Take Me Back to the Old School 'Cause I'm an Old Fool
Number of jobs I've applied for:
1 part time
1 pie in the sky
Number of temp agencies I've registered with:
1 advertising and marketing
Number of blogs I've written about how I want to keep being a stay-at-home mom instead of going back to work:
Number of employers banging down our door to drag me unwillingly into the workforce:
Number of times Justin implied that I should stop freaking out about going back to work until I actually have a job:
Number of times I've cried just thinking about all this: 5
Number of times Justin has cried about having to make money for our family or about having a busted knee, for that matter:
Number of people who are worse off than we are: 2.3 trillion (approximately.)
So I'm going to stop waxing nostalgic about being an at-home mom until I'm actually a working mom. Besides, there's the possibility that Justin's knee will clear up before his surgery and he'll be back to work and we'll work things out. Then, when the time is right, I'll search for a job like a normal person, instead of like a crazed lunatic.
Whatever the case, I'm going to keep a stiff upperlip. Anyway, I have the tendency to worry too much. Case in point: I once had a nightmare with cold sweats because in the dream I was wearing the wrong kind of jeans. They were pin striped, as they were supposed to be, but they were the wrong kind of pin stripes. They should have been light blue but they were dark blue. It was terrifying.
So enough about the old fool.
Onto the next subject: the old school.
Ms. Pacman. Our friend Betsy gave this and other games to the boys this weekend.
Remember when Atari was this big expensive thing that you had to beg your parents to get you for Christmas? My dad traded legal work with my uncle to get ours. Then we all fell over each other trying to hook up all the wires and get the T.V. to the right channel. Well, now those old school video games are a little joystick you plug into your T.V. And the boys didn't have to beg anyone for it. They didn't even know such a thing existed.
As I mentioned in a previous blog, they thought video games were free entertainment at restaurants. You moved the joystick and pushed the button until your pacman got eaten by a ghost. Then you did it again. Miraculously, no matter how you played the game, the same thing happened every time. It must have been fate. At least, that's what they thought until a kid whose parents apparently owned a quarter-slot casino came over and started playing for real.
But now they have a real video game. And it practically fell in their laps.
Johnny, 5, is still in Chicago. So 3-year-old Richie had this all to himself last night. His favorite game was Galaxy, where your spaceship tries to shoot the alien spaceships before they crash into yours.
He would start out sitting on the couch. Then he'd stand, holding the joystick up in the air and inch closer to the T.V., saying, "Get him. Get him." Occassionally, he'd set down the joystick in the middle of the game and examine his tummy to see if it was still stained with Popcicle juice.
Once I came in to see his spaceship explode and "game over" flash on the screen.
"Tough break," I said.
"Yeah," he said. "I breaked the bad guy. I winned."
Here's the thing about Richie's new video game: No matter how he plays, it still always ends the same way. With Richie winning.
His tally looks like this:
Number of times his spaceship exploded:
Number of times his racecar ran off the road and collided with a billboard:
Number of times his mouse got eaten by robber cats:
Number of wins:43
Number of losses:
Are you crazy? 0
I think I must be wishing on Richie's star.