Almostgotit.com

Christmas came early for the Almostgotit family this year!

Our best present was having our daughter survive, and relatively unscathed, being hit by a car as she was getting off a school bus a few weeks ago.

The second best was attending yesterday’s news conference, in which Knoxville police department chief Sterling Owen outlined a new enforcement patrol that will target motorists who fail to stop for school buses.

One of our new friends who is a fab reporter (Hi, Wendy!) emailed me later to ask what we had done to get that sort of attention from the KPD. I had to respond that I didn’t exactly know, but that I certainly couldn’t take all of the credit. It seems like it was a sort of “perfect storm” – Knoxville’s Safe Kids Coalition HAD already been talking this fall to the KPD and others about school bus safety. The problem of drivers ignoring school busses truly seems to have gotten worse, recently, too, as it is my understanding that other parents have been complaining about it too.

Also, the kid who got hit happened to survive to talk about it, thank God.  She also happened to be one who lived in a politically-savvy and educationally-empowered community containing such people as my writer-friend Jenny (Hi, Jenny!) who joined me in writing letters and contacting the mayor, members of city council, school prinicipals and the like. I wrote a letter to the local paper as well, which caught the attention of a local television station (which screened a nice interview with us) as well as the interest of the Safe Kids Coalition, who also contacted us (Hi, Susan!).

I am newly impressed by the power of persistence as well as the power of the pen. I used to believe more in those things than I do now, so it was a good re-affirmation in my old(er) age. All those things we tell our kids but secretly lose faith in ourselves?  Turns out they may be true:  Speak up! Keep trying! Go to the top!

And stay in school & read a lot of books so you’ll know how to write a compelling letter when you REALLY need to!

For me, it was mostly a blur.  For the 13 year old, it was mostly about Facebook.

What do you do when reporting to the scene of your own child’s accident?  I did it.  I barely registered these peripherals:  A firetruck.  A police car.  An ambulance. A school bus FULL of alert, chattering faces, all looking out at us.  More firemen than could possibly have fit in the truck.  A red car  which was clearly the culprit.  The dear bus driver.  The neighbors who had knocked on my door.  The sudden and miraculous appearance of a friend from across town, offering me a ride to the hospital following the ambulance. 

My daughter wanted to use my phone at the hospital to Facebook her friends about the accident, and I didn’t let her, as we needed to be  attentive and helpful  to the people who were still attending to her.  

But perhaps even more, I felt that Facebooking from the hospital  was unseemly in a way I couldn’t quite explain to myself.  Was it Inappropriate attention-seeking, when she hadn’t really been “harmed?”  (but of course she’d been harmed.  Someone HIT HER BODY.  With a CAR.) 

We came home and she immediately headed for the computer, and I heard myself telling her not to “over-communicate.”  Then I realized I was censoring her, and for no good reason. 

“Why not?” asked the wiser woman inside of me. 

Why not let her reach out to her friends, immersing herself in a reassuring buzz of  “Plz tell me what happnd!” and “I am so GLAD ur okay!”   Why not let her tell her story over and over, processing it by sharing it?  Why not allow her to redeem her own story by taking the lead in telling it?

So I changed my mind.  “Communicate AWAY!” I said.  “ALL you want to!” 

And she did.  She tapped away for a couple hours on Facebook, where the news was already spreading through Middle School Land.  Several new “friend requests”  appeared from breathless thrill seekers who wanted to be closer to the action.  Chat messages bipped like popcorn from friends and people she hardly knew. 
 
Was it unseemly?  I decided not.  My daughter was motoring along on her own power, getting what she needed, and learning she could at the same time.  Why did she deserve it any less just because she hadn’t actually broken any bones? 

And, as I reminded myself, there WAS hurt here.  My little girl’s trust had been violated, her PERSON had been violated in a way she didn’t expect or deserve, by someone who had physically struck her with a lethal ton of steel. She had been exposed to a bus full of her adolescent peers who had eagerly watched her for 30 minutes in the immediate aftermath of the accident, some even snapping pictures of her with their cell phones.  So why shouldn’t she re-fashion herself as a bit of a heroine?  Why shouldn’t she even have, YES, a bit of a bask in her 15 minutes of fame? (She confessed, a couple of times, to wishing she had at least a splint…)
 
School the day after was much more of the same for her.  Everyone was talking about the kid who had been run over… by a car? a bus?  The nurse called her out of class.  The principal called her out of class. It could have been awful, but my daughter chose not to let it be.  And how proud my daughter’s friends were to know her, getting their OWN share of attention by bearing the much-coveted details. 

On the bus home the day after, there was silence as my daughter walked down the aisle to her seat.  The bus driver stood and gave a lecture to the kids about safety, calling my daughter  ”one lucky chick” and describing how he’d almost had a heart attack watching her get hit the day before, and almost hadn’t come to work this day. 
 
