Where is Tara? My, my... I wonder where she went... Oh no, she's disappeared altogether now... Now what on earth am I going to DO?! Where IS that girl!
"Peek a BOO!" (*Shriek* *Giggle* *Scream!*)Tara's favourite game these days? "MaaMMA!" (make that loud) "VERSTECKEN!!" (loud, too) "Auffe Sofa! Jetzt!" (no less loud).
So we enter this altogether sensible, ritualised scenario:
Intro: Mama dumps Tara on said Sofa. Mama covers Tara (or: Tara and various selected, individually chosen dolls and/or cuddly toys) with either blanket, cushions or zebra rug, or combination thereof.
Climax: Mama declares shock surprise and horror at disappearance of daughter. Daughter giggles.
Happy Ending: Either, Tara emerges shouting and giggling; or, Tara is 'found', and found to be equally noisy as in option one.
Repeat.
Really, it's two things I seeking these days. Tara of the sofa, and a job. Nine months after I've left my old job (*sob, sniff*), and five weeks after I took Tara out of nursery for the 'summer' (summer, beach and sunshine, ha ha!), we're supposed to go back. Tara to a new* nursery round the corner that wasn't there originally, for every morning and a few extra hours; and me to a job that hasn't materialised yet, and that is hoped, expected and supposed to be good for my mental and intellectual health, for my self-esteem that has suffered a little since my demotion... ahem... career change to Ramsgate SAHM (stay at home mum), and for my ability to afford massages and other fun things.
The language specialist grammar school library people have allowed themselves not even wanting to see me for interview (shock horror!), and were rude enough (or badly organised enough) to not even put that rejection in writing. In return, I have allowed myself the right of not having to apply for every job that half seems to match my difficult available hours. There was, for example, the breakfast attendant at a nearby hotel, 6-11am, and roughly 5pence per hour over minimum wages. Or, at our government's very own job centre, the cheerful position of adult chatline chatter for, surprisingly, not much more of a salary. Both, noticed, and ignored.
So here I am, seeking.
Sadly, finding a reasonable job is more difficult than finding Tara. Or... hang on. Maybe not. Luckily, finding Tara is as easy as it gets. Who'd want to swap her for the career of a lifetime!
So here we are, one outfit (day) later...
So we enter this altogether sensible, ritualised scenario:
Intro: Mama dumps Tara on said Sofa. Mama covers Tara (or: Tara and various selected, individually chosen dolls and/or cuddly toys) with either blanket, cushions or zebra rug, or combination thereof.
Climax: Mama declares shock surprise and horror at disappearance of daughter. Daughter giggles.
Happy Ending: Either, Tara emerges shouting and giggling; or, Tara is 'found', and found to be equally noisy as in option one.
Repeat.
Really, it's two things I seeking these days. Tara of the sofa, and a job. Nine months after I've left my old job (*sob, sniff*), and five weeks after I took Tara out of nursery for the 'summer' (summer, beach and sunshine, ha ha!), we're supposed to go back. Tara to a new* nursery round the corner that wasn't there originally, for every morning and a few extra hours; and me to a job that hasn't materialised yet, and that is hoped, expected and supposed to be good for my mental and intellectual health, for my self-esteem that has suffered a little since my demotion... ahem... career change to Ramsgate SAHM (stay at home mum), and for my ability to afford massages and other fun things.
The language specialist grammar school library people have allowed themselves not even wanting to see me for interview (shock horror!), and were rude enough (or badly organised enough) to not even put that rejection in writing. In return, I have allowed myself the right of not having to apply for every job that half seems to match my difficult available hours. There was, for example, the breakfast attendant at a nearby hotel, 6-11am, and roughly 5pence per hour over minimum wages. Or, at our government's very own job centre, the cheerful position of adult chatline chatter for, surprisingly, not much more of a salary. Both, noticed, and ignored.
So here I am, seeking.
Sadly, finding a reasonable job is more difficult than finding Tara. Or... hang on. Maybe not. Luckily, finding Tara is as easy as it gets. Who'd want to swap her for the career of a lifetime!
So here we are, one outfit (day) later...
Oh NO! Again! Where COULD she BE!
"Boo!" Repeat ad infinitum (*giggle* *scream*)* Note to future reader older and traumatised Tara: Really sorry for yet another change baby, but I'm tired of walking 30-45 minutes to drop off or fetch you in bad weather.
PS: Any anonymous reader got a job for me? Note, though, that I'm a bit of a snob, and will not clean toilets, serve vile unhealthy food, get up at 5am, work in any cheap, asthetically unleasing shops, or directly deal with kids. Other than that, I won't agree to do anything that I'm not sure I'll do well. So. Anyone, anything, for reasonable pay? For any of the above check again in a few months when I might be desperate.
1 comment:
Umm, a JOB, whats that?
Ah, that must be that thing that my dear husband says I should get in order to pay for all the fun lovely things Lorenzo and I (and now Franci)do and buy...hmmm. It sounds quite boring. I think I'll just help you find Tara!
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