We are turning yet another page, to use Momma's explanation of our lives right now.
After three years of doing a fairly poor job of being an active stay at home dad I took a job at the same place Momma worked till recently. I began my training as she began a week long suspension, punishment for being fairly late on two consecutive days.
I worked last Friday morning and Saturday night. This week I worked my third training shift the day that Momma returned to discuss her future employment with her direct superior, the head chef.
He fired her, and I worked the rest of my shift with the thought that I would return the next day. If I was the only one of us with a job, the responsible thing to do would be to keep the job as long as I needed to.
I awoke Thursday morning in time to get to work on time. I awoke Thursday morning to a mix of rage and depression at the thought that I'd have to go back. I got dressed as far as pants and socks, pulling them on in the most angry way I could muster. I slipped a pair of shoes and my jacket on and stepped outside with Momma to smoke, an early cigarette for clarity in the coolness of the beginning of the day.
In truth I was trying like hell to talk myself into going to work. I was upset with both Momma's firing after being held in limbo for a week as well as the knowledge I have of this restaurant based both on Momma's descriptions as well as disappointing things I'd seen in the three days I put in. This wasn't anywhere I wanted to be, and though Momma will certainly miss the place she attained at this restaurant, she is overjoyed at the page being forced to turn when she'd had so much trouble doing so with so many reasons not to.
I applied for a different job Thursday, after hanging out at the park with some great people and their great kids. I have a second interview today for not quite the job I thought I was applying for. One could consider the location a step down in certain terms, but it's more my kind of place, and the possible job would be both cooking and serving. I have years of cooking experience, but I have random and not really serving experience serving.
I don't see why I couldn't get this job, and I find myself actually wanting it. The weird part is that it's at my default bar. A number of the regulars were friends before this place opened and/or are friends outside of this place. I've known some of the staff for some amount of time.
Another page, Momma has an offer to cater a small dinner party. It's on a Saturday that I have both soccer games and a roller derby bout to announce. Did I mention that Momma hasn't been skating for a couple months? The dinner is a great opportunity for her, and catering is an idea she and I have tossed around noncommittally for a couple of years. I won't get to help too much with this one, at least not in the final process, but I plan to do my part to make it a success.
So pages turn. We find ourselves unemployed, both of us expecting a check that will sever our ties with her place of employment for nearly four years. This is on top of all the things we've been through over the past year plus. We find before us doors opening, pages turning.
There are other burners going, ideas beginning to simmer between us. We are in a place of hesitant excitement as we begin to imagine ourselves doing for ourselves, less at the whim of others. We've begun thinking in terms of what is best for us rather than what we have to do. We are aware through IRS dot gov of the date by which our income tax refund will arrive, fully expecting that to keep us afloat for just long enough once again. There are light bulbs over our heads, and more and more, we are looking to turn those pages ourselves. We're getting tired of having to read to the end of pages we don't care to read and are looking for the good stories, the ones that speak to us.
title from Bon Jovi with a capital duh