My two older daughters have blogs on my Blogger account. I love that they love to write, but I'm starting to share more personal information on this blog that I don't necessarily want them to read. They are aware of some of my struggles, but it's probably not good for them to know every last ugly detail. However, since they use my Blogger account, they have access to my blog on a regular basis. Also, their blogs are private, so only invited readers can access their blogs. So far, it's just my husband and myself who are following them. I'd like it if they could allow more friends to read what they write. SO, here's the question: Does anyone know of a KIDS' blogging site? I've searched, and it doesn't seem like one exists. The other option is to create their own Blogger accounts for them.
Also, I'm still having sort of an identity crisis about my blog. There is so much to write about that it seems messy to keep it all in one place. I'm the kind of person who wants everything categorized and organized. When I organize my recipes, I have a hard time deciding whether to put beef stew under "beef" or under "stews and soups". But since I started this blog, I have written about several different things.
I want to write for the sake of writing: I want to pay attention to writing well and expanding my writing ability.
However, when I write about depression or family issues, or even just random stuff, I don't necessarily pay attention to grammar and syntax.
In addition, I want to practice humorous writing, both purposefully and in incidentally in my writing about life issues (hey, what can be more entertaining than a girl with a mental disorder?)
Finally, I am a Christian. Jesus is my first love, and everything I think about or write about or do comes through the lens of Christianity. Yet, I don't think I come across as a Christian very often!
I asked my sister yesterday whether she thought I should have different blogs and her opinion was that it's ok to keep it all here in the same place. Thanks, K! :) And I have been trying to categorize my posts by labels, but even that is such a pain in the tush.
I just wonder if a new reader stops by my blog one day, and I have written something sarcastic and pissy and cynical, and then they come back the next day, when I happen to write something spiritual and Scriptural, would they think I have like multiple personality disorder or something???
Maybe I think too much. What do you think?
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Therapy
I am in therapy.
For the first time in 40 years, I'm seeing a therapist, or as I prefer to call her, a "counselor". Doesn't that sound better? In any case, she's the kind of person that I talk to once a week about my "issues" and we hash out my history to see what in my life turned me into the uniquely complicated person that I am today.
I don't have much to report about my first session, except that I'm relieved to finally be seeing a counselor. And obviously, I'm not really very shy about this. Hey, if this is what it takes to get better, that's what I'm doing. Except, I'm not sure how I'll tell my parents. I mean, there used to be more of a stigma attached to therapy than there is now. . . I hope. My sister reads my blog on occasion, so, hey sis, what do you think I should tell Mom & Dad?
For the first time in 40 years, I'm seeing a therapist, or as I prefer to call her, a "counselor". Doesn't that sound better? In any case, she's the kind of person that I talk to once a week about my "issues" and we hash out my history to see what in my life turned me into the uniquely complicated person that I am today.
I don't have much to report about my first session, except that I'm relieved to finally be seeing a counselor. And obviously, I'm not really very shy about this. Hey, if this is what it takes to get better, that's what I'm doing. Except, I'm not sure how I'll tell my parents. I mean, there used to be more of a stigma attached to therapy than there is now. . . I hope. My sister reads my blog on occasion, so, hey sis, what do you think I should tell Mom & Dad?
Obsessive Compulsive
Essie, The Accidental Mommy is hosting (insert dramatic theme music here) Too True Tuesday: Compulsive Behaviors. Write about your obsessive or compulsive behaviors and then share them with the world. Doesn't that sound like fun?
Well, as I sit here at 1:12 AM because of stupid insomnia, nothing readily comes to mind. This is disturbing because I often write about depression and all of the issues that accompany it: paranoia, anxiety, paranoid schizophrenia, schizophrenic paranoia*, etc. I've been cursed with a bunch of garbage in my psyche, so at least I'd like to get some laughs out of it.
Nothin'.
