What Do You Get When You Cross an Elephant With a Cheetah?

You get a girl at the crossroads, my friends.

I can't believe I put up that semi-whiny post about my birthday...and then, yet again, disappeared from blogland. It's been a hell of a week. A few weeks, really. And what I mean by that is, it's been a hell of a few weeks in my head and in my gut, if not necessarily from an external point of view. Between adjusting to the new workplace, grieving the end of "Tween Us Girls", and finding myself involuntarily - yet constantly - pondering what the future holds for me personally, I feel like I have been endlessly looping through the stages of grief. And let me tell you, it's pretty freaking exhausting.

I am truly loving my new workplace. Let's start with that. Suddenly, I'm excited again about what I do for a living. I finally feel like I have room to grow, like I might be in slightly over my head at the moment but that truly good things are possible and even likely to happen. When is the last time I felt like that about work? Couldn't even tell you. So this is all good, positive stuff...and yet, the moving experience has been a little bit like getting divorced all over again. I'm pretty sure people make decisions to better themselves by changing jobs in all kinds of industries fairly often, but in my industry it seems to be viewed by some as a kind of betrayal. What's up with that?

The complication with loving my new workplace, and in totally engrossing myself in my work again, is that it doesn't leave many brain cells firing at the end of the day. Which makes it difficult to write. Which brings me to my mourning of the end of my column: I know I said I was okay with it, and I think I actually am. But still it has knocked some air out of me, and made me feel a little sad. Writing is a deeply ingrained passion, and pursuing it professionally has been kicked to the back burner more times (and for more stretches of time) than I care to recall. Writing my silly little column for the past year made me feel like I was finally doing something legitimate with all that longing to write. And now it's history. And while I naturally have the best of intentions to seek other opportunities to write elsewhere...um, exactly when am I going to do anything about that? Hmmm?

Somewhere in between Third Grader's softball practice schedule, which just began, and both girls' gymnastics schedules? Maybe in my spare time on the weekends - except for this past weekend, aka States Meet, which sucked up every minute of our lives from Friday night until Sunday afternoon. Oh, and not this weekend coming up, due to Fifth Grader's back-to-back birthday party itinerary on Saturday and, yes, softball practice on Sunday. If the term "cheetah" had not already been claimed by a certain ubiquitous and now-nearly-past-their- prime girl pop band, I would have to say the term is more fitting than "cougar", given the speed at which I find myself moving on a daily basis. Seeing as I found myself literally falling asleep at the table at seven o'clock Sunday night, I don't see a lot of time being carved out for querying publishers any time soon.

And then there's the elephant. The great big one in the middle of the room. This elephant goes by the harrowing name of Where Is This Relationship Going? ...It's a long name, but really, it's an elephant, so the long name thing works. And all I'm going to say about this elephant is that it's really pissing me off lately. Regardless of everything else that I have already mentioned is going on in my life right now - which is a whole, freaking lot of stuff - that damn elephant keeps right on stomping in to the center of every room that I'm in and forcing me to acknowledge it. "Say my name!" it keeps demanding of me. And since it is so damn insistent, I find myself reflexively saying its name to Boyfriend at every inopportune moment.

If you have ever encountered this elephant yourself, you can just imagine how sweet and charming this message might be coming across. Personally, I am totally out of my element here. I don't do needy. Some days I would really like to shoot that damn elephant, go get a couple hundred cats and be done with the whole thing.

And yet, why does it keep showing up? There must be a reason.

Anyway, enough of my safari metaphors for one day. I think I was supposed to go watch the elimination round of DWTS with Fifth Grader about forty-five minutes ago. Something tells me she has fallen asleep waiting for me. Bad, bad mommy.

Thirty Six. Again.

In the spirit of re-embracing my blog - and showing my appreciation that you still take the time to come by here to see if I'm still alive and posting - I want to thank Dingo for her most excellent office decorating tip. And also? A perfect birthday gift idea.

One cabana boy, please.

Oh, I'm just kidding. No cabana boy could possibly replace Boyfriend. Although I wouldn't hate being somewhere tropical and sunny with Boyfriend for my birthday - but that's not going to happen, since I just started this new job, oh, three days ago. And since my stupid birthday is tomorrow.

Remember how much fun birthdays used to be? So exciting, so full of promise. In short: worth celebrating. Now? I'd just as soon forget the whole thing.

So last year at this time, I reflected on the condition of my life and on the years that had passed so far. And of those years, 36 was about as good as any before it. Certainly better than many, that's for sure. So I have decided to stay at 36. And I'm a bit tuckered out from getting acclimated to the new workplace, so not a lot of energy left for reflecting this year. Let's just be done with it. Deal?

