The Job Hunt

It's been two and a half weeks since the Taylor, Bean and Whitaker lay offs, and in that time period we've been busy.

• We've submitted approximately 20 resumes (many with ridiculously long accompanying applications comparable to what I'd expect when applying for a job with the CIA.)

• We've called pretty much every large farm or estate in our area just to check for openings (and there are a LOT of these in the Ocala area).
• We've become familiar with the varying levels of government which list their job openings independently on each of their websites (cities, counties and state), and we've found most government websites to be rather inept; we've also have suggested in some cases that IT persons be hired to polish up their websites a bit while also providing much needed employment for some skilled individual.
• We've uploaded the resume to a large variety of online search engines for companies looking to hire.
• We've also constructed a number of cover letters each advertising the vast grandeur of my spouse in general, and each also stating how much he would just LOVE to work for them and how their company is just the creme de la creme and how he'd be the perfect candidate for whatever opening it is they have.

Through this experience I've discovered that I'd make a pretty great marketing rep. or advertiser; I really feel like I could market just about anything to anyone. Despite my feelings of success and accomplishment, the desired end result of a job has not yet been achieved.

And though I feel like I'm really honing my 'advertising craft,' I just don't enjoy it. Quite frankly, I'm sick of it. Maybe if I were advertising some inanimate object or service, I'd still be relishing a love affair with a marketing career, but given that I'm advertising my husband - it's really lost it's thrill quickly. The first couple of days - even week - I tried to temper my excitement each time the phone rang or we got in a new email, optimistically expecting it to be someone calling for an interview. I'd say that was the 'waiting period.' At this point, having exerted this much effort, and having received only one credible offer (yesterday) for a job interview, I'd say I don't feel so much like I'm waiting anymore. Now I'm just existing. It's a strange thing to exist in this sort of permanent state of limbo that stretches on before us indefinitely. There's really no call backs, or responses or any sort - just silence. So in that time we try not to imagine what we'll be doing in two months if we're in the same situation; instead, we just kind of hang out expecting it will be different and hunting for more jobs and submitting more resumes and applications.

Fortunately, as I stated, we did receive our single callback yesterday to schedule a job interview in the beginning of September. That was encouraging - a shred of hope amidst the stillness that otherwise pervades. As the woman on the other end of the line explained some of the responsibilities of the job and the interview process, there was one rather odd clip-it that stood out to both of us. She suggested that if Jim had any "media clips" he should bring them. . . Of course I immediately pictured the local media coverage in our area over the last couple of weeks of newly laid off employees touting their disgust and horror for all things Taylor, Bean and Whitaker. "Ya, I think we're good. Nobody taped us at the employment workshop or anything" I told Jim still a bit confused. Jim responded "No, I think they're wanting some sort of media clip - like something that I've stated representing a company or something - an intentional planned statement on behalf of someone. . . " Oh. Well, that's a different story.

We both thought hard about it for a few seconds, searching through our memory banks for any brief moment of fame that we could have somehow dismissed. Jim recalled that he was pretty sure the top of his head was in the back (center) of a photo featured prominently in the local paper from the employment workshop. We also remembered his weatherman gig in our back yard from when Tropical Storm Fay hit last year (now that was some intense reporting). You can see it here if you missed it the first time around (scroll to about 5 min., 45 seconds to see where weatherman Jim takes over.)

Unfortunately, this is pretty much all we've got as far as media clips, so I guess he probably won't be bringing any to the interview. The woman on the other end of the phone said that it was no big deal if he didn't have any as lots of their candidates didn't. So I guess we'll just hope the rest of the interview goes as close to perfectly as is possible and that maybe a few of the other prospective candidates accept other work before the scheduled interview day.

TBW's Closing

So Wednesday last week was the last day of my husband's work. There was no announcement ahead of time or forewarning. It wasn't because he'd been a bad boy and gotten into some kind of trouble or something. No, this was because the whole company - or rather empire - closed. . in one day, in one fell swoop, it ended.

