Plus Ça Même Chose

Whoever first said "the more things change, the more they stay the same" was evidently reading our mail. After a nice respite, a few days of R&R out of town, we felt as though our ship might come in before the dock rotted. We'd been needing a change of scenery and energy: going to the Monterrey aquarium helped us regain some perspective and humor.

For a NY minute.

We'd already been unsure how to bridge the gap between Aaron's jobs. At first it looked like a few days that would be unpaid. Then it was a week and a half. Now his start date has been pushed back again and it spells disaster. In addition, Aaron's former employer decided arbitrarily that he just wouldn't pay Aaron what he was owed.

Besides the financial strain, it gets harder and harder for us to be our best selves with each other. I have no excuse for it. I recognize it is wrong. It is for the family unit that we should absolutely be our best selves, and yet we get snappish and short with each other, our daughter, our dog.

Aaron told me about his revised start date when I got back from the grocery this evening. In that interval Olivia had drawn with crayon on the coffee table, the sliding glass doors and the couch. There were Cheerios stuffed between the cushions and scraps of lettuce on the carpet. Sadie hadn't been fed or walked. Olivia had dunked the new books I'd bought her into a bucket of water and left them tossed on the patio. I hadn't been fed. I'd spent the day doing laundry, attempting to get some workshop coordinating done, running Olivia to play group.

So I stood there holding a carton of diapers and bags of groceries, kid whining at my feet, and felt the overwhelming urge to turn around and keep walking. I was too tired to cry. Just pitch my cellphone and walk into the sea.

"The worst is not, so long as we can say 'this is the worst.'"

Olivia is waking up a few times a night so we are already running on fumes. Twice last night she got up from her bed and sleepwalked into the living room to curl up on her tummy on the couch where it's warmer. I never know which room Aaron or I will wake up in either. We start off in our room but during the night one of us will go into Olivia's room to get her back down and just stay there.

To top it off, my friend Jon called this evening from LA to "coordinate this weekend." Huh? Evidently a bunch of the Pterodactyls are getting together for a birthday celebration. This was the first we'd heard of it -- as we hadn't been invited. He was abashed that he'd inadvertently let the cat out of the bag, but the way this week has teed up, whatever.

I just want to return to work again. Not a few hours consulting, not a job that returns me to the workforce but doesn't justify daycare expenses, but a worthwhile job. As this crappy job market has dragged on my aspirations have gotten smaller and smaller and I have too.

Often at night I lie awake in bed and think of things I'd like to share in this blog, or with friends, with family. But it is all so depressing it seems wasteful and trite to let the newts and toads keep hopping out of my mouth. So it's days before I can work up the nerve to post, weeks before I return calls, months and years between visits with friends.

I have orange cupcake frosting to clean off of my blouse. And a happy vision to find that I can hold in my mind's eye so that I may sleep.

Sorry for all the toads.