Deal.

Welcome To the Cougar Den

So here's one really cool detail about my new job: I scored a corner office.

Woo hoo!

Truth be told, it doesn't mean a whole lot to me. I mean, whatever. An office is an office. But when Rocky and I were asked which vacant spaces we wished to occupy, he very generously offered me up to the corner. And I didn't exactly argue with him. I mean, come on, I'm not crazy!

So this weekend, we - Rocky, my girl K, and myself - were sitting around the little round meeting table in my corner office, doing some work stuff. And Rocky decided my office needed a name. So he named it. Behold: the Cougar Den.

Don't even start with me about how I'm too young to be a cougar, just because my age still begins with a 3. I am mere days away from turning 36 for the 3rd time. And I've decided to accept the status of "cougar" with poise and grace. And, of course, cougarish hotness.

Any idea how to decorate a Cougar Den? Seriously, I can barely furnish a regular, everyday office, so now I'm feeling a little pressure. Thoughts?

When It's Time To Change, You've Got To Rearrange

I know that I have barked up the "Sorry I haven't posted much lately" tree once or twice in recent weeks...and yet here I am, creeping on up that trunk one more time. Can it still hold me, I wonder?

I always have a good excuse, you know. Usually it has something to do with gymnastics, or a column deadline, or work-related mental exhaustion. Well this time? It's two out of three. But in a really, really good way.

Let's start with the column. Actually, "Tween Us Girls" is no more - at least not until I find it a new home. In one very big sense, it was sad and disappointing to get the news from my editor that my column had become a recession casualty. In another sense, I'm okay with it. As much as I enjoyed writing it, especially the challenge of trying to distinguish it from AficioNada in style and content, it was a bit too much of a challenge at this point in time. So much going on, so many things to sort out on other fronts...it's a bit of a relief to have something off my plate for a little while. It gives me a chance to focus on some other matters needing my attention, such as my job.

Oh, I quit my job on Friday. By the way.

I don't really like to expend a lot of blog energy talking about my job, but there it is. On Friday afternoon, I left the company that has employed me for a decade and a half, and moved on. And suddenly I feel about a decade and a half younger. Interestingly, I have actually been carded TWICE since Friday. This only leads me to believe that my accumulated stress was showing a whole lot more than I thought. And so I'm guessing this was the right decision, no?

Luckily, I also did not flee alone: Rocky is still with me, as is my girl K. A package deal. Strength in numbers. Future post material...and yes, perhaps I will have more to say about work going forward, now that I am not wanting to gouge my eyes out at the end of every day. But then again, maybe I will have so much more mental energy now that I will astound and amaze you with my variety and humor, and work will be one of a multitude of topics that is no longer off-limits.

Anything's possible. Did I mention that I got carded? Twice?

If She's Home, It Must Be Over

I'm finally getting around to uploading all the pictures that Fifth Grader took of her sleepover party - what, two weeks ago? - and, apparently, it is going to take three hours.

I suppose that's fine, seeing as it's Sunday. Normally the idea of anything taking THREE HOURS to complete would make me completely batty, but since I really don't have to do anything else besides wait, I will try to make the most of my time. Let's see, I can fold laundry, empty the dishwasher, start packing up the winter clothes...oooor, I can boss Fifth Grader around all day and make her do all the chores. Now we're talking!

Before you call in family services, let me just tell you about Fifth Grader's weekend so far. So about midweek, one of her friends called to invite her to a "Twilight" party on Friday night. Seems the entire female population of the fifth grade is immersed in this book series. Many of her friends are on at least the second book, several have finished all of them, and Fifth Grader is close to completing the first book. Now, of course, the movie is out on DVD and they all wanted to watch it together. Which means she and her friends can swoon over Edward, and I can still refuse to get involved in the whole sordid affair. I have pretty much continuously asserted to her that this is, in fact, not the first (or best) series of books to ever be written about vampires, and that someday she will read a proper vampire series and know these words to be true. She, of course, files this information under "mom's talking about the good old days again." Anyway, at least she's reading.

So we arranged for her to go home from school on Friday with another girl who is attending the party. Oh, and skip gymnastics practice, which I had the task of relaying to her coach. Friday afternoon, I got a call from another friend's mother, inviting Fifth Grader to a surprise party on Saturday night. This one is a scavenger hunt in the mall and dinner afterwards, from five to eight at night. Sure, I have no life of my own; why not cart the girl around to hers all weekend?

