Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Werk It

So, there have been some big changes at my workplace.  Corporate came in and cleaned house and none of us lowly grunts really knew what to expect. I miss my Chef Connie but I am proud that she is off to a new adventure.  I hope someday our paths cross and we can work together again.

So, before the semester began they changed the hours of my position,  baker, to a schedule that is impossible for me: 3am -11am. I could have done it, but I wouldn't be able to see my kids because I would have to go bed so early. This summer I've learned a lot about self care and one thing that I learned is that right now I need a lot more sleep than I used to. I used to be able to function on 5 or 6 hours of sleep,  no problem.  Now, I need 8 to 9 hours. Whether it's the medication I'm on, the depression,  the fact that my body is in a constant state of trying to heal itself or whatever... I don't know.  All I know is that I need my rest.

I also need balance.  I need time to be a mom, a lot of time to myself and time to be a student. I'm no longer interested in throwing myself 100 percent into a job that does nothing but take, take , take. I'm tired of constantly being stressed, overworked and grossly underpaid. Of staying late and coming in early and constantly coming to the rescue. I've no more to give. I love what I do and I'm good at it... but it's time for something new.And getting there requires time and energy. I am somewhat of an overachiever and a people pleaser.  No more. I work to live, not live to work.

So, I took the assistant baker position. It's 5am to 11:30 am (although I get a lot of extra hours whenever I want), so it allows me to keep my health insurance. It hurt to step down. It felt like a demotion,  like I was giving up my rightful place. My pride and my ego was bruised. But I felt it was the right decision.

Luckily,  my gut was right this time.  Not only that, but the man they hired to fill the baker position has turned out to be a gift from the universe. I was very nervous about having to work with someone new... I'm a bit of a lone wolf and I like to do things a certain way. I work clean.  I am very organized and don't tolerate mess or chaos very well. I can be a hard person to work with,  it's something I'm working on, being less rigid in the way I do things, but the way I work is what has made me successful. Surprisingly,  he and I have the same outlook & philosophy on baking & pastry. We work great as a team and he has made it very clear from day one that we are equals. I learn from him and he learns from me. We are making great strides in making our production more efficient and working as a team allows us both the opportunity to try new recipes, make more scratch goodies and really take control of our department. I'm actually really happy with the way its going, though our kitchen as a whole is struggling a little to adjust to the new ways of doing things.

But it has been a good thing for me so far. Working as a team is new to me, but it feels good. It takes a lot of the pressure off. I'm home in time to rest up a bit, do a little  house cleaning (sometimes), pick my kids up and be more present... or trying at least.

So far, I'm good.  I'm rolling with the changes. Although I'm still pretty upset about the no facial piercings rule.... switching out nose rings all the time is a drag.

Wednesday, September 3, 2014

Talking to the Wind

Today, as I was folding laundry in my room, I felt the pinpricks of tears, the sadness start to well up. So, I did something I've decided I am going to do when the need strikes: I went to talk to my husband. 

Some people have grave sites to  visit, we don't.  We have a lovely urn picked out that looks just like a beautiful galaxy... a perfect place for his ashes. But for me, talking to a bottle of ashes feels silly. He's not there for me.

There is a spot on our farm where I can sit and look out at the field, the sky, the hawks and trees and feel the wind. I sat there for a long time on the day he died. It is,  forever whatever reason, where I feel he can hear me. And no one else can hear me. Scream, sometimes.  Cry, mostly. Tell him how much I miss him and love him and beg for help to get through one more day. To tell him how much the week sucked or how we've acquired yet another animal or how much his son is looking more and more like him and how much his daughter misses him, even if she can't say it.
How I hope he's ok, at peace. How much I want him to be free and how much I wish I could feel him, one more time.

It's a little strange, because that hill is a mess of weeds, tall grasses and anthills. But that spot, my spot, remains bare. Waiting when I need it.