Well, I guess there was a little bit of forewarning when the FBI raided the Taylor, Bean and Whitaker global headquarters in Ocala on Monday. Yes, that surely raised some suspicions. But whatever concerns were raised, Lee Farkas was certain to allay all those fears by merely reminding his 1,000+ employees (that's just in Ocala too, and only at his main office - not his subsidiary companies) that there was plenty of work to be done, and we needn't be distracted by this little *raid* incident.

Following Lee's lead, it appears that the employees quickly revived their work efforts and went back to business as usual the next day, Tuesday (with the FBI circulating around and amongst them still - taking files and computers, etc.). Unfortunately, things took a few more sudden turns for the worse. Ginnie Mae decided to quit working with them, and the federal government decided to quite backing them. On Wednesday, the infamous email entitled "The saddest day of my life" was sent out around 1:00. Here's what it said:

Today will be the last day of operations for TB&W. I have done everything possible to try to save it, but I couldn’t. Since 1991, we have provided excellence in mortgage banking. We did our best for a very long time.

I apologize to everyone.

Everyone except those specifically designated as “essential employees” will be terminated today. Payrolls through today are currently being processed. Additional information with respect to employee benefits will be sent as soon as possible.

Lee

So today is Monday of the following week. I have been busting my butt since last Wednesday with updating a two year old resume and perfecting the dang margins (Why are the margins on resumes always an issue?? Why??? Is there no way for Word to make their program just a smidge more user friendly??). I have submitted said resume to numerous companies online. I have filled out various "applications" (which can be up to 15 - 20 pages on average) in addition to the resume. I'm exhausted. And as I've been informed by my spouse this evening, this may just be the beginning. Can I just say, I can't handle this. I recall my husband quoting the infamous Lee Farkas as having stated: "Some people can handle life, and some people just can't." Ya, so I guess, Lee, we're kind of on the same playing field; I'd venture to say neither of us can handle life today. Granted, my version of not handling life means filing for unemployment and scaling back on gas and what groceries I buy, and your version of not handling life means retiring a bit ahead of schedule. . . . Which I guess is fine - you've worked harder and longer than I have, so go for it. Either way, for today, we're feeling similarly inept and flat out crappy.

Personally, I'd like to just excuse myself from this little segment of life which I'd like to refer to as *hell.* Lee referenced this as the saddest day of his life, and I concur; it very well was the saddest day of his life. He worked hard and built himself up from a 'nobody' to a billionaire. I think I can speak for all of us in Ocala in stating that we truly appreciated his success and the impact it had on our life. We had good jobs with good pay and good benefits and good comradery. Really, it was good while it lasted; in fact, it was great while it lasted.

Unfortunately all good things must come to an end. I've gone over this a myriad of times in my head, and I still can come to no reasonable conclusion: 'Did Lee Farkas see this coming?'. I don't know. Maybe a week or two ahead of time he had an inkling. Maybe he knew his baby would eventually fail, but I really don't think that was ever his plan or intent. I think he intended to see it through until the day he died.

Obviously there were screw ups (in a big way) within the company. They didn't file their annual reports which obviously indicated (to me at least) that the books were soooo cooked that any nimrod with half a brain would suspect fowl play. The audit conducted last February was canceled midway through because there was so much evidence of fraud. Ya, I think Lee had an inkling, but I wonder if he hoped it would just slide under the radar a bit longer. Remember, for every day he stayed in business, he made money, and for everyday that he remained 'in business' but unable to conduct business as usual, he lost money; hence the sudden announcement of their closing on Wednesday - no pensions and no explained benefits.

I'm not sure at what point Lee knew about the fraud. His top two company officials have been banned from business with the federal government for the next 18 months. To me, that sounds like a lawyer set things up so Lee would never be the victim of the fraud within his own company. To me, that sounds like the upper officials within the company knew what was going on - and that doesn't exclude Lee. To me, that in itself sounds like fraud.

