Epiphany in March: "I love my job!"

I realize Epiphany is in January, the 6th to be exact, but I had one just this week. I guess mine would be with a lowercase "e."

So often I have heard people talk about how they love their jobs. They use that very word--love--when they talk about what they do for a living: "I love my job!"

I have never understood this.

Other than my job as a full-time wife and mom, I have never loved a job. I do everything I can to work as few hours as possible and still earn the money I need. Currently, that is 12 hours per week, but I'd prefer it to be fewer. I used to think I simply wasn't cut out for a job. That would explain why all these other people find such joy and validation and sense of achievement and pleasure from their jobs, and I don't. For me, it's all about the money. I need money, so I work.

But this past week, I figured it out. It was such a "light bulb" moment that I wanted to shout: "I get it, I get it, I FINALLY get it."

Thanks to a friend from Billings (Hi, Teresa!), for the past two months I've had the opportunity to do some freelance writing for a company called Sidelines. Now don't get too excited; it's really crappy money, like not much at all. But it is some money. It's a "real" job in that sense, not just a hobby.

And I love it.

I do.

It is just so much fun. Writing has always been a source of peace for me, which is part of the reason I love this blog so much. Writing calms my anxiety and reduces my stress like nothing else. It utilizes the only creativity I possess and results in a product others can enjoy. It reaches beyond my own personal satisfaction; it becomes a gift to both myself and others. And now this company is giving me money to do it?! This is more than just a win/win situation; it's a win/win/win/win/win situation.

The other day when I was putting the final touches on a Sidelines post and commenting on several others, it hit me. This is what others feel when they say they "love" their jobs. This is it! Those others, however, have found ways to make an actual living doing what they love. Lucky are they!

My Sidelines writing gig will not produce sufficient money for me to quit my day job (or more accurately, my "three mornings a week" job). Still, I'll take it. Guys, it's so fun; you don't even know.

So that is my March epiphany. What's yours?

The Couch That Puts Boys to Sleep

It is just an ordinary couch. Cheap. We have decent furniture in the living room, but this couch here in the TV room? Nope. I bought it on closeout at a warehouse furniture store for under $200. It's not even a couch really; it's a loveseat. I bought it to replace the rocking chair that Shulamith took downstairs when her first baby was born. Every new mom needs a rocking chair. She needed a place to sing "ba ba ba means I love you."

But this particular couch is magical. It puts boys to sleep. For real. Remember, I told you it's a loveseat, so it's not very long. And my boys are tall! From shortest to tallest in this house we have Seth, 5'10"; Eli, 5'11"; Gerald, 6'2"; and Isaiah, 6'4". Yet all of them, without exception, insist on sleeping right here on this small couch. They have only to lie down, and almost immediately, they are sound asleep. Sometimes for hours.

I try to catch them before this happens because it's not particularly convenient to have a boy sprawled across the loveseat, sound asleep, in the middle of the TV room. I offer them the long, comfy couch down in the living room where it's quiet. No takers. I offer them their own bedrooms. Nope. I even offer them MY BED, which has the nicest mattress in the house, a quiet room, and plenty of space to spread out. No deal. They only want to sleep here on this couch.

What's the deal? Is there a sleeping potion inside the upholstery? The past two months Isaiah has traveled internationally for his job, first to Italy last month and then to Australia just last week. Both times he returned terribly jet-lagged. But did he want to recover in a nice bed? Oh no. He wanted to sleep all day on this couch!

In the wee hours of the morning, when Gerald wakes and can't get back to sleep, he'll often leave our room so as not to disturb me. Where does he go? Out here to this magical couch, where almost always he can go right to sleep.

Just yesterday, Eli's first day off work in the past six, I texted him to see what he was doing to relax. But he didn't text back right away because he was sleeping on this couch.

And then there is Seth, the kid who stays up too late at night playing DotA, and comes home from school exhausted. He walks in the door and goes straight for this couch, where he sleeps for two or three hours.

I should point out that it doesn't work for girls, though the anecdotal evidence is sparse since I'm the only girl who lives here (if you don't count Shulamith and Kennedy downstairs). I've tried to lie on this couch and get comfortable, but it's way too short. I am 5'6". I need a full-sized couch, not a two-cushion loveseat.

