This time last year, things were going well for us. We were living in a nice neighborhood with nice neighbors. Everybody mowed their lawns at least once a week; each weekend was kind of a race to see who could get out there with the mower first. After it snowed, within minutes of the end of the snowstorm, everyone was out there shoveling driveways and helping others who weren’t home from work yet or couldn’t manage to shovel their own driveway. People took care of their property, they were quiet and polite. Randy had a dream job: working for an R&D lab, and being paid an almost obscene amount of money with little or no stress. Even the guys he worked with were a lot of fun. DaBoy was going to one of the best schools in the best district in the state, and doing well. He had friends who were nice kids, who spent their free time playing basketball, baseball and video games. I was making friends, slowly to be sure, with the other SAHMs in the area in spite of the fact that I had nothing in common with them: my husband was a computer nerd instead of a realtor or lawyer. My son played football rather than basketball or track. I don’t garden, bake for fun or consider my kitchen floor to be a reflection on my abilities as a good SAHM, but in spite of that, I was accepted.
And then the earth fell away from beneath our feet.
It started in July; the paychecks at Randy’s work started being delayed. There was always a good reason, good communication, and at the very least, they weren’t writing rubber checks and letting the guys find out about it too late. We talked about him finding another job, but frankly, he was happy there. It was worth it to us for him to stay, hoping things would even out. But they didn’t.
Late July/August: DaBoy was staying at his father’s house for his summer visitation. Randy and I were both trying to find other jobs, even though he was still employed. The jobs just weren’t there. Randy and I had been living on whatever food was in the freezer, making meals out of almost nothing at all (Mom, did I ever thank you enough for that crockpot??) and praying that the “deals” the CEO kept raving about would finally come through. But something always went wrong; the deals/loans/buyouts always seemed to fall apart in the eleventh hour. We started borrowing money from relatives to keep the utilities on and buy food. I arranged for DaBoy to stay with his father longer, even though school was about to start: we couldn’t bring him home if we couldn’t feed him. And may you never hear the following from your child: “But, mom, I really want to come home. It’s okay, I can eat light!”
Late August/September: After nobody had been paid for six weeks, the CEO disappeared with his lover and over 2 million dollars in payroll. That was just before we discovered that the medical insurance premiums hadn’t been paid in over 2 months, the policies had lapsed, and we were responsible for all the bills. The last thing he did before vanishing was lay everyone off.
There was no hope of getting that money; all the people who worked there were out in a depressed, specialized market competing with each other and we not only had rent, but a mortgage to worry about. A few weeks later, Randy got hired at another company. We cried with relief and started calling all our creditors to make payment arrangements. They call those “promises”, by the way, and they are legally binding. Then, three days after he started, he was told his services were no longer required. It seems that he’d only been hired to prove a point to upper management about the impossibility of the demands placed on the department. Once that point was made, they didn’t need (and couldn’t afford) Randy anymore.
Back into freefall we went, only then we had made all those “promise to pay” calls - and everyone was more than happy to cut off utilities, start legal procedings, and hound us with several phone calls a day per collection agency. Randy was able to get unemployment, but it was only a fraction of what he’d been making, and with all the overdue bills, each check barely made a dent. The landlords started forcing their way into the house, bringing potential buyers with them, which meant the house had to be ready to show at a moment’s notice: an additional pressure we didn’t need. But the law was on their side; they could have thrown us out 24 hours after the rent was officially late. AND had the police do it, AND kept all of our belongings as well as the security deposit. They were doing us a favor.
October: The land contract sale of our Omaha house fell through. The buyers’ bank went under, leaving them out all the money they’d spent on the house and forcing us to foreclose on them. We had no choice; we’d been counting on the profit from the sale to pay the rent up to current, get the bills caught up and give us some breathing space to find work. Without that sale, we were left with nothing and nowhere to turn. We retook possession and moved back here. The security deposit for the rental house in Iowa paid for the one month’s rent we were in arrears, we left it spotless and managed to end our relationship with our landlords on equitable terms. I’m sure they were as relieved as we were.
