A Driver's Tale of Woe

 For those who are wondering and would like to hear a driver's license tale of woe, please lend me your ear...

Part of moving to a new state requires the official giving up of the old driver's license in order to obtain a new one. We decided to move in early June. By August 1, we were in our new home. (THAT story has already been told. If you are interested, just scroll down.) In addition to that, my license expired at the end of June. I contemplated just letting it stay lapsed until after the move (Why pay twice?), but in the end, we decided to use all available drivers to move, meaning I would need a current license. So I applied for my renewal on July 30.

From July 30, until this past week, an official receipt acted as my license. Last Monday, I realized my receipt was due to expire on Thursday. Thus my first dilemma. I had not yet received my official license, and I would be driving to a camping experience with my students on Wednesday. We were due to return on Friday, when I would no longer be able to legally drive. I called to see what was going on only to discover that my license had been returned because we were no longer residing at our old address. Apparently, the post office will not forward driver's licenses.

“Okay,” I thought, “no problem. I'll just have to explain what happened.” On Tuesday afternoon, I left work early to go and take the required written driver's test and apply for my new license. How hard could it be, right? Those tests are all about common sense, and I've been driving for years!

My next dilemma. I failed the test by being extra cautious with every question requiring an exact measurement of distance. I walked up to the desk thinking, “They must want me to hit bicyclists to have me driving that close!”

The gentleman behind the desk smiled and explained that I could take the test again tomorrow. As in Wednesday. As in the day we were leaving for our camping trip at 9:00 A.M.

I studied that night and at 8:00 the next morning, I was third in line at the testing center. By 8:15, I had passed the test with flying colors. I approached the desk only to learn that they would not be able to accept the receipt from my last state, and because of where my last state had punched through my license (obliterating the expiration date), they would need a certified copy of my driving record. I asked for a fax number. The man wished me luck but explained that in his experience, my last state wouldn't fax certified records. I would have to order a copy for a fee.

I was pissed. If they'd actually sent me my license, a license I had paid for, this wouldn't even be an issue. I called the number they gave me and explained my situation. I even asked for a refund. The woman was very nice and explained that she would fax a letter with the same information they were asking for in the certified driving record. She didn't know if they would accept it, but it was worth a try.

It was now 8:45, and I needed to get going. An entire classroom of students and parents were counting on me! So I called the other teacher who was going on the trip, and we quickly created a backup plan. She would ride to the camp with one of the parents and a group of kids and would ride back with me. In the event that the faxed letter didn't work, she would drive my car back on Friday.

Well...the letter worked! Still, it was a good thing we had a backup plan because as the man behind the counter stamped my paperwork, making everything official, he explained that their camera had stopped working, and he asked if I could come back later in the day.

Friday afternoon, exhausted and disheveled from camping for three days with over 20 kids, I smiled for the camera.

Addendum: I received my driver's license in the mail today.  My last name is spelled wrong.

Failure is not an option, or is it?

Today, I re-realized something I've thought about on many occasions.  I am hard on myself, probably too hard.  The truth is, I'm a perfectionist but only when it comes to me, meaning I do not expect perfectionism in anyone else...just me.  If I set out to do something, failure is not an option.  This is not to say that I won't ask for help when I don't know how to do something or if I encounter something new.  On the contrary, I most definitely ask for help all the time.  But not when it's something I should be capable of doing myself.  So what happens when I overestimate my strengths?  I keep at it until I'm ready to scream.

There are support groups for people who suffer from everything under the sun, ranging from eating disorders to alcohol abuse.  Why are there no support groups for us perfectionists?  Hm...probably because we'd be too busy telling ourselves that we don't need support and that we should just keep at it (whatever IT is) until we knock ourselves unconscious.

I realize that this is a form of self abuse, so why do I continue to do it?  I will not tolerate failure in myself, even though I know without a doubt that I am as flawed as the next person.  I'm also well aware that we learn from our mistakes.  Oh yes, those are the lessons I remember best!

So what is it that makes asking for help so difficult?  Why do I feel like a failure when I finally admit that I do not know how to do something?

I have a message I'd like to pass along to myself today, and Sarah, I want you to listen and listen well.  Go easy on yourself.  Love yourself for who you are no matter the outcome of your actions.  You are talented and important, and it's okay to lean on others.

Caution: Scientific Minds at Work!

People tend to think a lot of things that aren't true.

I love when we see thinking minds at work though.

True story...

My daughter has this little pink football that she wanted to go to sleep with one night. She asked, "Can I sleep with my orange ball?"

I said, "It's pink, and yes you may."

She insisted, "No, it's orange."

I tried to explain how in the dark, things loose their color.

Still she insisted that it was orange.

I said, "Here, let's turn on the hall light and you'll see that it's pink." (I didn't want to turn on the light in her bedroom because she was finally settling down.)

Still she said it was orange.

I said, "Okay, you may sleep with your orange football."

The next morning, the first thing she said was, "Oh look, now my ball is pink!"

I said, "It was always pink."

She said, "But with that light on, it was orange."

