The job search begins. Again.

Thanks to being in the military one accepts moving every few years give or take. This makes it rather difficult in finding a job when you're the spouse of the soldier. They have a job or school with each move whereas you don't.

Last year I started work again after five years of being a stay at home mom. Initially I started doing a medical transcription class with the grand idea of working from home. I think in a few years I'll revisit this idea once things settle down within my headspace. I needed to be out of the house for my sanity. Depending upon where we end up after school I may pursue the transcription again with a passion.

I've been checking out the jobs down at Ft. Leavenworth and applied for two knowing I probably wouldn't be a candidate. If our move date were closer there would have been a better chance in getting interviewed. I'm still rusty in my interviewing skills and sending out resumes so the chance in doing so is welcome. Yesterday I found my job open down there. I'm scrambling in getting my resume updated since they don't use Resumix. I also can't use spousal preference because our move date is far enough out. Still, I won't pass this chance up since I'm already doing the job and have all the background checks in place.

The chances of my having a job while Jason's at school is slim considering the length of time we'll be at Ft. Leavenworth. It's hard thinking I'll be taking a year off again after going back to work. There's been a tremendous change in me since I've been working. I've had people comment on the difference, of how I'm calmer now and less frazzled. I didn't realize how much I needed to be in the workforce again, bringing home a paycheck until this past year.

I love my kids to death but I'm not a stay at home mom. It's just not me and I'm fine with this knowledge. Here's hoping a job falls into my lap again like the one I have now.

Must be user error

As much as I'd like to curse the ready made blogspot templates for making yesterdays post disappear, I know it's user error. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. Taking responsiblity for my blogging idiocy.

How a child curses his birthday

Poor Brendan, he was robbed this year. His birthday is usually the first day of spring except this year thanks to Leap Year. He's been going on and on how he wanted the 17th to be his birthday because it's St. Patrick's Day. I told him we tried but he came on the 21st. Now that I've gotten him to think it's cool being born on the 1st day of spring this year it falls a day early.

Please don't tell my child he's been robbed this year. I will never hear the end of it otherwise.

I could be a coffee whore for enough money

I started drinking coffee around 16 and it took me a few years before I became a full blown coffee drinker. There was a time I could drink coffee all day long and still go to sleep after a cup. Even better, coffee had the opposite affect on me towards the end of the day: I got tired because of how much I drank.

During the years of drinking coffee, I've worked in two different shops. I've seen the gamut of afficianados to those who think cappuccino from a package is prime drinking. I enjoyed both experiences tremendously because of the customers and who I worked with, not necessarily for. Many a times a regular would come in order a drink and they'd get something else because I knew they didn't want their drink. I got away with this because of the barista/bartender relationship.

Or we had our regulars who drove us batshit crazy with their conversations until one figured out they were joshing us all along. Mr. K was one such customer. He always showed up around 9am for his morning coffee and stayed a good hour for conversation. His family joined him around a year later from Russia and he'd bring them in with them. There was another customer, Rudy, who'd come in during the afternoon. An older gentleman with the tattoo on his arm. I never asked him about his experiences but he knew I was aware of his tattoo and what it meant. The closest he came to acknowledging his past was in fessing up being a translator of german. He had a client who wanted something yesterday and couldn't understand why a 25 page report would take a bit for translation.

I've never claimed to be knowledgeable on coffee. I've done enough reading, drink making, bean buying to know my likes and dislikes. During the past several years things have changed in the coffee world, becoming more chi-chi. I have issues with certain companies in how they make their drinks or machines they used. This is the one snobbish area I embrace. I learned how to brew espresso on a piston machine. I was responsible for the taste of the espresso I poured, for the amount of crema on top, not a machine. Having people acknowledge this on a hectic day made everything all right.

Apparently a normal coffee maker is too pedestrian because this is now available for a slight dent in one's wallet: http://www.slate.com/id/2185655/

Personally, I think we should experiment with pedestrian coffee and see if we can wring out the olive notes from a can of Maxwell House or Folger's.

Ow, my aching back. Or how I love my physical terrorist.

In the ongoing saga of my back the latest chapter started on Saturday as I got J out of his crib. The slight turn to the left shifted my spine. Don't ask for I couldn't even tell you exactly what happened. I didn't think much as I finished getting everyone ready for the Easter Egg hunt. A few hours later saw me hobbling around the house everytime I stood up from the couch or chair.

My back hasn't hurt this much in many years. Even with the car accident I never had a time where I couldn't put my full weight on either leg. This time everything is different. My back didn't go out on some type of bending move. There are times where I can't put my full weight on my left leg. Oh, and the L3 is acting up again. This disc is the start of my back problems from the tender age of 11.

