04 May, 2010

Save the good news for last.

Things have been a little crazy for me lately. I know, I know, I can hear you all chorusing "and how is that different from every other day, Gabs?"... shut up. *lol*

I gave notice on my job, quoting the least controversial reason for leaving in the hopes of avoiding huge emotional drama with the family. And how did that work out for me, you ask? Like all my best laid plans, it progressed in a markedly different fashion than I had intended. I ended up on the receiving end of a half hour screaming session, informing me that my reasons for leaving were, and I quote, "ridiculous". Because that's professional behaviour for an employer, right? *lol* The main reasons I had given them were that my constant communication issues with the husband of the pair added to the fact that I view my position in their house in a slightly different fashion than they view it meant that I didn't feel this was a viable long term solution. As they had asked me in my one month review to decide definitely whether I would be staying with their family before my three month probationary period was up, I thought this would appreciated. I was mistaken.

After the screaming fit, I wished I'd given my reasons in full. Some of them have come out since the assault on my sensibilities (and my ears), like the fact that I don't appreciate coming to work to find last night's dinner detritus from the parent's evening meal waiting for me to gather it up from all over the house. One or two of them haven't, like how it's not healthy or normal for a seven year old to regress to baby talk upon his mother's return from a business trip. Or how painful it is for me to watch them ignore their nine year old to the point that he literally screams just to get them to look at him. At which point he's in trouble for acting out of control, mind you. I guess to him, negative attention is better than no attention.

The moral of this story, kiddies, is as follows. Himself was right and I was wrong. *sigh* I know, several of you have fainted away in sheer shock at seeing those words from yours truly. I'll have you know, I said them out loud to Himself, and to his eternal credit, he did not gloat. Not to my face anyway. *lol* When I first hatched my ingenious plan to work part time as a nanny and study horticulture in my off hours, he had the audacity, the sheer barefaced cheek, to remind me how much I had hated nannying. I was incensed! How dare he tell me what I didn't want to hear?! I argued, nastily, that the reason I'd hated it previously was because I had been illegal and the people who will employ an illegal are the people who will treat their staff poorly. Now that I was legal, I spat vociferously, things would be DIFFERENT.

I did actually believe it, you know. I still have the occasional out of body experience where I think "did I just not find the right family to work for?"... and then I realise that probably, the issue is as follows. If a family has enough money to employ someone else to raise their children, and the mentality that it's acceptable to pawn their children off on who is essentially a total stranger with what could be (and in my case, are) completely falsified references, they're not going to treat their help well. Hence, my constant encounters with people who think I'm beneath them because I'm employed by them. Makes me wonder what their dynamic with their own employers is like... but enough about work.

On the moggie front, I took the furry ones to the vet today for their three month post-op check. I had to catch them to put them in the box, which unfortunately they seem to have finally associated with unpleasant events (being stuck in the car to go to Himself's childhood home most recently). Sophie managed to grow a few extra legs to brace against the sides of the door, but I used that Gabs touch and got her in eventually. They were both subjected to my own personal hell, the public weigh in, and we got two pieces of news. The first is that they've evened out in weight, which surprised the human inhabitants of our household to no end. Kit's always been smaller, and she still looks it, not that the look of her makes us any more comfortable when she lands with all four feet on any available unprotected soft bits. The second piece of news is that, while it's great that they've evened out in weight, they're a bit chubby. *sheepish grin* Poor babies, I didn't realise hereditary conditions could be passed down to your pets. They were doomed from the minute I got my mitts on them. So from kitten food to weight management adult food... I say again, poor babies. *sniff*

But I digress. I have news, all! I'm opening an Etsy shop. : ) What's Etsy, most of you have already asked me? *lol* Etsy is Ebay for people who make their own stuff. The rules are that if you list it on Etsy, it must be either handmade or vintage over twenty years old. I've already stitched together a baby sized patchwork quilt that I plan to embroider, and I've done two embroidered kokeshi dolls to frame and put in the shop. The possibilities are endless, I can go back to making all the random loveliness from my Camden stall without having to spend thirty hours a weekend in north London (leaving Himself at loose ends, which is never a good idea). I'm going shabby chic, people! Watch this space for photos documenting my forays into the world of intricately handmade oddities. : )

And on that note, to bed with me.

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