She then proceeded to take the ball into the hall and turn on the light. Then she said with surprise, "Oh, it's pink!"

She's only 3, and I'm so glad she's already testing her theories rather than simply believing what she's told. 

Back to School!

With the beginning of another school year upon us, my author friend, Troy McCombs, asked me a wonderful question. I hope he won't mind if I share it with you, along with my response.

Troy: What would you rather do, write or teach? If they both paid the same, and the money was consistent?

Sarah: Hmm...good question. It's close!

Troy: I imagine that teaching is very rewarding.

Sarah: I'm glad to be away from the headache of the public sector for the time being. But the teaching part is great! Yes, very rewarding. And in both teaching and Indie writing, I've found people to be super supportive.

Troy: Cool.

Sarah: I'm not a morning person, but if I chose writing, my daughter would still get me up early...

Troy: LOL

Sarah: I guess I'd like to teach three days a week and devote three days to writing/editing/publishing/etc. And take one day off.

Troy: That sounds good.

Sarah: Yes, a nice balance.

What's Wrong with my World?

Lately, I've been hearing words I've never heard before. That's not to say that they didn't exist or were not used before. They did, and they were. But they weren't a part of my consciousness and I'm guessing were not part of the general public's awareness because I really don't think they were all that common.

So let's take a look...

Furlough. Dictionary.com defines a "furlough" as: a usually temporary layoff from work

I first encountered this term a few months ago when some friends were over for dinner. One who works for the local newspaper told us he would be free for the next week because he would be on furlough. He said it so casually, as if it were a sabbatical or a vacation or something. I was shocked to learn that our local paper was forcing everyone on their staff to take a one week unpaid vacation. Not all at the same time, mind you. Newspapers would still be delivered to every customer's front door step without interruption. I would have never known about this if it weren't for my friend. To this day, I'm still shocked. I understand times are tough and money is tight, but I can't believe they are that tight. It used to be that full time employees had some sort of paid vacation time scheduled into their contracts.

Ah, contracts...another term that has quickly faded out of fashion. I'll get back to that in a bit. But first, let's take a look at another term.

Externship. Dictionary.com defines an "externship" as: a required period of supervised practice done off campus or away from one's affiliated institution.

Another friend of mine is presently searching for an externship. She's paid the university an exorbitant amount of money in tuition and understands that it is their practice to require students to complete an externship instead of a paid internship. Way back when I completed my undergrad program in teaching, we had a choice: one semester of unpaid student teaching, alongside a qualified and experienced teacher or a one semester paid internship teaching on one's own with regularly scheduled supervision. I don't really have a problem with externships per se. What I have a problem with is that her institution is not providing adequate help or placement opportunities for the number of students completing their program.

The overall problem I have with both furloughs and externships is the underlying causes. Our state says we have no money. Many states say they have no money. But that's not true. The money is there. Rainy day accounts have been set up all over the place. Our local paper ran a story about one nearby municipality that had a rainy day account. You see, it's really more about how those at the top are deciding to spend the money that is there. And they're not spreading it out among their employees.

Instead, unions are being busted, contracts voided, senior employees forced into early retirement. This is what's wrong with our world. People are being fired to make way for less expensive younger employees. Workers are being provided with inferior health care at higher personal expense. City workers are having their salaries lowered to minimum wage. People are being hired as part time employees so businesses don't have to provide any health care at all. That is what's wrong with our world.

Seven years ago, my husband was hired to fix computers. He drove all over the state replacing hardware for people who held warranties on their computers. His salary wasn't great, but it was okay, and he was paid for mileage as well. That first Christmas, only five months after he'd accepted the job, the company sent us a ham. We laughed about it at the time and commented on how it was a flashback to the 50s, but you know what? We felt appreciated. Three years later, things had changed drastically. Along with everyone else in the company, my husband had received pay cuts instead of raises. No more hams arrived at Christmas. By the time we decided to have our first child, we realized that it would be better financially for my husband to stay home and become a stay-at-home dad in lieu of using his entire paycheck to pay for childcare and have someone else raise our child. At the time, my job paid better and provided insurance. We've never regretted him leaving that job.

Flash forward to February 2011. Scott Walker busted public unions. I marched alongside thousands of other public employees at the state capitol and in my hometown. I privately cheered when local high school students marched out of classes in protest, publicly showing support for their teachers. They marched right past the playground where my students were out at recess. This raised a great many questions. I responded by staying out of their debates. They could talk - I've never been one to stop open discourse - but I kept my opinions to myself and redirected them to the nightly news and their parents.

Then I wrote a letter to the editor titled, "It's Not About the Money." The response? I was blasted on a local radio talk show. I was held up as an example. The host said, "She says it isn't about the money, but here's her salary..." And you know what? He got it wrong. When I found out, I immediately called my husband and said, "You just did our taxes, did I earn x amount last year?" His response? "I wish!" To be fair, I located the website the radio announcer must have used. It was inaccurate, and he should have checked his sources. But what really made me angry was that I was described as the problem. Here's the thing, I have not only a bachelor's degree but also a master's degree and a Montessori degree and, at that time, 12 years teaching experience. And I'm educating future citizens.  I should have been earning a lot more!