And when her bus stop came, there was silence again as my daughter got off the bus.  She carefully crossed the street, turned, and waved.  And the entire bus burst into cheers! 

Cue the theme from “The Natural,” and Hurray for The Kid who Lived to Ride the Bus Another Day!

I am on my soapbox today, and today I am entitled.  

My daughter was hit by a car yesterday just as she was getting off the school bus.  May you never get a phone call like that at your house.

She is fine, thank God, but  I hope you will hear three things that this Mom has to say today:

(1) Drivers must yield (which means STOP!) when a school bus is also stopped.

(2) Children need to be very careful when they exit a school bus, even if the bus has employed its stop signs and flashing lights.  It’s important to keep re-enforcing these 1^st grade rules, because even an 8^th grader will be distracted by a bus driver’s frantically honking his horn at an oncoming driver.

(3) The degree of impairment caused by talking on a cell phone while driving, (even when using headsets) has been proven in several major studies to be the same as driving drunk.  Driving with cell phones is not yet illegal in our city as it is in more and more others, but we don’t need to wait for a law. It is VERY IMPORTANT to limit this very popular distraction. 

Thank you very much for listening. 

- Almostgotit

Illustration by Almostgotit’s daughter

Almostgotit has been out to lunch.  She has been out to breakfast, dinner, and snacks too.  Lots and lots of snacks.  With lots and lots of relatives, all “sleeping and eating and breathing together” for many weeks in several, mostly-computer-free locations in the western parts of Washington State. 

Almostgotit neglected to bank any blog posts for her absence, too.  She was too tired and ready for a vacation to bank any blog posts. 

She’s back now, though, and ready to write really scintillating posts. Starting, um, tomorrow. 

Creative Commons image by Mpopp

Sometimes people come across my older posts and leave comments, which my regular readers then miss. I didn’t want you to miss this one, though.

Tanya wrote:

What if you moved to another city for your husband, ended up unemployed for 2 years, and 2 of the most potentially productive and career-making years of your life (under 30, no kids)? After you had already had to give up a very promising and well-paid job in another city? And now you realize you will never have a really cool job and kids at the same time? And you are too old with too much of a broken resume to ever apply to and get into a top business school, which you have only come to realize is essential to having transferrable job skills that people actually want to hire? How do you get over that?

Tanya’s comment hit me in the gut, and I don’t want to minimize her obvious pain in any way.  She and I have had a whole lot of experiences (and feelings!) in common*, and I don’t have any easy answers for her. 

((Except that it sounds like I’m even older, have an even worse resume, so quite possibly am even more screwed! ))

Tanya sounds pretty upset.  And pissed off, too.  The last thing I’d suggest is that she “get over it.”  Being upset isn’t wrong, because it tells you something IS wrong. You can’t just ”get over” it: you can only use it.  Anger is very powerful, and while it can destroy you, it can also give you enormous strength to do important and difficult things. 

I wonder who, or what, is telling Tanya she’s too old and too broken and can’t even APPLY to business school?  Or that people will only hire her if she does something she’s already told herself is impossible?  Those are the sorts of thing our wicked inner toad people tell us.  That’s a load of garbage.  And it hurts us very much to swallow it. 

What’s worked for me? Personal and marital counselling, talking to people who are experts in job re-entry, talking to people who know how to make my resume better, taking care of myself even when I don’t want to.

Being with supportive friends is the MOST important, studies now show… even better than exercise!

So, Tanya, what are you doing to be nice to yourself?

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* I am re-activating this angry post especially for Tanya.  I’d de-activated it because it’s not me at my most attractive, and I really do like men.  But sometimes, Damitol, living with them just makes me MAD.

Genuine Rhodesian FridgeSnack, age 2 yrs. Excellent time management tool: esp. adept at waking family at Good-God-O’clock on freezing Feb. Monday mornings with loud vomiting sounds, forcing prompt action as well as hurried making of fires and coffee. 

Effective: collects & contains all fleas within 5 mile radius, 12 mos/yr, further assuring early am wakefulness as family has been kept alert all night due to great deal of loud scratching.

Helpful: Will clean out your litter boxes, sort through your garbage, and assist in controlling your caloric intake by stealing and eating the egg breakfast you didn’t need this morning, anyway. 

Efficient: once family is thoroughly activated at Good-God-O’Thirty, will then rest up for the rest of the day to better serve again the next morning.

When I found my 2006 Christmas cards in my current “to do” pile recently, something inside me finally snapped. 

In a good way though, I think. 

So the other day, while still too stuffed up and blech to do anything else, I made 100,000 Valentines and sent them all out. 

Happy Valentine’s Day, أعياد سعيدة , Joyeuses Fêtes, Merry Christmas, Chag Sameach, and Happy Solstice to you and yours from Almostgotit.com!!

My husband and I finally had an argument over this whole job thing last night… sort of remarkable, really, that it took us this long.

We are supposed to make our final decision about the new job today, and The Mid-Level Guy (T.M.L.G.) was supposed to get back to us yesterday morning with his counter-offer.

