Time is passing way, way too fast for me these days. I swear, its like I blink and a week goes by.

I’ve neglected my blog, I know. We had some crappy things happening and some scary, stressful situations and I just couldn’t find the energy to put it all into words that didn’t make me want to slap myself.

In August the kids went back to school, which meant I was kid free from 8:30-3:00 every day. Which was awesome. Except that my back was too messed up to go back to work with Jason… and, well, it’s really quiet being home alone all day. Now, I love me some alone time, but I was feeling discontent. Bored. Restless. Especially being in a lot of pain all the time, I started feeling really really bleak. Sleeping a lot. Avoiding all of the things I normally love. Snapping at everyone, crying over silly things. Oh, Hi Depression. You nasty bitch.

And then, the company Jason had been working with lost its bank contract. Just like that, work dried up. We  knew that day would come, but we had hoped it would be much, much later when we were better prepared for it. Still, thanks to my husband’s sweet sweet financial skills, we knew we would be OK for awhile. But, see, I’m a worrier. My mind immediately takes me to the worst places it can, visions of my children begging for handouts in the WalMart parking lot dancing in my head. Not being able to pay our mortgage. All the things we’ve worked so hard for being ripped apart, just like that. Because I had been spending a lot of time reading horrible news stories about honest, hardworking people losing everything because of Depression 2.0 I felt like statistically we had to be one of those stories as well. Every time I talked to anyone they were telling me how so and so was out of work and that this person or that had lost their job. So, I was scared. Living with a thin edge of panic, always just threatening to erupt and take over. And I probably don’t have to tell you that two unemployed highly stressed out people home alone together all day is not a great equation for a calm, peaceful atmosphere.

And here’s the thing: For the last 8 years, I’ve pretty much been a housewife. A housewife who sometimes went out and worked, and who did odd jobs on the side,who has no formal education (yet, working on it!)  and not many marketable skills. (I know, I know, I’m being hypercritical. I’m a good mom and I don’t regret being home with my children all these years. I wouldn’t trade it for anything. But the facts are these: If something happened to my husband there is no way I would be able to support my kids. I might just make it, but barely. That is not a good feeling.)

So, I started thinking about getting a job. Which is really scary for me, because I don’t have the greatest track record with jobs. Don’t get me wrong… I’m a hard worker. If I’m interested and engaged, I’ll work my ass off, cheerfully. I can hyper focus like nobody’s business. (I once had three jobs at the same time as a cook, a maid and a receptionist. And I ended up quitting the office job because I would literally start crying on the drive to work thinking about how I would just have to sit there for 8-fucking-hours. HATED that job.) I don’t do well with the whole 9-5, regulated break times and staring at the office clock all day thing. And when I really thought about going to work as a cashier or customer service or something, well, a little bit of my soul would wither and die. I am just not a people person. (Nothing against cashiers… ya’ll are great. I enjoy chatting with you about all that fabric I’m purchasing or what the hell I do with a Kholrabi. Also, I have noticed that a lot of you have really awesome nails and I admire that.) Some may say I’m a picky spoiled brat but I prefer the term “creative and individualistic with an almost clinical lack of attention span”.

So, I sent out some resumes. I went on some interviews. As this went on longer I started feeling more desperate and even applied for a couple of call center jobs. I got call backs, but nothing I was remotely interested in. And to be honest? I almost felt like maybe I didn’t deserve a good job that I like. Like, maybe I was supposed to do something I hate for several years before I could feel confident or entitled to something better.

Then a couple weeks ago I saw a post on craigslist for a baker. It sounded awesome and I love baking. Especially bread… it was something I really took to in culinary school. But I’ve certainly never done it professionally. On a whim, I sent in a resume, figuring I probably wouldn’t hear from them but it couldn’t hurt to try.

They called me within an hour.

They asked me to come in for an interview and bring some of my breads. I had a few days to perfect a few loaves that wouldn’t completely embarrass me in front of the executive chef of a very high end restaurant here in my area. I pulled out my old culinary school textbooks, gathered my recipes and baked my ass off. To my surprise, it all came back to me. Making bread is really not that hard, but it is a healthy mix of science and art. I had made a starter a while ago with the intention of making some good artisinal sourdough and I put that little beast to good use.

The day of my interview I was pretty much a wreck. (Ok, several days before.) I forced myself to go, brought in my meager loaves with the full expectation of being laughed out of the kitchen. I nearly didn’t go. I kept thinking I was a total fraud, that I had no business wasting their time.

Turns out I make pretty good bread. Good enough to warrant a tasting session in the kitchen.

