Working, not working, interviewing, not interviewing — trying to figure it all out is always a puzzle over here. So I said to myself, Self, this is not going to work. I know you had your heart set on this Getting the Career Going Again thing and all, but give up.

The time, sister, is not right.

So I called the nice man who sent me the nice letter, requesting that I apply for this job, and I gave my regrets. He said he understood, and he was awfully sorry. Then the next day I called back and said, Any chance I can change my mind on that? And he said he understood, and fit me right in.

The interview was this morning. I got there 15 minutes early, dressed all spiffy, checked in with the receptionist, who gave me a list of Five Extremely Tricky Questions. I spent the next 15 minutes writing and revising my answers. Then I waited. And waited some more.

The problem was… while the receptionist had my name on her list, the supervisors who were supposed to interview me did not have my name on their list. So they interviewed the person right before me and left me sitting. And sitting. And sitting. Until finally the receptionist, who was just a sweetie, said, “Oh! You’re still here!” and was nice enough to call up the supervisors.

Who had left for lunch.

So she fit me into a later slot, and told me to come back at 1. (My original appointment was for 11:30.)

Have you guessed it yet? It’s a government job. So I went and grabbed lunch, came back, nailed the interview, called the temp job (also a government job) to tell them sorry, I would not be in for the afternoon, picked up the kids and came home.

We filled up the wading pool. I hung out the laundry and felt content. I may have had a glass of pinot grigio. Knowing that week after next (fast, by government standards) I will know whether or not I have a brand new job. Wish me luck, would you?

“Rhodsie said, ‘Well, you’ve got the world by the tail now. You’re all healthy and Betty’s got a job with the Government. Government jobs are awful good for women. You get sick leave and annual leave and you can cash your checks anywhere.'”

— from “Anybody Can Do Anything”
Betty MacDonald

Thirteeners! It’s still Thursday, if my calendar is right. I am not too late to post. I am short on time, however, as my husband just left for a baseball game with his buddy, leaving me in charge of bedtime for two small children.

It’s a shocker, really, having to put my own kids to bed. But since I’ve started back to work (it feels so weird to type that), he’s been totally responsible for getting them out the door in the morning. So it’s only fair.

Here ya go: 13 Things I’d Blog About Right Now if I Could Grab a Minute (or Ten). (And no links, cuz no time. Sorry.)

1) My love for General Hospital and Land of the Lost and their weird correlation in my head.

2) A treatise on the magic of duct tape.

3) Teen Parenthood: Why It’s a Great Idea, as written by frazzled 42-year-old housewife. Oops, working outside of the home wife.

4) My new schedule and why it rocks! (Except for mid-afternoon, when I can barely keep my eyes open cuz I get up so early now. And once we get home, when I survey the chaos around me. Don’t forget the immortal words of Erma Bombeck: It takes wet laundry three days to mold.) How in spite of all this… I love working. I love earning my own money. I love getting a break. I love being around people who don’t chant SPONGEBOB SQUARE PANTS spongebob square pants SPONGE BOB! SQUARE PANTS! all. frickin’. day. long.

5) Dress codes. My office has one and the kids’ school does not. Q&A with myself.

6) Potatoes! Corn! Hollyhocks! And all the wonders of my garden and yard. A photo essay.

7) How I bit my tongue and didn’t scream, “TAKE HER BACK TO THE POUND! QUICK! NOW!!!! BEFORE YOU GET MORE ATTACHED TO HER!” when my co-worker described her sweet lil black Lab pup. Aren’t Labs the best? So well-behaved! Except for when she tore out her stitches after surgery. And destroyed the flower bed. And how she keeps them up all night, because she’s lonely. I just showed her a picture of Wacky Dog and smiled.

8) My husband’s beloved Buffalo Sabres. Will they bite the dust in the series?

9) My intrigue with the book “The Feminine Mistake,” by Leslie Bennetts. Can I blog about it without stoking the fires of the Mommy Wars? Yes, I believe I can.

10) Lice. Are we shut of them for good, pray tell?

11) Kids. Why I’m Thrilled I Have Two and Not More. Would include a sidebar: Must every conversation include one of the following: Butts, underwear (their own and other people’s), people’s butts being set on fire, people who can set other people’s butts on fire, poop, pee, farting, booties, how they are Lords of the Buttfire? (I just read that paragraph aloud to them and they literally crashed onto the floor laughing.)

12) Summer plans. Including a discussion of why I won’t be able to hang out laundry because neighbor’s cherry tree is insane out of control. Includes a brief re-cap of the discussion I had with my tree guy, who advised that we move rather than mess with this tree. Sidebar: Will we ever move? An update.

13) My inability to plan ahead.

Happy Thursday, everyone.

WM

I’d like to say that I got up earlier than usual, just so I could post, but that would be a lie. I’m running late. I haven’t had my coffee. But I know when I go to read my favorite blogs and they haven’t updated, I get grouchy. Grouchy! How lame is that, to let the Information Superhighway dictate your moods? Y’all are great writers and photographers — I need my fix of your art. Oh, yeah — you’re great moms, too. But today, that is third on the list of your accomplishments.

* We’re still planning on moving to Iowa. No job offers yet. In the meantime, maybe I should… (more…)

I forgot about work. Working-outside-of-the-home work. I work — I write; I get paid little or nothing for it. (Note to self: Put up PayPal button in hopes that people will donate to the cause. The cause being: Me and My Entertaining Self.) I watch the kids; I get paid in lovebucks. I am married; because of this I am well-shod, like a prize horse. He has also been known, my husband, to take me for dinner and a night on the town.

But a real job? Where you fill out paperwork and a W-4, and have to call your husband about how many deductions to claim (because when I work, we lose money. What with daycare, and taxes, and the cost of gas, etc. etc. ad nauseum) and it’s all a little baffling? That kind of work I haven’t done in three years. Yes, that’s right — he also had to do a Google map search for me so I could figure out where I was going. (Thanks, hon.)

Even though this is an employer I have worked for before, and I know where the building is. I actually had to go to two buildings, located ten minutes apart. I knew where both buildings were. I just spaced. Oh, please, like that never happens to you? I needed my husband to hold my (virtual) hand and walk me through this. Pathetic!

I cannot give you many details about my job or workplace, because in the words of the almighty Dooce: “Be ye not so stupid.” And don’t get dooced, fer Chrissake. I will tell you the following, and I will tell you in bullets:

* Someone nice is watching after the kids.

* There is a Baja Fresh by my work and I got a salad from there on the way home.

* I am now at home, after a hard day spent watching HIPAA videos, signing my name and writing my birthdate on numerous documents, and saying “Hello” to everyone. “Are you here to help?” someone asked me. “No, hinder,” I said, and winked at her. (The smart-alecky part of me needs to stay home while the rest of me goes to work.)

* It is a full-time, temporary job. It may lead to something. It may not.

* There is a sign in the bathroom at work that says, “Please flush the toilet after each use. Thank you.”

I may xerox this sign, on company time, and bring home two copies to post in my own bathrooms. Thank you.