Sharp Corners

You know, I don’t know why some things are so hard for people to figure out. Just because I’ve put something somewhere in the common area of my home that was obviously produced for a specific use, what makes people think they can, you know, use it?

My couch has a few pretty nice throw pillows and I’ve arranged them the way I like, so what makes visitors sit down on the sofa and start rearranging them as if I’d put them there for personal comfort? If they’re in your way, sit on the floor.

Likewise, I have a beautiful tea service but I drink from mugs that look like I robbed a 1950s Howard Johnson dinette. Sadly, I can’t even claim I “save the good stuff for company” because I usually make people bring their own cutlery for meals in my home. Okay, not really. Well, not usually.

It’s not that weird, you know. If I sometimes act like I’m expecting Colin Powell to arrive any second for a military inspection, it’s only because I want things in my house just so. Ask anyone who’s ever been in my kitchen. Mixing bowls get one cabinet to themselves, serving bowls another. Each pantry shelf has its own designated food groups and spices get a shelf near the stove. They are not, however, to co-mingle with unrefrigerated condiments. Ever. In fact, my boyfriend came over one day bearing gifts of jam and honey. He casually put them near the spices and I had them off the shelf and in the correct spot (in the pantry, next to the canned goods, but to the right of the pasta) before he could say, “Dear god, woman, what is your problem?”

I realized recently I was beginning to lose my grip on reality just a little bit when he happened to put his cap on the hat rack in my bedroom one afternoon. At first I said nothing, I just calmly walked over, removed it, and put it on my dresser. When he looked at me questioningly, I mentioned the hat rack was for decoration only and not meant to be used. I couldn’t tell if he was going to laugh or have me committed.

“But it’s a hat rack,” he said.

“Yes, but it’s only there to look nice. It looks nice, don’t you think?”

“Well, yes,” he answered, “but it’s a HAT rack. And I put my HAT there.”

“I know, but you can’t.”

“But you have things hanging on the hat rack already!” he said.

“What? Oh, the jacket? It’s for decoration. So is the scarf. And the sweater too. Decoration.”

Gently, as if talking to a small child, he pointed out, “But you have… a hat…on your hat rack.”

“Yes, but it’s a decorative hat.”

To his credit, he tried one last time, “But I wasn’t going to leave it there for good.”

“I know,” I said. “But it looks better on my dresser.”

I smiled as sweetly as a I could to someone who doesn’t understand the difference between a decorative hat and one that is actually worn by a real person. Then I decided to make lunch.

Before leaving the room, I pointed to the master bathroom and said, “Oh, by the way, I hung some pretty new hooks on my bathroom wall. Don’t even think about using them.”

If you think I’m a bit of a control freak about the stuff that adorns my home, wait until you hear about what I do with the food on my plate.

When some bloggers take a break, it’s for a week or a month. Of course, I never do anything half-way so I took an entire decade off.

Okay, not really, but it sure seems like it.

I sent out some emails in the last few days asking some friends if I should drag this old blog out from the bowels of the Internet and everyone told me I should (right after asking, “Do I know you?”).

To put in perspective how long it’s been since I hurled words at unsuspecting readers, when we last talked Twitter and iPhones didn’t exist. Now it’s not possible to go a day — perhaps an hour — without hearing at least one of those words somewhere.

I don’t have an iPhone (yet) but I do have its severed Siamese twin, the iPod touch, which I regularly fondle and ogle with wild abandon. I also have a Twitter account, which you’ll note is not properly feeding into my sidebar at the moment. (Just pretend you see it. Work with me, people.) So, you see? I have not neglected everything in the world, just this blog and I intend to rectify that.

A lot has happened in the millennium since I last blogged, rendering some of the references in my past posts obsolete. I have, for example, switched dogs. Lilo is a lot smaller than the Great Dane I had, but (oh, joy) not much smarter. I have not, of course, switched kids though I’m fond of telling my youngest he was switched at birth and I actually diapered a lemur for the first few days before noticing.

