The best decision I thought I made was to quit my job so I could devote my life to raising my kids. That decision’s success is on par with my decision to cut my hair myself, sell AT&T stock a week before it split, and all the concert tickets bought in bulk, thinking I could sell at a significant profit.
I can’t comment too much on my kids’ first few years as I spent them in a no-sleep, diaper-changing, formula-stained-clothes-wearing induced haze. Once they hit preschool, I spent my newfound freedom during school hours walking around Target. It was heaven. But after way too many purchases of Up and Up products that may still be sitting under my sink, I needed a new way to spend my time.
Get a Job!
The logical thing was to get a job, especially since I spent all our disposable income on unneeded household goods, office supplies for an office I did not have, and packaged snacks from the aforementioned Target.
Before children, I had a somewhat impressive short-lived career as a Wall Street Bond Trader, but two quick babies extinguished any possibility of returning to that fast-paced craziness.
Job interviewing for me is torture, so when my kid’s preschool Director asked if I wanted a Teaching Assistant position at their Sumer camp, I jumped on it. At first, it was great. At the day’s end, I could smugly grab my kids, appreciating how wonderful they were compared to the exhausting children in my care. That lasted maybe ten minutes. I was spending my day with needy little ones and then coming home to the same. The day was endless.
A lesson learned is not to take any job offered without a resume or interview. Nothing good will come of it.
Yet I did it again.
About a week after my preschool experience ended, a friend offered me a job at her husband’s holistic Chiropractor’s office. Before taking the job, I was vaguely aware that a Chiropractor was a sort-of doctor, and anyone with a severe back problem should stay away. Holistic was not even a word in my vocabulary. My suspicions were well-founded, as this position was to straighten out their insurance mess.
Spotting red flags is another skill I lack.
The office was in a deserted low-rent shopping center next to what I was positive was a front for something illegal. Instead of running for the hills, I settled into my empty office with a phone and computer. It took me a few months to figure it out, but when this non-western-medicine-believing house of cards fell, I was nowhere around.
As much as I wish I could deny this, I had a stint as a Realtor. Instead of providing an income, I hemorrhaged money for six months.
Being a realtor would legitimatize my peeping Tom nature, or so I thought. Now I could non-creepily look into strangers’ houses on days other than Halloween and Christmas.
After I spent thousands of dollars to take the Real Estate Exam and a two-week immersive class, but before I paid thousands more to buy sleek brochures and water bottles with my picture on them, I quit. My dream of a weekly walk-through with 200 of my not-closest middle-aged women co-workers through beautiful million-dollar estates never happened. My first walk-through was of a few run-down ranchers I couldn’t get out of fast enough. If I did secure any of these listings, I calculated my earnings to be $43.75. At this rate, it would take me till death to break even if I lived long enough. I resigned before I paid off my lockbox.
Hooray for the PTA!
Tired of these crummy below-decent-wage jobs I was taking, I looked elsewhere. Not sure if I had a lightbulb moment, but the word volunteering crept into my head. Then Barbara Eden did. Humming the tune of Harper Valley PTA but not wearing a mini skirt, I headed to the local elementary school to join our town’s Home and School Association. Only now do I wonder why after ten plus years of volunteering, I never asked why it’s not called PTA.
Twenty years ago, I could pick any movie I had seen and tell you what I wore, where I sat, and with who I saw it. It was my party trick, along with naming the capital of every state. Whether it is age-related, drugs, or minute brain capacity, there are significant gaps in my memory. I remember attending my first H&S meeting, and the next thing I remember is being Chair of the elementary school and getting ready to give my first beg to join and welcome speech. Either I was good at the job or, more likely, just a willing body to do the work, they kept me. Each year I volunteered more and more until I was one rung down from Grand Poobah.
Never one to test the waters, I jump into the deep end and don’t realize I can’t swim until I start drowning. Sitting at my computer doing the never-ending paperwork required for my newly accepted Treasurer position, my daughter asked me a question. For all I know, she asked me to make her dinner because it was 8 pm and she was starving. I started screaming at her for interrupting my concentration. Multitasking is a parenting skill I never developed. My priorities were a bit off track. I volunteered to be more active in my children’s lives, and now I was throwing them to the wolves or the closet with the ramen noodles.
After many absurd and pointless fights on Facebook with vicious keyboard-hiding moms and my children entering High School, I knew my days on the PTA circuit were numbered.
Vote for Me- Maybe?
Going to college in Washington DC did nothing to change my political ignorance. After five years in the capital, I couldn’t tell you who my Senator was and may have been hard pressed to name the Governor. I did know the Brendan Byrne Arena in Secaucus was named after one but couldn’t tell you what decade.
Political knowledge be damned, in 2016, I was brainwashed ..er convinced to join the local committee and run for office. The election was held during the June primary and I needed three votes to win. My husband was the hardest sell. He was a registered Independent and required to switch parties to vote for me. The verdict is still out if he really did switch. Somehow I won.
Although I took some unearned pride in bragging about being an elected official, I can say without any false baravado that I am the worst elected official in Moorestown History. Deeply afraid of knocking on doors, ignorant of any party candidate’s platform, and unwilling to shell out money and host strangers are just a few of my shortcomings.
With both birds flying out of the nest to college, I’m once more searching for a paying job. Thinking it may be fun to help shoppers, work in PJs and wear an official-looking headset, customer service may be calling me. Even though I am pretty sure my picture is hanging at the Comcast call center with the caption –Do not accept any calls from this customer.
Oh, the irony.
You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself, any direction you choose.”
Dr. Seuss
Have some free time? Start a new habit!
