Orange Slices

I don't put very much thought into the outfits I dress my boys in every morning. I cover the basics, no stripes with plaids, no peddle pushers and as long as they are wearing matching socks, we're good. Yesterday, my gloomy feelings due to the weather we've been having seeped subconsciously into my kids clothes.

I got Noah ready first. I picked out his orange shirt that Steve and I got him in Virginia at the Great Wolf Lodge. It's got cartoon characters on it and is especially cute when you lift him up and his belly hangs out. Next was Lucas. I let him help me decide what he should wear and we settled on his raccoon shirt, which just so happened to be orange. It wasn't until I had them both ready to head out the door that I realized what I had done. Ever see those kids in the mall or at the zoo with matching shirts and while at one time you think, cute, at the same moment you're thinking, come on parents- lame. The latter of those two thoughts hit me, but I figured since Lucas' shirt was more of a burnt orange and Noah's was bright orange, it was OK.

At lunch time I decided to treat the boys to Mickey D's. Remember birthday parties when you were younger when all the boys wore variations of the same shirt, probably Transformers or GI Joe, and the girls all had pink on? Entering McDonald's yesterday made me turn in circles looking for my party hat and gift bag.

McDonald's was flooded with orange shirts. Two boys, roughly a year or two apart in age had the same shirt on (cute or lame- your decision), bright orange, another little boy was wearing a dark orange like Lucas, and his name, unbelievably, was Lucas. My eyes kept darting from orange shirt to orange shirt, I couldn't help it. It was an epidemic. Then, the icing on the cake, a man who clearly was on a lunch break came in wearing orange also. I'm not sure why, but suddenly I felt nervous and hunched down in my booth lest I be seen with the boys in orange.

From my crouched position I noticed others were checking out all the orange as well. It was then that I realized that the rest of New England was feeling about the same as I did, sick and tired of the dreary days, rain, overcast skies- to hell with it all. Why else would there be five kids and one adult wearing bright orange shirts?

Lofty Goals

At a job interview yesterday I was asked about my long term goals. Fair enough. When you go to an interview you anticipate questions like these, most of the time you even prepare an answer that would suggest that they (your goals) can be met, or come very close (always leave room for growth), with a position where you are interviewing. I know this. But what do you say when your goal is so lofty and unbelievably hard to reach? Um, maybe you should say something else.

"So Jennifer, what was it that attracted you to this position, why here, what are your goals?"

(OK- I've got this. Growth, community involvement, an opportunity to learn...)

"It sounded really interesting. It seemed to me that there was opportunity for growth, which I am always looking for. The job description had various aspects that dealt with my education in addition to past experience which I thought would make this a great fit for what I am looking for. I have two little boys and would really like to get involved with the community, meet people, I love talking to people. Yeah."

(OK- not bad, hit many of the key points there, but then the part I should have kept to myself escaped.)

"Ideally, I would love to write books."

Signed, sealed, delivered, doom. What on Earth, does this position have to do with writing books? I mean, they managed not to scoff to my face at least, but the more people you tell about your dream, only means the more people who see that it's nothing more than that, a dream, when you do not actually achieve it. Half-empty perspective perhaps, but really, how many people do you hear of that say they are going to do something professionally one day and you think, sure, sure you are. Nice dream kiddo.

Sure, it COULD happen. When effort is applied, grueling hours met and long-term focus is kept, it can be done. It helps too when you have a knack for your dream. The question ought to really be, how are you going to achieve your goals?

(Ah, now here is something that I can grasp. A plan. A plan of attack. The plan that would see me to success. I could jabber on about how even having two children didn't slow me down, how I am more of the long distant runner type, not a sprinter...)

"Well, thank you for coming in Jennifer, we will be in touch."

The Hair Gets It

It is fair to say that I realized I was in the midst of an identity crisis when I started messing with my hair. This isn't the first time I've gone searching to find myself, Lord knows that we all go through this many, many times, it's called being an adolescent, a teen, an adult. This time however I'm not particularly concerned with what others think of my image (still a jeans and t-shirt kind of girl), or if the music I listen to is popular ( Kansas' greatest hits was one of my first CD's) nor do I care that you won't find my picture littered on other people's places and spaces with booze in my hand. So what sparked the need to color my hair that I was for the most part- happy with?

