A loving wife should pray for her husband. Proverbs 31:11-12 tell us, “The heart of her husband trusts in her, and he will have no lack of gain. She does him good, and not harm, all the days of her life.” This schedule has 31 ways, one for each day of the month, what to pray for in the life of your husband. I’ve seen how the Lord can soften a husband’s heart and make him follow the Lord with a fervancy he never had before when a wife prays for him. I’m so looking forward to following this schedule. What about you?

http://www.reviveourhearts.com/articles/31-days-of-praying-for-your-husband/

Jackie Ryan Masek

I have made only one New Year’s Resolution and it is this…

To think of my writing as a job, not just a hobby.

I’ve already asked folks in my town if they want to get together and me a blogging support group. There are so many writers’ support groups and many writers join them simply because it helps to have “accountability partners”.

I am a daughter of the King!

I have a song to sing!

The troubles are over and I’m ready for battle!

I’m ready again: renewed, refreshed, and suited up!

Happy to meet you, 2013. Bring it on!

God is using you for a greater purpose!

You just have to wait and see what God has in store for your family!

I’ve heard these and many others in the last three years. People truly mean well when they say things like this. They want to remind you, and perhaps themselves, that even in bad times God is there for us. Sometimes I really wondered, I did, that people were saying these things more to themselves than to us.  After all, if bad things can happen to the obviously faithful stewards and Christians such as that Masek family then what could happen to those who aren’t as faithful?

Each and every time I would thank the person or say a hearty “Amen”. Yet, I didn’t believe it for a minute. Where was God anyway? If He loved us so much than how could all these awful things happen to us, all at once, in such a short amount of time? Where were those angels who were supposed to surround us and attack our enemies? Who knew even angels get coffee and/or cigarette breaks? I’m sure many of them are off protecting our soldiers in harm’s way or even our political leaders but surely there was one or two who could have stayed behind and kept an eye on us. Weren’t we just as worthy?

As long as Scott and I have been married we have struggled to give as much of our tithe as we could, sometimes we could and sometimes we couldn’t. But it was very important to us to do so as often as we could. We have always said the Lord’s Prayer together and then, when our babies came along, taught them to say it with us EVERY SINGLE NIGHT. From time to time, as needed, we taught them to pray for family or friends, the president and our government leaders, others who were hurt, sick, or in harm’s way. We read the Bible, on our own and with our children. We didn’t just go to church, we were part of church serving as deacon or Sunday school teacher, coming early to set up for some event or staying late to clean up, and on and on. We were always feeding the poor, hungry, widowed, or orphaned by donating mountains of food, clothing, and/or money. Often we would sneak help to those we knew were in need so the left hand wouldn’t know what the right was doing. Scott and I also did many things to keep our marriage alive by remembering our love and know that we served as a reminder for what a good, loving marriage looks like. We do love each other very much and have worked hard to create a Christian family together.

So why, in such a short time could so many bad things happen to us? I don’t think we will ever know the answer to that. It may just be that the answer is sometimes bad things happen to good people. Even Job, who was the richest and most faithful man around, had a whole bunch of bad things happen to him all at once. What did he do? He tried asking God what the purpose was. Know what he said, what all parents say to their children, “Because”. That’s it! Because. Scott and I aren’t any more special than any other Christian. We aren’t. We don’t have to save a whole race of people like Esther, we don’t have some influential king to sway like Daniel, and we sure don’t have a body of water to part like Moses.

What special plan does God have for us? I know what it is! Do you want to know too?

He wants us to obey His laws, accept Jesus’ sacrifice, and follow Him to Heaven. That’s God’s plan. No, really, I’m serious. It’s that simple. But, wait, you say, that’s the plan for everybody. Uh huh. Yeah, I know. Not everybody gets to be a candlestick. Most people are just the everyday dishes. Scott’s Ok with that. I’m OK with that. The boys are OK with that. The special purpose God has for us is to just keep believing, to have faith even in the face of adversity, and to never give up, no matter what. That’s it. See how simple that is?

