I start June 21. I'm trying not to think of this as "I start not being a librarian on June 21--I'll always be a librarian. And it's not a bad job. I'll be processing paperwork and working with nursing home residents who need help paying for their health care (Medicare, etc.) The hard part will be when rules require me to deny their requests. There will be tons of paperwork--up to 5 years' history on each person. And I will be trained on computer software, and on other things (one training will take 3 weeks, in Baltimore).
I talked with my new boss for a while the other day--she seems nice, and easy to talk with. I'm wondering when I should tell her about our adoption situation: "Oh, yeah, not only am I eager to get back to library work, but I might become a mom and need three months' family leave on as little as two days' notice."
But it will all work out somehow. I've got so much experience from my years of work (and unemployment, and freelancing, and dealing with difficult bosses/coworkers/customers). And I have so much support from family and friends. ::hugs you all::
Monday, May 31, 2010
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Tech Love
Ken ordered a new GPS from Garmin last week. We've been getting it in parts--first the stand that holds it on the dashboard, then the case. He's been waiting anxiously for the delivery guy to come by with the actual GPS.
A few minutes ago he heard a quiet noise near our front door and raced to open it. Sure enough, it was a delivery person with the Garmin. He's like a kid at Christmas: tore it open right away, looked it over, and now he's gone. I'm sure he's installing it in the car as I type this.
This behavior comes as no surprise to his mom, of course.
Oh, and we went to Target this morning. Ken was all over the wide-screen HDTVs, and I squee'd over the baby clothes and even the (bisphenol-free plastic) bottles. We managed to control ourselves and get the toothbrush heads and scrubbing sponges we needed.
A few minutes ago he heard a quiet noise near our front door and raced to open it. Sure enough, it was a delivery person with the Garmin. He's like a kid at Christmas: tore it open right away, looked it over, and now he's gone. I'm sure he's installing it in the car as I type this.
This behavior comes as no surprise to his mom, of course.
Oh, and we went to Target this morning. Ken was all over the wide-screen HDTVs, and I squee'd over the baby clothes and even the (bisphenol-free plastic) bottles. We managed to control ourselves and get the toothbrush heads and scrubbing sponges we needed.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Oh, the Trauma! Taking Ivan to the vet
This morning Ivan had a vet appointment to get a checkup and his distemper shot, plus to have his bad breath checked out in case it was a sign of a problem and not just his diet of healthy kibble, holistic fish treats and the occasional salt-free tunafish.
Ivan does not like being confined or travel. I tricked him into the cat carrier with a catnip mousie. He was crying piteously within seconds. I got him into the car, eventually succeeding in buckling in the carrier. He was not going for the soothing cassette of folk music I was playing, so I sang to him on the trip, which cut the crying by about two-thirds (it was still a long 10 minutes!)
Once at the vet's I decided to take him out of the carrier so he'd be in my arms and petted and, I hoped, happier. All was fine till he decided to escape. Over my shoulder and back. Several times. Felt like I was being beaten with a cat o' nine claws. Apparently his claws weren't clipped recently enough (they don't look that sharp, but!)
I was just threatening to put him back in the carrier when the vet called for him. He was pretty good--went to be weighed without a fuss (he's lost 1 ounce since last year). Then he submitted to having his teeth checked. They're the bad-breath culprit: he's developing tartar. The vet recommended waiting till the tartar gets worse, as they'll have to knock Ivan out to clean his teeth properly. After my experience with the clawing, and considering how he is about getting his claws trimmed, I agree there's no way he'd put up with it while conscious. Otherwise he's fine: no problems with his ears, stomach, etc. He even took his shot without a cry.
Then I had to shove him in the cat carrier again and pay the bill. The vet assistant told me Ivan needs a rabies shot in December. Guess who's taking him? I told Ivan, "I'm recommending that Daddy wear his leather bomber jacket when he takes you."
Then, finally, we got to go home. He didn't cry this time (probably over-traumatized and hurting from the shot) but had his back to me for the first half of the trip. So I sang to him again. I checked on him at a red light and he was facing me and seemed a little happier, so I kept singing.
Oh, and I got to go to work after that (after taking a shower and slathering antibiotic on the surprisingly small claw marks.)
Playlist for the trip included:
Skinnimarink
If Ever I Would Leave You (I forgot half the words!)
A Groovy Kind of Love
A Bushel and a Peck
All My Loving
Old McDonald (while we were driving through the Agricultural Experimental Station on the way home)
Ivan does not like being confined or travel. I tricked him into the cat carrier with a catnip mousie. He was crying piteously within seconds. I got him into the car, eventually succeeding in buckling in the carrier. He was not going for the soothing cassette of folk music I was playing, so I sang to him on the trip, which cut the crying by about two-thirds (it was still a long 10 minutes!)
Once at the vet's I decided to take him out of the carrier so he'd be in my arms and petted and, I hoped, happier. All was fine till he decided to escape. Over my shoulder and back. Several times. Felt like I was being beaten with a cat o' nine claws. Apparently his claws weren't clipped recently enough (they don't look that sharp, but!)
I was just threatening to put him back in the carrier when the vet called for him. He was pretty good--went to be weighed without a fuss (he's lost 1 ounce since last year). Then he submitted to having his teeth checked. They're the bad-breath culprit: he's developing tartar. The vet recommended waiting till the tartar gets worse, as they'll have to knock Ivan out to clean his teeth properly. After my experience with the clawing, and considering how he is about getting his claws trimmed, I agree there's no way he'd put up with it while conscious. Otherwise he's fine: no problems with his ears, stomach, etc. He even took his shot without a cry.
Then I had to shove him in the cat carrier again and pay the bill. The vet assistant told me Ivan needs a rabies shot in December. Guess who's taking him? I told Ivan, "I'm recommending that Daddy wear his leather bomber jacket when he takes you."
Then, finally, we got to go home. He didn't cry this time (probably over-traumatized and hurting from the shot) but had his back to me for the first half of the trip. So I sang to him again. I checked on him at a red light and he was facing me and seemed a little happier, so I kept singing.
Oh, and I got to go to work after that (after taking a shower and slathering antibiotic on the surprisingly small claw marks.)
Playlist for the trip included:
Skinnimarink
If Ever I Would Leave You (I forgot half the words!)
A Groovy Kind of Love
A Bushel and a Peck
All My Loving
Old McDonald (while we were driving through the Agricultural Experimental Station on the way home)
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