Oh! Oh! Oh! Here's something: I really hate to be confined. Like I'm in absolute terror if someone tries to restrain me in any way, shape, or form. I don't mind elevators, as long as there are no other people on them. I had to breathe my way out of a panic attack when we entered a dark tunnel to see the sharks at Sea World, not because I dislike dark tunnels, but because there were people everywhere and I couldn't imagine how I would get out if I had to. I hate feeling "caged in" at all - like if I'm at a restaurant where there is a long booth and someone has to be stuck in the middle and not have free access to the outside world, that someone cannot be me. I guess this is called claustrophobia. However, I have no problem squeezing into a tight space if I am completely able to get myself out. It's when the escape route is closed off that I panic.
And it's not just tight spaces, but tight clothing or blankets snuggled around me. I like a cozy blanket in winter just as much as the next person, but if one of my kids comes up and sits on the outside of the blanket, therefore restraining my movement at all, I will freak. out. Forget zipping myself into a sleeping bag - no way is that ever happening. I even have to choose my pajamas carefully. I do not wear pajama pants to bed, I do not wear long nightgowns, and I do not wear silk or satin or flannel. My pajamas pretty much have to be jersey-knit cotton and have the capacity to stretch into the next room if I need it to. I don't even care for socks on my feet in bed: If I do wear them for warmth (I live in Michigan and we've had bucket loads of snow this year!), I will end up tearing them off furiously in the night. You wonder where all those missing socks go? They're all crammed under the covers at the end of my bed.
Now, Essie has written about her phobia of spiders and her constant need to scan the room for them. I also have arachnophobia, but I think the severity of hers has mine beat. However, if I were confined in a small space with spiders, I'm pretty sure I would need a padded room for the rest of my life. . . .a very large padded room.
*These statements are made solely for the reader's entertainment: I do not have, nor have I have ever had, schizophrenia. I think.
Well, as I sit here at 1:12 AM because of stupid insomnia, nothing readily comes to mind. This is disturbing because I often write about depression and all of the issues that accompany it: paranoia, anxiety, paranoid schizophrenia, schizophrenic paranoia*, etc. I've been cursed with a bunch of garbage in my psyche, so at least I'd like to get some laughs out of it.
Nothin'.
Oh! Oh! Oh! Here's something: I really hate to be confined. Like I'm in absolute terror if someone tries to restrain me in any way, shape, or form. I don't mind elevators, as long as there are no other people on them. I had to breathe my way out of a panic attack when we entered a dark tunnel to see the sharks at Sea World, not because I dislike dark tunnels, but because there were people everywhere and I couldn't imagine how I would get out if I had to. I hate feeling "caged in" at all - like if I'm at a restaurant where there is a long booth and someone has to be stuck in the middle and not have free access to the outside world, that someone cannot be me. I guess this is called claustrophobia. However, I have no problem squeezing into a tight space if I am completely able to get myself out. It's when the escape route is closed off that I panic.
And it's not just tight spaces, but tight clothing or blankets snuggled around me. I like a cozy blanket in winter just as much as the next person, but if one of my kids comes up and sits on the outside of the blanket, therefore restraining my movement at all, I will freak. out. Forget zipping myself into a sleeping bag - no way is that ever happening. I even have to choose my pajamas carefully. I do not wear pajama pants to bed, I do not wear long nightgowns, and I do not wear silk or satin or flannel. My pajamas pretty much have to be jersey-knit cotton and have the capacity to stretch into the next room if I need it to. I don't even care for socks on my feet in bed: If I do wear them for warmth (I live in Michigan and we've had bucket loads of snow this year!), I will end up tearing them off furiously in the night. You wonder where all those missing socks go? They're all crammed under the covers at the end of my bed.
Now, Essie has written about her phobia of spiders and her constant need to scan the room for them. I also have arachnophobia, but I think the severity of hers has mine beat. However, if I were confined in a small space with spiders, I'm pretty sure I would need a padded room for the rest of my life. . . .a very large padded room.
*These statements are made solely for the reader's entertainment: I do not have, nor have I have ever had, schizophrenia. I think.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
What I Want to Be When I Grow Up, Part 3
So, this is turning into a series that has really got me thinking, and that is a good thing (I think). If you haven't read my other 2 posts on this topic, please click these links for the backstory.