What? Not special enough for you? But we are special! God knows exactly how many hairs I have on my head and on Scott’s head and on Logan’s head and on Jordan’s head. How much more special do you need? Maybe that’s it, that’s all. We don’t need to be any more special than that. Good enough is good enough for us. Because with a Father like God what else do you need anyway?

Instead what I got was a wake up call.  

Have you ever met someone and instantly felt that you really liked them, a lot, or, not at all? You think that isn’t fair to judge, after all, you’ve just met them and you need to give it time. I feel that every single time I meet someone new. I know instantly whether I can trust you or if I will need to watch my back with you, or if you’re nice but have moments when you are not to be trusted at all. Every. single. time. I meet a new person. That’s why I don’t like crowds or new situations.

Why do I feel that, you ask?

Because I could never trust my parents. They might be happy and jovial one minute and absolutely stark raving mad the next. As a kid I learned to read the body language and smell the fear or joy from yards away. I still do it, even at church, a place where I should not be afraid or on guard.

I don’t mean to judge people that way. I just do. It’s something I feel. It’s kind of like being zapped with electricity. Some electrical shocks feel good, like when I met my foster-mother for the first time. I knew instantly that she would be strict but loving. I knew the instant I shook my husband’s hand I was in trouble and it was only a matter of time before stuff happened. Unfortunately, I can also tell when not to trust someone even when I need to. I will try very, very hard to make the relationship work. Yet I’ve not been wrong once. I hate that. I really do.

I didn’t think I would feel it so strongly from little kids.

I mean, these were kids after all. What kind of shock could I get from them? They were going to be happy and excited to be spending a week swimming and having tons of fun. The minute they stepped off the bus I instantly felt this wave of emotion. I felt so dizzy I almost passed out. I kept hooting and hollering along with the rest of the staff and counselors when the busses arrived. The last thing I needed to happen was let them see me cry or swoon. I screamed my fool head off. Little did others realize it was to scare the demons away.

I felt the kids’ lives all at once.

I felt the fear.  

I felt the shame. 

I felt the joy. 

I felt the experiences that landed them in the foster care system.  

I felt it all at once.  

It was like being overtaken by tsunami. 

I still feel it weeks later.  

I wanted to run home and hide under my covers.  

What was I thinking?!!! Why did I not consider that I would feel this? I won’t go to parades just because of all the numerous emotions I feel from the spectators and the people in the floats. I won’t go to the movies on an opening weekend. Well, there are a lot of places I won’t go. What made me not even consider what might happen here?  

I wanted to help. I wanted to show those kids that they did have a hope and a future. It never occurred to me that they would remind me of my past. 

Do you see it now? 

They reminded me of where I had been. Seeing them made me instantly ashamed of where I was not.  

I had such high hopes for my future after being placed in a foster home. I was going to write and travel the world. I was going to live in a fancy apartment in New York City and take the taxi. I was going to drink champagne at parties while wearing a little black dress. I wanted to be Barbra Walters. Oprah Winfrey hadn’t been invented yet but like that, too. I wanted to interview the famous and the not so famous and ask them about their lives, what made them tick and what did they offer to the rest of us to live a better life. I certainly wasn’t going to get married or have babies.  

Instead I had flunked out of college. Twice. I somehow managed to teach myself how to be a computer programmer and attended a lot of seminars. I got married and had babies. I then walked away from a very promising career to be a stay at home mom. I had given all my time and energy to my children and their education. What happened to those big dreams of my childhood? Was I happy with the way things turned out?  

So there I was, confronted with a sea of kids who had just stepped off the bus. I could feel their brokenness. They were young, vulnerable, yet oh, so hopeful. I was instantly a little vulnerable girl again and I wasn’t ready for that. What was I going to do? This was just the first morning for pity’s sake. I had nowhere to run and hide. Instantly, I went into “do or die” mode. That’s when my shields go up and I set my phaser to stun. I get the job done but nobody’s home upstairs. In short, I became a robot just like that. Bam! 