But it truly is not about the money. Our school district supports their teachers. I believe that because in March 2011, they rushed through a two year extension on teacher contracts. That will be up at the end of this school year. Then, along with every other teacher in the state of Wisconsin, teacher contracts will be a thing of the past.

What will that look like? For one, inequality in education will reign supreme. For another, salaries have been frozen and will likely decrease. More and more work is being piled on with no extra compensation or time.

I will not allow my daughter to go to school in a state where the school system is so flawed. We will not allow that. So the night of the recall election, when Walker won and we realized that none of his decisions would be overturned, we decided to leave.

It's not about the money. We rely on my income alone. My husband is still a stay-at-home dad who picks up odd jobs when he can. Our book sales help a little. I have taken a large salary cut to work at a private school in another state.

And I know we have made the right decision. Why? Because we're happy, and our little girl is intelligent, inquisitive, funny, happy and independent. Responding to the things that are wrong with my world have helped to make it all right.

Scranton, PA City Workers Salaries Slashed
Rachel Maddow - Thank you, Wisconsin!
WI Senate Vote - Actual Footage
Union Busting Bill Ruled Illegal

Author Nicole Hill's world of Paranormal Romance: Indie Author Spotlight

In honor of my latest interview, I decided to post an excerpt from Price of a Bounty.  Keira is one of the main characters.  She's a Freelancer - think bounty hunter/thief - who has decided to join the Resistance.  This scene takes place right after she unexpectedly bumped into Eberhardt on another job.  Eberhardt has been a member of the Resistance for quite awhile but is a supporting character.  Keira is driving.  When you're done, please take a moment to check out the interview at Author Nicole Hill's World of Paranormal Romance: Indie Author Spotlight

After we dropped her off, Eberhardt turned on me. “What the hell were you doing back there?”

“The same thing you were, apparently.”

“But why? You work for the Resistance now.”

I turned my head away from the road and stared at him just long enough to make my point. “Work for the Resistance? What work have I been given to do exactly? It's not like I haven't asked! I need to keep my skills sharp. I need to keep in practice. What would you have me do?”

“Train with me,” he suggested.

“What?”

“I know what you're going through. Do you think I just sit around in the car all day?”

I shook my head, surprised at his outburst.

“I get it. You're bored. You want to be where the action is. So come train with us.”

“Us?”

“Yes, the other Raiders and me. We practice regularly, to keep our skills sharp.”

I pulled into the garage beneath Guy's apartment and stopped the car. Then I turned to face Eberhardt completely.

“What about keeping everyone's identity a secret?”

“Yes, that's important too, but it's also important to practice working together. Remember what I said about backup?”

I nodded.

“We practice in small groups,” he continued. “None of the Raiders know all of the other Raiders, and most of them have never met Guy, but we do form networks. To start, you can work with me and the girl you met tonight.”

“Thanks, I guess. I might just take you up on that. But...”

“What?”

“Why didn't you tell me about this before?”

“I should have. It's just…Guy didn't want it that way. I've got your back now though.” He exited the car, and then walked around to open the door for me.

What a strange thing for him to say. I thought he already had my back.

Moving, almost there!

Moving, moving... Moving. The word incites feelings of anxiety and excitement.

The joys of packing. Categorize everything: pack, store or discard. I could not believe how much stuff got discarded! Some of it became useful. Packing material that my husband had saved from his comic book business was just as useful when packing dishes and glassware. Boxes and paper that filled a room helped us move a houseful of stuff.

Then, we moved out so our renters could move in. We were in limbo. Living in someone else's house, living out of suitcases, living in between with no wi-fi of our own. Sleeping with a toddler who kicks and turns in her sleep. It was difficult but good. We had time to adjust, to celebrate with friends, to spend time with family, to say goodbye. I wouldn't change it for the world.

My cherished memory from limbo. I woke before my daughter and went to the living room. She appeared a short time later and her face lit up with joy. She hurried over to me and said, "Mama, when I woke up I was crying onto my pillow." I asked her why, and she explained, "Because you weren't there."

With the help of friends, loading the U-Haul took a mere three hours. Final cuts, not everything we'd packed fit. Some stuff was left behind and will have to make the trip another time.

The next morning...working on little sleep (to the tune of four hours) we hopped into our vehicles and began the long drive.

The next few days are still a blur, snapshots in my memory:

• Rooms filled with furniture and boxes in no particular order, no place to sit, barely room to walk.
• Running to Big Lots for a shower curtain because ours was in a box "somewhere."
• Collapsing into bed, the only furniture set up at the end of day one.
• On day two, frantically unpacking the kitchen and maneuvering furniture into place so that we could "live" in our new home.
• The dog making new friends with the neighbors' dogs.

Waking on day three after my husband but before my daughter, I remained in bed just a little while longer and smiled. The pressure to hurry, gone. Now we can simply "be" in our new space.