I’m getting ahead of myself. I can’t bring everyone back up to speed in just one post so I’ll get back to hammering on the site design for a while while I leave you to ponder the single best invention since you last heard from me.

OH HAI, indeed.

Oh, I have been remiss. Daily (daily, I tell ya!), I have had "dust off blog" on the very tippy-top of my to-do list. Between an bit of blog burnout and starting my new job I haven’t written lately, you may just call me the Sharp Slacker. But here I am, so let’s get to it.

I get emails and IMs from people wondering if I dropped dead. I assure I haven’t. My ghost isn’t scheduled to take over my blog for several years yet. So, what have I been up to? Well, I’ve been having more fun than any person should ever be allowed. Let’s see…where to start?

My kids are teenagers now…

No, not really. I don’t dare peek at my blog page to see when I last posted for fear of feeling shame but I know at least one of my boys has had a birthday since we last talked. Son Two turned seven. Yes, my babies are growing up. They are now interested in Tomagochis, X-Box and cootie-infested girls. Oh, and I’m considering getting the collective bunch a cell phone since their social lives are busier than mine (I don’t have a land line, techno-geek that I am).

My job is so much fun that I now pay them for the privilege of working there. Or at least I would if they asked. Or not. Seriously, it’s the best job I’ve ever had. Last time I said as much on the blog, I was still in the honeymoon phase so it was to be expected. Five months into it, however, I like it even more than I did then. My co-workers are hysterically funny and such a pleasure to be around that I’d like to tattoo their names on my posterior.

My boss is a completely hilarious goofball who lives in a permanently hyper-manic state. He is so outrageously creative and driven that I sometimes get work-related emails from him at 2 a.m. only to find him sitting at his desk six hours later, slurping coffee and acting as if he’d slept like log for 18 hours. He lets me be as creative as I want to be, gives me nearly complete autonomy to do my own thing and trusts my judgment. He is more of a quasi-boss, setting the goal and letting us get there in whatever way works for us. When he needs to make changes to our work, he discusses it with us instead of hauling out an ax and chopping limbs off our projects. But mostly I like him because he promoted me.

There are two branches of our company and I’ve been offered the opportunity to more or less oversee one of them. Beginning as soon as next week, I’ll be working out of a different office – get this – the one on the beach. Yep, really, the beach is thisclose to the office. Woo! This will be one hell of a summer. The first thing I have to do is make sure I know how to get sand out of a laptop.

Folks, I don’t have the words to tell you how terrific things are going for me. It’s not all peaches, of course: Son One has elevated whining to an art form (though a dear friend with more boy experience than I told me this week, it’s a normal 8-year-old thing). I still have a brain-damaged dog who, as Mean Teacher so eloquently put it, follows me around so closely that he will come back in his next life as a suppository. My housekeeping has become so slovenly that we have hired a maid. My laundry room is a mountain of clothes (clean, yes, but still) that never seems to end. I sometimes have to miss opportunities to help in the kids’ classrooms. I mean, life is not perfect, but that’s fine, it seldom is and, besides, what fun would that be? If piled up laundry and dusty furniture is the price I have to pay to for being able to do what I love, then bring it on.

I’ve been a mother for eight years now (what???? no…wow). I’ve been a writer for, um, ever. I’ve been a working-stiff since I was 14 (with a couple years off when the kids were wee ones). I’ve been in relationships for…let’s go with "many years", mmmmkay? I’m going to be 38 years old this year. Finally, everything has come together for me. All the crackpipe dreams I’ve had that I figured would never come true (great job, great kids, great home life, great house, excellent car), have finally clicked.

I feel like a new person with a new chance at life. In December, I found a lump in my breast (did I tell you about that?). I turned out to be benign but, god, it was a terrifying experience. As people do, I sat in the waiting room of the mammography clinic bargaining that if everything would turn out okay, I would do all I could to enjoy my life as well as anything I could to enrich the lives of the people I care about. I am truly the happiest I have ever been and I think know I am the luckiest person on earth.