So if you suffer from insomnia and if you are a boy, feel welcome to come right over. We have the solution for you: the magical couch that puts boys to sleep.

We missed two birthdays

It may not seem very significant to you, but my missionary mom friends will understand; those two birthdays are hard. Your child is far away on his special day and pretty much inaccessible. Yes, you can send a card. Yes, you can even send a gift, so long as that gift is missionary friendly. Ties work well. Or white shirts. You can maybe find a nice person in the town where your child is serving who will make a cake. But you can't be there. You can't call your child that day. You can't hear his voice or give him a hug. It's a sacrifice we make willingly. I've done it twice, and I'll gladly do it again, but that doesn't mean it's easy.

So today we celebrate Eli's birthday with just a little more enthusiasm than usual. The feeling is just a little more intense. Because we missed two. It's like I want to hold him tight and say, "Happy birthday! You are really here, and we will not take that for granted."

Let the celebrating begin!

His actual birthday was Friday, so Shulamith took him out for breakfast because I teach on Friday mornings. Then Seth and I took him to a late lunch at Chili's before he went to his dinner shift at Macaroni Grill. Food was yummy, and Eli and Seth enjoyed playing video games on the screens they now have on every table.

He had to work all day Saturday too, so today we finally get to celebrate for real. Soon. Our church gets out at 2:00, but Eli's singles' ward doesn't get out until 4:00, so I have dinner planned for 5:00. Not all of us are here, but most of us. Luke and his family live in Maryland, and Isaiah is off eating Vegemite sandwiches in Australia this week, but the rest of us are here. Hooray!

I sit here reflecting on the day Eli was born. Do you other moms do that on your kids' birthdays, reminisce of that day so long ago? Or not so long. It was a tumultuous time in our lives. We were literally in the process of moving from California to Mt. Vernon, Washington. Gerald had a new job in Mt. Vernon, but our insurance only covered hospitals as far north at Longview, so we had to sorta stop on the way to Mt. Vernon, get Eli safely to earth, and then move on. For real.

I remember driving home from the hospital in our mini-van, a 3 1/2-hour trip from Longview to Mt. Vernon, and glancing back. For the first time, I saw not one, not two, not three, but FOUR children. And I was suddenly terrified! How would I ever handle four? Some days I didn't feel like I was handling three all that well. I had no idea at that point that Eli would be the most passionate, spirited child I had ever met, who would give new meaning to the word "handful." But that wouldn't have made any difference at all, because we were already head over heels in love with him.

And we still are.
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So Happy 22nd Birthday, Eli! May all the fabulous things you deserve come your way this year. I know they will.

How do you know when you're ready for your first baby?

This question was a prompt on a website I write for, and it allowed me to remember back to a time long ago.

When Gerald and I got married, our plan was to wait three years and then decide about kids. I would have completed my master's degree by then, and we hoped to be more stable financially. Would we be ready for a baby in three years? I didn't know. I only knew I wasn't ready then. Or at least I didn't think so. I will never forget our third anniversary. We lived in a small town in Eastern Oregon, and we had very little money, but we desperately wanted to go away somewhere, even if just overnight. So we drove the four hours to Portland and rented a cheap motel.

As I lay in bed, I looked across the room at my 20-month-old son asleep on the couch and then glanced down at my 3-month-old daughter cradled in my arms. And I said to my husband, “What happened to our plan?” In three short years, we had not one, but two babies! I had quit my job to stay home with them, and we were dirt poor, but we were happy. Because ready or not, oh how we loved those babies! We loved them so much that in time we would have three more.

When I consider the question “How do you know when you're ready for a baby?” I have to say I honestly have no idea. Can you ever really be ready? Can you be ready for the long, sleepless nights and the even longer days, when chronic sleep deprivation makes you feel like you're starring in The Walking Dead? Can you be ready for a time that you celebrate the days you actually get a shower (never mind hairstyle or makeup)? Can you be ready for all the other days when you chronically smell like whatever combination of bodily fluids happens to be on your clothes?

