Shattered

That's how I'm feeling today.

Yesterday started out great and quickly went south. Beaker had a World Class Meltdown at tae kwon do. He vacillates between thinking it's the most fun activity in the universe, or that it is a horrible form of torture that we, the Meanest Parents in the world, make him go to. Of course, it had to be the junior instructor teaching, instead of Master B., who's a sixth dan black belt. Even I'm a little afraid of him. Picture Louis Gosset Jr. in
An Officer and a Gentleman, only tougher, blacker, and in a dobok instead of a Marine uniform. But he was on a business trip, so I ended up playing drill sergeant myself, after removing Beaker from the classroom (he was distracting the class...he was supposed to stand and hold a 6 pound ball over his head until he decided to join in class, but kept dropping it and shrieking.) I took him into an adjacent room and made him run 25 laps carrying the ball, do 50 push-ups, and do 100 kicks.

Then I realized he was actually enjoying it, so we switched back to standing still with the ball. After 5 more minutes of that, he saw the error of his ways, and decided to rejoin class. After class, as he was putting on his shoes, with tons of parents and students milling about, he said in a loud voice, "Sorry I was being an asshole, Mom." I immediately shushed him and said, "Don't say that!!" to which he replied, again loudly, "Say what? Asshole?" Sometimes ya just gotta love the social cluelessness of a seven year old Aspie. I figured my dad would get a big kick out of hearing this anecdote, as he's been known as the asshole of the family for a number of years. Now he has a contender. One year for Christmas I gave him this bumper sticker as a gag gift, which he actually STUCK ON HIS CAR.

So today I go to work, and my computer starts acting all wacky. The big boss tells me that our IT guy, who moonlights for us, told him to tell me not to turn off my computer anymore. Which makes zero sense even to the computer-illiterate moi. So after a reboot and the removal of a bunch of crap software by our CAD designer and in-house computer geek, it starts to run a little faster.

Then I get one of those emails that immediately sets off my spidey sense. The company I work for is owned by a husband and wife, and I'm good friends with them, which is how I got the job to begin with--the company was growing; they knew me; I was looking to make a few bucks. He runs it and she oversees the financial stuff and does marketing. She wants to meet this weekend to "talk about work."

Have you ever noticed no one ever wants to meet to talk about fun stuff? Or that when you go into a boss's office and they say, "Close the door," nothing good ever happens? Or how about when you get a letter or memo that starts out "It has come to my attention that..." they never end with "...you are the best employee in the world, and I am giving you a 50% raise and your own parking spot and your own personal restroom," do they?

So after emailing her back and asking what the problem was, I spent a knuckle-biting five hours waiting for a response. She doesn't want to be in charge of the financial end of things anymore. Therefore they need a full time accounting/financial person. And they'd like it to be me. And I don't want to do it. I'm perfectly capable of it, but it makes no sense for me money-wise for a start. By the time I pay for Pigpen to go in full time daycare, and Beaker to be in after school care, plus bumping me into a higher tax bracket, and the necessity of a cleaning service for home if I wouldn't be here enough to be my own maid [not that I'm doing a very good job at that--I'd fire me as the maid if I could], I would maybe clear a couple hundred bucks more than I would working half-time now. Hm, work 40 hours and have no freedom and extra stress, or work 20 hours for almost the same money and more time with my kids. Let me shove that crayon up my nose just a little harder. See kids, being a hoarder can be a GOOD thing...now when I'm unemployed, even if I am broke, I have plenty of stash to knit (and more time to do it).

Tonight was Beaker's belt test for his yellow belt/3 stripes. He (barely) passed. Had a more minor attitude attack, fueled mostly by his desire to continue reading The Wonderful Wizard of Oz instead of warming up. Did ok on forms, kicks, blocks, but he just hates sparring. At least this time he did not run away from the kid he was fighting, and actually landed some pretty good kicks. He was just happy for it to be over, and have his promised reward of

Back.

Wow, has it really been a year and a half? My knitting sabbatical turned into a blog sabbatical.

Somewhere in there I bought a house, sold a house (never do it in this order, by the way...and when the Realtor tells you not to worry, that your old house will sell lickety-split now that all your crap is out of it, HE IS LYING), got a new dog, chopped off my hair after growing it out, and manufactured at least 27 new wrinkles. More than half of those appeared during this past Christmas season, when DH was to be deployed to a large sandy area that starts with the letter between "H" and "J." [Just playing along with the cloak-and-dagger routine of miltary secrecy.] In one of those crazy good news/bad news twists, he was returned home to us after only three weeks in Texas, with a diagnosis of diabetes and high blood pressure to sort out.

The boys are now 7 and 4, entering second grade and a final year of preschool, respectively. After several years of playing "Name That Diagnosis" to no avail, a bright soul finally told us that the elder boy was not hyper, oppositionally defiant, or any of the other crap we'd been told, but has Asperger Syndrome, a form of autism. Though a label doesn't change him, it does make it easier on the rest of the family as we learn how his (scarily intelligent) brain works. We have nicknamed him "Beaker," after the excitable lab assistant from The Muppet Show,
as he has a tendency when he is talking to reach a pitch that only dogs can hear. Lately I have taken to calling the younger one "Pigpen," from The Peanuts cartoon. Every time I look at him, he seems to be encrusted in dirt from no apparent source.


So I finally finished that hat for poor DH during our vacation and it just barely fits. He tried it on, despite the heat, and flashed some ridiculous gang hand gestures and said, "Word." I take it that means he likes it better than the socks I made him, one of which is substantially larger than the other (hey, it was my first pair, cut me some slack.)

And I splurged and got myself a set of Knitpicks Options. They arrived today and I cannot wait to start something new on them. But I am making myself get through this afghan square first, and then I really need to get cracking on a pair of baby socks or a hat for a pregnant friend due in October.