Check out these work from home for moms images:
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Image by me and the sysop
i’m applying for a different position within my current department, and it’s still just as stressful. i suck at interviews, even when they’re with people i’ve known for years. even though i’ve been on interview panels for dozens of other people.
in addition to the exemplary written communication skills i boast on my resume (which are thoroughly well-recognized by several of my superiors), i include speaking skills as well. i think that could be considered lying. i only get lively and fluent when i’m angry.
uuugh.
in other news, here’s a typical conversation between my mom and me (held this afternoon as i was driving home from work):
mom: "guess what i’m doing saturday night."
me: "what?"
"having a toy party."
"like a sex toy party?"
"yeah!"
"is sarah [my 14-year-old sister] invited?"
":laughs: no, doug’s going to have to find something to do with her that night."
"she’d totally be grossed out anyway. you can never talk sex with her."
"i know. and get this, since i’m hosting it i get a discount. i’m gonna get something expensive."
"you should get a rabbit!"
apparently normal people don’t have these kinds of discussions with their parents. :shrug: we’re an open-bathroom-door kind of family.
8/12/08 22:47
the living room
Image by nuanc
The living room never looked so large until the tunnel vision lens got hold of it.
I love this shot. It is so familiar to me – I grew up in this house – but it’s not quite real. With every edge softened it’s more like a dream. My sister and I shopped with my mom for the couch when we were in high school. My dad used to come home from work, sit in that rocking chair, pick one of his books from the stack next to it and promptly fall asleep (*I was just resting my eyes, he’d say*). The coffee table was bought when my brother was very young, before I was born. At one point it had a glass top but I don’t ever remember that. When we bought the couch and chair, we "antiqued" the table in an olive green. Perhaps it was considered a good colour choice back in the mid to late 1960′s? The curved brick divider behind Mom and between the living room and the dining room was always referred to as "the jail" because of the hard to see vertical dowels on top of the bricks.
And, oh yes, that’s my mom sitting on the couch reading The Texas Observer – liberal political monthly that she’s subscribed to since the 60′s – in her pjs and hot pink socks. She’s a fiesty luv who leaves the house at 6am six days a week to walk four miles.
Image by wakingphotolife
Timothy’s mom called my dad first. Then she called Gilbert’s dad. Timothy’s dad had just left for work before everything started and his mom was now on the phone. We were all sitting on the sofa next to each other.
"Yes, Kevin is okay…there was just a small conflict between him and the boys…well, I think it would be best if came down here to set everything straight…Yes…I’ve called Gilbert’s dads as well…Alright, sure…Bye bye," said Timothy’s mom on the phone.
It had started with the bicycle late in the afternoon. Timothy’s brother had left his bicycle laying next to the fence on the garage side of the house. It was a new mountain bike that rode high and with many different gears. Timothy’s brother had bought it with the money he had saved up from washing dishes part-time at a small seafood resturant down on the pier side of the town. The bicycle had just arrived the day before and Timothy told us the news. Timothy’s brother had ridden it all morning and when he came home, we spent our time playing baseball on the street with the other kids and glanced at it while we were on bus and waiting for the next hit. As the sun began to set, our game ended and people started to go home for dinner.
Timothy, Gilbert and I live around the same street. We are close to each other. Timothy’s house is in between Gilbert and mine. I am just down the street but Gilbert is a few blocks away and around the corner. We would always meet at Timothy’s; his curb in front of the driveway was as much ours as it was his. It was Gilbert’s idea first. "I want to ride your the mountain bike," he said to all of us. He got up from the curb and walked towards the bicycle. "I don’t think it’s a good idea," Timothy said. I watched the both of them. "He’d never know. Besides, he’s at work anyway and won’t be back until later tonight," Gilbert said. "Well, I guess you’re right.," Timothy said.
