Walking On Air with Betsy and Sal Blog

There was a painful fallout when my husband’s employer went bankrupt a few years ago. We decided that he could use some time to set a new course while I would be the temporary breadwinner in our family. I had been home with my boys, 1 and 3, all their lives. There was nothing I did that he wasn’t capable of doing. In fact, quite the opposite—he was capable of keeping the house neat and orderly—and I’m a slob.

Although I knew that my children would be well cared for and that the role reversal was short-term, I had concerns about being catapulted back to the “real world.” Returning to the world of paid work would be like traveling to a distant land with an-out-of date travel guide. I could barely remember what it was like to have an uninterrupted conversation. Could I even pass for a normal adult? What if I hated it? What would I wear?

While he broke out the sweatpants I pieced together a few reasonable, if dated, professional outfits, packed a few resumes in my dusty briefcase and headed to a temp agency.

My journey into the Land of Temporary Employment began at a financial services firm. The assignment was an ego boost from day one. People have such low expectations of temps that it’s easy to impress them. Indeed, the last temp to hold the position I was filling left in tears midway through the afternoon. I was practically a hero just by making it through an eight-hour day! Nobody had ever praised me for successfully making it through a much longer day with my little ones. I realized that this new job was not a punishment, but a working vacation. An all-expenses paid break from diapers, crumbs, and clutter. The fact that it was November and things were moving at a holiday pace added to my increasingly festive outlook.

Granted office life was not as breezy as a day at the beach, but it was more relaxed than my time at home. I enjoyed the clear expectations. I relished the ability to accomplish tasks without interruption. And, my gosh, I got two breaks each day! Nobody asked to share or looked at me longingly when I nibbled a candy bar. I couldn’t believe someone was paying me to sit and read or write in my journal without interruption. Speaking of sitting quietly, nobody accompanied me to the bathroom either.

And while the office bathrooms didn’t offer a selection of tiny soaps and lotions, the cubicles were well stocked. I delighted in my unlimited supply of paperclips, several colors of highlighters, three styles of sticky notes and a rainbow of felt-tip pens. Not only that, a fresh bottle of White Out ™ in a new, improved “smooth coverage” formula that hard-working scientists developed in the years I’d been changing diapers. I couldn’t hang ten in the Pacific, but I could surf the web.

Then January rolled around and reality set in. I was feeling homesick. My manager had raised the bar and offered me a permanent position. This left me flattered but offended. She asked for my hand in marriage, but all I was after was the occupational equivalent of a holiday fling! More importantly, the pay was not enough to permanently support our family. I was ready for a change, and, in fact was awaiting my ticket to the next destination.

While plugging away in my cubicle I was anticipating the state’s approval of my passport to the future- a substitute-teaching certificate. Actually, a passport may be more difficult to attain than the subbing credentials. Beyond a college degree, Illinois law requires only the ability to pass a criminal background check, a negative TB test and a pulse.

Once I received the papers I quickly applied to several local schools. Shockingly, just days later one of them called me in to work despite the fact the receptionist was only district employee I’d actually met. Given the fact that I’d spent almost no time in an elementary classroom since, well, elementary school, I was nervous about showing up and taking on the role of tour guide. My gosh, I didn’t even know where the emergency exits were located.

Preparing for my first assignment I packed my bag with a koosh ball and some stickers. I faked my way through the math and reading with a class of well-behaved fourth graders. Outwardly I looked confident and in control, but inside I was amazed that when I told them to do something, they actually did it. And, thankfully, one of the other teachers tipped me off prior to the fire drill. Even with the alarms buzzing overhead I was cool and collected. My charges exited the building with the precision of a German tour group.

By the time the final bell rang at 3:30 the girls had filled the chalkboard with flowery and heart-laden devotions to me and I’d earned $95. I made sure to include this school on my itinerary whenever I got a chance.

My vocational vacation lasted about six months, after which time I returned to my role as primary caregiver. The working vacation was eye-opening and mostly enjoyable; I saw new places and experienced new cultures. My trip was a confidence-builder as well. I know that some day I’ll return to this place of “real working adults,” but, for now, there’s no place like home.

Welcome to WordPress. This is your first post. Edit or delete it, then start blogging!

When my kids were little – it was a pleasure to watch them run around aimlessly on the soccer field – or swing wildly during tee-ball (usually hitting the tee and not the ball). We parents would watch with smiles on our faces taking pleasure in the adorable little people in baggy uniforms doing everything except successfully playing the sport.

Our enthusiasm encouraged our offspring to join more teams. Unfortunately their intensity levels rised more quickly than their talent. And, sadistic park district employees only schedule games against opponents from other time zones. We become robots who are only good for driving and doing laundry.

But I am here to tell you – there is a light at the three-quarter point of the tunnel. Sometime around late middle school or early high school – our kids find their niches. They actually get “OK” at a sport and are on a real team – with real coaches – and real competition. They are bussed to away games – and there are refreshments in the stands. It gets fun – and sometimes, they even have talent.

- Betsy

I ran into a “fringe friend” the other day – you know the kind – you sort of know their name, sort of know how you know them – but you’re just not sure…

Anyway – as we were having our obligatory awkward chat in passing, I asked her if her kids were going away to summer camp.

She got a sad puppy-dog look in her eyes and quietly answered that “yes” both of her kids would be away for eight weeks this summer “sigh”…

I immediately assumed she was joking around with her fakish depression when she was thinking that she and her husband would have 8 weeks ALONE this summer!

So I playfully poked her and smiled as I said, “you are so lucky! I can’t even imagine eight weeks kid-free!”