What I Want to Be When I Grow Up
What I Want to Be When I Grow Up, Part 2
It's funny because I am finding myself thinking more and more about what I could possibly do as a job. I don't want a "career"; I never really did. I am just musing about the types of jobs I could envision doing in order to help my hubby pay the bills and not hate the job while I'm doing it. So, since I started this series (not knowing it was going to turn into a series), my imagination has been switched on.
Here are some more "would-like-to's":
I could totally see myself as a coffee taster. Wouldn't that be awesome? You walk into the office, grab a cup of coffee, and then just sit down and drink it. Then, you head back for some more - a different variety, and you drink that too. Coffee isn't just a tool to help you become productive. It is the work and focus of the company to make good coffee and someone has to taste it to make sure it is drinkworthy. Someone, somewhere must have that pleasure, that privilege because I've drank a lot of coffee, and there are a LOT of varieties of coffee, and I'm sure at some point, someone has to taste the various blends of flavors to see if they work well with each other and if they work well with coffee. I would like to hereby place myself on the hiring list for such a company. Guess I should figure out if such a place exists any place closer than the mountains of Columbia.
While I served at my children's school the other day, I really enjoyed my time there with all the children. I just enjoyed being in the environment. I realized that, if given time, I could actually heal from the burn-out that I've had with kids and could possibly see spending time with them in the context of school. I'm not saying I want to be a teacher; a substitute teacher, maybe. Or just be involved in what it takes to keep the school running efficiently. Or I could be involved in special projects with the kids. The kids in my children's school need encouragement and they need to feel important, as all kids do. I would love to be in a position to be able to help these kids uncover their potential and recognize their self-worth. Sounds like my best bet would be to approach the principal and tell him straightforward that I'd like to work for the school and I'm willing to do any job that keeps the school running. Of course, then he might make me the custodian! But hey, I've cleaned toilets before, and you can have conversations with kids on their bathroom breaks. . . . Maybe I'd better be a little more clear about the type of work I'd want to do.
Another idea: I could create greeting cards. I'm fairly good at coming up with something touching to say in a certain situation. I'm not an artist, but I like crafty cards - stamps and glue and ribbon and all that glitzy stuff. I wouldn't dream of creating a greeting card company, but maybe I could sell cards door to door, you know like the girls scouts sell their cookies. Everyone loves girl scout cookies. Or I could just let people know I have this business and they contact me, telling me what they need, and I can get it to them in 24 hours, like the fedex of greeting cards: "When it absolutely has to be there overnight."
And ANOTHER THING! (ha - sounded like I was mad, didn't I?) I've wondered what it would take to become a web designer. . . .or at least a blog designer. I don't know the first thing about HTML, so I'd obviously have to have some education. But I love the idea of being able to use my computer - my beloved, gorgeous Asus - to do something I think I would really enjoy.
Now, in all seriousness, I would appreciate feedback, not about the actual ideas, but about your ability to comprehend this post. Because I took a mild sleep aid just before I started writing this, and now it's pretty potent. . . .so I'd better be going. I think I'm fixing my mistakes, but I feel like I'm typing like a drunk, so I hope it doesn't LOOK like I'm typing that way. Good night.
What I Want to Be When I Grow Up
What I Want to Be When I Grow Up, Part 2
It's funny because I am finding myself thinking more and more about what I could possibly do as a job. I don't want a "career"; I never really did. I am just musing about the types of jobs I could envision doing in order to help my hubby pay the bills and not hate the job while I'm doing it. So, since I started this series (not knowing it was going to turn into a series), my imagination has been switched on.
Here are some more "would-like-to's":
I could totally see myself as a coffee taster. Wouldn't that be awesome? You walk into the office, grab a cup of coffee, and then just sit down and drink it. Then, you head back for some more - a different variety, and you drink that too. Coffee isn't just a tool to help you become productive. It is the work and focus of the company to make good coffee and someone has to taste it to make sure it is drinkworthy. Someone, somewhere must have that pleasure, that privilege because I've drank a lot of coffee, and there are a LOT of varieties of coffee, and I'm sure at some point, someone has to taste the various blends of flavors to see if they work well with each other and if they work well with coffee. I would like to hereby place myself on the hiring list for such a company. Guess I should figure out if such a place exists any place closer than the mountains of Columbia.
