic, individual people.
The past weeks are blurred with job applications and interviews. I’m considering a full-time career just doing interviews. Do you think there’s a market for such a thing? Could be a funny premise for a short video. The Interviewee. Pom D’Or next year. Word.
20 Fingers, 20 Toes 
Did I tell you that I am on unemployment (finally)? As a condition of getting my $127.50 every week, I had to go to the One Stop Job Center in my county and listen to a powerpoint presentation on how to look for a job. They are making me work for my money — it was hellish.
The kicker was learning that after 13 weeks of unemployment, the great State of New York expects me to accept any job that pays $9 or more per hour with up to 1.5 hour commute (each way). So that means that for an ELEVEN hour day doing god-knows-what-but-something-tedious, I would really be making $6.50 an hour, not to mention paying bus fare (which ain’t cheap up here — no free transfers). I told the dude flat out that this was never gonna happen and he looked so shocked and depressed at the same time. Like he’s really trying to help me out and I’m just not cooperating. Why does NYS hate us and want us to live miserable lives of poverty?
I think there’s all sorts of videos to be made about (un)employment and the current economic climate. Horror pictures with lots of blood and screaming chicks. Don’t go into the dark basement! Don’t do it!!
That moment of bilateral quiet and joy and just being sounds *delicious*. I’m just entering the pull and pain of being harsh with one who is harsh with the other, ignoring one to attend to the other, trying to decide who gets me when…I don’t like this part of being pulled two different ways. I adore the seeing their different ways, and I’d love a moment or two in which we can all coexist.
sigh.