New Year, New JOB!

Sha-na-na-na, sha-na-na-na-na . . . I got a job!

Or rather, the job got me. I wasn’t really looking for it, but some opportunities you just don’t pass up. Especially when you really need benefits like insurance you can afford. I just had to get my ducks in a row (hence the photo) and find some blogging time amidst it all before I said anything here (the “40″ hint was for 40 hours a week).

This came about a couple weeks ago and I start Monday (when, most inconveniently, Aaron leaves for a week-long retreat). I’ll be a trade books editor at a publishing house. Let’s call it Family Religious Publishers for now, although some of you know its real name because I used to work there before we moved to Oregon and have been freelancing for them for the last six years. So they know me, I know them–heck, I even have my old office nameplate ready to slap back on the wall.

So I’m not really nervous about it, but I have had my freak-out moments over the last couple weeks because it is a total life organization makeover: Who will take care of our child? How will I get to work? How late will I get home and when am I going to cook, eat, shop, braid hair? I’m going to have to get up how early?

The job is about 45 minutes away from home, although I will be able to work from home one day a week. We couldn’t make that work with only one vehicle, so we had to find a second car. Obviously we needed day care for the Joygirl. Clearly my wardrobe has atrophied significantly over the last six years.

Day care: One of our neighbors has been extremely pleased with the in-home day care person she started using this fall. And my daughter has declared that she is marrying their son, so shouldn’t they spend some quality time together? Unfortunately Aaron’s schedule for this semester is terrible–more afternoon classes to work his internship and study time around–and the day care lady couldn’t take AJ late enough a couple days I would have preferred . . . but eventually we figured out how to make it work. I think. Thank goodness for my mom, who is helping out a couple days a week. AJ has spent a few days at day care already to get used to it and she seems to have enjoyed it and had no trouble at all saying goodbye to us, so I feel good about it.

Transportation: We couldn’t possibly pull off this schedule with one vehicle, and I wouldn’t want to commute in a giant gas-sucking truck anyway (except on snowy days). We needed to find a car that gets good gas mileage but is still comfortable for my 6′5″ husband and our budget. We tried various wagons and ended up with a 2005 Scion xB–the box car people seem to either love or hate (Aaron thinks it looks “badass”). It’s small but it’s funky, the interior is surprisingly big, and it gets 30+ mpg. (I’ll post a photo when I locate it under all the snow we just got.)

I wasn’t really ready to be excited about the job until I had those two major things under control–more like Good Lord, what have I done?–but now I’m ready to actually think about the working part. Freelancing definitely has some great advantages as far as flexibility. But it was hard to work at home with a three-year-old and honestly, I think I will appreciate her more and be a more patient parent when I’m not with her 24/7. I will enjoy working with people again and having a clear line between work at home. And after a month I will have paid vacation/sick time and the all-important health insurance. WILL WORK FOR INSURANCE.

Ready or not, publishing here I come!

Christmas Gatherings Roundup

Those not interested in holiday recaps may wish to skip this post–but check back soon for an announcement about these ducks.

For those who have not yet overdosed on holiday cuteness . . .

Our Christmas celebrations were spread out this year, starting two weekends ago when we all gathered at The Farm: the three of us, my parents, my brother, my sister-in-law, and my nephew “Tobo.” AJ and I went up early to get out of Aaron’s hair during his exam week of doom, so he missed some of the frolicking in the snow and the traditional turning of the house into a cookie decorating factory. Tobo and AJ together are a blast!

Saturday we did stockings and other gifts. AJ and Grandma have matching flannel nighties. AJ got a sweet ride for her Fisher Price Happy Family people. Ever attentive Grandma bought families of different colors and rearranged them so they look like ours (well, the mom and baby look like me and AJ; the daddy we call Denzel)!

Sunday my aunt and grandma were able to come over from the other side of the state, although for some reason I have no photographic proof of this (family members, help!).

Christmas Eve our college friend Chatterbox came to stay with us through this week. We slid over the ice to a nearby church service so we could light candles and raise our voices with the four-year-old standing on a chair next to me shouting, “REJOIIIIICE! REJOIIIIIICE! E-MA-A-AN-U-EL!” (which is the only proper response to the Good News of the Incarnation).

Then came the three Christmas Eve traditions: opening an ornament, opening new pajamas, and reading Twas the Night Before Christmas.

