Just got back from The Nutcracker, where we were invited guests of the SF Ballet! Fantastic performance, kids were entranced, will do a more thorough review tomorrow…
Boy, we almost didn’t make it, though. I was in no mood to have fun. First the kids were acting up. Wouldn’t do homework, smacking each other, taking each other’s pencils, generally making me crazy. I finally said that if I had to yell, we weren’t going to the ballet. Logan had already declined to attend (the boy knows his limits), so he just kept rolling. Dylan and Daphne, however, really wanted to go, so I think they actually tried to keep my brain in my skull, but just barely succeeded.
All the while I was waiting for it to be time to drop Logan at his dad’s and pick Phil up on the way to SF, I kept going over and over the last week in my head. I should say the last year, but man, this last week pulled the last rug out. The one person we were all sure was bulletproof in this economy, my stepfather—world renowned in his field—was laid off. We are stunned. Stunned. Another member of my family was gushing about how secure things seemed in his particular field, and BAM, he went two days later. Then, Mom tells me my stepfather broke his ankle yesterday.
Lets do the math:
- I’m out of work.
- My ex is out of work.
- My stepfather is out of work.
- Mom’s working at a nonprofit.
- Phil’s teaching.
- My folks just moved into a new place in October and had to rip out three bathrooms, an outside wall, two decks, and a staircase. Mom paid the bill the day before everything came unraveled.
- I have received 46873541564 requests for donations, food items, assistance at school functions, free promotions, unpaid endorsements, and other favors in the last two weeks alone. I don’t have anything to give, people. I’m out.
- I finally put up a little Christmas tree in the yard with a train underneath it. It keeps falling over. I’ve decided to leave it as a monument to deforestation and the generally bleak feeling of the holidays this year.
I’d just like a dream like Clara’s, where the good guys win.
My stepfather put it best: “I keep waiting for the last shoe to drop. How many more shoes can there be?”