On second thought

Would I call today productive? Maybe, depending on what you call work. I hadn't written a lick by 7 p.m., but I did manage to fix the toilet flush handle, raise my daughter's bicycle seat, catch a spider in a bedroom by trapping it into a baggie and release it outside, and grounded my son for keying my car with a wrench (yes, the same one I used for the bike seat adjustment).

I also played piano, took the kids to the library, and had dinner ready by 4 pm, just how hubby likes it!

Then I thought about calling my old boss to ask for a job.

To be sure, two setbacks today propelled me into thinking I can't do this for long. One, EB announced that his mother would probably be coming to town in August to stay for at least a month. Second, I realized that summer camp won't start, as I had thought, on June 1, but on June 5. Mind you, it's not an all-day thing. It's from 9 to 2, but it's just enough to where I can be with them most of the time, and still do what I love.

I'm trying to keep it all in perspective. Maybe it was just a bad day, an ordinary day. But I had those at work, too. And they passed. So will this.

Pleasant surprise

My first week at home is drawing to a close, and I have to say, it isn't as bad as I thought it would be. I miss my friends at work, but I haven't cried over it. My appetite is slowly returning. And it's nice to get ample sun during the day, and maybe a jog in at night without feeling guilty that I haven't spent enough time with the kids.

I've called friends I haven't had time to call. I'm chatting with my neighbors more. I'm cooking meals at a more relaxed pace. I'm sitting on the porch composing queries on the laptop thinking, "I could really get used to this."

Of course, there is a downside. The kids. I took them today to the store.My son insisted on pushing the shopping cart, then running and hiding from me, and then--after I threatened to ground him--pushing me and talking back. I had forgotten what it felt like to have all eyes on you in a store, each onlooker wondering how parents as incompetent as you are allowed to keep kids in their custody. As for me, I just stared at this little beast of mine and wondered, "Who is this boy?"

Being at the office was a field day compared to this.

Last day at work

Walked into the office today for the last time. I checked my mailbox and found a typewritten letter from one of the clerks. Hers is the first face you see when you walk into the newsroom. She said that I was one of her favorite reporters because I didn't look right past her when I came in every day, that I always said "hello" to her when few others did. And she said she would miss me.

I went over to her desk and hugged her. That was the first time I cried. I would break down three more times after that. Ironically, I didn't cry during my exit interview. Human Resources is a pretty sterile place. It's quiet and neat, and everyone has his own office. I told the big guy across the desk that it's been a great six years. I also asked whether he'd be the one to stay in touch with should I decide I want back in. (My bosses have assured me they'd take me back in a heartbeat). I know it's an unusual thing to ask on leaving a place, but I had to know.

That serenity wouldn't last. As I packed the last steno pad into the box of stuff I was taking home, it hit me: this is really it. I'm walking out that door and not coming back here Monday morning.

I wanted to slip out quietly so people wouldn't make a fuss and launch me into another crying fit. Told one of my pod-mates goodbye, barely above a whisper, though we often use our "outside voices" in the newsroom. She asked for a hug and I said no, because I didn't want to cry again.

Then my boss stood up and hugged me, and thus began the downward spiral. I started sobbing and the other clerk came over to hug. I cried more, then more people crowded around. More hugs. More crying. Someone thrust tissues my way, but it was like waking up after being knocked unconscious at a football game. You see all these people hovered around you, and there's this din but you can't make out everything they're saying. I remember one of my editors, a woman I'd often vent with about mom stress, assuring me we'd go out to lunch together. One of our columnists, a 40-ish cynical type who occassionaly wears a wry grin, yelled out "It was nice to know you." And he was sincere.

It was a big scene, and I had intended the opposite. The ones who didn't follow me to the elevator waved slow, sad waves from their desks. And I felt like a giant cruise ship that had just set sail, when what I really wanted was to be standing ashore with everyone else.

Dark places

It's been awhile since I last felt I needed some help getting out of a dark place. Years. Yet here I am, ready to down a bottle of something lethal, or at least anything to make me forget where I am.

I am four days away from my last day at work. I've taken two personal days--today and last Friday--and I've gotten a taste of what my life will look like from here on out. It's bitter. No sweet, just bitter. Been having trouble sleeping. Preoccupied with the countdown. And I haven't been able to eat much. I cry in front of the kids, something I ordinarily wouldn't do, pretty regularly now. My husband, EB, doesn't seem to miss my sunny disposition. He just watches me pat my eyes, mascara smears all around, and offers a sympathetic "I know, I know."

Sympathetic? If he knew how much rage I already felt. I would not be leaving work if he were more supportive. But I'll try somehow to reinvent myself. Even if I have to be alone with myself for a while.

And if it doesn't work out, I'll go back. I think my bosses would greet me with open arms.

I'm done

Turned in my notice today. It was hard, especially with my boss tempting me to stay by offering me a more flexible position. Of course, that would've dumped my drudge work on someone else. My stock would plummet among my colleagues, guaranteed. I didn't want that.

Every time someone approached me to talk about it, I'd break down like an idiot. Lots of crying. "Tears of joy?" one editor joked . Hardly.

Of course, my boss's inbox immediately filled with queries from insiders wanting my job. Can't blame them. I feel crappy for a moment, but then I remember my 4-year-old the other night, the night after I had a meeting that ran past their bedtime, when he asked for a hug. He said, "Mama, I'm glad you're here."

That's the only thing that makes what I did today seem like the right thing. In two weeks, it's on to the next phase.