Regardless, the success that has been the last 18 years of Lee's life, and all who entered into business with him came to a close last week. For Ocala especially, it was a miserable day. For the USA and our economy on a whole it was a bad day. For Lee it was the saddest day of his life.

So Lee, maybe that was the saddest day of your life. For me, it's not the saddest day of my life, but it sure has been a miserable week. It sure has been stressful and difficult. It sure has been mentally and emotionally draining. Every night I go to sleep and I swear my eyes do not open for even an instant until the morning has far surpassed it's beginning. Every day feels like marathon - and I'm told this could go on for a while (I'm hoping to not be one who dies in the process of marathoning, but who actually somehow gets stronger). And every morning I wake up to see my husband sleeping peacefully next to me, when he shouldn't be - when he should be off at work taking care of business as usual.

I wish the very best to all impacted by this in any way.

Fine Dining with Kids

I don't have any idea what came over us on Saturday night when we decided that dining out with our children would be a nice idea, but I can tell you now in hindsight that it was a temporary lapse of sanity. Maybe our disturbing thought pattern was encouraged by us aristocratically needing to be waited on and catered to after living the life of mere peasants for nearly a whole week since debarking from our cruise, or maybe it was that extra nudge we got from knowing we had a gift certificate to use that was just burning a hole in our pocket. Regardless, we were not right in the head when we thought up this idea.

Despite our decidedly naive stance going into the situation, we were both quick to admit our mistake. Upon arriving at 5:00, the opening hour, we had a brief wait wherein Jimmy quickly located the chocolate covered peppermint sticks at the hostess station and proceeded to immediately inhale his first one. Kyla, seeing Jimmy delving into this sweet decadence of course had to have one. I had just returned from having taken both Kyla and Jimmy to the bathroom to clean up (and this is prior to even being seated, let's remember) when I narrowly caught Jimmy red handed with a whole fistful of chocolate-peppermint sticks. I know this is my personal weakness as far as sweet things go, but I still felt it my duty to try and demonstrate and enforce a little self control for Jimmy (at least in public and before sitting down to a crazy huge feast). So there I was, my hand on his wrist just beside the hostess station with a small crowd seated around us observing the melodrama. I tried to get him to simply release the treats. "Jimmy, release it!" I commanded in a tone that probably very much sounded like I was talking to one of our dogs, but it was to no avail. He was locked in on it (kind of like the way Albert on Little House on the Prairie was when he was needing his opium fix). "Jimmy, you HAVE to put it back. You cannot have this before the meal." I had to repeat myself a couple of times before Jimmy came to and responded to me. And this was all before being seated.

Once seated, we were free to raid the salad bar. Jim sat with Kyla while I took Jimmy up and in an orderly fashion attempted to gather food for myself, Kyla and Jimmy (somehow I picture a painting called The Harvesters. . . yep, that was me, gathering for our clan). It was really quite the challenge though with little Jimmy. Though he's been through buffet lines before, somehow, maybe because the food was all different and presented in strangely appealing ways, he had a hard time not grabbing any old thing that caught his eye and then studying it in his hands only to then return it back to the salad bar for someone else to pick up. The monologue that ensued from me went something like this: 'No, Jimmy! Don't touch it with your hands! Wait! You can't just grab! No - once you take it, it's yours!'. Ya, I'm sure we contributed to the peaceful and elegant feel of the restaurant.

