Scared you, didn’t I! Popped into your Inbox and you thought, “Who? … What? … Oh yeah!” right?
Here’s what’s happened in Red Pill Mama’s world since my last communique. Not much, really:
Moved. About 3,000 miles away from my Atlanta suburb to Alameda, an island across the bay from San Francisco. No big deal.
Had a part time contract job within two weeks of arrival, lasted three months. Received a call from a two-time former boss who said, “I got somethin’ for ya.” Tough job hunt, eh? Wanted to cry every morning of my first three months, I missed my kids and my stay-at-home-momhood so much. Not traumatic at all.
Got laid off 18 months later, right after spending almost precisely the same amount as my yearly salary on a useless boondoggle, approved by the CEO of course. Not infuriating in the least.
Around that time, my marriage fell apart, and I moved out. No biggie.
Finding a job was a piece of cake last time! I’ll have another one in no time. No other former bosses were forthcoming with phone calls, however. I made forty concerted attempts: resumes sent, contacts made, and after forty, I had scored zero. On my own with no income? Eh.
Meanwhile, I was continuing to enjoy my awesome, cute apartment right on Alameda’s main street. It had no dishwasher. So what? The kids could do the dishes (that lasted about 2, maybe 3 days). No parking? I’ll get my groceries delivered (thank you Safeway). No laundry facilities? Surely in the land of Uber and GrubHub and whatnot, I can find a pickup & delivery laundry service. But no.
So finally, I gave myself an ultimatum. If you don’t get this job that you’re interviewing for on Thursday, you’re going to kill two birds with one stone, and solve your job problem AND your laundry problem. I didn’t get it. And so LaunderBot was born. Yep, I started my own company. Whatever.
It was easy not to be quite so fired up about conscious parenting, given that, having moved from a Dixie suburb to northern California, the world progressed (Texas notwithstanding) as we progressed westward. Recycling is not new out here. There’s a Prius here for every SUV out there. The Bay Area makes the most of space, given the shortage of it, and square footage is just not the thing. Kids, at least in Alameda, are given oodles more independence than in our former Georgia community, where the elementary school was on a hill, surrounded by acres of lawn, and only accessible by car (walking and biking to school was strongly discouraged, except on Walk & Roll day!) I mean, we’re 20 minutes from Berkeley. It’s a different planet.
But the need to remain vigilant continues. My daughter turns 13 this year. My son, 11. The challenges of parenting are very different for me now, given geography, the age of my kids, and this new world of the iPhone and Minecraft, but not a day goes by that being the mother of these two isn’t still bloody hard work. And being a good parent? As the title of my favorite parenting book announces, it’s the toughest job we’ll ever love.
I’m back, I’m glad you’re with me, and I look forward to continuing this adventure together, eyes wide open, reading between the lines, not believing the hype. Choosing the red pill of truth and awareness, not the blue pill of mindless compliance.
Love & semicolons,
Red Pill Mama
P.S. With sincere thanks to the dude at the coffee shop tonight who apparently doesn’t know what “decaf” is.