By 9 pm. last night we’d not heard a word, and began making plans about how to handle his silence.  Tensions were a wee bit high.

We finally got T.M.L.G’s email at about 11 pm… no, he hadn’t heard yet from his superiors with the money part, but hey, before? When he said pretty dismissively that he couldn’t do anything for The Wife? Turns out maybe he could get Almostgotit a very low level, very poorly paid secretarial job in his own Development office after all, which could be a great entree into Development in general, which we all know is a growing and lucrative field.

Yes I do know, says I, to Mr. Almostgotit. And I’m trying very hard to appreciate his efforts.

But might I point out,  says I additionally, That it’s the other city’s highest level Development/Advancement people (among others) who are calling me directly, on the phone (not just sending emails via my husband) and talking to me about writing and PR jobs in Development — instead of ignoring my updated resume altogether and offering an entry-level clerical job instead, citing my fracking “organizational skills?!?”

All else being truly equal, we both would rather stay in Tennessee, but

No one will ever just hand you a job, says Mr. A. You’ve got to try harder, or get another degree.

Maybe, counters I. But lots of people, especially those not occupying your own particular little part of the world, would say instead that the best way to get jobs is though connections, And how crazy am I to turn my back on this only time, ever, that so many people are going to bat for me, in the other city, right now??

(Besides, I add, much later. Besides. How can you say I haven’t tried??)

The man here is trying, says Mr. A. We should consider his offer. He’s right about it being an entree…

No, says I. If I wanted that kind of job, I could get one on my own. There are a million of them at The Institution that Shall not Be Named ( TITSNOB. *) Thank T.M.L.G for me, of course, but I am a terrible, terrible secretary. And I know exactly the job he’s talking about… I used to bring my paperwork to that person, buried in a basement office in a sea of filing cabinets and paperwork. That’s all she did. I’d die there. I’d DIE.

If you could get one of those jobs on your own, why haven’t you, says Mr. A.

Because I haven’t applied for any of those jobs, says I, a wee bit too loudly. And if I did want to be a secretary, I’d certainly not be one at TITSNOB, as the standard pay elsewhere in Knoxville is almost twice as much. I know, because I’ve looked into it, several times.

If we want to stay here, we need to find out more about the job, at least, says Mr. A.  Do you even KNOW what you want?

Some, says I, voice stupid and wobbly.  I know some of what I want.  And I know I don’t want to be a secretary.

This isn’t just any secretarial job, says Mr. A., but could lead to higher things…

No it won’t,  says I. It won’t. Name one secretary at TITSNOB who has ever gone on to other things, beyond more responsible secretarial jobs? Besides, there is so much paperwork at that place that I’d never have time for anything else. The world needs paperwork people, TITSNOB needs more than most, and some people are satisfied being paperwork people.  Many paperwork people are delightful, but for me those jobs are a DISASTER. 

Slight rolling of the eyes from Mr. A.

I’m not just being dramatic, or snotty, says I.   I’ve failed in four clerical jobs, remember, and grown past them in any case? I keep wanting to push the envelope. I find the work-arounds that work better. I get in trouble in clerical jobs. I’m one of those people that OTHER job ads ask for: “A self-starter,” and that is exactly what TITSNOB does not want in its secretaries. I know that better than anyone else — remember?!?

We both have very mixed feelings, and clearly we are both a little whacky. But how I would love to thumb my nose at TITSNOB and ride the hell out of town without looking back. And how delicious it would be for everyone here to know that the deciding factor in our leaving was the great job someone else just gave to his wife — the formerly-known-pain-in-the-butt we call ”Almostgotit.”

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*Re TITSNOB:  No, the acronym doesn’t really work, but that’s okay because TITSNOB doesn’t really work either.

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** Re Penelope Trunk:  This post isn’t, strictly, like one of Penelope Trunk’s, because (a) I got my husband’s permission to talk about our argument and (b) I did not mention anyone’s genitalia, shaved or otherwise.

I got a message on my voicemail last night. Turns out my folks are reading my blog ..

Hi Mom, Hi Dad.

Why didn’t we tell you? Because all of this job stuff is a little like making babies… how soon do you have to tell everyone about a baby? When you’re safely past the first trimester? Immediately after seeing the little pink thingie on the stick?

Blow by blow while you’re still TRYING?

Besides, we weren’t really “trying,” it just sort of happened during a rash moment last spring. Margaritas may or may not have been involved. And now we’re smack in the middle of what is turning out to be a very difficult decision, and we have to make it without being too distracted by the folks (as loving and supportive as they are) sitting in the bleachers.

Don’t worry, I feel for you.  I’ve got the same nosy parental deal, going the other way, with my son’s Facebook page.  Some people think it’s icky that I even have access to my son’s Facebook page.  Other people think I should not only read his page but report all his Facebooking friends to their parents. 

I’m just saying!

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