Are you nauseous yet? All right, I’m done chirping.

One thing that’s been woefully lacking in my life, though, is blogging. I love, love, love it and know that I really need the time I spend writing here. It’s my version of a day spa, it rejuvenates me. Besides, who else would I tell about my recent plane trip to Chicago? It was a pip.

But that’s for my next post. Right now I have to round everyone up and get to work. It’s really great to be there. And here.

You all were probably thinking that I ran off to Bangladesh with pool boy or something. No, not true. I haven’t run off. And I don’t have a pool boy. Or a pool, for that matter.

My holiday was lovely but, frankly, I’m glad to see it end so everyone in the Sharp household can get back on track. The boys finally came back yesterday after a nine day absence. The visit with their father is a story in itself (hint: if you’re not going to see your children for weeks because you "have to work," bringing them gifts from your recent skiing trip will probably ruin your already shaky credibility). I missed them so much it nearly made me ill and I’m sure they thought there was something terribly wrong with me when I kept poking them just to see if they were really there.

J took all of last week off, precipitating events that are a story in itself. My, but did we have a good time. More on that later – with pictures.

Oh, stop, you pervs.

I could not love my job more if it came up and french kissed me. I kept poking my boss yesterday to see if he was really there are he didn’t find it any funnier than the boys did (though I may have gotten myself a raise).

I have so much to talk about and so many stories to tell, I scarcely know where to begin. It must wait until later today, however, since the morning frenzy is about to begin. I look forward to having a wonderful day and settling in this afternoon for a good long chat with you people. And I promise not to poke anyone else in the meantime.

A little more than a week into it, I’ve decided that I should be paying my employer for allowing me to work there. I’m so freakin’ happy. Happy, I am. Happy am I. Elated. Delighted. H-A-P-P-Y.

:::tick, tock:::

I was going to stop right there and hit "publish." I mean, what more can I say? I’m having the time of my life. Well, there is more that I can say. When I commented that this was the perfect job, I meant it in every sense of the word. Aside from being perfect for me in the perceptible sense (location, job responsibilities, etc.), it has also been the most fulfilling week I’ve had in… Ever.

Today I saw the result of the first project I was given by my new employer. I had no idea how things would turn out: good, bad, so-so, possibly horrifying. It was trial by fire, sink or swim, and every other metaphor that could possibly apply. I walked in to work this morning and was greeted with said results and one very happy employer. There isn’t a drug on the planet that could have matched the rush I felt those first few minutes. If I may be so bold: I’m so damn proud of myself I could plotz.

I have just enough responsibility to challenge me but not enough to be overwhelming. I am pushed just far enough out of my comfort zone that I can’t fly on auto-pilot but not so much that I’m overly anxious. I am allowed to be creative in the extreme but not expected to perform miracles. I have enough independence to feel that I am in charge of my professional life but not so much that I feel isolated from my peers. My favorite thing, though, is the sense that the final piece of the puzzle that has been my life for the past fifteen or so years has fallen into place.

I could go on and on filling you in on the whole backstory of my life and, in fact, I did just that and then erased everything. The point is, how I got to where I am and how I felt during the process is not important. What’s is important is how I feel now. And I feel fantastic.

I have an independence now that I haven’t had in nearly twenty years. I am my own microcosm. I am my own self sustaining village. I have choices and I have options that I’ve never had before. But most of all, I have confidence. My god, people, I have a confidence that I haven’t had since I was an idealistic twenty year old who planned on conquering the world and enjoying life to the fullest every minute of the day.

Somewhere, in the deepest places in my heart, I’ve always believed in myself but really thought I was spitting into the wind. I felt alone no matter how many people I was with. I felt like I was jumping up and down, pleading for fate to just give me a chance to prove to everyone myself that I can do "it." "It" was intangible. "It" was more of a concept than a diagram. "It" was something I couldn’t define but felt in my bones. I just needed someone to take a chance on me so I could take a chance on myself.