The rest of the week I went from being a robot to being my normal Jackie self and back to being a robot. I was going to finish that week if it killed me. Sometimes I thought I had already died I felt so drained. Two things got me through it. One, I had made a promise to be there and I wasn’t about to let anyone down by leaving. The second one was that I came for a purpose. A purpose I felt strongly that God had laid on me. I had to buck up and soldier on because I wanted Him to be proud of me and to let Him know he could count on me no matter what.  

I learned about the camp shortly after coming to this town. A new friend I had met called and invited me to go with her to the town’s National Day of Prayer celebration. There was a large table full of pamphlets and brochures from all the churches about all of their missions. One of them was for Royal Family Kids Camp, a camp for foster kids. I was instantly intrigued. The camp was to give the foster kids a chance to just be free and happy for one week and be loved on by Christians. I loved the idea. I fondly remember the week once a summer at my Aunt Karent’s house or my cousin, Kathy, taking me out for a frozen Coke and a pretzel every once in a while. Those were the highlights of my childhood. This camp was the same idea.  

I never called. I kept looking at the brochure and thinking I should call but never did.  I was too busy homeschooling my boys after all. They probably have tons of people who help anyway.  

Then my family and I started attending the church that sponsors the camp. As soon as the announcement went up I heard God say, “I want you to go.” Aw, man! I hate it when He does that. I do. I’m not one of those, “The Lord called me and I rose up and immediately did what he said and was so glad to serve.” Nope! Never have been, never will be. Yes, I hear God talking to me all the time. He never whispers. It’s always loud and clear and laser specific. He can be gentle, never mean, but always “boom, here ya go” in a way that doesn’t give me much wiggle room. I do always have a choice. I also have the experience to know He doesn’t give up easily. He’s had to swat the back of my head a few times by finding ways to put the message right in front of me again and again. Then when I’ll tell him, “OKaaaa, I get it” He says, “Oh, good, I’m so glad to hear that.” He can be very “Mary Poppins” that way. This was one of those times I wanted to argue. Still, I went and listened to the orientation and filled out the paperwork. I figured they wouldn’t want me anyway since I had just moved into the state and hadn’t been a member long or been fully immersed baptized. Yeah, they wouldn’t take me so what could it hurt to listen to how it worked?  

Long story, short, there I was at the camp having been fully immersed baptized two months prior. (See how they keep pulling me in?!) The first night I pulled up my proverbial bootstraps and went to do what I was there to do. I told the group of girls I was assigned to assist with that I was a foster daughter. I was blessed with one foster mother who took care of me all the way through high school and then let me live with her until I was 25 so I could get on my feet by myself. I told that I had gone to college, married a man who loves me so much, and have two wonderful boys. I kept sane by reading everything I could get my hands on, especially the Bible. I told them how God loved me so much that when I trusted Him He showed me how to love on others and have a good life. I wanted that for them, too. I wanted them to know that they had a hope and a future like I did.  

They all stopped painting each other’s nails instantly and stared at me. I felt like a deer in the headlights. Did I say the wrong thing or did it come out wrong? Then I realized they were searching my energy as I had searched so many others. They were reading my body language the same way a fortune teller glances into a crystal ball. The same way I search other’s body language. I’ve only been searched that way once or twice in my life but it still felt disconcerting. Then, in an instant, they smiled one after another. They sat back and looked down. They knew. They knew I was telling the truth. Just as quickly, they went back to painting each other’s nails.  

One of the girls said that she was never going to get married because she couldn’t trust a man to never hit her. I told her I totally and completely understood that. It took me a long time to find a man I could trust. But the one thing I learned, that my mother didn’t teach me, was that if he ever hit me that I could hit back, tell him to never do that again, and mean it. She looked at me as though I had just explained e=Mc².  