And so here we are. Back in a neighborhood where most people seem to believe that everyone enjoys their music, no matter how loud or what time it is; that nobody minds when it’s 5 AM and someone is sitting in the car laying on the horn to let their passenger know it’s time to leave for work and that parties on the porch should go from dusk to dawn, and who is sleeping, anyway? Most people can’t be bothered to tend their lawns, pick up their trash, quiet a party in the wee hours of the morning, and everyone else’s belongings are only still in the possession of the rightful owners because nobody wants to steal it badly enough. Graffiti is decoration, to be cherished by the owner of the garage/retaining wall/building so annointed; police are a nicety that the city provides for show just to keep federal funding; and above all, the streets are privately owned by whomever drives the most aggressively.
But.
We have our beautiful house back. DaBoy is living in the same city with his father and half brother. Randy is living in the same city with his family, and has a newfound appreciation for them. Not because he lost his job, but because we lived so far away from them. He is back working for his old, best boss; for a lot less money, but it’s an income. Our friends were happy to see us come back, but sorry that it was under those circumstances. We used some of the equity in the house to pay the bills and pay off the car, and even though we don’t have much money left over at the end of the month, it’s fun to use what we do have to do things to our very own house.
Randy’s stress is back, but with it comes a measure of security. I’m no longer in the Gossiping, Baking Housewives club, but I also know that nobody is talking about my family’s laziness in not getting outside to weed the yard until NOON last Saturday and asking each other if they’ve ever seen us at church. DaBoy has fewer friends, but the ones he does have seem to be more…I don’t know…*real* in some way. Less like Eddie Haskell and more like Dennis The Menace.
We’ve come full circle from being here to moving to Upper Class Snootiness, back to here again (even though we weren’t snooty). We’re still a strong family unit, we’re healthy, we’re happy. And I guess, we’re tempered. We worked very hard to get that kind of lifestyle, but in so doing, we lost sight of what we’ve had all along. I think it’s human nature to be constantly grasping for something better and ignoring what you already have, but losing almost everything makes you appreciate it more.
We look back all the time, wondering what we could have done differently. What choices we could have made, what decisions turned out to be wrong, what actions we took that put us on the wrong path. You know what we find? Nothing. The choices, the decisions - those were the only ones we could have made at the time. The actions we took were the only ones available to us at the time. We took what we could, we made the most of it, and still ended up losing the round.
Funny. When we left the 40k per year salary range, this neighborhood and all the trouble that comes with it, we were so happy. Then we crashed and we’re right back where we started - and we’re happy. Go figure.
Rant ahead. I try not to post anything that isn’t funny or at least interesting, but sometimes, circumstances get the better of me.
Tonight, we hosted a vacuum cleaner sales rep. We did this as a favor, even though we already own said vacuum; but it is an older model, so we thought we’d see what new features have been added. For the most part, the demonstration went fine. Until the end.
See, as a Thank You for sitting through the demonstration, you get a free hotel stay in one of several selected cities. Randy was reading them off to me, when the rep piped up:
Rep: Have you been to Palm Springs?
Me: No.
Rep: Oh, good. You don’t want to go.
Me: I don’t? Why not?
Rep: I was there once for work. We had a week long seminar. That place is FULL of gay guys. You don’t want to be there.
Me: [flabbergasted] Well, since I don’t have a problem with gays, I don’t see the issue. I also don’t have a problem with men who don’t hit on me.
Rep: Oh, well, then you probably won’t have a problem. I hated it. They’re EVERYWHERE. I mean, every bar I went into, they were all over the place. I was freaking out!
I just sat there with my mouth open in shock. Then I got up and left Randy to see the man out while I stormed down to the basement for a cigarette. I’m a little ashamed of myself for not saying anything, but honestly, I couldn’t imagine what to say. I still can’t.
You know, have your feelings. Have your opinions; the fact that we’re all different keeps the world interesting. But what in the WORLD would make that man think that he could just spray homophobia all over our living room? The fact that we’re obviously straight? Because I know we never said anything that would even hint that we’re homophobic; so what brought that on? Does he think that most people feel the way he does, so it’s okay to just blurt it out at everyone? Gods, DO they?
Maybe I’m just used to seeing other perspectives from my time in Moms Online. Maybe I’m blinded to the way the world really is, who knows? But I don’t want to even touch the free house-bong he left. And I’m grateful that when he asked us for other names for referrals, we didn’t give him any. I don’t want any of my friends - gay or otherwise - to be exposed to that kind of thing.
How is it, in this day and age, that people can still think everyone thinks the way they do? I know, I’m just as guilty of that as the next guy -even THAT guy, since I’m so surprised. But, still. Why hate someone because their life is different from yours?
