New Tricks for an Older Dog

Today was my first hands-on day at my new convenience-store job. I had a two-hour orientation last Thursday which amounted to a detailed tour of the facility.

Of the five hours I worked today, three were spent in front of the computer viewing several training videos. I was relieved to see that the videos were actually well made and not the torturous swill that I'd viewed in many training sessions with 9-1-1 or EMT class on a variety of subjects.

The room in which the computer was located was rather frigid. As one who is first to overheat and perspire, I'm okay with that. Today, however, after three hours and no feeling left in my butt, I was reduced to shivers and chattering teeth. I was grateful for hot soup on a 95-degree day.

Immediately after, I took my quiz on store safety. The only question I missed was the location of the designated employee smoking areas, something -- as a nonsmoker -- I admit I ignored during orientation.

Today's hands-on training surrounded the store's knife-handling and deli-slicer certifications. It's weird having to re-learn something after doing it your way for twenty years.

When it came to the slicer, I gained a whole new respect for those folks behind the counter at the supermarket. I had a horrid time trying to make my left hand keep pace with the stuff coming off the blade. My product didn't come out in neat little stacks as I thought it should. It was haphazard and crooked, and the manager quickly "prettied up" the customer's purchases before weighing, bagging, and tagging them.

All in all, it was a fun day despite feeling like I'll never remember it all.

When I go in Thursday, I'll be making coffee!

"Clique-ish Little Girls...

...Meet Mama Bear" will be coming to theatres soon if I don't get my ire under control.

Poor Precious Daughter. There are two girls roughly her age all within a half block of our house. Well, actually, there's a bunch, but most of them are a bit older and, therefore, better than Precious Daughter and these two other girls.

Girl H. lives on our street. She's a really nice kid, and I get along well with her mom. H. is the youngest of the three. As a result, she's easily influenced by Girl B. (aka the Blonde-haired girl, Precious Daughter's one-time best friend.)

I say "one time" because Girl B. and Precious Daughter had a bit of a falling out over an incident which stemmed from a lovely afternoon where the two girls went for a walk. The deal was that they were to go around the block only, and they were to stick together. A short while after they leave, Precious Daughter comes home crying without Girl B. Long story short, Girl B. met up with one of the above-referenced older girls who coerced her into poking about for lost balls in the golf course bordering our neighborhood. Precious Daughter, knowing she wasn't permitted to go there, came home instead. When I grilled her as to the whereabouts of Girl B., she told me. I, Evil Mom, called Girl B.'s father and let him know where his daugher was and why Precious Daughter came home without her.

Ever since, Girl B. has been in a snit because she knew she wasn't permitted in the golf course but went there anyway. She blames Precious Daughter for the grounding she got for her misbehavior.

Today, Girls H. and B. get off the bus and head to H.'s house. Precious Daughter wants to catch up to them, and they ran away from her. Once again, Precious Daughter comes home crying.

Now, what I really want to do is loon on this snot-nosed Girl B., because I know she's the one that instigated the running away that hurt my baby's feelings. Precious Daughter and Girl H. get along just fine.

Instead, I'm trying to channel my mother. I know she'd have an excellent way to remedy the situation without alienating Girl H.

Mom? You there?

Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

What the heck? How did it get to be so long since I last posted?



It's been goofy around here. My deposition dry spell finally brought us to the now-or-never breaking point, so I applied for and was hired by a local convenience-store chain to work their 11-7 shift. It's not what I want to do for a living, but putting Her Nibs in day care makes me nauseous. I'm sure a day-care center would take care of her and keep her safe, but the thought of someone else savoring all of those delicious baby moments -- instead of me -- makes me sad.



The store manager is at least ten years my junior, but she seems to be sensible. She only lost a few points when she brought that difference to the forefront by commenting, "You worked for Clover? My mom used to take me there!" I guess I should be thankful that she at least heard of them.



I seriously considered a return to my old job with 9-1-1, but I really don't know whether I'm emotionally prepared for that. First, their twelve-hour shifts would seriously hinder The Oracle's seasonal basketball schedule; second, I'll probably end up being fired for refusing to work their forced overtime.



The Oracle has also a couple of career-related speed bumps ahead. He is contracted through his employer to his current company, and after ten years of a happy relationship in his position, the company selected a different firm for its staffing. Whether the new firm will hire The Oracle and his peers remains to be seen. This has me extremely nervous, and it's another reason why I applied for the convenience-store job. I figure that, if nothing else, we'll obtain health insurance in 60 days.



How did it get to be almost Father's Day? In my infinite, impulsive, lack of wisdom, I decided to invite the family for dinner on Sunday. So, instead of crisis cleaning to prepare for guests, I'm sitting her posting on Blogger. I am clearly a woman of skewed priorities.



Knucklehead is still going along. She's very wobbly in her hindquarters, but she's showing no signs of pain or discomfort. It's like she doesn't even realize it's happening. As long as she's continent, I think she'll get along fine.



My kids' school year is almost at an end. Their last day is Thursday. We'll have a ten-day lag between the end of school and the beginning of summer camp and the new set of complaints that will surely come with it.



And now it's time to pick the kids up from school. I hope to write more soon.