The restaurant was a Brazilian Steakhouse with a Churrascian grill (not that I would ever have any idea what any of that would mean except through now experiencing it). Pretty much that means (in my opinion from observation) that the meats (all kinds and lots of them) are cooked over a large open flame with different skewers located above it. Throughout the meal, gauchos (I'm not joking - at this place they wear real Brazilian cowboy attire - Yee Haw!) come around offering the different meats and slicing you off as much as you'd like at your table (I don't know that this is the type of restaurant a vegetarian would necessarily be super comfy in). Lucky for us, we were seated directly in front of the window to the kitchen - which meant my children simply had to turn around in their seats to lean up on the glass and watch the cooking channel that was ensuing behind them. It was really great entertainment, and I'm pretty certain the cooks back there got some amusement out of their tiny faces pressed up to the glass and their expressions of excitement as they sharpened knives or basted meats or pulled out a skewer of sausage (the meat Jimmy had been waiting for all evening - not that he wasn't indulging in some mozzarella chicken or lamb chops prior to that). At one point, we watched as Kyla did a slow motion dance in her chair to the music playing while watching the cooking; it was a riot. We also had to reprimand Jimmy for licking the glass (ya, he had to take it that one step farther that just wasn't okay).

Aside from the kids' awe over the cooking display, there was a good bit of delighted screaming coupled with some moderate bickering which had to be broken up. There was food dropped and silverware dropped. Little Jimmy learned the fine art of accepting or declining varying food offers from the gauchos: "Em. . . No thank you. Not this time." (spoken in the most adult voice he could muster up). The table was quickly and frequently filthy, and our waiters seemed uncertain of how to handle the ever mounting mess (ya, my sentiments at home exactly!). For a good portion of the time, Kyla undertook the cleaning with her napkin. She cleaned the "MESS!" as she declared it. But then she kicked it up a few notches and even polished the brass buttons on the seats, and then she cleaned her face, and then she cleaned her Daddy's ears and his nose. It was at this time, with her napkin wrapped finger up her Daddy's nose that someone came by to refill the drinks and appeared uncertain of whether to be amused or grossed out.

By the end of the dining experience Kyla had to be carried out whilst crying loudly over some sort of injustice which was so magnanimous that I've already completely forgotten it, and Jimmy was too distracted to remember the chocolate mints by the door (his shirt bearing evidence of every single item he had even considered tasting). Our table and area in general did NOT look like the rest of the facility, and I'm pretty sure people were alright with seeing us leave (they were actually probably wondering why we didn't hit the McDonald's Play Place instead). Though Jimmy did end up having to come home and right a page about 'good manners' and what all that would entail (due to a few behavior issues we encountered) , I'd still say it was kind of fun - in an adventuresome, embarrassing, non-restful sort of way. But the next time either Jim or I get any crazy ideas in our head about dining out with children, we will both be referencing this blog for a quick reality check.

Yard Lady

I have a confession to make. I mow our lawn. . every week. . . Every single week during Kyla's nap time I set up little Jimmy with a DVD from the library, and I head out to our garage to crank up the large riding commercial mower. It's very convenient for me because there's no cord to pull or anything; you just turn the key, and off you go. There's also no real chair on the thing, and I'm not really sure why; it's more just the space where the seat would go, but there's no actual cushioned seat. And then there's me balanced on top of a fleece (for cushioning) on top of the seat space. The thing is ginormous, and I've never been certain of what exactly to do with my legs while sitting up on this sort of pedestal. Should I sit with them tucked near my rump to give added stability, or should I stretch them out on top of the deck to make the super-sized mower look a little less obtuse with me driving it? Usually I opt to stretch them out and hang on for dear life.

A slight issue developed for me yesterday though when our neighbors were having their tree (near our side of their property) cut down. As I backed out of the garage on the John Deere and observed the large leafy part of their tree laying in the grass over our yard and our neighbors' yard, I could hear the sound of chainsaws hacking the tree into pieces from somewhere deep within the foliage (why they cut down the whole tree as opposed to just trimming it is completely beyond me and a whole 'nother story in itself. . ). Had the tree cutting people been out and readily apparent there's a good chance I would've just ditched the mowing for the week, but given that they were obscured and totally invisible to me I decided I'd just go for it and cut the yard. You see, while I enjoy cutting the yard, and it makes me feel productive, and I like getting to tout my accomplishment to Jim when he gets home (something that he should feel just amazing appreciation for - similar to the way a dad is supposed to feel upon arriving home to see the piece of stupendous coloring their child eagerly presents for them as a gift), I know I kind of look like an idiot, and I'd rather just not do it when there's a lot of people nearby to bear witness to my yard production.