As I spoke with the chef and the manager I felt more and more confident and more and more excited. I love food. I love coming up with new recipes and the concrete satisfaction of finally producing something that is so good you can’t even really believe you made it. I had gone to culinary school when Ozzie was a toddler and I was pregnant with Ivy, a year long program with a very good teacher that taught me the fundamentals and gave me a taste of kitchen life… and I loved it. But it is also very intimidating. Kitchens are high stress, sometimes very tough places to work in, where you really have to be able to adapt quickly and be willing to do just about anything they ask you to. The hours can be long and physically demanding and the pay is not that great. With two young babies and the self esteem of a slug, I just couldn’t see it happening for me, and I figured if nothing else I would use my schooling later in life. (I have a dream of a really good tea room, with handmade pastry and breads. Someday…)

So I did my tasting. I showed up in the morning and  baked four different breads (one of which was an embarrassingly overworked focaccia, eek!) and although I was nervous almost to the point of immobilization beforehand, I felt relaxed almost immediately. I was having FUN. Everybody was nice and helpful and I got to get a good glimpse of what working life might be like in this kitchen. Then and there, I knew I REALLY REALLY wanted this job.

And, to make a very long story short, I got it. I’m the new bread baker for a restaurant.

I started working this week. I would be lying if I said it’s been immediately smooth sailing. I’ve also come to realize just how little I really know about baking… but I did it. I’ve burned the hell out of my arms, cut myself with a knife and had to completely scrap a few batches. But each day, I’ve made less mistakes than the day before and my bread is getting better and better. Best of all? I have two products that have to be made daily and complete creative control over whatever else I want to do. Artisan flours, excellent ovens, fresh herbs and a mixer that I love so much I want to curl up and take a nap in it. I’ve learned about portioning, managing proofing and baking times and washes and poolish’s and biga’s, oh my! I’ve been getting up at 3:45 everyday and working and then coming home and practicing and reading reading reading. I’ve been scaling recipes up and down and have been kneading so much dough I may actually have muscles in my arms.

I’m exhausted. And still a little nervous. And excited. And really happy. Every now and then, I have to pinch myself. (And talk myself out of the idea that this must be some kind of elaborate joke.) I’m doing my best everyday to prove them right in their decision to hire me and so far, its working.

And if that wasn’t enough, Jason’s business has picked back up. He’s back to being busy everyday, all day. (Which, no matter what he says, is the way he likes to be!)

I know its not going to be easy. But I think I may have found the job I was looking for, without even knowing it! So, thank you Universe. You rock.

It’s September! I’m hoping that means cooler weather is on the way, fall is one of my favorite times of the year. We spent the past few weeks of summer being incredibly lazy and HOT.  (I managed to explode the pool with a weed whacker, which would have made a great YouTube video but didn’t make the kids very happy.)

School started a few weeks ago and the kids are starting to settle back into a routine. Ivy’s found the full school day of a first grader pretty exhausting (and has asked to go back to Kindergarten a few times) but they both have great teachers and I’m sure it will be old hat before too long. I head back to school today as well… Algebra I. Eeek… I’m hoping I remember all that I learned last semester. It’s amazing what finally getting an A in a math class will do for your confidence… I’m actually looking forward to my homework. I find math very soothing in a weird way. Is it possible there is a math nerd hidden deep within me? Trust me, I’ll never grasp calculus, but I’m glad to know I haven’t completely lost all my brain cells. And I suppose love of learning (or something) runs in the family, Jason is taking a class this semester too.

We celebrated Ivy’s 6th birthday last Saturday with a unicorn party. It was very pink and girly and she had a blast! And I was reminded that my house is much too small for entertaining.

My back is still pretty much broken. I haven’t had much progress other than noting I am slightly ticklish again, which means I’m getting some feeling back. Other than that I wake up in pain and go to bed in pain. I’m trying to be very zen about it and learn to work with it rather than trying to block it out or fight it. I’m happy I can walk and for the most part live a normal life. I’ve yet to return to work, its just too much bending and twisting and lifting and moving I suppose, which sucks and makes for a very tired husband. Its not something I want, but I may have to face the fact that physical labor just might be beyond me for awhile.

On a happier note, I have started working out again! I’ve been doing Pilates, something that really helped me the last time I had a major backfuck. (Yes, I made that word up. Its the only way to describe it. ) And today I spent some quality time on my Gazelle. I made it through a whole episode of What Not to Wear and was sweating buckets by the time I stopped but it felt good. I’ve also been a sewing demon! I’ll have a post up soon about all the recyled dresses I’ve been making. I just wish they looked better on me… all this lack of movement has not been kind. But eh? What can ya do? (I know. Put down the pound cake. SHUDDUP.)

Ozzie starts his soccer season today. I guess that makes me a Soccer Mom? Meh.