“Oh, God, I thought, no one has ever told her! No one has thought to give her that permission.”  

God told me, “You just did. She wouldn’t have listened to that from anyone else. Keep going.”  

Another girl said she was never going to have children. I told her I always thought that I wouldn’t either. They are a lot of work, are expensive, and did I mention, a lot of work. The girls laughed at that. It’s OK to not want children, there aren’t any rules that say you have to, I continued, just make sure you never have sex. She looked at me because I said the “s” word. I bit my tongue. Just how candid was I allowed to be? I asked one of the girls, a very chatty and energetic lass, if she could paint my nails. We all settled into playing “beauty parlor”. A bond had been created. A relationship had started to bloom. Yet how I wanted to dart out of that room and run and run and never look back. I barely remember going to sleep that night. It was more of a sit down and then pass out kind of thing.  

The rest of the week was filled with assisting with activities, eating, and worshipping together. There were two other times I gave my testimony. Both times I got the same kind of reaction the girls gave me. It was an odd feeling getting that wide-eyed look of recognition from the kids. I felt strange knowing it was because they were going from “What do you, pretty lady, know about my life?!” to “She’s telling the truth, she really gets it. Wow.” I even think there was a secret, invisible handshake that happened but I’m not certain. They are still kids and just as quickly as their shields came down they went right back up. It was with the silent understanding that they knew we were in the same club and it wasn’t meant to be mean. If you find that weird and hard to understand you must realize I feel exactly the same way. Think of it as old war veterans meeting for the first time, it was kind of like that.  

Another thing I taught several kids how it was OK to be angry. They had every right to be angry and they weren’t to let anyone tell them differently. A foster kid has been told to do so many things, how, and when, that the only true thing they have control over is their emotions. When you tell them to not feel those things you are being just as controlling as the adults who have hurt them.  

I told the kids about my pillow that I just used for punching. I have hit that pillow so hard and put all my anger into it. The thing is, though, that if you keep punching that pillow you miss the butterfly. There will be times in their life when something good happens. The butterfly wants to land on your hand but can’t if you’re busy punching that pillow. I explained that if they stop punching the pillow the butterfly will land and they can think about a good time or feeling they had. If they can stop their hand punching that pillow, and open it up, the butterfly will stay for a long time and open its wings. Then they can experience that good time or feeling for even longer. They have to remember the butterfly times when they get sad or discouraged. I told them I still have a hitting pillow and I don’t use it for anything else. When I’m done with it I put it under my bed. I don’t use it nearly as often as I used to because I really like looking at my butterflies a lot more. Through the week I would remind the kids about the “butterfly moments” and they would smile a big smile.  

I overheard a counselor tell a child to not be sad when it was time to leave. I realized she didn’t realize that was the same thing as telling someone to not breathe. It’s better to say, “I know you are sad. Can I sit with you for a while?” I told the girl I know that she had a great time at camp yet I have no idea what she will be walking back into in her real life, I would pray for her. Whenever she got discouraged or angry all she had to do was pray to God to find me and let me know. Then I would send her prayers back. She must always remember that God is there for her and will never leave her. I wanted her to remember the butterfly moments and those will always be with her. I also knew that she was one of the oldest and the younger girls would be very upset if they saw her being upset. She had a responsibility and duty to them to be strong on the ride back. That settled her down, she understood my message.  

I don’t think she realized I was telling myself the exact same thing.  

If you’ve made it this far through my tale I thank you. I know there’s a lot here. It’s taken me a long time to get it all out. I met some really wonderful and caring people. The love and concern just blew me away. These people gave an entire week’s of vacation time to do this for these kids. A lot of people spent their own money for room decorations and gifts. So much time and effort went into making a lot of Butterfly Moments. As an adult it made me remember my butterfly moments back in a little country village named Brownhelm that took me on as their own foster-daughter as much as my foster-mom did. I actually appreciate those people more now than I ever have! I didn’t know that was possible. I think that’s because as a kid it was just there. As an adult I now know all the time and effort it took. Royal Family Kids Camp is truly a blessing from God.  