While I served at my children's school the other day, I really enjoyed my time there with all the children. I just enjoyed being in the environment. I realized that, if given time, I could actually heal from the burn-out that I've had with kids and could possibly see spending time with them in the context of school. I'm not saying I want to be a teacher; a substitute teacher, maybe. Or just be involved in what it takes to keep the school running efficiently. Or I could be involved in special projects with the kids. The kids in my children's school need encouragement and they need to feel important, as all kids do. I would love to be in a position to be able to help these kids uncover their potential and recognize their self-worth. Sounds like my best bet would be to approach the principal and tell him straightforward that I'd like to work for the school and I'm willing to do any job that keeps the school running. Of course, then he might make me the custodian! But hey, I've cleaned toilets before, and you can have conversations with kids on their bathroom breaks. . . . Maybe I'd better be a little more clear about the type of work I'd want to do.
Another idea: I could create greeting cards. I'm fairly good at coming up with something touching to say in a certain situation. I'm not an artist, but I like crafty cards - stamps and glue and ribbon and all that glitzy stuff. I wouldn't dream of creating a greeting card company, but maybe I could sell cards door to door, you know like the girls scouts sell their cookies. Everyone loves girl scout cookies. Or I could just let people know I have this business and they contact me, telling me what they need, and I can get it to them in 24 hours, like the fedex of greeting cards: "When it absolutely has to be there overnight."
And ANOTHER THING! (ha - sounded like I was mad, didn't I?) I've wondered what it would take to become a web designer. . . .or at least a blog designer. I don't know the first thing about HTML, so I'd obviously have to have some education. But I love the idea of being able to use my computer - my beloved, gorgeous Asus - to do something I think I would really enjoy.
Now, in all seriousness, I would appreciate feedback, not about the actual ideas, but about your ability to comprehend this post. Because I took a mild sleep aid just before I started writing this, and now it's pretty potent. . . .so I'd better be going. I think I'm fixing my mistakes, but I feel like I'm typing like a drunk, so I hope it doesn't LOOK like I'm typing that way. Good night.
Sugar, Mold & Yeast, Oh My!
Ok, so I'm making some headway in the department of health & allergies. Since the beginning of Lent (about 2 weeks ago), I've stopped eating sugar, yeast breads, and most mold-containing foods. And guess what? I've noticed that I'm not as sleepy, I have more energy, and I don't have any hypoglycemia. I'm not feeling perfect, but it's a step in the right direction.
On the weekends, I've given myself a little leeway to indulge. And I mean a very. little. bit. I do not go swimming in vats of high fructose corn syrup, nor do I feast on pounds of yeasty, moldy bread. But the past two weekends have left me feeling stuffed up and groggy. Today, for example, I feel like someone has shoved wads of cotton inside my sinuses and I'm feeling very sleepy after what I would consider rather mild indulgences of forbidden foods yesterday. This is good and bad, I guess - good, because I'm getting answers; bad, because it means I have to be fairly strict about what I can and can't eat. (I can still have occasional chocolate, and coffee doesn't seem to bother me at all - yeah!)
This is still huge, though, because energy and hypoglycemia are intimately tied to depression and depressive cycles for me. When I'm not suffering from the ups and downs of hypoglycemia, I'm not Crazy-Psycho-Mom. And when Crazy-Psycho-Mom isn't around, I feel pretty good about myself and my life.
Maybe one day I'll write my memoirs about how I emerged from lifelong depression by making changes in my lifestyle. I'll be rich and famous, and then I'll have a whole new set of issues to deal with.
But for now, I'm very glad I'm seeing changes in this one area of my life!
On the weekends, I've given myself a little leeway to indulge. And I mean a very. little. bit. I do not go swimming in vats of high fructose corn syrup, nor do I feast on pounds of yeasty, moldy bread. But the past two weekends have left me feeling stuffed up and groggy. Today, for example, I feel like someone has shoved wads of cotton inside my sinuses and I'm feeling very sleepy after what I would consider rather mild indulgences of forbidden foods yesterday. This is good and bad, I guess - good, because I'm getting answers; bad, because it means I have to be fairly strict about what I can and can't eat. (I can still have occasional chocolate, and coffee doesn't seem to bother me at all - yeah!)