Christmas Day Santa brought all that had been expected (plus two light sabers, go figure): a sled, a new puppy backpack, Muppet Show DVDs, cheapo kid camera, and the long awaited and greatly anticipated–so much so that she was telling strangers in restaurants about how you get it when you learn to spit when you brush–big kid Dora the Explorer toothpaste. Best opened sitting in your sled.

Then we trekked to Aaron’s parents’ house to gather with them and his brothers and their families. Family pictures were only semi-successful but it is always nice to see the brothers together, AJ loved teasing the cat with a feather for hours, and the food was good and plentiful. Just enough fullness for one day.

Saturday night: annual party Aaron’s friend Gus has been throwing for we think 14 years. Fun times with old friends, plus white elephant gift wrapping prize win! Ain’t she pretty? (The contents were even better–who doesn’t want some ugly 1970s coasters and 2 giant bags of lettuce?)

And . . . if you’ve made it this far you deserve a hint about what has been filling my mind and days between gatherings. Ready?

Hint: 40.

More soon!

Blizzard Season

It’s blizzard season–including holidays, weather, and schoolwork.

Last weekend we celebrated the Joygirl’s birthday. She got to wear her birthday girl shirt and her grandparents and a couple friends joined us for cake, way too many presents, and some twirling.

The next day she asked, “AJ three now, Mama? Three?” Yes, yes you are. And she proved it with a rare episode of TERRIBLE behavior in the library. One of us cried.

Tuesday our truck went in the shop for broken windshield wipers and yada yada yada we didn’t get it back until Saturday. But that was fine because no one was going anywhere in the blizzard that hit Wednesday and Thursday. We actually didn’t get tons of snow but the wind was terrible and it was dang cold. Welcome back to Michigan.

Saturday we were finally able to procure the Griswold Family Christmas Tree, miniature size. In Oregon we had a 15-foot ceiling so we’d have our lumberjack friend hike us up some mountain and drag down a 14-footer with a 12-inch trunk. So our six-footer seems a little puny, but it’s nice. And AJ had been asking to get out the train our friends gave us last year. It whistles, but she’s the hoot!

Aaron is buried in schoolwork because he has classes through Wednesday and finals Thursday and Friday. AJ and I are going to get out of his way by going up to my parents’ house before my brother, sister-in-law, and nephew arrive for this weekend’s family Christmas festivities.

And that’s all that’s going on in the Wetzel house. As far as you know.

“Little full. Lot of sap.”

Birthdays, Snow Days

Friday Finger Update: Aaron’s wounded finger is healing fine. The pain is much less and yesterday the hand doctor looked at it and gave him the okay to wear just a small bandage, get it wet, etc.

Joygirl is almost three! This weekend we are celebrating her birthday. She has been eagerly anticipating cake and being three. And we’ve explained to her how when you’re three there’s no more diapers and your taste buds change so you like more foods, like peanut butter. It’s common knowledge, right? (*cough cough*)

She will get a few small things from us, but I also made a donation to Ethiopian Orphan Relief in her honor, as I will continue to do each year. This is a nonprofit organization started by parents who adopted from Ethiopia (some of whom we got to know during our adoption process) that “works to improve the living conditions and lives of Ethiopian orphans remaining in Ethiopia by working with Ethiopian orphanages and adoption agency care houses to provide supplies, infrastructure and experiences.” I encourage you to check out their website and blog. And if you are a person who might feel compelled to send the Joygirl a card or gift, I’d be pleased if you’d like to donate the $5 or more to Ethiopian Orphan Relief instead.

But before there are birthdays, there are snow days! We got our first snow last night and it’s gorgeous. When didn’t get snow on the Oregon coast, really–a dusting would be a county-wide emergency–although AJ has seen snow before when we visited Michigan at Christmastime. But this is the first year she’s really old enough to want to play in it. I let her walk around outside for a few minutes last night when it was really coming down. (Sorry, the video clip I took is too big to upload here.) She wandered around in awe and shrieked at it hitting her in the face. I think our Oregonian college friend had just about the same happy reaction!

Then before dinner she was in my way and needed to do a job to get some toys back, so I had her put away the silverware:

Hope no one needed to find a fork.

Be Our Guest, Put Our Thrift Stores to the Test

Our favorite Oregonian-turned-Michigan-college-girl Chatterbox joined us last night for the remainder of her Thanksgiving break, for which we’re very thankful. We got to catch up, have some Wii battles, and see how she reacts to being jumped on by a hyper three-year-old at 8:00 a.m. (or as she calls it, Whaaaaa time is it?).