So not seeing any gawkers from the neighbors' yard, I persisted. I got the whole front yard mowed, and had just gotten about a quarter of the way into the back yard, when I was pretty sure the tree people from next door might be observing my mowing skills in the back yard. Now the back yard is kind of tricky. There's lots of big holes which the dogs have dug for seemingly no reason whatsoever aside from to practice war maneuvers. LOTS. And given that I'm on a schedi what with Kyla's nap being somewhat limited, I feel the need to cut the yard quickly. Thus, I was traveling at about mach VII while hitting the ditches in the yard and literally getting air under my hiney from the whole thing, when I noticed the tree crew not just observing the mowing event haphazardly, but actually leaning over our fence and affectionately hugging on our 'guard dogs' (who were also doing their darndest to hang over the fence for the TLC session) while looking quizzically in my general direction.

Ya, it was a moment of horror and shame. I'm not exaggerating even in the least about the joltage from hitting these overgrown ditches while mowing at lightning speed. There's no seat belt on the mower (which I guess is a given since there's no real seat) and my butt literally gets a good, modest 6 inches (I'd say 12 incautiously) of air while cutting the backyard. The problem with this is that I'm hanging onto the speed and direction controls while I'm flying all over the place, and I think I inadvertently sort of lean into the controls while hanging on for dear life thus giving me even more speed. Ya, I know it would be really funny to watch. I know I'd get a good laugh out of it myself; but that's just it, I want to be able to laugh at it maniacally before anyone else does. After that, I'll be fine.

Once realizing I was the comic relief for the tree trimmers, I then had to decide whether to slow it down some and risk not completing the job (gasp!) or just keep going at mach VII so as to hurry through with the embarrassment and get done before Kyla woke up. In the end, I decided on a sort of middle ground; it wasn't mach VII anymore - maybe mach III.

I was more than happy to be done with the yard mowing yesterday and pulling the John Deere into the garage. Kyla was still asleep when I got inside, and I even had time to shower (!!!!). I've already decided that for next week, I'm going to strategically place a recording camera in the backyard to capture the horror of it all. Then, once I've gotten a good laugh out of it all, I think I'll be fine with the world observing my skills.

Vacation in Pictures

Our Canadian friends from the cruise, Sarah and Craig, just sent us some pictures from our little vacation. Fortunately for all of us, Sarah is a professional photographer and has the ability to photo shop (this is a very good thing). Despite her ability to portray things in a better light than they may actually appear in reality (literally), I think these pictures remained pretty true to form and accurately captured some rather comical and fun moments.

The first one is of Craig, Jim and I snorkeling over a gorgeous coral reef in the Bahamas. While the reef was beautiful and filled with bunches of neon colored little fishies, it was hard to forget about the dilemma Craig had experienced just prior to jumping into the water. A bunch of life vests had been randomly passed out to everyone on the catamaran and as the bartender/captain had instructed us, we put the life vests on and snapped up all the buckles so that there would be no clips trailing behind for people to trip over. Unfortunately for Craig, his life vest had one extra belt to be clipped - a crotch strap. So while the rest of us looked moderately goofy, Craig looked more like he was somehow unstable or impaired as the crotch strap created a permanent slight wedgie - captain's orders. Further, while all the rest of our life vests were reasonably clean, Craig's had what appeared to be a large ketchup stain down the front. Craig felt certain that whoever the tool was that had used this life vest before him had been stumbling around the boat chowing down on a hot dog with lots of ketchup and had carelessly slopped it all over the life vest. It was a good visual to go with the extra special life vest. Just before Sarah snapped this photo, Craig requested that Sarah be careful to try not to get the ketchup stain in the photo - this as we're all looking more than a bit rough around the edges after snorkeling for a while in our antiquated snorkeling masks and life vests.