This is still huge, though, because energy and hypoglycemia are intimately tied to depression and depressive cycles for me. When I'm not suffering from the ups and downs of hypoglycemia, I'm not Crazy-Psycho-Mom. And when Crazy-Psycho-Mom isn't around, I feel pretty good about myself and my life.
Maybe one day I'll write my memoirs about how I emerged from lifelong depression by making changes in my lifestyle. I'll be rich and famous, and then I'll have a whole new set of issues to deal with.
But for now, I'm very glad I'm seeing changes in this one area of my life!
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Feeling Tipsy
I wonder if I'm the only person who gets stressed out about giving a tip to people who provide services for me. In a restaurant, I'm good to go because it's pretty much standard to leave a 15% tip. OK. But what about others who provide me with various services? Am I expected to tip them too? This causes me a great deal of anxiety because I'm usually not faced with this question until I am standing in front of the person who may or may not expect a tip.
For example, I do not frequent the "salon" (if you consider Bo-Rics or any other $9.99 haircut shop a salon). I get my hair cut about twice a year, mainly because I am a cheapskate. More often than not, I'm pulling my hair back in a ponytail and plastering it against my head, out of my face, with hair spray. Last week, I went for my semi-annual cut and asked for Cindy, the lady who had cut my hair the last time I was there. She didn't remember me. When she was finished, she took me to the register and, after swiping my credit card, she gave me my receipt to complete and sign. There, glaring out at me like the noon-day sun, is the line that says "TIP". So, I was supposed to put in my tip and then add up my total before signing and completing my transaction. Cindy was watching me. There was a line of people forming behind me. Sweat was starting to bead on my forehead. I nervously laughed and said, "I just can't seem to do math in my head." Cindy handed me a calculator. Ummm, how much of a tip do I leave? Should I ask Cindy how much she wants? Should I just give her 5 bucks and call it good? That's probably their ploy - stare at you intently until you cave in and give them a 50% tip. Uh, I don't know. . . . .um, how do you figure out percentage again? Is it 1 x 1.15 or is it 1 x .15? It seems I can't even do math with a calculator. I finally just threw some random number on the line to make everything come out even. No wonder Cindy never remembers me when I come in.
And the pizza delivery person. How much are you supposed to tip him or her? My husband doesn't give tips to the pizza guy, but when I'm the one receiving the pizza, I feel obligated. Or maybe I feel intimidated because the 2 main delivery people for the Papa John's place nearby are a tough-looking Asian woman with spiky hair, black lipstick and a ring in her nose, and an old guy with a total of 2 teeth in his mouth who pretty much fits the image that comes to mind when you hear the phrase "dirty old man." So, here is the pizza delivery person standing at my door - she knows where I live, she knows my phone number, and she even has my credit card info and signature. It might be wise to give her a tip. Otherwise, she might come back later and set my house on fire.
And finally, should I leave a tip at the coffee house? I mean, there is a tip jar at the counter, clearly begging for tips. Once again, the person behind the counter is standing there watching me. I feel rather compelled to leave a little spare change because I'm not fully convinced that this person won't lace my next double mocha latte with arsenic. However, out of all the places to leave a tip, the coffee house seems the least likely. I have to wait in line and go up to the counter to place my order. I have to get my own coffee sleeve, napkins and extra sprinkles of cinnamon. I have to clear my own table. If anyone should get a tip, it should be me. Maybe next time I go into the nearest Java joint, I should wear a little cup around my neck that says "tips" and see if they give me any freebies.
Just yesterday, I came across this article on Yahoo about when and how much to tip. However, it wasn't as helpful as I thought it would be. There were tips for tipping the following people:
Full service gas station attendants. Those still exist???
Shampoo Person. Did I mention that when I do get my hair done, it's usually at Kutz R Us, or some such place. I've never encountered a shampoo person in my life.
Doorman. What???
Skycap. Huh?
Soooo not helpful. I guess I'm still on my own.