There is no place for me. These words spewed from my mouth like putrid meat or worse yet, sour milk Sunday evening. Almost as soon as I had said them, I wish I hadn't. As if uttering what I was actually thinking, when I actually thought it, no sugar coating, no lying aloud and saying that I was fine- the truth and nothing but it, sealed my fate once and for all. The whoa-is-me feeling that I fend off as much as possible gripped me and I was powerless to stop it.

I should have read the signs. I should have seen this coming. I had prepared hadn't I? I have been actively job searching since March. Actively. Every job board has my resume, every job that might somehow find me a viable candidate has been applied to, companies who as far as I or anyone else is concerned are not looking, they have received an email and resume as well- just in case. Shouldn't that be enough? No. So now I have hit the road in search of yet another way to fill a void as it continues to stretch deeper and deeper within me.

There is of course more to it than being unemployed. Isn't there always. Hearing a friend recall the weekend she spent being spontaneous and having awesome fun makes me frown. I am of course psyched for her new found identity, molding herself into a group that makes her feel alive and good. I just desperately want to feel alive and good too. A family day turns out not the way I anticipated it and it brings me to tears. Stuff that normally rolls off my shoulders have hit this huge chip in my shoulder that seems lodged, perhaps for the long run. I feel cheated, discounted, more than anything thought of last.

As I drove around in the rain yesterday, fiddling with the wipers, it's raining steady, now it's not, now it is, the mundane'ness of it all seeped through me. I come last to employers too. How could this be? I have an excellent GPA, I am a great communicator, wrote some wonderful cover letters and proofed my resume more times than I care to count. What is it with me?

I loathe this pitiful version of me. Always been the optimistic one, always kept smiling, always bottled it all up inside me, now finding I have trouble with that. What's funny about this, I feel ashamed to reach out to others because I know, someone is suffering more than me, we've all heard it before and no-one, absolutely no-one, wants to hear it anymore.

So my poor hair went from a light brown to a golden brown, to too blond at the roots to blond but still not happy to be here, all in three days. I guess I should thank my lucky stars that at least it didn't fall out.

Reusable Shopping Bags, Nice Idea when remembered

I thought it a novel idea instantly, reusable shopping bags at the grocery store, and for only .99 cents! Everyone after all, is 'going green' what better way to practice what you preach then to stop filling land fills with plastic that (a) blows around all over the place, (b) doesn't bio-degrade and most importantly (c) kills. I scooped up some green canvas bags from various supermarkets and thought, 'yay for me- such a good do bee.' I should have considered the odds of whether or not I would remember to grab my special bags to take with me every time I shop- before I bought.

I'm sure I'm not alone when I say that I remember, only after I have already made it to the grocery store, that I have those reusable canvass bags under the kitchen sink. Oh well. Next time. You know what? Those 'next times' happen every time. I am literally at the point where I can remember to scold myself for not remembering the shopping bags whenever I shop.

If I were smart I would load the bags into the trunk of the car after unloading the groceries from them. But you know something else? That would mean another trip to the car. When I shop, I shop. I usually have to make three to four trips back and forth, car to house, car to house, car to house and finally car to house. I'm tired by the end of this last trip of lugging groceries in, and where I live doesn't help matters any. For anyone who has ever seen Terminator 2, or any other movie for that matter that implores the use of suspense by providing the protagonist with many doors to escape through, all with different keys and complete with chainsaw maniac after them- you need not see my home.

There is an outer security door requiring key 1, my apartment door automatically locks when closed requiring key 2 because I must close it between trips so that the kitty cat doesn't escape, and not to mention key 3 to the hatch of my Subaru because 'Old Blue Hair' won't open unless you turn the key while you pull. Aren't quirks in old cars cute? Such cruel irony.

After considering my bad luck with what started out as a great idea I thought of another novel idea. Cubbies. Cubbies like we had in Kindergarden. I could pay for my reusable bags, keep them in a cubby at the store and pick them and shop when I needed. Of course this still leaves the problem of remembering to bring them back to the cubby from home. Perhaps if I were rewarded with a free bag, or a five dollars off next purchase coupon every time I returned ten bags I would remember to bring them back. Shoot- I think I would even take a sticker.