I Play At Knitting

I am so frustrated tonight.

Work isn’t going well. The boss and I are usually on pretty much the same page, but lately he’s been bitchy and I’m really kind of over it…and him. I’m at that point where I’m seriously considering putting my resume out there and seeing what happens. Not as in “actively looking for a job” but just putting my resume in the hands of a few people at different firms and telling them to call me if there’s ever an opening.

Home is always difficult these days. I really and truly thought my child rearing days were over and that I’d get to just be Nonna. Now don’t misunderstand, I’m not complaining. I love these kiddos (my kiddos and my kiddos’ kiddos) more than I love my own life, but sometimes it is just so frustrating. Someone is always complaining, no one is ever saying thank you and I just can’t seem to get anything right. “The roast is dry. The kitchen was a mess. I don’t want to do laundry tonight.” Yeah? Welcome to my world, asswipes. (And this too shall pass since it always does, but right now? Frustrating.)

And knitting. You know, that thing I’m supposed to do to relax? Creative. Great fibers. Just for me? Yeah, well. Unless I’m trying to plan my next project and obsessing because “Oh…I like that yarn…can I afford it this week? No, probably not…I still need to register Kayla for before/after school care and pay for one more week of summer camp…” Frustrating!

And now that I’ve bitched and complained let me just try to look at the opposite side of my coins.

I love my job. Really, I do. And I love most of my clients. I like helping them through a tough time and seeing them come out okay on the other end.

I get to see two of my four grandchildren every single day. I get to see the other two once a week for dinner and they spend every other weekend with me. I get alternating holidays and one week with each kid in the summer and one week with both of them at the same time. I have joint custody with their maternal aunt. Their father, my son, died when Alexandra was 3 (she’s 14 now) and Kenny was barely a year old (he’s 11.5, apparently the .5 is really important). We get at least 3 calls a week from grandparents asking about grandparents’ rights. Virginia, and most states, doesn’t have any laws recognizing grandparents rights so we have to turn most of them away. It’s heartbreaking and always reminds how very lucky I am.

And knitting? Well, I do like it, but it’s not the be all-end all for me. And truth be told, I can afford that yarn. I’m just being a whiny baby and the Sus-thing where I don’t like to spend money on myself because, well, just because. Fifteen years of therapy didn’t help me figure that out, writing a blog certainly isn’t. It is what it is and I am who I am. I’ll buy it when I get frustrated enough.

Which will probably be about 4 hours from now.

Work Stuff

I love what I do for a living. When people ask what it is that I do, they get one of two answers, depending on my mood at the time.

If I’m feeling snarky, and lets be honest, I’m almost always feeling snarky, I tell them that I spend my days being mean to people for money.

If I’m feeling not-snarky, which isn’t very often, I explain that I’m a family law paralegal who specializes in contested divorces, and custody/visitation/support matters.

It’s my job to make the opposing party cry. I like my job. A lot. And I’m really good at it. And it’s not just me who says so.

I’ve developed a few rules over the last 25 or so years.

  1. ┬áDon’t piss off the paralegal. It’s the fastest way to get your file put on the bottom of the pile and left there for the foreseeable future.
  2. I’m not your friend. I’m not going to be your friend. I’m not going to accept your facebook friend request. I’m not going to give you my cell phone number. I’m not going to accept your linkdin request. We’re not going to hang out or have dinner or have drinks and I’m not ever, under any circumstances, going to sleep with you. Yes, I did it that one time but I believe in learning from my mistakes and you’re not ever going to be my 2nd mistake from the same garden. I get paid to do a job. End.of.story.

And honestly, all the other rules are simply an expansion on the above themes.

Oh, and these rules apply equally to attorneys. Those I work for, those I work with, and those in other firms. When you’re a supreme court justice give me a ring and we’ll talk shop. Until then, leave me the fuck alone.