I’ve never been into reality shows very much, but the fact that I’ve had to do a lot of laying around this summer combined with the fact that there is nothing on TV has driven me to desperation. I caught an episode of “Wife Swap” a few weeks ago and was oddly fascinated. While I don’t have the desire to put my family under such an uncomfortable microscope, I get why other people would. It’s a great learning opportunity, if nothing else. And of course they pair up the most polar opposite people they can find, to ensure emotional volatility at every turn. You know, the stuff drama is made of. I imagine a lot more subtle change and discovery took place in the two weeks of filming than emerges from the editing room. But that’s just business.

I watched an episode today while cutting out and ironing some new winter pajamas for my kids and I ended up having to turn off the television. And have a talk with my kids about the dangers of judgment and self righteousness. And the strange thing was? The person I was most upset with in the show was a fellow atheist.

A little background. The show featured a family from North Carolina who were very deeply religious evangelical Christians. They really limited their childrens exposure to the outside world, mom picked out clothes for all the kids to ensure modesty, dad is the king of the castle and the family follows “man law”… which means dad works outside the home while mom plays a more traditional role. (This “man law” also extended to the male child, who never had to do chores while his sisters did them daily. mmmmhhmmm.) Religion was obviously the center of their lives, but they seemed like a pretty solid family. (With the exception of that “man law” bullshit. Boys need to know how to clean and cook just as much as girls do!) The other family was a staunchly atheist family of five who enjoyed an “alternative lifestyle”. (Alternative to what?) They were tattooed and pierced and let the kids pretty much explore whatever they wanted. Partying seemed to be a big part of their life. They seemed like a solid family as well, and the kids were happy and healthy.

The premise of the show is that for the first week each mom must live by the other families rules. The next week, those mom’s get to make thier own rules and the families must abide by them. Cue the learning and growing. And screaming and crying and fighting. Personally, I think its just a bad idea to try to force anyone to accept your own personal beliefs. Nine times out of ten, it’s not going to end well, regardless of what you happen to believe. And these people were definitely not the exception to the rule.

I’m a firm believer that each religion, culture, race, etc. has both good and bad representatives. After all, we are all still just humans with a seemingly endless supply of obnoxious behaviors.  But this man, this atheist, was just as close minded and self righteous as any other religious fanatic. He took every opportunity to deride this woman’s choices, mock her beliefs and tear down every moral value she held. Because you get more flies with vinegar, right? His wife was nearly as bad. She made a point, with the self righteous battle cry of “personal expression” (I suppose the irony was lost), to take religion away from the family for a week. She went so far as to put their bibles in a trash bag and take down any decor in their home reflective of their religion. These folks had an opportunity  to expose a family to broader horizons. To prove to them that an atheist can still be a good parent, a kind and dependable community member… a person with essentially the same moral code. Instead, they took every opportunity to belittle and oppress. Sound familiar anyone?

Maybe its the fact that I’m an atheist in an area that is pretty much the bible belt of California. I believe the town I live in once held a record for having the most churches per square foot. Much of my family is religious… I have a brother and an uncle who are both preachers.  The other side of my family is more “new age” in their belief systems. I was taught about Jesus right along with the concept of reincarnation and self realization. It turns out neither of these spiritual paths are right for me. It’s been a struggle, something I’ve had a lot of shame and fear and nervousness about, but its been a big relief to be able to admit to myself something I’ve known since I was a child: I don’t believe in God. I don’t know what happens when we die. I don’t know if our lives have purpose or destiny or if we are really anything more than slightly (very slightly) more complex animals, though I definitely lean toward that. This may change as I get older, or it may not. Either way, I strive to do good. To grow as a person and be of service to our world and its people. I’ve found my own way to be ok with what I believe or don’t believe and not feel that I am constantly letting others down. I try to let my life do the talking for me.

And of course there have been times when, with all the zest of a new convert, I’ve indulged in feelings of superiority. (Fleeting) Moments of feeling smug, like I know better than everyone else. The universe likes to give me a well deserved smack upside the head and that is usually all it takes to put me right back in my rightful place… silent observer, grateful that I live in a time and place where I don’t face religious (or lack of) persecution and open minded enough to appreciate what a wonderful thing religion is for many, many people. Christian, Muslim, Jew, hell, I don’t care if you worship lightening bugs, if it helps you make more sense of your life, if it gives you the same sense of peace and contentment we are all striving for, then by all means. Do it. I’ll even fight to ensure that you have the right.

The thing is, at the end of the day, its a choice. A personal choice. And really? Its no one else’s beeswax.

I don’t think I would make good reality TV. I’m pretty sure acceptance and tolerance just don’t bring in ratings like they should!