Timothy went inside and got the key for the u-shaped lock that kept it firm on the fence. "I want to go first," Gilbert said. We took turns riding in circles around the neighborhood. It was a very fast bike and the brakes were still new. They squeaked whenever we found ourselves going too fast and needing to slow down. Eventually, we started a game of chase where the person on the bike had to chase the person on foot. After a few rounds, Gilbert crashed the bike into the curb and he fell over the handlebars into Timothy’s front lawn. He was okay. We looked at the bicycle. The paint on the front and side of the bike had been scratched. The front tire looked deflated as well.
"Look at what you did," Gilbert said.
"What do you mean what I did?" I said.
"It’s your fault. You pushed me while I was riding it," he said.
"No I didn’t," I said, "It’s your own fault. You were going to fast. And I didn’t even touch you"
"You’re a liar. I saw it with my own two eyes," Gilbert said.
During the game, Timothy had run down to the end of the street.
"You saw him right Tim. He pushed me," Gilbert said.
"I don’t know. I guess," Timothy said. Timothy stared at his brother’s mountain bike. "My brother’s going to kill me."
"Well, it’s not my fault. You should ask Kevin to pay for it," Gilbert said.
"I’m not going to pay for anything. Because I didn’t do anything besides play this stupid game with you," I said.
"So you’re calling me a liar."
"Yes. I’m calling you a liar."
Gilbert swung at me first. I ducked and swung back at him. It hit him in the stomach and he let out a grunt and grabbed me by shoulders. We wrestled to the floor and being physically bigger than me, started to hit me while I was pinned on the ground. I covered my face and tried to roll him back over. Timothy’s mom had just finished preparing dinner and was coming out to call Timothy in for dinner when she saw us. She ran out and stopped us. Gilbert got off of me. I had a bloody lip. Timothy’s mom grabbed us by the collar of our dirty t-shirts and made us get into the house. Timothy picked up the damanged bicycle and locked it back on the fence.
My dad was the first one to come. He had just got home from work when Timothy’s mom called. My dad works at the pier and manages the fish and crab meat stand. He had not even changed out of his boots yet. He looked at me and then looked at the rest of the boys. I looked at my dad. His face was calm and he stood straight as he walked through the doorway. I could not tell if he was angry or disappointed, he just looked at me and my swollen lip.
"Sorry for the inconvience," Timothy’s mom said, "But there was some trouble with the boys. A fight broke out between Gilbert and Kevin. My oldest son’s bicycle was damaged in the event and I’m not sure who should be held responsible. I had thought to sort it out but thought that it would be better if they had a chance to talk to their dad’s first"
"There’s no need to apologize Mrs. Chang. I’ll talk to my son and the rest of the boys."
My dad took me aside into the dining room. We sat on the kitchcen table and I told my dad everything. About my coming over after school, about Timothy’s brother’s new mountain bike, about Gilbert and the stupid game and everything that happened after that. My dad listened without interrupting or saying anything. Timothy’s mom poured everyone lemon tea. "Are you telling me the truth?" my dad said. "Yes. Everything. It’s Gilbert whose lying," I said. My dad got up from the kitchen table and asked Mrs. Chang for some ice to put on my lip.
As we walked into the living room, Gilbert’s dad had just arrived. His face was red and his fists were clenched. He was a large man with a bulging stomach and round face. Everything that was opposite of my dad. He confronted my dad and Gilbert jumped up from the sofa to join his dad’s side.
"I knew better than to let Gilbert hang out with your son. Now look at what he’s gotten Gilbert into," Gilbert’s dad said.
"Tom. I think it’s best if we calm down and hear what the boys have to say about all of this," my dad said.
"Gilbert, what do you have to say about all of this?" Gilbert’s dad said.
"I was riding the bicycle when Kevin pushed me. I lost control of the bicycle and hit the curb and fell. Kevin didn’t want to say he was sorry so I got just a little angry. And then he hit me –"
"I did not. He’s lying," I said.
"Now you shut up and let my boy finish," Gilbert’s dad said.
My dad looked at me again and I let Gilbert finish.
"He hit me in the stomach. And then I hit him back. He started it," Gilbert said.