Even if the bottom drops out on this job and I’m unemployed next week, I will be forever grateful that I had the chance to feel this way at least once in my life. I may crash and burn (though it’s not likely) but that’s okay. I’ve enjoyed this week so much that I will treasure it forever as proof that I was right about myself all along.

I’m certain that I will be working my ass off for the next few months. I’m certain there will be days when I wonder why the hell I’m doing this. I’m certain there will be times when I want to just chuck it all and go work at a gas station. But I’m also certain that, for as long as I have this job and for many years after I’ve moved past it, I will carry a satisfaction I’ve waited all my life to have. Life experiences don’t mean anything unless you can learn from them. This week I have learned that I will never let myself get to a point again where circumstance shakes my self confidence. Absolutely ne-ver.

I rarely sit here and write with tears streaming down my face because, until today, they would likely have been tears of frustration. Today I cry because I am overwhelmed by the chance I have been given and thrilled by the knowledge that independence and happiness are not mutually exclusive. I have options. I have opportunity. I have confidence. But most of all, I have my life. Together. All at once. And I did it myself.

No, dear readers, I have not deserted you. I have been hurrying and scurrying because somebody mentioned something about some holiday that’s coming up that requires gifting.

So, there’s that. And…ummmm…..something else I was going to tell you….hmmmm. Damn, now what was it?

Oh!

Oh,yes! Now I remember.

The job.

If I were granted the ability to choose a job for myself and design everything about it according to my specifications, I could not have done better than the employment offer I received this week. Every detail of this job, from location to salary has left me stupefied at my incredible good fortune.

The last thing I want to do is be intentionally vague with all of you wonderful readers who’ve been so supportive all these months but, the internet being what it is, I simply cannot offer more of an explanation without making it too easy to pinpoint where I live (and since I’ve finally driven off that toothless hairy guy that used to ask me if I would waggle my eyebrows at him so he could, er, indulge himself, I’ve learned to value my privacy). I’ve amassed quite the voluntary mailing list lately, though, so I’ll drop you all a personal note instead.

I have a lot to do between now and Monday so if I don’t surface until early next week, don’t worry. I’m having the time of my life.

I’ve been scanning my phone contact list, my IM program lists, my Skype lists and even my old yearbook looking for people to chat with and the whole world seems to have gone to lunch. I’ve been having the mostest-bestest couple of days and want to gloat everyone to hear about it. You know the type?… where everything just really, really goes your way and you even catch all the green lights? Yeah, it’s kinda been like that. It’s not like I won the Powerball or anything it’s just been lots of little things adding up to make this Sharp girl very, very happy. Like yesterday, I got a Mona Lisa mask (if you haven’t caught on yet, I sort of have a thing for the old gal). My mask is very chic and I plan on wearing it to the grocery store. Every single time I go. Also, I saved SIXTY large American dollars at said grocery store via smart couponing, which makes me a total freak but I don’t care. Because life is good. Once I get my eyes crossed, my tees dotted, and a bit of advice, I’ll ‘splain.

My joy will not abate despite the fact that my dog slept on me last night. No, not next to me. ON me. I woke up after dreaming I was being suffocated by a giant fur pelt being stuffed in my mouth and found Rocco spread out the entire length of me. We were nose to nose and toe to toe. There was something vaguely frightening about that.

Well, then. That was an interesting frenzy of activity. In four days we managed to cram in boat-buying, a birthday party, a couple of movies, seven hours of football game watching, an unexpected overnight guest and a visit from an insurance adjuster to eyeball some damage we had from Hurricane Wilma. Oh, and there was some sort of turkey thing a couple days ago too. So, shame on me for not writing sooner but I have an excuse or two.