For example, I do not frequent the "salon" (if you consider Bo-Rics or any other $9.99 haircut shop a salon). I get my hair cut about twice a year, mainly because I am a cheapskate. More often than not, I'm pulling my hair back in a ponytail and plastering it against my head, out of my face, with hair spray. Last week, I went for my semi-annual cut and asked for Cindy, the lady who had cut my hair the last time I was there. She didn't remember me. When she was finished, she took me to the register and, after swiping my credit card, she gave me my receipt to complete and sign. There, glaring out at me like the noon-day sun, is the line that says "TIP". So, I was supposed to put in my tip and then add up my total before signing and completing my transaction. Cindy was watching me. There was a line of people forming behind me. Sweat was starting to bead on my forehead. I nervously laughed and said, "I just can't seem to do math in my head." Cindy handed me a calculator. Ummm, how much of a tip do I leave? Should I ask Cindy how much she wants? Should I just give her 5 bucks and call it good? That's probably their ploy - stare at you intently until you cave in and give them a 50% tip. Uh, I don't know. . . . .um, how do you figure out percentage again? Is it 1 x 1.15 or is it 1 x .15? It seems I can't even do math with a calculator. I finally just threw some random number on the line to make everything come out even. No wonder Cindy never remembers me when I come in.
And the pizza delivery person. How much are you supposed to tip him or her? My husband doesn't give tips to the pizza guy, but when I'm the one receiving the pizza, I feel obligated. Or maybe I feel intimidated because the 2 main delivery people for the Papa John's place nearby are a tough-looking Asian woman with spiky hair, black lipstick and a ring in her nose, and an old guy with a total of 2 teeth in his mouth who pretty much fits the image that comes to mind when you hear the phrase "dirty old man." So, here is the pizza delivery person standing at my door - she knows where I live, she knows my phone number, and she even has my credit card info and signature. It might be wise to give her a tip. Otherwise, she might come back later and set my house on fire.
And finally, should I leave a tip at the coffee house? I mean, there is a tip jar at the counter, clearly begging for tips. Once again, the person behind the counter is standing there watching me. I feel rather compelled to leave a little spare change because I'm not fully convinced that this person won't lace my next double mocha latte with arsenic. However, out of all the places to leave a tip, the coffee house seems the least likely. I have to wait in line and go up to the counter to place my order. I have to get my own coffee sleeve, napkins and extra sprinkles of cinnamon. I have to clear my own table. If anyone should get a tip, it should be me. Maybe next time I go into the nearest Java joint, I should wear a little cup around my neck that says "tips" and see if they give me any freebies.
Just yesterday, I came across this article on Yahoo about when and how much to tip. However, it wasn't as helpful as I thought it would be. There were tips for tipping the following people:
Full service gas station attendants. Those still exist???
Shampoo Person. Did I mention that when I do get my hair done, it's usually at Kutz R Us, or some such place. I've never encountered a shampoo person in my life.
Doorman. What???
Skycap. Huh?
Soooo not helpful. I guess I'm still on my own.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
What I Want to Be When I Grow Up, Part 2
If you read yesterday's post entitled What I Want to Be When I Grow Up, you may have imagined me climbing the ladder of fame with blood, sweat and tears because I said I wanted to sing, dance, or be a public speaker. Now, I really hope that you "get" me: Those are not really things I'm going to do, nor do I adhere to any fantasy otherwise. It was just my childish list of things I've dreamed of doing. Sure, maybe I'll sing in front of a group someday, but I'm not going to become a professional singer. And maybe I'll do some public speaking, but I don't think I'll travel the country being a motivational speaker. And as far as dancing, have you read any of my recent posts about getting older? I kind of doubt the spare tire would allow me to do anything except the polka at some relative's wedding.
So, let me muse a little more seriously here about things I could possibly do.
My kids had a snow day yesterday, so I set up a "spa" day for them. I created 4 stations for them to visit. One was a heated foot bath, one was a heating pad with a back scratcher and one was a shiatsu massager. The 4th station was a blanket on the floor, where each of my children took turns relaxing while I massaged them with mint-scented lotion. I put on a CD of Ocean Sounds: whales, pounding surf, foghorns, etc. Then it occurred to me: without having to invest my life in another college degree, I could actually become a massage therapist. I think I would like that. But I have a friend who does this and she said it's a lot of work and long, exhausting hours. Hmm, not liking the sound of that, but maybe I'll put that idea on the back burner.
