help wanted

As the economy continues to circle the proverbial drain, Daddy finds himself -- how shall we say it? -- underemployed. It hasn't devolved to the point that I am putting my nigh eighteen month old daughter to work searching the want ads

"Here's one! Can you drive a forklift?"

but if she had any good suggestions, I certainly wouldn't turn them down.

I'm wrapping up a couple of small projects for the place I was recently working as a contractor and it looks like I'm about to enter a dalliance with my old employer, Amazon, doing some writing for them as a freelancer (since they seem underwhelmed by my qualifications for a full-time job), and the couple of agencies I am registered with continue to dangle good contracting gigs in my face and then never call me back. I know, things are tough all over.

Mimi still has her job and we have a few bucks socked away so we aren't heading straight to debtor's prison (I live in Victorian England, don't you?) but the continued uncertainty and the spasms of hope and hopelessness are wearing on me. I try not to lay awake nights worrying if we'll have to pull Yuki out of day care or if I'll have to drop myself from our insurance. Occasionally I despair of ever finding a regular gig again.

Yuki demonstrates how to handle an existential crisis.
Just lie down and wait for it to pass.

When we bought our house in 2000, I immediately started worrying about the lawn. In fact, I mowed it before we even moved in. I'd never given any thought to lawns before but as soon as I had one I started worrying about it. As far as work goes, I figured I could always find some job doing something and I'd get by. Now that I am a father, I feel like I have to account for what I do. I don't feel like any old job will suffice. I want to be able to come home from work and be proud enough of what I do that I will tell my kid about it and maybe she will be proud of me, too.

Somehow I know that as long as I can contribute to the security of this family and to our future, then I'm doing something. But when I don't have to manage low-grade, persistent feelings of panic over when my next paycheck is coming in, I find that it makes me a better parent.

Somebody has to keep this kid in shoes ...


... even if they don't match.


And who's going to buy her corn if I can't?

What can I say? The kid loves corn.

So, anyway, keep your fingers crossed for me and I'll do the same for you. I just have to keep reminding myself that this is what I'm working for.



Mismatched shoes and all.