Today I had this weird urge to go shopping, mostly because I could do it without the Joygirl in tow and maybe get or at least scout some things for her that I can’t shop for very well with her along (see: girl crying I waaaaaant it nooooooow in toy aisle). After all, her birthday is coming up in early December. (NOT January, remember, everyone? Sorry, new readers–long story.) And she expects cake.

So Chatterbox and I ventured out to the farmer’s/holiday market, Target, and a couple thrift stores.

You know you’re a Young Life leader when you get excited by . . .

Neon purple ’80s high-waist snowmobiling jumpsuits!

There has got to be character for those.

And then there was this:

The picture doesn’t do justice to this dress made of spoons with candelabra head.

I think it’s only meant to illustrate that they sell silverware, but I did expect it to start twirling and singing:

Be our guest! Be our guest!

Put our thrift store to the test!

If you need some spoons or jumpsuits, well, we’ll provide the best!

There can be no kitsch complaining while the flatware’s entertaining!

.

All I got was How the Grinch Stole Christmas for $1.00, which I’m sure Joygirl will not like because she’s scared of every scary bad guy plus anyone else remotely scary/grumpy/ugly right now. But I like it, and it will put some songs in my head that are not Dora singing about common household objects.

Thrift stores + camera phones for the win!

Brain Drain

I’d love to share with you all the deep thoughts swirling in my brain these days, but the problem, dear readers, is that I have none. Someone stole the plug to my brain tub and they are gone, gone, gone, sucked away into some other series of tubes.

I’m not keeping up well with all you prolific NaBloPoMoers, let alone the hottest news and trends from the world at large. I’m sure I had an original, world-outside-these-walls thought last week, but even I probably wouldn’t care any more if I could remember it, and it certainly would no longer be a “current” event.

Some days it’s classic mommybrain, the condition of a previously intelligent woman’s vocabulary and attention span being lowered to roughly that of their child via the sheer repetition of potty-related conversations and the stupidity-inducing tone of Elmo’s voice.

But right now I’m also experiencing more brain drain than usual from my work: I am three weeks into a project that is much longer, more complex, more important to get right (not that there are any small authors, only short books), and more in depth than my usual projects. I’m grateful to be doing it, but it requires the full range of my editorial superpowers for as many hours a day as I can stay sharp, lest I still be working on the project when my child finally leaves the house and gives me my brain cells back.

Also, it’s Thursday. “I never could get the hang of Thursdays.” Aaron is at his internship long after AJ’s bedtime, which means is an awfully long day for him and a full dawn-to-dark work/kid on my own day for me too. Me talk gibberish by 9:00.

The happy news (besides that NaBloPoMo is almost over so I won’t feel the need to publish these excuses anymore) is that Aaron has all of next week off for Thanksgiving. Sure, he’ll have to study and I’ll have to work (a lot!), but there will be snooze alarms and breakfasts together, family dinners and football games, pies baking in the oven and our favorite college girl crashing on our couch. And if that doesn’t refresh the brain, it certainly refills the heart.

Farewell Fuzzy, Fezzy Friend

We don’t have a dog anymore. Not just not living with us–anywhere.

We got him as a puppy in 1998, an accessory to our first house and yard, rescuing him from living in the ghetto in a garage and rusted-out car body with about nine other dogs. He was the same size as our cat then, and so at first seemed to think they were the same type of creature, but we knew he’d get big, being a black-lab-plus-whatever. So we named him Fezzik after Andre the Giant’s character in The Princess Bride. It turned out to fit him perfectly: big, dumb, and friendly.

He was never a great dog in terms of obedience–though this mostly falls on us as clueless non-trainers–but he was a great companion, at least in terms of always wanting to be next to you or underfoot. He got to be in our yearly family “pumpkin pictures” (well, until baby girl came along). He moved to Oregon with us, and he moved back to Michigan and went to live on my parents’ farm, where we thought he’d be very happy. But he had to be tied up, and he barked a lot, and then he decided he had to protect the place and bit one of my parents’ friends, and my poor dad had to break it to us. They can’t have a dog like that, and who wants to take a twelve-year-old dog that bites? His age was catching up to his health and it wasn’t going to get better. He couldn’t stay there anymore, I told my daughter. He had to go away. He’s gone.