And now I bring you some news:

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Uh-oh. Did I actually promise to write something about yaks today? Hmmm… well, I ain’t got nothin’ on yaks handy but I could link you to a picture of someone actually yakking (#329). But I won’t. Because that would be gross.

For as mad as I get about stuff, I usually get over it pretty quickly. I decided a little while ago that I could bemoan my very existence or I could just deal. I chose Option B. Besides, I figure if I don’t my act together I’ll end up like this girl.

So, yeah, I’ve decided that I’m going to be in a much better mood today even if it kills me.

Apropos of nothing, I found myself as a guest columnist in the opinion section of local paper a couple of days ago. I’ve had articles in newspapers before but having an above the fold, continued-on-next-page, bio-at-the-bottom piece pretty much blew me away. It’s one thing to write an assigned piece about a place or event and see it in print. It’s completely different to trot out an opinion for lots of people to see (and possibly criticize) with your name plastered on it. Yikes. In any event, I was pretty excited about it and wanted to share. Group hug.

Since it’s Non Sequitur Day: Lucky parents got a flyer sent home yesterday announcing "students at your child’s school were found to have head lice or nits today." The notice then went on to list what to look for on your own child’s head and what to do it you see "live lice or eggs." I don’t need instructions, I know exactly what I would do: throw up, immediately take a shower, scratch my own head for twenty  minutes and then throw up again.

Since I felt obligated to at least to do a cursory inspection of my kids’ heads, I lined them up, covered my eyes with one hand, peeked through my fingers while squinting and looked briefly at all three scalps. Clean.

At least I don’t have to worry that the boys will pick up anything at school today. The last line of the announcement we got read "Our County Schools have a No Nit Policy." From this I gather they have posted security guards at every door and will promptly arrest any nit that attempts to attend school today. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go scratch.

Has it escaped your notice that it’s Halloween? This is a revered holy day for my boys so they’ve been staring at the calender, waiting for October 31st, for around 2 and a half weeks now.

Forward thinker that I am, I’d already purchased the boys’ costumes a few weeks ago. I was feeling great about being so organized until I was on the phone with the mother of one of my son’s neighborhood friends. "Oh, so glad you called," she chirped. "I’m sewing up the last piece of my daughter’s costume and my fingers could use a break." Sewing? Thanks. I dress my kids via debit card and she sews. The woman probably makes her chocolate chip cookies from scratch too. Hell, she probably grinds her own flour. I hate her.

Anyway, a couple of weeks ago, I promised my middle child that I’d attend his class party. The first graders do it all up fancy but the second graders (my oldest son’s class) do nothing. No party, no costumes, no treats. Zip. But a small classroom party for the first graders? How bad could it be?

Oh. My. God.

First of all, this was no ordinary party. I figured we’d eat a few cookies, play Pin the Nose on the Pumpkin and get to leave before the automatic timer switched off on the coffee pot at home. No such luck. All four first grade classrooms got in on the action. First the was the parade through the whole freakin’ school so everyone could see the kids’ costumes (like the fourth graders gave a rat’s ear that 67 Spidermans were in attendance today). Then back to room 301 for Goodie Bag Decorating! Then over to room 302 for cookie decorating!! Then room 303 for Pin the Eyes on the Pumpkin (an interesting but slightly ghoulish variation)!!! Then out to the playground for some spoon-holding-candy-run-but-don’t-drop-it game!!!! Then to the other end of the school for the candy toss (don’t forget to stand behind the white line…can you toss it in the giant pumpkin?)!!!!!

After two (2, dos, deux, twee, due,
日本語, TWO) hours of this I was ready to borrow young Jeremy’s fake Ninja sword and commit hara-kiri in the Principal’s office. Okay, now if you’re with me so far, you’ve gathered I wasn’t really enjoying the party but I plodded on for my son’s sake (with my four year old Batman in tow). It wasn’t really the chaos and noise that was bothering me but you wouldn’t know that because I’ve left out one crucial detail…

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