..that Randy can be sleeping silently until I come to bed, at which point he begins to snore loudly?
..that whenever it snows, our driveway becomes irresistible to people who need to turn their cars around, thereby packing the snow down so it’s much harder to shovel?
..that the phone can be silent all day - hell, all WEEK - until “Lost” is on, at which time everyone who didn’t call all week suddenly decides to “touch base”?
..that the shower can be warm and draft-free until I touch the razor to my ankle, at which time there is suddenly a cold breeze?
..that nobody in the house is hungry until a) I make something to eat and there is just enough for one; and b) I have just finished cleaning the kitchen?
..that the cats only have to barf up hairballs on our expensive (hand me down) oriental rug?
..that the day you pay all the bills and get them mailed out is the same day you get one of those bills from the doctor’s office, because your insurance suddenly doesn’t cover the procedure you had done?
..that the coupons the grocery store gives you are for the same oddball items you just bought - and only use once a year?
..that Randy can spend days trying to solve a coding problem, only to discover the answer while I’m trying to get him to help me make a shopping list?
..that the sun is at the wrong angle to ever touch your pillow - except for the day you sleep in?
..that you discover your favorite jeans stuffed behind the bathroom door, and are dirty after you’ve washed all the clothes in the house?
..that every time DaBoy is in a good mood, everyone else is having a bad day?
..that the phone call you’ve spent the day waiting for unfailingly comes in during the two minutes you’re in the bathroom?
..that mopping the floors guarantees that your loved ones will step in the one, single patch of mud in the whole city and then track indoors?
..that the combination of freshly washed sheets and freshly shaved legs makes men amorous?
..that you can spend the entire day dusting, polishing, vacuuming and cleaning, but the house doesn’t look any different when it’s done?
Add on…
Tell ya what…I will never assume that something someone says to me is an exaggeration just because I can’t imagine it. I am reformed.
When we got Ella and Patrick from Club Linda, she told me that when these two were approached by another cat, they would “scream and run”. I even mentioned that in a previous entry. But I didn’t take her seriously. I thought she was…well…exaggerating.
She wasn’t.
This morning, I was peacefully sleeping when I was awakened by a literal, actual scream. With throat vibrato and all. This scream was followed by DaBoy yelling, “Oh, I’m sorry!” Not what you want to hear first thing in the morning.
So I hollered, “What the hell was that?”
DaBoy said, “I accidentally stepped on a cat! I couldn’t see in the dark, and there was a cat and I stepped on it. I’m sorry, cat!”
I got out of bed and asked, “Well, how hard did you step? Which cat was it? Is it okay?”
“I don’t know,” he said miserably. “I didn’t step hard, but it sounded like I did. I see Patrick.”
“Okay, go apologize,” I instructed. “Just in case he was the one you stepped on.”
“I don’t want to go near him,” my son informed me. “That scared the hell out of me.”
“You’re not the only one,” I said, coming out of my room. I could see both cats, both seemed fine. I watched them for a while, but they weren’t limping, skittish or acting as though screaming like that was in any way unusual or memorable.
Randy, who had been in the shower for this excitement, came out of the bathroom at this juncture and stopped, surprised to see DaBoy and I standing in the hallway. I told him what happened, and he growled, “It was probably Patrick.”
“What makes you say that?” I asked, following him downstairs.
My husband turned a wide-eyed look of shock at me. “You mean to tell me that you really don’t know?” he asked incredulously.
“Well…I guess I do. I mean, I don’t. I do - oh, for heaven’s sake! What are you talking about?”
“Patrick!” He shouted, glaring at the cat, who was rubbing himself against DaBoy’s ankles. DaBoy recoiled, remembering just in time not to move his feet.
“What are you yelling about?” I demanded.
“Patrick kept me up half the night,” Randy explained with a slightly lower volume.
“Oh.” DaBoy said.
“He sat outside our door howling,” Randy continued with a look of loathing.
“He does that every night,” I volunteered.
“Not like last night,” Randy stated challengingly.
“Okay…”
“He would have been soaking wet if I’d had the spray bottle,” said my warm-hearted, kindly loved one.
I didn’t tell him then that there is a spray bottle in the bedroom. I keep it right next to the door to discourage uninvited visitors - and midnight concerts. So tonight, Randy took the uber-spray bottle upstairs to bed with him. It’s the one I use to spray a cat on the dining room table when I’m in the office. It’s got great range.