After returning from our snorkeling excursion back to Nassau, there was some discussion about just heading into Nassau to get a look around. I guess I was kind of the stick in the mud on this one because I sort of felt like I looked like I had just gotten out of the shower with only a towel on over my swimsuit. Fortunately, everyone obliged me and we headed back to the ship so I could collect myself a bit before exploring the island. This was a photo just before we got back on the ship which Sarah graciously took and brushed up for us.

Exploring the island was an adventure in and of itself. There was so much beauty, but also so much filth. Quite literally, there were just piles of garbage randomly placed here and there. . Not that that's where garbage pick up was, just that it must've seemed like a good spot. And Sarah and I both exchanged looks of confusion and then confirmation as we observed a man tightly holding a *cigarette* between two fingers as he lit it (we then noted how happy everyone on that beach seemed just then. . .). Despite some of it's downfalls, Nassau was still beautiful. One thing that made it beautiful was the Starbucks there (which unfortunately was closed by the time we got there). But beyond the commercial beauty, it was just plain nice to look at: white sandy beaches with clear sparkling water, buildings painted in vibrant beach colors, and gorgeous tropical plants.

All in all, visiting Nassau or just being on a cruise or laughing with friends, it was worth it. It was a wonderful vacation worth every dime spent and every kurmugdeon of planning - even if returning to normalcy can be a bit brutal. . .Thank you for all the photos, Sarah! Love 'em!

Crabby Patty

I'm crabby. I'm crabby because I'm home and back to reality. I'm crabby because it will be at least another year before I get to go on vacation again. I'm crabby because the vast majority of my life these days is spent on tasks that are overly repetitive, meaningless and annoying. These tasks include such sundry items as are listed (please take note of my baffling outlining skills - one of my many super marketable talents!):
I. Cleaning
A. Kids
1. After any and all food consumption
2. After any and all play
3. After any and all discord
4. After any and all bowel movements
5. After any and all mishaps
B. Animals
1. Cats
a. Litter
b. Food
c. Any and all hairball/upchuck events
2. Dogs
a. Porch and the several inches of dirt/bugs/etc. that they track in on a daily basis
b. Any and all items attacked and/or destroyed in the backyard (this includes in-ground plants, fences, swings, trampolines, tools, dog dishes, dog collars, dog toys, etc.)
3. Chickens
a. Water dish that grows a new layer of mold every 24 hours in the summertime
b. Food
c. Bedding that must be regularly replaced (hay)
II. Supervising
A. Kids
B. Finances
C. Household
D. Pets

So there you have my day in a nutshell. Does it make sense now why I wouldn't be leaping at the chance to return to it? Ya, it has it's fun aspects, but day in and day out, it gets old.

What amazes me is the fact that this is just the standard outline. This doesn't account for any additional poo that may be randomly thrown my way by the forces of nature. The mauled armadillo strewn across our backyard with some sort of larva oozing out of it is not included in this list of 'things to do.' Nor does this list give reason for the fact that our bank somehow didn't clear the deposit for a local check which we made LAST WENDESDAY, and which became apparent last night when I went to fill up my gas tank. This list doesn't even make mention of the dispute the broke out between Jim and I after he insisted that I drive around a barricade for a closed road because he thought it was 'no big deal', but for which a cop was waiting on the other end of said road only to ask why we'd gone around the barricade. Nope, that was just the starting point list. From there quite literally ANYthing is possible. Now isn't that reassuring?

I'm Definitely a Crier Now

In the last several weeks, I have found myself either tearing up or just flat out bawling an inordinate number of times. I think it started with the impending close of Jimmy's kindergarten year. First there was the kindergarten celebration wherein each kindergarten class sang a couple of songs (I didn't stand a chance), followed by their little diplomas being handed out (more waterworks from little Jimmy's crazy mom in the back); then there was the awards ceremony (full on tear-age happening there); next was the last day of kindergarten and the handwritten note from Jimmy's teacher to him: "James, Reach for the stars. Do your best. You can be whatever you want to be. Mrs. Thompson. June 2009." (OK - I'm actually tearing up just rereading this. . .). And then the beginning of summer and swimming lessons, etc. etc. . You get the picture.