Here are some other realistic ideas I've had:
I wouldn't mind cleaning other people's houses. But I'd have to come up with a catchy slogan like, "I can't keep my own house clean, but I'll clean yours if you pay me."
I think it would be fun to do a side business of baking cookies and cupcakes for kids' birthday parties and school functions. Forget decorating, though, because every time I try to decorate a cake, it ends up looking like it got run over by a tricycle.
If I ever had the gumption to start a business outside my home, I would start a drive-through coffee shop. There is a little business at the end of our street that pretty much changes hands yearly, so maybe one of these years, I can buy it and convert it into Jen's Java Hut: Drivethrough only! I figure I can get the attention of many Capitol Commuters since we live just off a main thoroughfare heading straight to downtown Lansing.
If I had to work retail, Kohls would be my number one choice. It would be my only choice, actually. I love that store like it was my own: all other department stores pale in comparison. However, if I worked there, I'm quite sure I would regularly take advantage of their fabulous sales and the accompanying employee discount so that I would never really make enough money to do anything but fill my car with gas to get to and from work.
My final, yet favorite, idea is to be a Blogger. Yes, I'm already blogging, but I'm talking about the kind of blogger that makes more than $17.52 per year in ads. Maybe some really cool organization needs a blogger and fate is just waiting for the right time to bring us together.
I don't have to make any major decisions yet. Hopefully I won't need to seriously think about this for at least a few years (20 years would be preferable, but my hubby seems to think I won't make much if I start working when I'm 60 and then retire when I'm 65 - he's such a pessimist). In the meantime, I'll keep sitting here in my cozy house, dreaming and blogging away.
Read Part 3 of What I Want to Be When I Grow Up
So, let me muse a little more seriously here about things I could possibly do.
My kids had a snow day yesterday, so I set up a "spa" day for them. I created 4 stations for them to visit. One was a heated foot bath, one was a heating pad with a back scratcher and one was a shiatsu massager. The 4th station was a blanket on the floor, where each of my children took turns relaxing while I massaged them with mint-scented lotion. I put on a CD of Ocean Sounds: whales, pounding surf, foghorns, etc. Then it occurred to me: without having to invest my life in another college degree, I could actually become a massage therapist. I think I would like that. But I have a friend who does this and she said it's a lot of work and long, exhausting hours. Hmm, not liking the sound of that, but maybe I'll put that idea on the back burner.
Here are some other realistic ideas I've had:
I wouldn't mind cleaning other people's houses. But I'd have to come up with a catchy slogan like, "I can't keep my own house clean, but I'll clean yours if you pay me."
I think it would be fun to do a side business of baking cookies and cupcakes for kids' birthday parties and school functions. Forget decorating, though, because every time I try to decorate a cake, it ends up looking like it got run over by a tricycle.
If I ever had the gumption to start a business outside my home, I would start a drive-through coffee shop. There is a little business at the end of our street that pretty much changes hands yearly, so maybe one of these years, I can buy it and convert it into Jen's Java Hut: Drivethrough only! I figure I can get the attention of many Capitol Commuters since we live just off a main thoroughfare heading straight to downtown Lansing.
If I had to work retail, Kohls would be my number one choice. It would be my only choice, actually. I love that store like it was my own: all other department stores pale in comparison. However, if I worked there, I'm quite sure I would regularly take advantage of their fabulous sales and the accompanying employee discount so that I would never really make enough money to do anything but fill my car with gas to get to and from work.
My final, yet favorite, idea is to be a Blogger. Yes, I'm already blogging, but I'm talking about the kind of blogger that makes more than $17.52 per year in ads. Maybe some really cool organization needs a blogger and fate is just waiting for the right time to bring us together.
I don't have to make any major decisions yet. Hopefully I won't need to seriously think about this for at least a few years (20 years would be preferable, but my hubby seems to think I won't make much if I start working when I'm 60 and then retire when I'm 65 - he's such a pessimist). In the meantime, I'll keep sitting here in my cozy house, dreaming and blogging away.
Read Part 3 of What I Want to Be When I Grow Up
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