She looked at me in disgust. Clearly our wires had been crossed. “Of course I’m upset” she urged. I can’t stand the thought of an empty house. I love my children.

What could I say? I love my children too. I love time with my children. Hey, I even cried when mine left for summer camp (which, by the way, has never occurred with all three going at the same time).

But is it criminal to enjoy an empty house once in a while? Is it so horrible to think of long summer nights sipping wine on the deck with my husband? I know my kids will be having the time of their lives – and then they will come home! And if I had 8 weeks with out them – I would even look forward to it!

I guess now I know why this person is, and will always be, a “fringe friend.”

- Betsy

On a random carpool night my duty was to be waiting outside at the designated pick-up point at exactly 8 PM. And although the drive from my house was only going to take five minutes, I left at 7:45 figuring I would have a few minutes of quiet while waiting for my daughter.

But, the drive only took 3 minutes, and then it hit me. The thought of sitting in my car for 12 minutes and doing nothing – or rather – not getting anything done – panicked me.

I quickly made a mental note of all the errands I needed to run…
• Dry-cleaning was heaped in a pile in the back of my car…but the dry-cleaners was closed.
• We were on our last half-gallon of milk…but the grocery store was too far away.
• My kids seemed to all be coming down with colds – I could run over to Walgreens and pick up some lotion coated tissues and a few bags of cough drops…

This process wasted a full 60 seconds – now I was down to 11 minutes of waiting.

In that short time, a few other carpool parents parked behind me…

Wow, first in line – this is a new one.

And so I sat. I tilted back the seat, closed my eyes – and waited.

Imagine that.

- Betsy

If you think about it, there are really so many ways a mother can cause permanent psychological damage to her children.
I believe it was June of 1983 when my mother crushed my psyche to pieces.
I had just come back from studying in France, and in four months of I gained about 30 pounds of French culture.
Then, just before boarding the plane to return home, I fell for the oldest beauty trick in the world: I changed my hair style, hoping to redirect everyone’s attention away from my girth. In other words, I got a perm.
So when my mother greeted me, holding her tongue was beyond her control.
She gazed at me a little too long, and then held a chunk of my newly frizzed hair and said, with tears in her eyes, “You’ve ruined your only redeeming feature.”
That did a lot for my self-esteem, as you can imagine.
I bring this up because I love my mom. And I love my daughters. And I wonder what it is I’ll say to my girls that will put a permanent dent in their psyche.
I still love my mother. I just hope my girls will always love me.
-Sal

I am the friend who is never able to go to lunch.
I am the one who is too busy to chat on the phone or meet for coffee.
Am I really too busy or do I choose to be too busy?

I see other moms every morning sitting in the coffee shop chatting with their girlfriends.
My thoughts range from wondering if they have any real responsibilities in life to actaul jealousy because they are able to set time aside for friends.
Time that is not pre-scheduled in their minds as, “time to get things done.”

I tried being that person. Lunching at the local salad spot on a random Tuesday.
But I found myself constantly thinking about what I am not doing.
My mind wandering off into my daily to-do list.
Why does my friend eat so slowly? Hurry!

So I gave up on the idea of mid-day socializing and have replaced it with date-nights with my friends.

I still get to help out with homework or drive carpools with the kids.
Dinner still gets put on the table.
I hop into my friend’s car and we drive away…guilt free.
And the coffee shops are open and waiting for me.

Thanks to all my girlfriends for understanding.

- Betsy

Okay, Hallmark has a whole new line of greeting cards that are meant to address “real life” situations. And I admit, there are times in my life when I would like to send a card expressing more than simply “Happy Secretary’s Day.” But none of my emotions, ever ever ever, should be accompanied by an out of focus daisy or a rainbow.

So I thought I’d try my hand at writing a few. Here are my interpretations of what real life cards should say.

For a divorce:

I hear you’re getting divorced.
May the Courts be with you.

or-

Your towels, his towels.
Your dishes, his dishes.
Your antique jewelry, his Timex.
Your house and car and savings, his sports memorabilia.

May you divide and Conquer.

For Aging Parents:

Dinner at 4:30
Bingo at 5
The good news is this:
Your folks are alive!

-or

Cream of wheat: $2.
Prune Juice: $1.
Tall Metamucil, straight up: $1.

Remembering to put your mom’s teeth in before breakfast: Priceless.

For A Colonoscopy:

Here’s hopin’
You’re copin’
While the doctors are
Scopin’

For a Mammogram:

Smashing Pumpkins-

Finally, a rock group with a name we can relate to. Good luck with your mammogram.

For coming-out:

Coming out or staying in?
Either way it’s hard to win.
Face it, dating’s hard enough
Now twice the folks will judge your stuff.

or-

I hear you’re out
So raise a glass
Does this mean I can
Pat you…
… fabulous back?

And this, for the neighbor I no longer speak to:

I’m so sorry your shed caught fire-

But I certainly look forward to your replacing the trees on my property which burned to a crisp thanks to your kid sneaking a cigarette in your backyard.

Betsy thinks that last one might not sell well. Alas.

This weekend is my daughter’s first high school formal as well as Oscar night. So very much to live for….

Your gal,
Sal

No one prepared me for February 21, 2007. I thought it was just Wednesday.

Char just got invited to a “pool” party, which turns out to be a hot tub party. That’s 8th grade.

Meanwhile, Nessa has her first formal dance on Saturday. The swirling madness surrounding the Winter Formal “pre-party” and “post-party” have almost sucked the potential for joy from the high school dance even before the event has occurred. At least, that’s my take on it. But I’m just the mom.

There are no drugs strong enough to steel me for this stage of parenting.

But that doesn’t mean I won’t go in search of some….

-S