Finding myself so completely undone on so many fully public occasions left me wondering what in the world had become of me - the girl who very seldom cried at movies or other life altering events a scant half decade or so ago. I decided to try to trace things back to when all this teariness started. I went back nearly a decade to my wedding in search of tears. Nope, no tears there (I think even my husband was a little astonished by my stonewalled but blissful facade). Fast forward a few years to the birth of our son: no tears upon being admitted 9 weeks too early for a severe maternal/fetal illness. . . but the tears were not far off at that point.

It was when the doctors and my parents collectively decided the baby had to be delivered immediately, and I stubbornly conceded in utter disbelief and horror - it was then, as I was being wheeled back for a surgery to deliver my baby that was too early, that the onslaught of tears began. Because little Jimmy was stable when he was born, I was allowed a few seconds to see him before he was whisked back to the NICU. . . I remember studying his face and strangely not knowing what to feel. There were no tears then. I couldn't even grasp this whole crazy event that I had not planned for which was happening before my very eyes. How do you emotionally cope with such a tiny though seemingly perfect precious little being that is yours, when you really don't know if they'll survive and what the future will hold for them? It's almost like your subconscious tries to keep this new little being at bay (for fear of the worst) so you won't begin falling desperately in love. . . so you won't be hurt in an irreparable way.

Despite my shock, the waterworks soon resumed with a vengeance. The next time I saw him, they had wheeled my whole bed into the NICU to see him (the nurses and doctors obviously thought I was more capable than I felt I was at the time). I remember looking around at all these tiny babies and praying mine wasn't one of them - praying my baby was a big fat little guy. When they pointed him out to me I stared out him and studied him for a moment - crying, and then having to turn away - unable to understand and maybe even accept that this teeny little creature was mine to care for. Of course he was not mine to care for immediately, he had 39 days in the NICU where the staff there cared for him and taught me how to do the same as we both recovered. From that first visit to see him, to walking back and forth between the Ronald McDonald House and the hospital to see him several times a day, to the day he was finally discharged - there were moist eyes and at times, full on crocodile tears.

When we arrived safely home, the crying resumed with unprecedented regularity. I cried because Little Jimmy had made it this far and had overcome some crazy stuff. I cried because I felt inept at caring for him. I cried because he cried. I cried because he suffered different ailments that were the result of his prematurity. I cried because I felt more exhausted than I knew a human being could ever live with. I cried in frustration, and in worry, and in relief.

. . . And the crying continued. I cried at every milestone, and every setback. I cried when his apnea monitor (a machine that makes sure the baby is breathing) went off different times even months after bringing him home from the hospital. I cried when he smiled, and when he laughed. I cried when he sat up, crawled, and walked. I cried when he began sleeping in a crib and when he was moved to his own room. I cried when he turned one, two, three, four, five, and six. I cried when he went to storytime for the first time. . . and preschool. . . and kindergarten. I cried when he succeeded at school, and I cried when he struggled. I've laughed so many times at things he's said that I've cried even then too.

I'm finally noting the trend. Kids = Mommy's Tears. I've heard it said before that when you have a child, it's like walking around and living your day to day life but with your heart outside of your body. . . and it's so true. When I was little, I remember watching different shows with my Mom (per say, Little House on the Prairie) and her crying anytime children were involved in any sort of conflict or struggle; I remember her saying, 'You just wait until you have children; your whole world will change." While I certainly don't consider myself to be the most intrinsically maternal person, I can still say she was right - my whole world has changed. . . and for the better.

So yes, Little Jimmy, I'm afraid your stuck with your crying mother at every school event and personal milestone in your life; it's just that I'm so proud of you I can't seem to contain myself- and obviously I don't!