Will I go next year? Uh, ewww, um, I don’t know. I remember a few years back there was an actress who had been a foster-kid. She had finally made it big and was doing all kinds of charity work for them. Then, one day, she said she had to stop because it was too emotionally draining for her. I thought she was a big, huge wimp. Of course, at that time I wasn’t doing anything. I justified it by saying we couldn’t afford it. Now I feel like I must track her down and compare notes. I might be able to handle small doses. Maybe. Thing is, I’m still dealing with fallout from my birth family. I’m still counted on as the “responsible one” to come and save the day. That always brings up so much junk from my childhood. It effects me to the point that it affects my boys’ lives and my marriage. I have to keep it together for them first and foremost.  

It’s taken me a month to come out of the stupor of being at camp. I can help on the support team. I don’t think I can help at the camp. I’d like to think of myself as strong. I’m not. I’m still the scared, and scarred, little girl inside. That’s frustrating.  

The ones who aren’t emotionally scarred or torn up inside are the ones who need to do what we can’t.  

Do me a favor. Go hug your kids and tell them you love them. OK?

Thanks. 

* For more information about Crossroads Church – Royal Family Kids Camp please go here: http://www.crossroadschurch.com/ministries/royal.asp

Soon after moving to sunny California I learned about this organization that takes about 100 foster-kids to camp for an entire week. They get to go horseback riding, swimming, learn archery, and even make those silly duct tape wallets. Well, I wanted in! Not the “going to camp” thing, I am a city girl born and bred. My idea of “camping out” is staying at a Hotel 6. I wanted to help foster- kids have a great week with tons of fun. Heck, they didn’t have that when I was a foster-kid!

Last night, and all day tomorrow is the training for the camp counselors and staff. The newbies, people who have never been met last night. I learned that there are a lot of ants at the camp. Ants apparently don’t like Comet. Yeah, I mean the cleanser your grandmother used to clean her kitchen sink. That stuff. The ants will not climb over it. We were told to put this stuff all around our car’s tires. One man forgot last year and by the time he got home, walked into his house, he was slapping himself silly because his body was crawling with ants.

Don’t even let me forget that we are told to bring Benadryl cream for the mosquito bites. The head nurse said that, if necessary, one of her nurses will go with us to the emergency room should the bite get infected. EXCUSE ME?! My hand shot up and I just had to ask, “What kind of other freakazoid insects do all y’all have here? That kind of stuff never happened back home! Nuh uh!”

Ewwwww! OK, all the bugs, insects, spiders, and snakes in SoCal, yeah, that stuff was NOT in the travel brochure or any Hollywood movie! The movie execs want you to forget this is a desert after all. A well watered desert, a fun desert, but it’s a desert. Mmm’kay? You have been warned.

Then they give us this personality quiz. This will help them match the kids up with the counselors and the staff to the right activities. Now I’ve done the Meyers-Brigg test. It’s been a while but I think I’m an EFSJ. This test determines if you are one of four animals: otter, beaver, lion, or golden retriever. (Didn’t you just say, “awww” at the golden retriever? I did.)

I found the link for you to take the quiz! You have to take it. C’mon, it’ll be fun!

Here’s the quiz: http://www.okcupid.com/tests/the-animal-personality-test

Here’s someone else’s take on the quiz: http://weirdblog.wordpress.com/2007/02/22/personality-types-lion-beaver-otter-and-golden-retriever/

What am I? It’s in the title of this post. Yeah, I’m a beaver. I told my boys that last night, and what it means, and they both laughed and high-fived. I think that means they agree with the results. I think, boys are sometimes hard to read.