"See what I mean? It’s all your boy’s fault. Just look at him," Gilbert’s dad said.
"Mrs. Chang, did you see what Gilbert said happened?" my dad said.
"No I didn’t. When I came out and found them, they were both on the ground already. I was the one I broke them up."
"And what about you Timothy?" The entire time, Timothy just sat on the sofa and stared at the ceiling.
"I didn’t really say anything. I was looking at the bicycle the whole time."
"It doesn’t matter. The fact is, your boy hit my son first and not only that, pushed him while he was riding the bike," Gilbert’s dad said.
"Well, none of this would’ve never happened if Gilbert never decided to sneak a ride on the bike!" I said.
"Are you accusing my boy of something? Then you better come right out and say it before I put you in line just like your dad."
"Tom, let’s not shout and argue in front of the kids. Let’s think things through okay?" my dad said as he put his hand on Gilbert’s dad’s shoulder.
"Don’t you lay your filthy hands on me John. I’ll put you and your boy in line right here, right now. You hear me."
"Not in front of the boys," my dad said.
Gilbert’s dad stormed outside the house and stood in the middle of the driveway. My dad followed him out and Mrs. Chang, Timothy, Gilbert and I went onto the porch to watch.
"Your boy has been nothing but trouble ever since he started hanging around Gilbert. He’s always been up to no good and now he’s planning on dragging Gilbert along with him. I’m not going to stand by and have it," Gilbert’s dad said.
"You’re angry right now. I say we should calm down first. I’ll pay for the damages for the bike for and we can straighten everything out tomorrow Alright Tom?"
"Don’t you be telling what to do boy. The only one who needs straightening is your goddamn boy."
My dad had had enough. He tackled Gilbert’s dad into the grass. My dad was lean and strong. You could see the layers of muscle on along his forearms they came down on Gilbert’s dad. Mrs. Chang ran off the porch and yelled at both of them to stop. Gilbert, Timothy and I could only stand and stare. "You take that back!" my dad shouted as he let off a final blow that made Gilbert’s dad’s stop struggling. He had been hurt and dazed. My dad got up and yelled at me, "Kevin, we’re going home right now!" He took dollars out of his wallet and gave it to Mrs. Chang, "This is for the bicycle." Mrs. Chang could only look at my dad as Gilbert’s dad got up slowly.
We walked fast on our way back home. My mom looked at my dad. His shirt was dirty; there was grass in his hair and on his skin and he was sweating.
"What on earth just happened John?" my mom said.
"I’ll explain later. Kevin. Go to your room right now. You’re not having dinner tonight," my dad said.
"But dad, I didn’t do anything wrong!" I said.
"Go to your room right now,"
"Can’t you just tell me what happened?" my mom said.
I went upstairs to my room. I took a bath and changed my clothes and got myself read for bed. I heard my parents shout for a little bit and I closed my door.
I tried to sleep but kept thinking about what I saw. My dad tackling Gilbert’s dad and punching him in the face. Everything was so vivid. I could still see the muscles on my dad’s back flex as he pinned Gilbert’s dad to the ground. I could still the swing of his arm and how strong he looked. I had never seen my dad like that before. I did not know how to feel.
Late that night, my dad came into my bedroom. "Are you still sleeping Kevin?" he said.
"No. I’m hungry," I said.
He put a plate of milk and cookies on my nightstand.
"I’m sorry that you had to see that tonight Kevin. I always tell you to stay calm and not get angry when trouble comes, but it was me who didn’t listen."
"No, it’s okay dad. It’s not your fault." I put my hand on top of my dad’s forearm. He patted me on my head.
My dad sat on the bed and watched me eat the cookies and drink the milk.
"What’s it like to be someone’s dad?" I said.
The question caught my dad off-guard. He didn’t respond. He just sat there and looked at the plate that I put back on the nightstand.
"I’m going to take the plate back downstairs," he said after awhile.
He took the plate and walked out, closing the door behind him, but leaving just a little crack. I could see the hallway light and his shadow walk down the stairs.
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