Saturday morning I picked her up, managed to shake a fair amount of room cleaning out of her during the day, and delivered her to the mall at five. Third Grader, who is such a great sport about being my constant companion, chose Applebee's and Target to fill the time. Target is a bad idea without a list, my friends. A very bad idea. After that bout of hedonism, we went back to the mall to fetch Fifth Grader, who was still at the restaurant and whose party had still not been served their food. So Third Grader and I roamed the mall for a half-hour. And the mall, without a list? Also a very bad idea.

Tired (and now broke), we retired to a bench outside the restaurant at 8:30. All the same girls that I just saw getting picked up in the morning come flying out of the restaurant...and the sleepover requests start flying as well. Other girls' parents arrive. Daughters beg fathers. Mothers look at daughters with wistful expressions. They are all a bunch of suckers. And, naturally, we all drove home, packed up our daughters, and delivered them to the winning girl's house.

So here we are, Sunday afternoon, and both of my daughters are finally home.

Oh, plus Third Grader's friend, who is here for the day. It was only fair.

Just Another Manic-Depressive Monday

Remember all that happiness I mentioned on Friday?

You know, I actually managed to hang on to that happiness pretty much right through the weekend. Strange but true. For once, in I don't know how many months, I managed to spend my weekend doing a little bit of all of the things that I enjoy. Drinks and laughter with friends on Friday night. A trip to Borders with the Tornadoes, and a nice run (still on the treadmill - not ready to brave the outdoors again yet. Brrr.) on Saturday morning. I will spare you the aggravation that was Saturday afternoon with the Tornadoes, as it will only spoil the momentum...and Sunday: many, many hours lying on the couch reading.

And here we are again - back at the beginning of what is sure to be another hectic and frustrating week.

Part of what makes the weeks so frustrating as of late is the fact that I have determined that I need to dial up the homework supervision. Third Grader is a diligent student, but Fifth Grader...it's not that she's struggling, exactly. She enjoys school. She likes to do well and she shares her new knowledge with me with a great amount of enthusiasm. She just doesn't really want to deal with school anymore once school has ended for the day. Homework, in the eyes of Fifth Grader, sucks.

And it isn't even that she gets all that much of it this year. The only assignments that are really ever sent home are ones that she didn't get finished during class, or math papers needing problems corrected. Easy peasy, right? Yeah. If you want to call singing, flipping, eventually sitting down at the kitchen counter under duress, and then thrashing about in wild frustration "easy", you go right ahead. I do not enjoy it.

So here's how the week is starting. Tonight we were all home by about 5:45. A quick perusal of assigned homework results in Third Grader slamming down her two already completed papers, presenting homework journal for my initials, and proceeding to her latest passion, which is knitting. Yes, knitting. Meanwhile, Fifth Grader's journal poses one little assignment; answer seven questions about her reading group book. I have never heard of her particular reading group book, much less read it, so all I can really do to help her is lurk. I try to lurk from a distance, while I get dinner ready.

Then the singing begins. "Is there a question about singing?" I ask. She resumes writing. I resume cooking. Third Grader begins explaining the process of knitting to us on an unsolicited basis. Fifth Grader retorts with a handful of sassy big sister remarks while simultaneously climbing onto the kitchen counter to reach the cat. "Is petting the cat part of your homework?" I say, not so patiently. She resumes writing. I resume cooking. Third Grader resumes knitting.

Dinner is served and consumed, and we begin again. It is now 6:30. Fifth Grader has made it to question #3. I go upstairs to put away laundry and check my email, maybe stare aimlessly out the window for a few minutes pondering some other matters, and return downstairs at 6:55. She is on question #4.

I have had to resort to my very least favorite reward for a job well done with Fifth Grader; namely, the ability to watch "Dancing With the Stars" tonight, with me. I have absolutely no desire to watch "Dancing With the Stars". I am hoping just the teeniest, tiniest bit that, at 7:59, she is still on question #6. But I know that she won't be. She will be finished, because watching extraordinarily grating reality shows with her mother seems, for some reason, to be the ultimate reward for the child. Go figure. I'd happily take a fudge brownie.

Something's Not Right

I am feeling eerily happy today. To be honest, it's freaking me out a little.

What do I have to be so happy about? Hmm. What am I happy about, what am I happy about...it's not a gimmick, seriously. I don't know why I feel like this.

Here are some possibilities:

It's Friday.

The sun is shining.

The snow is melting.

There is a "sale pending" plaque on the sign next door.

I bought some new clothes yesterday.

...uh, yep. That's all I can come up with. Oh, and I am staring into a weekend completely free of gymnastics meets, sleepovers, and playdates. Now I feel a little lost. What am I supposed to do with all that time? This could be disastrous.