I don’t know how it came to be but it did. After months of begging I finally got my employer to agree to let me cut back my hours and hiring another full time employee. Very soon I will be working only from the time Samantha starts school to when Samantha is out. But in the meantime you dear, poor readers, had to do without my self-centered point of view so I could work full time, like a regular working mother, while I trained my replacement.
First things first. I love you Kami N! You were the first person my boss met that was the exact opposite of me that he hired you in an instant. I know that doesn’t sound right but could you blame the guy for not wanting two Eves around the office at one time? Too much personality isn’t a good thing. Trust me. For one it gets too darn loud. For two, well, number one is really enough dontcha think?
So in the past few weeks while I got my lame ducks in a row I’ve seen even less of Samantha and my husband. Heck, for once I couldn’t find my way to the gym! I’ve gained an entire four pounds! No one is cooking at Casa Bushman. And while I contemplate my soon to end sorrow, knowing that there is a light at the end of the tunnel, I can finally write a column for those of you that really work for a living.
In the midst of my full time working crisis I had to de-rail myself for a one-day tour of our Grand Jury courtrooms in downtown Los Angeles. Apparently there is no way out of jury duty these days.
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Or so I’m told. When I wrote that my hardship, while honestly crossing out the word “financial”, was in packing my kid off to childcare when I had recently just painstakingly arranged to be home with her I wondered what the court would make of it.
I also wondered why the left side of the courtroom, filled to capacity with hopeful “hardship” excused people, was interviewed last. Had we been willing, or even willing for postponement, we would have gone first and second respectively. I mean really, we were admitting hardship and still were hardshipped that day anyway by having to wait the longest for our quick interviews.
Of course most of the hardships were financial. And I don’t mean to sound the braggart because I’m not a single mom and have a husband that is gainfully employed. I still felt the same sting of tears behind my eyes in thinking that my excuse may not be granted a judge. What better excuse was there? What right did they have to take my rights away by forcing me to hire childcare? Of course if I hadn’t been pulling a couple of overtime weeks right before this I may have not been so wound.
But, while I waited impatiently in the first row, I finally sat back and looked at all of the other mothers and fathers in that courtroom that were holding back their stress so much better than I did that day. Here they undoubtedly had more than just my reason to want out. They, possibly like you dear reader, may find my ranting self-serving. I am sorry for that. But I am not totally daft. I happen to agree with you. I am admitting here and now that you are right.
So in the course of this therapeutic writing I think I can cope with my rights being adjusted if it means that someone else more deserving doesn’t have to serve time. But will I ever move over to the “willing” side?
You bet! Just as soon as Samantha is firmly rooted in medical school, Ed and I are in between travels and I’ve retired from my 25 hour per week job.
Just you wait, Henry Higgins, just you wait. I’ll serve in your jury. But please don’t ask us until we’re 65 and can afford it financially and emotionally okay?
