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11.22.2008

Scared

The government seized Chris' bank last night.

Hold me.

I wonder what wine pairs well with SPAM?

11.17.2008

Dropped: The Other Shoe

I planned on writing about how Chris works for a mortgage bank - how he's always worked for a bank - and about how that has always served us well . . .until now.

I was going to tell some funny stories about how all year we've joked around about the economy - how I call him and ask "Are you at a desk . . .ooor on a curb?". How I frequently suggest that he should ask his boss if he's thirsty or needs a back rub or maybe a new puppy? Boy, how we've laughed.

We've joked about the precarious situation we're in because that's how we - mostly me - deal with unpleasant things. I always joke about what I fear most as a way of getting comfortable with it (like when I tell Chris I want my headstone to say "I told you I was sick!").

There's no joking any more.

Chris works for one of the last standing banks. They've struggled all year desperately trying to battle this sinking economy while losing hundreds of millions of dollars every month. Last week the news came that they're looking for a buyer and if they don't find one by next month, the government will seize the company.

I have absolutely no idea what this means. I mean, I can grasp that it's bad news, especially with their stock losing 95% of it's value in a matter of months, but I don't know how it will affect Chris specifically.

There's so much going on in my head right now. Regret for not saving money when we had it, gratitude for what we still have, fear over what the future brings, and shame over the years I spent not being grateful.

I cried until there were no more tears left when I found out. But, not Chris. Chris said "I'm a valuable commodity out there. We'll be fine" and then he went to the gym. (Maybe he has a small trust fund I don't know about? He sells watches out of his trunk? He's going to hide his dismembered thumb in some chili?)

The funny thing is, all evidence to the contrary, I believe him. We will be ok. Because I believe in him. Chris is the sort of guy you want with you during an earthquake or if you get trapped in an elevator or when you're out of Reduced Fat Ruffles. I know we will be ok because I know he will make sure of it.

Characteristically, this whole situation is making me a little emotional. Like this morning when I was watching the cats play and languishing in the doorway with my coffee. I whimpered to Chris "Look at how fat and fluffy they are. I just feel so blessed that they have food in their bowls and Savannah has a closet full of clothes and we have a kitchen full of groceries! We're so blessed!". *SOB*

Chris looked up from where he was tying his shoes. "Uh huh." He stood up. "I gotta get going."

I relayed this story to my mom about how I'm blessed (you know, with cat food) and Chris' puzzling reaction and she replied "He's in survival mode. He's focused on a solution and you're not".

I agreed. "You're so right! It's like he's trying to start a fire and build a tent and gather food and I'm over here going 'These leaves are itchy!'. I'm no help at all!".

So, I'm done feeling sorry for myself. (Although I do have one more Sara McLaughlin song left to listen to while I wail pathetically. But, then for sure.) I will look forward. I will think positively. I will send out resumes and market for new clients for my business. I'm going to do whatever I can to make this better for us. I owe my family that.

But, you should tell your husbands to be nice to their Hooters waitresses just in case.


Wake me when the Dow's up.

11.12.2008

I’ve Eaten All the Frozen French Toast, So I Guess I’ll Write Now

After a very long month of unpacking boxes and hanging pictures and painting (Savannah’s room is such a hideous shade of pink that it looks like we’ve been slaughtering farm animals in there) I’m finally ready to enjoy my new little home. And I do mean little. If you come in the front door too fast you’ll run right out the back door. The only person not laughing at this image is Chris since he knows that’s not a joke. (And also the people who didn't find that funny and maybe they should read it again.)

Another fun feature of our tiny new home is that our bedroom window is perfectly aligned with our neighbor’s bedroom window. So, that if one were to, say, sit up in bed and stretch in the morning without closing the blinds, they may or may not be met with a perfect stranger’s face three feet away.


Like this:

In all honesty, the nudity thing doesn’t bother me that much. I’m much more concerned about being caught sitting on my bed watching My Super Sweet Sixteen reruns and eating an entire container of onion dip in the middle of the day. You know, occasionally.

Chris calls it “an urban feel”. I think he’s just hoping to catch people having sex.

That’s really the only downside. Otherwise, I’m sort of absolutely in love with this place. The wood floors, the new cabinets, the vinyl windows, the toilets that produce nothing more than a nice sealed flush without leaking under the floorboards and growing toxic mold. It’s almost like people actually cared about this house. And the random boob flashing isn’t that big of a deal really. It’s not like I couldn’t use a new friend.

Speaking of which, making new mom friends at Savannah’s school has turned out to be about as easy as trapping a squirrel and then getting him to sit at my desk and do my taxes.

Last year’s group of mom friends was “a false alarm” and that’s about the nicest thing I have to say about that situation.

So, this year I decided I was going to ignore the social aspects and throw myself into volunteering at the school and maybe gain some mom friends in the process. I joined the PTA and became the head room rep. The funny thing about this is that every one of my friends that has older children laughed when I told them this, apparently in on some untold joke.

Well, the joke is this: about 70% of the classroom’s parents do not participate or donate.

Isn’t that so super funny? I laughed about it as my requests for yearbook help went unanswered, chuckled heartily as I sent home my third flyer imploring parents for donations for the Fall gift basket to raffle off, and giggled delighted when no one returned my calls to volunteer in the damn library.

After my fourth and final flyer for Fall gift basket donations, I finally got some action yesterday and collected a measly $30. But, I think that’s only because it said:

“IF I DON’T RECEIVE ANY DONATIONS SOON, I’M GOING TO ASSUME A BASKET FULL OF PORN IS OKAY WITH YOU.”

Seeing Savannah’s face when I’m in her class, which is often, makes it all worth it though. She’s so delighted to see me there working that she randomly bursts from her desk to run over and kiss me just to make sure I’m real. You would never know that most days end with “You never let me do anything!” and “This is the worst day ever!”. I have no idea where she gets her dramatics. From her dad I think.


P.S. On a totally unrelated note, I closed my garage door onto my car, which has nothing to do with anything except that I didn’t know that was possible, but apparently it is if you accidentally shut the hanging rope handle in your car door and then repeatedly try to back out and cannot figure out for the life of you why EVERY TIME YOU BACK UP THE GARAGE DOOR COMES DOWN ON THE CAR AND EVERY TIME YOU PULL FORWARD IT GOES UP and you do this for a few minutes before you notice the dangling rope handle hanging inside your car and you go ”. . . oh” and then you get out and open the door and remove the rope and pull away and see the garage door bent and broken behind you and then you wonder if the parents aren’t responding to your emails because you’re really NOT the head room rep, that the real head room rep is secretly collecting tons of donations and doing great real projects, and that they just told you you were the head room rep to keep you busy and out of their way.

I guess it’s related after all.

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