So we remember the good times, like running around on the beach and introducing me to the concept of sneaker wave.

And the funny times, like when our friend Jeff, a known anti-dog person, threw a three-pound stone bocce ball in a long, high arc . . . directly onto innocently wandering Fezz’s bony head. I can hear the thunk! in my mind to this day. Poor dog had no idea what happened–thought the sky was falling.

And the why-do-we-have-pets? times, like when he ate a half a bag of chocolate chips, a half a bag of peanut butter/chocolate chips, and an entire bag of butterscotch chips without showing any signs of sudden death (or remorse). However, he then spent all night wandering around panting like mad, tweaking from all the caffeine, until at 6:30 a.m. he puked the worst thing I have ever seen in my life: a two foot in diameter pile of chocolate with peanut butter swirls which filled the house with a smell that can only be described as burnt Reese’s Pieces mixed with something a CSI found in a dumpster.

Maybe we’ll get a goldfish next.

Farewell my fuzzy Fezzy friend. We know that if dogs go to heaven, you’ll be there licking the carpet when we arrive.

Mary Had a Bag O’ Candy

“AJ, what do you want to be for Halloween?” we asked for weeks. “You can say ‘trick or treat’ and get candy, but you have to dress up in a costume. What do you want to dress up as?”

“You could be a ballerina.” “Noooo.”

“Do you want to be a kitty?” “Nooooo.”

“You could be Mickey Mouse with your Mickey hair!” “No, no Mickey, no.”

“A puppy? A pirate? A scarecrow? A football player?” “No no no no no.”

One day we were singing “Mary Had a Little Lamb” in the car, as we are wont to do now that we must read/sing the Mary Had a Little Lamb (1980s version) book a minimum of twice a day. It’s a current obsession. Perhaps she’s attracted to the bright colors.

Like, totally sweet color scheme!

“Hey, you could be Mary Had a Little Lamb for Halloween! You could dress up like Mary and get candy–would you like that?”

“No. Yes! Mary had little lamb trick or treat! Mary!”

Hmm, I wonder how we would do that, I thought, about 30 seconds too late. “Uh, or you could be something else, like…” “MARY!”

Thus began the process of (a) figuring out how many layers we could get under a dress and (b) making sure she was not expecting to dress up in fluorescent yellow overalls, a yellow and pink polo shirt, pink socks, and yellow Keds. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, provided you are still located in 1989.

We did end up with yellow and pink but did manage to get some more traditional gingham involved.

She was ridiculously cute reaching for doorbells and whispering “tick a tweet.” (”Louder!” we said. “Yell it!” “TIck UH teeeee!”) After a few houses she was ready to go pro and step right up without us. We basically went around our block to the people we know and then over to the local college’s dorms, where good-natured students hang out in their doorways to bless hordes of little freaks and geeks with a variety of sweets and lifelong dental issues. This was nice because we got to get out of the crazy wind a bit (what is this, the Oregon coast?). Then we went home, handed out some candy, pigged out, and got AJ ready for bed before our favorite Oregonian college student arrived to spend the night and we went to our neighbors’ grown-up party for some games. A full and festive weekend!

Mary had a kitty pumpkin  . . . and a bag o’ loot!

Killing my money god

The god of money and stuff has died. It is no longer providing comfort and peace. . . . If your god is dead, you mope around anxiously, checking for signs he’s coming back to life. If your God is Jesus, your source of joy and generosity is alive and well. . . .

Jesus was poor and generous. All the other gods in the world are takers.

—Pastor Tim

Last week I was moping. And worrying. And poking anxiously. And obsessing.

And generally getting nowhere but miserable doing it.

Last week was not a good week. Nothing was working; everything was swamped. Aaron was exhausted and overwhelmed by tests and reading and papers; I was exhausted and frustrated by temper tantrums and potty training and medical bills and my own inability to meet my minimum standards for work and income and saintlyness even a basic level of cleanliness.

By Friday we had a conversation about it that can be summed up like this: “I feel like I suck.” “I feel like I suck.” “I have to study.” “I have to work.” “I need a break.” “I need a break.” Well now, that was productive.

What do you do when something’s gotta give but there’s nothing left in the bank?

You give it up. You let it go. You look elsewhere. You leave that idol for dead once and for all (once again).