Fortunately I already had an appointment with my physical terrorist this morning. The moment she saw me bracing myself in getting up from the chair she knew something happened. Since I've been going to her this is the first time my back's gone out. Barb knows my history and knows how the past year has seen a difference in how things go out of whack. She actually experienced what my back does when the shit hits the proverbial fan. So much so, I'm seeing her again on Wednesday. We've been okay with my going in every other week for the time being. I've been there, done that with physical therapy since the car accident and the workouts I'm currently doing have increased my flexibility through my lower back and hips.

At one point, I told Barb I'd considered calling Dr. M. so he could see the difference. Since I'm relatively new in his practice I wasn't sure how they handled same day phone calls along the lines of 'I'm in serious fucking pain without any good drugs see me now!' Back in Atlanta this wouldn't have been a problem. Here in the neighborhood this side of hell, it's slightly different. Dr. M. considers Barb to be a saint with regards to physical therapy and uses her as a second opinion. I know this morning she'll go into detail for him which is why I held back in making a phone call.

Dr. M. and I have talked quite a bit about how my back has changed from the car accident and having three kids. J really screwed me up in so many ways from how I carried him. I went through two pregnancies with normal aches one experiences. This is highly unusual considering the soft tissue damage, bulging disc and squashed vertebrae, 8 mths of physical therapy and one cortisone shot in the disc I received from the car accident. When I first got pregnant with B, my doctor in Atlanta didn't sugar coat what I could go through while pregnant. Everyone was surprised when pregnancy helped me even though it was a slight possibility. Love pregnancy hormones.

Anyways, this past year my pain has evolved and so does how I get said pain: no warning. I appreciate being in physical therapy but I can't help but feel surgery is in my future. Dr. M. isn't one for surgery being the first option. I appreciate this, truly I do because I'm not exactly looking forward to my spine being tinkered with. Only, I don't know how it can be avoided for much longer especially considering the bone compression I have going on. Oh well. At least I have tender, pain giving hands with my physical terrorist.

Gak!

The smell of brine shrimp is in the air. A co-worker knocked over the cup of defrosting brine shrimp for the fish tank onto the floor. Since there isn't a rug cleaner in sight, the smell of rotted, dead shrimp is in the air. I made a feeble attempt in cleaning the mess with a carpet cleaner spray. I think I made it worse: dead fish smell mixed with lemon verbena rug cleaner. You tell me.

Curse you daylight savings time!

I spit in your general direction. Or would if I weren't so flippin tired. This week is killing me with the time change. I'm not even used to getting up early even though I've been doing so for my workouts.

Today was the first day I only woke up two boys. Thing 1 crawled out of bed around 6:40am otherwise he's been snoring when I've gone in there to wake both Things up. I feel bad for the boys because their schedule has gotten screwed up with the change. Mr. pixie and I try keeping bedtimes consistent only this spring forward crap rips us a new one each year. Hopefully things have returned to a modicum of normalcy with the boys having adjusted better then their parents. There's nothing like hearing the yapping going on at 9pm when it should be snoring. Such is life with kids.

I still want another cup of coffee. I've cut back exponentially the past month or so: 1 cup a day is the norm. I know. Shocking since coffee is the nectar of the gods but I've made a conscious effort in cutting back on caffeine. Okay so the gazillion points I'd have with Weight Watchers helps. My body isn't reacting very well in my drinking coffee past noon. I'll still have the occasional cup but coffee drinking is now a morning activity. The queasy shakes just isn't fun anymore. Bah.

Crack open a bottle for me

Snotface is quickly coming up on his second birthday. It's a few months away and he's full on in the tantrum stage. The evenings have been a chore in getting the boys through the door, dinner on the table, pajamas wrestled onto squirming limbs, running interference with the older two and wondering when mr. pixie's coming home. In the midsts of all the chaos, Snotface throws a tantrum. Or two. Or three.

The first one he started throwing magnets off the fridge. When I didn't pay attention he put them back on the fridge so he could throw them off again. Then socks where thrown at me with the occasional smacking on the legs. Finally, he laid on the kitchen floor sobbing while an eye peeked up at me. I know all about tantrums, Snotface, and you won't get any sympathy from me.

Only it's frustrating when I can tell something's bothering him but he can't put anything into words. The only signs he's gotten are 'more', 'please' and 'thank you'. Those are hit or miss at best. Combine 1 part laziness on mom's behalf with 2 parts older brothers deciphering the pointing and odd noises it's no wonder he won't sign more.

My escape is Snotface being tossed into his bed for the night, Thing 1 and Thing 2 watching cartoons in the living room while I sit here wasting time on the computer.