But then there's this. Can you be ready for the feeling you get when that wee newborn wraps her tiny hand around your finger for the first time? Can you be ready for the way your heart melts when your little guy looks into your eyes as if to say, “I was sent here just for you”? Can you be ready for the joy you feel in his first smile, her first laugh, his first word, her first hug?

I don't know if we can ever truly be ready, but I'm glad ours came to us when they did. It wasn't according to our plan, and it wasn't always easy, but it was exactly right.

What do you think? How do you know when you're ready for a baby?

Does grammar matter?

In honor of National Grammar Day, I pose the following question: Does grammar matter? For many of us writer/English teacher/copy editor types, the answer is easy. Yes, of course it matters! How could it not matter? From our perspective, educated people need to be able to write using correct grammatical conventions. Clear communication is key to civilized life after all. Yes, yes, it matters!

On the other hand, I have heard several arguments to the contrary:

1. As long as meaning is reasonably clear, the rules of grammar and punctuation don't make any difference.

2. Worrying about grammar conventions stifles a writer's personality and creative voice.

3. Basic rules are important, but the more nit-picky items such as apostrophe usage, comma splices, misplaced modifiers, and pronoun-antecedent agreement are inconsequential.

4. The only people who care about grammar and punctuation are English teachers.

5. Professional writers will have editors to fix their errors, so there's no reason to teach proper grammar conventions to kids.

In response, I would first say that “reasonably clear” isn't clear at all. “Let's eat Grandma!” or “Let's eat, Grandma!”? Punctuation saves lives. Second, creative voice is important, very important, and it can be beautifully expressed while using correct, standard English. I promise. Third, it is those tiny, nit-picky rules whose violation makes writing vague, sloppy, and imprecise. Number 4 might be true; I hope it isn't. Lastly, abdicating responsibility for our writing to someone else robs us of our voice far more than #2 above. Also, most kids will not become professional writers, so they need to function independently.

There you have it. I've made my case. On this glorious holiday, National Grammar Day, what do you think? Does grammar matter?

It's National Grammar Day - Can I get an "Amen!"?

Today is special. It is the day grammar nerds from far and wide unite in celebration of carefully crafted sentences, proper punctuation, and brilliant syntax. In case you haven't heard, it's National Grammar Day! Can I get an “Amen!”? And not to go all negative on this day of days, but nothing frustrates grammar nerds (aka OCD copy editors) like me more than dumb errors. We all have our personal pet peeves. May I share a few of mine on this glorious day? You know you want me to.

Pronoun-antecedent agreement. Friends tell me I'm fighting a losing battle here, but fight I shall. Until death. My death. When I'm dead, if people want to make the word “they” a singular pronoun, I suppose they can, but so long as I draw breath, “they” will remain plural. As such, it cannot be used to replace a singular antecedent. I do understand the problem; English does not provide a singular pronoun that is both masculine and feminine, but there are ways around this. My mantra: “Go plural!” Whenever possible, make your antecedent plural. Then you're safe with “they.”

Misuse of Apostrophes. Folks, listen carefully: Every time you use an apostrophe to make a word plural when it's not possessive, a puppy dies! This includes last names. You have about nine months to remember this rule before it's time to send out Christmas cards. No matter how desperately you want to put that nasty apostrophe in your last name and create a ridiculous construction such as “The Webster's,” don't do it. Just don't.

Incorrect use of “literally” and “unique.” The word “literally” means absolutely true with no exaggeration. So if you “literally died,” you could not be telling me about it. Or if you “literally” crapped your pants, oh I really hope you didn't. The word “unique” refers to something that is the only one, ever, in existence, the sole example. People are unique. Hardly anything else is. Things cannot be “very” unique or “really” unique or “more” unique. They are either unique or they are not.

Semicolon issues. Pretty sure semicolons are the least understood punctuation marks in the English language. I see them in all kinds of places they don't belong. Semicolons combine independent clauses (complete sentences) when the two clauses are very closely related. They can also function as “super commas,” to avoid confusion in lists when individual items in the list contain commas. That's it for semicolons. Nothing more.

On that note, tell us your pet grammar peeves on this loveliest of days. I have quite a menagerie. How about you?