Anywhoo, take the quiz, ignore the dating nonsense over there and then comment and let me know what animal you are! Thanks!

Yeah, I homeschool my boys.

No, I’m not insane…much.

The meds help a lot.

Only kidding, no meds.

LOTS AND LOTS of coffee,

and laughter,

and hugs,

and silliness,

and living a fun life.

Circle of Moms is running a “Top 25 Homeschooling Moms” blog contest. I entered my other blog, LJSkool, into this contest.

If you would be so kind to hop on over there and vote for me I would so beyond measure grateful.

Thank you!

http://www.theindepthgenealogist.com/  

Because I am a very, very, dear, dear friend of hers (cause we all know this status isn’t always equally reciprocal) she asked me to write for her! I have, a couple of times now. 

This is where you “ooh, ahh” appropriately. 

OK, good. 

Anywhoo, you can read “my stuff” here: http://www.theindepthgenealogist.com/?page_id=1989

I wrote about International Festivals and Hungarian and Italian food and dancing. Did I mention the food?

Hmm, wonder if I have any apples handy? 

Not buying it? 

Can’t say I blame you. 

Where have I been? Uh, playingonfacebook. ahem. 

What?! It’s addictive. 

Yes, I know that addictions are bad, bad things. That doesn’t stop someone who is 20 pounds overweight from eating a really rich chocolate chip cookie, though. (I’m talking about me. I’m not pointing fingers.) 

(Psst, I have found THE absolute bestest chocolate chip cookie recipe! Squee!) 

Anyway, where was I? Ohhhhh! Facebook. Yeah, that’s right. 

(No, I’m not going to tell you about the recipe. It has now become my own personal secret. I plan on continue making them only so people will invite me to their parties just so I will bring them.) 

I love Facebook. I crave Facebook. Mark Zuckerberg was not thinking of some white, middle class, stay at home mom when he invented this new demon. Nope! No sirree! Yet, oh, how wonderful it is for people just like me.

I have friends all over the country. I even have a friend in Canada. (Hi, Lynnette!) We live in different time zones, have different schedules, don’t have gobs of money to go jetting all over the place to see each other, and yada yada. You get the point. But with Facebook we chat all the time. I do mean, all.the.time. We can show each other pictures of our babies doing fun things. We can show pictures of our latest crafts. Don’t forget the pictures of the latest excursion! Our friends dutifully “ooh” and “aah” appropriately as if they were right there with me. They can sit in their most comfortable chair, sipping on their favorite beverage from their favorite container, and read my page when it is most convenient for them without any worry of disturbing me or taking me away from something else I need to be doing. 

(Mental Note: Must warn my teen-aged boys that I called them “babies” online again. Must make another batch of chocolate chip cookies to calm them down.) 

I mustn’t forget how we uplift each other in prayer. All of us have times that totally, completely suck. Times when we want to look up at the vast sky and, like Job did before us, ask “What the H-E-Double Hockey Sticks are you thinking anyway putting me through this newest nonsense?!” That’s when we can reach out to our friends and ask, ever so politely and demurely, “Hey, can you say a prayer for me because I really need it right now?” Your friends will be all over that post. Basically, because they know that if I am asking for help there will be one day when they will need me to do the exact same thing for them. I really like that about my friends. Even if we are separated by time and distance we can still “be there” for each other. 

That isn’t all that Facebook is good for though. It’s like a diamond, it’s multi-faceted. You can hold it up to the light and watch the light sparkle and dance no matter how you hold it. Oh, wait, that’s my mother’s engagement ring. Hmm, multi-faceted which leads to many things which leads to… Oh! Yes! Well, for instance, here is what I managed to post just this very morning. 

1) I wished two friends a “Happy Birthday”! Remembering important dates is not my thing. In fact, I hate to admit this, but my husband is the one who reminds me that our wedding anniversary is coming up. Please don’t take away my Big Girl Panties. I do use them for other things, I promise! Facebook allows me to “remember” my friends’ birthdays and I love them for that. I do. I really, truly do. 

