Force to be Reckoned With

I’m about ready to re-enter the work force, I think. I’ve been pretty lucky with the contract work coming in at the right times to help keep us in cookies and oatmeal around here, but now it’s about time I dip my toes back into the ever-flowing river that is productive society.

I’m sure I have several extended family members flying to the keyboard as we speak to assure me that creating and rearing a child is productive to both family and society – that I am “useful” and “appreciated” and, by the way, it would also be appreciated if I were to produce another little darling or two. How about a dozen? We can put them in a big pink box and pretend they’re donuts.

I have been blessed with a beautiful (only) child and doubly blessed to be able to spend this time at home with him. Now that he’s coming up on three years of age and enjoying his mornings at preschool, I’m ready to enjoy a job and paycheck.

So I’m sending out resumés here and there, looking for half-time work, in geography if I can swing it, and the general tech world if I can’t. The job market isn’t teeming with openings but there’s stuff out there, if you’re willing to hunt for it. As a friend once said, “Anyone who can’t find work, ain’t looking hard enough.”

So I’ve spent the morning cleaning the digital dust bunnies off my resumé. It’s an awkward thing, telling everybody how cool you are. I feel a little insufficient with a three year gap in my employment and am unsure of how to go about filling in that “reason for leaving” box with some sophisticated way of saying, “I quit to pop out a kid.” But “good writing skills” is listed amongst my many talents on the resumé, so I’m sure I’ll come up with something.

In the meantime, my other job is looming. It laundry day (see you there) and I think it’s time I gave up on ever finding that lost little earring and went ahead and vacuumed the rug. An ambitious friend has recently reminded me that Halloween is steadily approaching, with costumes to be sewn. (I’m wavering between Max and Peter for Luke, and likely going towards some sort wood sprite for myself.) I’ve got Christmas presents on the needles and zucchini bread to bake before the the garden implodes. June Cleaver to the rescue.