If you follow my shenanigans and rambling posts, you might know that I used to be a stay at home mom.  This was my normal for most of my marriage.  I worked part time a year or two of that time.  Late one Wednesday night my husband of 15 years sat next to me on the bed and told me that our marriage was over.  I had no clue this was coming because in the hustle of life, I thought we were happy.  That life changing decision lead to a few months of the first time I ever felt I needed to fight with him. It showed us what we were capable of and I've been on my own since. Well, sort of.  I've been a welfare mom because that's what single mom life looked like for me. 

There was a lot of transition. In the early days, I was offered a full time job by Nabi Cares.  It was ideal.  It came with full time benefits and snacks in the kitchen.  It was a pay raise that was the biggest I had been offered. They had a gym and personal trainer on site, and we spent our first day of training doing a scavenger hunt.  I quit my part time job for them, getting my shifts covered for the two weeks of training.  At the end of the first day, I had just finished talking to a loved one about how amazing it was.  I then took a call from the woman that hired me and got me to quit my job.  I wasn't a right fit for the company. I was suddenly without a husband and a job.  

Rage took over. I looked for an attorney and researched promissory estoppel, reliance damages, and labor laws that said I needed a paystub, not just a check for that day. I needed the opportunity to prove I couldn't do the job.  I had a case.  I had emails.  At the end of the day, it was something I had to let go.  I had to focus on survival for me and the boys. I had to feed my kids and I didn't know how it was going to happen. 

At the end of that first year, as soon as open enrollment hit, I was taken off of his insurance.  I applied for welfare before this because I had no other options. I needed to figure out how to feed my kids. 

That first Christmas, and honestly, the second one too, most of my kids had Christmas a la Dollar Tree.  Last year they each got one expensive(ish) item.  I had lost my long term temp position just before Christmas.  I went to the holiday party.  A few days later I left after work Friday, like any other Friday at Deluxe Media.  The next day my temp agency called and said I did nothing wrong, but I was not to go back.  They would collect (and break) a couple of my things for me. No hard feelings against Adecco.  They had a contract.  I am grateful for the way temp agencies were able to fast track my career.  I went from picking up dead rodents as part of my duties when filling out contracts at a mini storage to being an "Operations Specialist," "Billing Specialist," "Financial Analyst," "Collections Agent," "Billing Analyst," and now "Accounting Associate." They'll take a chance on you and stick you where they think they can because they know they can under pay you while making money off of you. At the end of the day (per the rumor mill), they'll sell you short if someone thinks you're too cute or flirty.  That assessment made me question myself for a bit, but I realized what I see is often a reflection of who I am and what I'm afraid of.  My confidence was a threat to someone else's sexuality, no matter what kind of work I did because we live in a time where we have to point out our #metoo stories so they don't get swept under as normal.  

Rabbit trail aside, it's been a rough couple of years.  I've landed at a job that treats me like they want me to stay.  I'm actually happy driving 20 miles at under 20 miles an hour each day and each way to be surrounded by some of the most intelligent people I know.  I can easily admit that the men on my team are smarter than I am, but I get to learn from them, and they have this sense of who they are as men and fathers and husbands that touches on all they do.  I feel very cared for through the family and personal emergencies I've had. I'm where I was meant to be when my part time job ended.  It is a solid reminder that I'm not bigger than my destiny and no matter what I fear I've damaged, I can't stop what was meant to be and I can't force what isn't mine. I get opportunities for exercise on lunch breaks or after work.  I've had a free massage during work hours. They feed me snacks I'm too cheap to buy for my home.  And I get to walk to the beach on my lunch break.  

After a little more than two years, my county case is closed.  As of yesterday, I no longer need support from the county for basic things like food.  But that means it's going to be another tight Christmas. And we're going to be okay.  I spent a while last night creating my Google Sheet to go over my expenses and due dates.  I even added the interest rates to see which ones need to be prioritized, paid off and closed (if they won't lower my rate).  I'm weighing the cost and benefit of transitioning my car lease into an ownership sooner or later, and imagining the day I can give this car to my firstborn and get a newer one for myself. Meals will be planned this weekend so I can take left overs for lunch.  It'll be tight but this is what growing looks like.  It's uncomfortable.  It can be painful.  And it can be scary.  At the same time, you don't get to be brave until you face fear, and courage only comes with pain. 

The best way for me to face difficulties is through my silly shenanigans.  Have I told you about Henry? 

After work one day I was near home and stopped in an Asian market for tapioca pearls.  They sell the colorful ones that look like muted colorful marshmallows in my Thai Iced Tea. I was walking through the store with the familiar smells of dried fish and curry paste when I saw the tanks filled with live tilapia and catfish. I remembered a fishing trip where we caught one in Echo Park Lake and brought it home.  Half an hour later, it was still opening and closing its mouth, refusing death out of water.  I decided I wanted to take one home.  

I pointed to the fish and used my hands to gauge its size for the butcher that didn't speak a lick of English.  I mimed putting the fish in the bag and tried to explain I wanted water.  The butcher was ready to slap this fish on his chopping block that was already covered in the blood and guts of other catfish.  A woman that spoke Chinese or maybe Mandarin was able to translate that I wanted him live with water.  The butcher grudgingly put the fish in a bag and handed him to me but refused water.  

At the front of the line, the cashier happened to be the new owner and he let me know they could clean an gut my fish.  I explained I would like to take him home alive, so he took my fish back to the butcher and argued until water was added to my bag of fish.  He tied the bag off, with this large fish coiled inside of this large plastic bag. I carried him gently in my arms like an infant.  When I got to the car, it was a little awkward putting on my seatbelt with it cradled in one arm, and I put him on my lap as I drove home. I stroked his skin through the plastic bag and when I got home, set him free in the pond. He freaked out and swam into this area he likes to hide in and I named him Henry.  

Over the next few days I tried to feed him.  I tried meal worms and night crawlers. I dangled them in front of him with chop sticks. I tried crickets and feeder fish. The feeder fish became more mouths to feed but poor Henry wasn't eating and I was afraid he'd die of starvation. Coming from a catfish farm, my poor Henry didn't know how to survive as a fish in the wild. After a few days I found what he likes.  He's willing to eat Hikari's Massivore Delite.  Each 13.4 ounce bag is about $30, plus tax.  So my $12 dollar fish goes through these bags about once a week or two.  For days and then less often, I tried petting my poor Henry.  He would always freak out and swim away and I would always worry that he'd snap at me.  I have no idea what his bite would feel like but the research saying wild catfish are murderers and like small turtles and frogs make me fearful of that mouth.  Because I can be a pussy lala about the silly things.  Life is scary enough and I am a warrior dragon slayer where it matters. 

And I'm in transition from being a welfare mom to being independent from the system.  On a super tight budget right at Christmas.

Henry will soon be dinner. I'm not so heartless and I've offered him to my parents.  I don't want to gut and skin him.  We became friends on that car ride. They love a good fish fry and I can't handle the grease without my gall bladder. So that's the story of poor Henry.  

Shenanigans!