I'm a little bit drunk, because my husband is breaking my heart.
(Yes, I do realize that probably made no sense. Hang on. It will...or maybe it will. But there will be a few non-sequiturs before we get there. Be patient with me. Did I mention I'm a tad tipsy?)
There are layoffs coming at work. I'm likely to be one of them, though hoping against hope not to be, and thinking that there's a vague, minute chance that I'll dodge the axe for now. But the chances that I will be among the fallen? Bigger than the chances that I won't. (I know better than to blog about work, however, so I'll leave it at that.)
Several agonizing, intensely painful weeks ago, when it was first announced that layoffs were coming (Note to all you HR professionals: making people wait weeks and weeks and weeks to hear about their future? May seem like it's a good, cards-on-the-table thing to do, but is actually--however unintentionally--sadistic), Baroy and I sat down and talked about what we'd cash out and when to get through the coming months (we want Em to be able to graduate with her sixth-grade class), and at what point we'd have to give up, put the house on the market, and decamp to New York to try our luck there before the bank would take the house from us without our permission. (My sister THINKS I was kidding when I asked her if we could move in for a while if necessary...)
I'm not looking for sympathy (yet) or ideas or options...I'm telling you this because, as I said above, my husband is breaking my heart. (I'm getting to it! Hold on.)
This afternoon, I took a walk down to Ralph's to pick up some stuff for dinner. It was a gorgeous day. Perfect SoCal weather for a cold-hater like me. Not hot, but not even a little bit cold. Short sleeves and cotton workout pants. I love Southern California. As I turned onto our block on my way back, I noticed a large group of people down at the end of the street; as I got closer, I realized there were too many bodies for it to be the usual kids-from-the-block gathering (which is, in itself, somewhere around 10 kids). Then, right when I realized there were a bunch of Big Kids out there, too, and began wondering what was going on, Baroy caught sight of me and yelled down, "Go get N; he's in the house. Tell him to come out and play with us!"
It was a kids-and-parents, spontaneous Superbowl-halftime block-party/football game.
I went inside, grabbed N (who wasn't willing to play--not surprising considering the size of most of the team members--but who sat on the sidelines with me) and watched as my 53-year-old husband outran our 13-year-old neighbor kid to score four out of his team's five ultimate touchdowns. (Em was on the other--losing--team; we cheered equally for both.)
There was screaming and laughing and trash talking and the realization--after Em caught a pass and then tried to thow it forward to one her teammates--that we need to teach our daughter the RULES of football. And when the game was over, there was an invite for everyone to converge on one of the houses and watch the second half all together. Em headed off with her friends to the house, while Baroy, N, and I came back here for Baroy to grab a soda before he and N went to join them.
Laughing and telling me about the parts of the game I'd missed, we walked into the house and into the kitchen. As he opened the fridge, Baroy voice dropped and said, "I have to figure out a way to keep this house. We can't lose this. We just can't."
Then, as N called from the front door, "C'mon, Daddy, I don't want to miss the game, and our friends are waiting" Baroy kissed me and ran out the front door. And I took out a half-finished bottle of Barefoot Pinot, poured as much of it as possible into my martini glass, and downed it in about three gulps in a pretty ineffectual attempt to keep my heart from shattering.
We can't lose this. But we may not have a choice.