It’s been awhile.
I’d like to blame the lapse in blogging on Facebook, school, family, yadda, yadda. But, I don’t want to start out lying. I’ll save that for the end.
Life is full. So full sometimes I wonder if the cup is getting smaller, more crowded, less porcelain more plastic.
Two more quarters and I am done with this Master’s Degree. So what am I going to do with it? My husband and I discussed this the other night and the conversation went something like this:
Me: “What is a good time to put down as being available when applying for a job? The first of February?”
Him: “Uh, hmmmmm. Why do you want to go back to work full time while you’re still in school full time?”
Me: “What?”
Him: “Well I am starting my new job in a few weeks. Why don’t we see how that plays out in hours and time away from home before you start applying or thinking about going back to work?”
Me: “This sounds an awful lot like you not wanting me to work.”
Him: “Well you don’t have to work Tonya.”
Me: “I thought the whole point of this degree was to help make the transition from home back to professional life a little smoother.”
Him: “All I’m saying is you don’t have to work. You could stay home and write if you want too. If you do stay home, it’s not like any education is ever wasted.”
Me: “Oh yes it is. I just spent two years of my life in a very liberal, anti-just-about-everything-I-believe-in-environment, I’m two quarters away from being done, and at no small cost, and for what?”
Him: “Just think about it. I’ll support whatever you want to do. But, it would be better…easier for the family if you stayed home. Let me take care of breadwinning. Besides, the kids will be adrift without you.”
Me: “Not like I’m going to Mars. Shesh.”
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This isn’t a segue into quitting my degree. I’m finishing it, and on time. His hesitation about me working makes more sense when you consider that after 24 years in the Air Force, he is retiring. His last day will be sometime next week, and he starts his civilian career on the 21st.
I don’t think he’ll like being a civilian. But imagine he’ll like it better than going back to the desert for the 9th time.
He’s right. There is no rush at this point. I can wait for him to get settled in his new digs before cracking out my own.
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Moving along.
We have a kitten now. His name is Finch. Found in a tree outside the Humane Society, they brought him in, cleaned him up, and we adopted the little squirt a few days later.
He has the best personality of any cat…ever. He wants to be where we are at all times, but doesn’t have a problem sleeping by himself in the living room at night. He’s funny, anti-brave, and all things kitty. It took two weeks for us to train him not to get on the table; only one for him to train us not to make him wait for breakfast.
I hung crown molding in two bedrooms over the weekend. Why is it when you think a project will take two days, its ends up taking at least six? Yesterday I caulked the molding in preparation for the final coat of paint. There was a bucket of water close to the chair I stood upon, a wet rag in my hand, and the caulk gun. I was trucking.
Finch watched with sleepy eyes from a reclining position on the floor.
I stepped, missed the chair, and fell hard to the floor.
You know how when you’re falling, you try not to fall? And it usually causes the tumble to be worse? It’s like you over-correct and what likely would have been just a hard drop, becomes a frantic contortion in mid-air before the less than graceful landing.
Well, that’s what I did.
The over-correction, somehow, caused my feet to fly up into the air, so that when I landed, my butt hit first, then my back, and finally my feet, which of course slammed into the bucket of water.
Finch took off out the door like a furry comet.
As I lay there with wet feet, staring at the ceiling, and wondering how big the butt bruise was going to be…I realized something. If we had a dog instead of a cat, the dog would likely be over my face….licking, breathing, slobbering…..all in a clumsy dog like way to make sure I was ok.
Not so dear kitty.
Finch shot out of the bedroom so fast his own butt hit the wall. And he never once looked back because it was every man for himself.
I laid there for a minute to see if perhaps on some level the cat might gather his courage and come check on his food source.
Nope.
I started laughing and said, “Finch! How could you? I could be dying and you just run away?”
He peeked around the door as if to say…”All clear in here Beavus?”
And though I got up and went back to work, Finch spent the rest of the day watching from the safety of the hallway.
And I can’t be sure, but I think he was laughing.
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I’m anemic. I won’t go into why…it’s not pertinent or even especially interesting. Besides the giant black rings under my eyes, the intercourse of low energy and headaches, I can’t THINK. It took half a day to think of the word, “galvanized.” HALF A DAY. The Dr gave me iron supplements. Ick. Plus I don’t think they work that well.
Snow storm is coming.
So they say.
We’ll see.
Can’t wait to throw Finch out in the snow for the first time.
What?
Did you think I was just going to forget he left me to die …alone….in the floor….with wet feet?