I had high hopes for myself–in myself–that I could make this work for us, this seminary thing. I thought I could do enough and make enough to make the house run smoothly and keep our brand-new savings mostly intact for three years (or good grief, at least more than three months).

What I did not, could not know was how different this life rhythm would be and how much that would affect me. I didn’t know how much I’d miss Aaron having Fridays and Saturdays off so I could work at the coffeeshop and being able to blow off steam acting crazy with teenagers. I didn’t account for simple things like having to plan and cook dinner seven nights a week instead of three or four and how tired and out of creativity I’d be at the the end of these days which start so early now.

I didn’t want to admit I couldn’t do it all well enough anymore.

I didn’t want to admit my god was dead.

If your god is dead, you mope around anxiously, checking for signs he’s coming back to life.

I moped. I worried. I calculated and estimated, checked and rechecked. No use. I had to admit: the money god had not come through. I had not been able to bring him to life and make him give me peace.

The stupid thing is, we’re not out of money. I fell short of my September goals, but we weren’t in trouble. That old house we sold in Oregon sent us on our way with more savings than we’ve had in years. It was truly God’s provision for us to come to seminary. Trouble was, I wanted to make it our security.

I like to think I don’t have a spiritual problem with money because I honestly have little desire to be rich. I try to give generously and remember that even when the checkbook balance runs down, we already are rich. We usually don’t have much extra saved, and I’m usually okay with that.

But as soon as we did have that “safety net”—I fell for it. I fell in love with it, because I thought it would make me feel safe. I thought it would make me secure.

Then I found out it can’t.

It can’t comfort me, because it’s not living. It can’t give me peace, because all it does is take.

This thing–this number–became something to take pride in rather than something to be thankful for. It became something to value in and of itself and a measure of my success and worth or lack thereof. And so every time I tapped into it, it mocked me and stole my joy: You need me. You can’t make it without me, because you’re not good enough to make it on your own. If you don’t make your life revolve around protecting me, I’ll be gone, and then what will you do? You’re screwed without me.

But God didn’t give us this money to protect at all costs. He didn’t give us this provision just so we could look at it and feel better. He gave it to us as provision for this time and this task. Whether we have ten dollars or ten thousand in the end matters not one bit to him as long as we are doing and becoming what he has called us to. What good will it be for me to preserve these measly digits and lose my own generosity and joy? What good is savings at the cost of losing our balance as a family as we follow God’s call?

Slowly this started to dawn on me last Friday, through all the ugly, exhausted moments: that the one thing I can control is my response to my inability to control everything. That I may not be able to do anything about the fact that my expectations weren’t realistic at this time, but I could decide not to be upset about having to rely on God’s provision instead of myself. I could go back to being grateful for it instead of protective of it—since it’s not really mine anyway—and trusting God that we will always, as always, have enough.

Sunday we got that much needed sermon on generosity (probably the best money sermon I’ve ever sat in). And in that holy irony—whether God was blessing me with a wink and a smile or I simply had newly opened eyes to see them more gratefully—this week I’ve had work opportunities coming at me from every angle.

And I didn’t even freak out when the truck needed repairs. Take that, money god.

My Provider is alive and well.

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How do you turn away from the money god? Or what dead idol do you most often try to bring back to life?

Week 3 in Review

Week 3 of school drawing to a close. It was kind of a weird one, with Aaron having extra meetings and things. AJ went to my parents’ for the night again on Wednesday, increasing the number of times she’s done that by 100 percent. Last night we had dinner with our new pastor and his wife before Aaron went to a church meeting and I went to pick up AJ. Aaron is starting to find some direction for his internship which is good since the school didn’t give him much.

I have been busy with work and also chasing new work possibilities around campus. I apparently just missed an opportunity to work for the seminary’s writing center but may be able to in the future. Meanwhile I am working on getting my name spread around for doctorate students and others who may need editing help that the writing center can’t give. The nearby undergrad college may prove fruitful as well (that is, if any of the students have any money–hmm). I feel good about this and yet as a freelancer I can’t bill anybody for this time spent making my job sustainable. It’s necessary but it takes time that could/should be spent doing paying work. The freelancer’s eternal dilemma.

Tonight we attempted to see the African Children’s Choir at the college chapel, but it was truly overrun by the crowd. We were sweating like mad in the balcony and couldn’t see, so we bailed out after a couple songs. Fortunately, we had already made it to see them at a different church last week.

Tomorrow morning we are going apple picking, hooray!

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