Who’s gonna help me be awesome?

So, I got the job I interviewed for on Tuesday.  I started on Wednesday, I wasn’t expecting that.  Normally, you start on a Monday or something.  I wanted a job, I just didn’t think it would happen so suddenly.  I had a list of things I was planning on doing before I was gainfully employed, win the lottery was number one, do some laundry was second.  I’m not complaining by any stretch of the imagination.  I really like the idea of a paycheck and doing something other than writing about being unemployed and poor.  It’s still sort of surreal, like I’m playing secretary and at any moment my game of make-believe will end. I hope that’s not the case, but you never know.
My son is mad at me, really mad.  When I told him I had an interview he said “don’t go back to work.  Who’s gonna help me be awesome?”  it was heart-breaking.  I reminded him that I’d had lots of interviews before and his levels of awesome were not depleted.  He didn’t buy it. He was even less enthused when I told him that I had gotten the job.  I believe his actual words were “pppppbbbbbtttzzz” or however you spell the sound of someone sticking their tongues out and blowing.  He was making a “thumbs-down” gesture, simultaneously.  It was encouraging.  I know it’s just an adjustment thing, and by the end of the week he’ll be used to the new arrangement. I don’t like the idea of leaving him, but I liked the idea of everything I own being repossessed by the bank even less.  Perhaps I will have some extra coin to buy his love with talking plastic toys.  He spent the entire ride to school this morning asking why I was wearing make-up and grandma’s pants.  “Why don’t  you go home and put on your flip-flops, mommy?” came floating over from the backseat at least a couple hundred times.  “You’re gonna pick me up from school when this work thing is borwing, right?”  I think he thinks my job is a phase, and I’ll be back to normal in a few weeks.

For the record, I was not wearing my mother’s pants.  They’re mine, but the last time I wore them he was too young to remember.  He’s not used to seeing me in anything “officey”.  I guess no one else is either, because the lady at the front desk at his preschool didn’t recognize me. She asked if I was his aunt.  It’s not like I had a face transplant in the last 48 hours.  Geeze,  put on a pair of slacks and a turtleneck…and all of the sudden people don’t know who you are.  I guess I must clean-up nice or she just cleaned her contacts.

My first day of work was rough.  I came home, did the dinner/bath/bedtime battle with my son and crawled into bed.  I was contemplating not going back.  But, I don’t claim defeat that easy.  It was like my first day was a hazing ritual.  I wasn’t given any direction and I was told at the end of the day that I needed to be more proactive.  When I say I was given no direction, I mean nothing.  I walked in, said “good morning,” no one said anything in return, and the phone rang…so I answered it.  I sat at my desk and spent the day poking around the network, trying to figure out what in the hell I’d gotten myself into.  No one told me where to find anything or how anything worked.  It’s a good thing I’m not the village idiot, because they’d be replacing a lot of office equipment.  I was as proactive as I was willing to be, as the new girl.  I wasn’t going to go in there and start taking things apart asking “gee, this looks expensive, how do I break it?”

Today was better, I’m hoping the trend continues.  As much as I’d like to heed my son’s advice and stay home in my flip-flops, it ain’t in the cards.