We love cats. We love cats. We love cats.
After the first cat we ever had used me as his personal chew toy, we decided to always adopt two cats at a time. To give me a fighting chance to escape.
So now we have Patrick and Ella. There are pictures of them in my gallery, titled “PandE” or something like that.
Getting to know them has been - and will probably continue to be - a fascinating experience.
For example, Ella can vanish and reappear at will. A week or so ago, I was standing in the kitchen watching Randy shovel snow off the deck. Ella was behind me on the other side of the kitchen. I glanced out the back door, looked back at her, and she was gone. I turned the other direction and discovered her in the living room - at the other end of the house, where she would have had to walk past me and through two rooms. You can be the only living creature in the middle of a room, turn around, look down - and there’s Ella sitting at your feet looking up at you.
She also has a thing for ice cubes. We have an ice-maker/dispenser on the freezer door. Every time we go to get ice, we hear a low thunder, and then Ella will appear in the room, sometimes blinking rapidly because she was asleep when she heard the rattle of ice cubes into your glass. You have to drop an ice cube on the floor for her, or she’ll yell at you. Once you admit defeat and drop one (Susie did the same thing, but wouldn’t accept the ice unless it fell directly from the icemaker. If you dropped it from your hand, she would look at it disdainfully and walk away), she will lick at it, causing it to slide around the room so she can chase it. Heaven knows why. Patrick doesn’t get it, either. He’ll hear her playing with the ice cube and come in to see what she’s doing. He tries to chase it, too, but he doesn’t seem to like the licking part: too cold. So he’ll retire, shaking his head, and leave her to her amusement - until the ice melts too much to slide, and then I have a little puddle on the floor that soaks through socks. Whee!
Yesterday, I got out of the shower and opened the bathroom door to vent the steam. As I was smearing conditioner through my hair, Ella arrived to demand attention. Since my hands were covered with conditioner, I couldn’t pet her, so she sat down and proceeded to go through her entire repertiore of pitiful cries to get my attention. Each meow became successively more pathetic until she was looking up at me earnestly and meowing silently. Finally unable to tolerate my giggles anymore, she left indignantly. Of course, I was attending a meeting later and had put on black slacks. She got her revenge by rubbing up against my pantlegs until I ran and hid. She KNOWS she’s a white cat. I know she does.
The other day, DaBoy was standing at the kitchen counter, munching his after-school snack. He was leaning nonchalantly on one elbow, when Ella stood up on her hind legs, reached up with her forlegs, and grabbed his butt. I am so not making that up; she’s done it to me and Randy as well. Mostly when we’re eating or preparing food for ourselves and selfishly not giving her a taste.
Patrick is less of a character than Ella, but he also has his ways. He will appear on your lap, curl up comfortably and fall instantly asleep. He can do this even when you are in the middle of changing positions, which means you may or may not be comfortable yourself. If you move, he will accomodate you easily, but try to get up and he has an opinion on the matter. Randy will very often sleep on the couch when he’s working on something late at night and is waiting for a file to download or a scan to finish. Patrick will curl up behind Randy’s knees, and when Randy tries to get up, Patrick will grab Randy’s leg with both forepaws and hang on for dear life. He looks for all the world like a kid who is fighting to hang on to his teddy bear.
The other night Randy was snoozing on the couch with Patrick behind his knees, and Ella curled up against his stomach. Patrick decided that his paws were cold, so he slipped them in between Randy’s thighs for warmth.
Ella saw them. Ella went for them.
Patrick wasn’t having any of that nonsense; he’d found a warm place for his cold little feet and damned if he was going to allow Ella to stop him. So, when she batted at his paws, he batted back without pulling his legs out from between Randy’s, and the war was on. Needless to say, it was a very short battle because the chosen battlefield uttered a warcry of his own, and vacated the area.
Patrick likes to sing. It is just karmic that we traded one howling cat for another, but that’s exactly what we did. Worse, Patrick has much more volume than Elwood could have managed on his best day, and Patrick will sit just outside our bedroom door to serenade us. At least Elwood strolled the house during his performances. Ella likes to interrogate her prisoners (toy mice) as Elwood did (must be a Siamese thing), but even she can’t reach the level of virtuosity that Patrick achieves effortlessly.
Luckily, they are starting to relax, so my bookshelves are no longer the hiding place of choice. Which is good because I’m tired of putting them back.
Next Page »