Got a call from a headhunter the other day. He said he was looking to fill a position that is offering 20K more than I'm currently making. That's more of a commentary on how much I'm not making than how much this company is offering. Of course, my knees went all wobbly at that figure. My oldest has decided that she wants to go to college after all. Nothing like working fast-food to make one think, "I can do better than this."
Of course the problem is: How is she going to pay for it? College is getting more and more expensive and the government is helping out less and less. (Which is an entirely different rant I might get around to posting one of these days.) My current salary isn't really enough to pay my own bills. Thank goodness D can pick up the slack, but I hate that he has to. I'm not the kind of person who is okay not pulling his own weight. This means I really don't have anything I can contribute to her education at the moment. Four months of unemployment last year destroyed what savings I had. Not really happy about that either.
So anyway, the headhunter sent over a job description for me to review. Sounded like a pretty good fit. I called him back to talk more about the company hiring. Deseret Digital Media. A Deseret Media Company. A holding/management company for LDS, Inc. assets. Figures.
I'm sorry, L. Maybe one of these days I'll be making enough to help out, but I'm not willing to work a job I will most likely hate. I'm angry/depressed enough as it is. I guess we'll just have to hope I'm solvent enough in a couple of years to help you pay off your student loans.
Earlier this year, my youngest daughter lost a good friend to leukemia.
Last night the bus she was riding in, on her way home from a marching band competition, crashed when the driver "passed out." I put that in quotes, because those are my daughter's words. I haven't heard any official news as to what happened to the driver. But given that it was only around 8:00pm, that they had been on the road less than 30 minutes and that my daughter said the driver seemed fine when they left, it does seem unlikely at this point that the driver fell asleep.
One of the staff tried to regain control of the bus . . . and was the only person to lose her life in the crash. According to the evening news, no one else's injuries were serious enough to require they stay overnight in the hospital. My daughter is shaken up and has a severely bruised leg that will require she be on crutches for a few days while it heals. All things considered, relatively unscathed.
We may never know how much of a difference the staff member's efforts made, if any. There is a very real possibility things could have been much worse had she not been trying to help. So my heartfelt condolences to her family for their loss, and my heartfelt gratitude for the life and health of my little girl.
Update: The Trib is reporting today that three students were admitted overnight, and they are calling the situation with the driver a "medical episode."
My 15-year old started driving this week. She is going to be the death of me. She has a tendency to drift to the right. I can handle that except when there's a huge semi to her right and she has closed to twelve inches before she corrects herself.
Of course she thinks her dad is over-reacting. At least this morning I was vindicated somewhat as she drifted far enough to the right to hit the grooves on the shoulder. And I didn't even "freak out." I calmly reminded her that she drifts to the right. Of course, when she tried to squeeze past a car that was taking its time turning out of her lane without even taking her foot off the gas, it was time for Dad to "freak out" again.
She does stuff that people who have been driving for a while do on a regular basis. Problem is, even for someone with decades of driving experience, it's really not a smart thing to do. For a teenager who has been driving less than a week...HELL NO. So far she has managed to navigate successfully, but, oh my hell, it scares the bejeezus out of me.
It's been a great day for Dad. A friend of mine asked me today if I know who Wally Szczerbiak is. From the context of the conversation I assumed he was a basketball player, but couldn't honestly answer yes, so he sent me some photos.
OK. So he's a hot basketball player. For Boston should any of my athletically challeged friends decide to find a sudden interest in the NBA.
My 14-year old daughter was looking over my shoulder when I pulled up the email to see who this Wally person is. An "OOooo!!" escaped her before she remembered it was her dad she was sitting next to.
My youngest is turning 12 in about 6 weeks. She has decided she wants to take up gymnastics. I have mixed feelings about this.
We have known she likely has natural ability as a gymnast almost since the day she was born. She is small, wiry, strong and high energy. She earned the nickname "rigorbaby" long before she was even mobile because when you would place her belly on your palm, rather than draping over your hand like a wet blanket, she would go stiff as a board and balance on your palm. I have two sisters who have competed in gymnastics, both at the state level in Texas and one as a member of the gymnastics team at BYU. My family knows a little about gymnastics and everyone has commented on my daughter's apparent natural ability.
On the other hand, I have two sisters who have competed in gymnastics, both at the state level in Texas and one as a member of the gymnastics team at BYU. I also dated a gymnast for a little over a year. All three are busted and broken from their days as a gymnast. I called my sister who competed for BYU—the one who would come home from workout during high school in tears because she was in so much pain, the one who spent hours with her knees packed in ice, the one who had multiple surgeries during her college career to repair her busted this, and her blown that and her ruptured the other. I asked her what she thought now that she is a 30-something mother of four. "You know, looking back now I still have to say, 'Yep. It was worth it.'"
Great. I'll admit, I loved watching my sisters compete. I will love watching my daughter compete if she decides to take it that far, but my stomach will drop and my heart skip a beat every time she falls.
My 11-year old was asking about web pages and how they work last night. "Why, do you want one of your own?"
"I don't know. What is your web page address?"
"Ummmmm...it's a secret."
"Dad! What's your web page address?"
"It's a secret."
"Why is it a secret?"
"Well, because I have something called a blog..."
"It's like a journal."
"Well, doesn't it have a password or something?"
"No, it doesn't."
To my 11-year old journal = diary = private. I am content to let her continue to think that. Sorry, I am not ready or willing to give my children access to my blog. If they manage to find it on their own, that's another matter and we'll cross that bridge if or when we get there.
I'm not really sure what there is here I am not ready for them to see. It's not like they've never heard me swear. Just ask the same 11-year old about the day I clipped the garbage can backing out of my garage and broke off my side view mirror. I also don't care if they read my political views or some of my meaningless rants. There is the little problem that Dooce and Joe.My.God are not exactly family fare.
I guess my heistation is mostly because of the more personal stuff about me I'm just not convinced they are emotionally mature enough to digest. I have always answered their questions honestly. I figure if they're old enough to ask the question, they're old enough to hear the answer. Had she not interrupted, I would have explained that I write a lot of things here that are really meant for adults and when she was older I would let her read them. I did tell her I was redesigning my photo pages (and moving them to a new URL) and she could see that when I was done.
I'm still not sure how I feel about my girls growing up. On the one hand I look forward to the day when they are adults and we can interact as such, when all things are in the open and on the table for discussion. On the other hand, I still see them as my little girls and I don't want them to grow up . . . ever.
I blame that on my truncated time with them the last six years. Kids change so much between six and twelve. Even though I see my girls more than most divorced dads see their kids, I still only participate in a small fraction of their existence. If I sat down and did the math, I probably have spent a years worth of time with them in the last six years. So as far as I am concerned they are still seven and eight. Eleven and thirteen (practically twelve and fourteen now) be damned.