2) I thanked the members of my Christian ADHD homeschoolers group (yep, there is an online group for e.ve.ry.body) for being there for me during my darkest hours while trying to learn how to not only teach my son but also how to train him in the way that he should, should, I said should, go. If it wasn’t for this group of moms, and one grandfather, I would have gone insane. Well, OK, I did go insane a few times. But, by gosh golly, these people were there to drag my sorry patookis back up from the precipice. 

3) This picture of a bea-u-ti-ful private library. I commented: I don’t trust people who don’t display all their books. (I’m not talking the books the kids read either.) The saddest thing about moving from OH to IN and then IN to CA was leaving behind all my beautiful books. Scott (that’s my husband) and I find “dream homes” online to motivate us to keep on keeping on. All of them have huge libraries, it’s an absolute “must have”. https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=385145364868284&set=a.117833641599459.10100.100001184704693&type=1&theater

4) I like how “The Better Mom” writes. She posted this blog this morning. I was “Amen-ing” the whole way through this latest entry. http://www.thebettermom.com/2012/06/top-10-ways-i-refill-my-mommy-tank/

5) I live in Riverside County, CA. This part of the country started the whole “orange juice” craze and a lot of people made a lot of money growing oranges here. This is a link to the Riverside Metropolitan Museum. I’m a history buff and I do believe I will be spending a lot of time here. Yep, I can feel it in my bones. http://riversideca.gov/museum/heritagehouse/

There’s way more that I post but this will whet your appetite. I have eclectic tastes. I’ve made alot of my page public just so you can come on over and see how much fun I’m having. Oh! I know! I can post these stuff to my Pinterest board!

Ohhh, Pinterest, how I do love thee… 

Have a fantabulous day! 

The more I think about it, though, the more I realize this was also true at the bank. Whenever I say “at the bank” I’m talking of my time at one of the major banks of the United States, a household name kind of bank. I worked in the IT department of the Small Business Loans division…for the entire bank corporation. I wrote ad-hoc reports on a daily basis for the CEO. Again, a name you would instantly recognize if I told you. He thought my contributions were so awesome he included one of them in his list of top 15 accomplishments for the bank one year. I designed, programmed, created, trained, etc. etc. the whole thing. Of course, I had help writing the “help section” but that person just corrected my grammar. The other IT person helped me clean up the syntax and logic a bit. This was truly My Baby. In fact, it was one of my babies. See, I had a lot of latitude at “the bank”.

I was salaried and could come and go as long as I logged my 40 hours. I could decide what projects to work on and what could wait. I decided how long each project would take. Why? Because I was “The Wiz Kid”. Believe it or not, Small Business Banking was pretty rudimentary and not very organized when I first came on board. That drove me nuts. How did they know how well they were doing if they weren’t keeping track of this, that, and the other within the office?! Yes, there were national reports but not reports for each individual underwriting center. My boss felt the same way. He had set out to keep track of things on his own and it was my job to continue his work. What he hadn’t expected was for me to use my knowledge of software and database management systems. In no time I was cranking out software to keep track of this, that, and the other down to the last detail. These worked so well for the main office that they were soon implemented in the other two underwriting centers in the country.

I was also working on fixing the printers and the copiers and the fax machines before Tech Support ever left their desks. I was fixing computers and setting up email accounts and all kinds of other tech problems. Soon, they were calling me “The IT Goddess” or “The Wiz Kid”. That’s pretty heady stuff. I earned it, though, every last bit of that respect.

Now, ten years later, I’m still expecting that kind of respect. The problem is that I’m in a town where “the bank” doesn’t mean a gosh darned thing because there is an even larger bank presence here, a competitor of “the bank”. The bank CEO that I reported to is in a bit of a hot seat right now for losing an awful lot of money so saying I wrote reports for him doesn’t hold the same kind of awesomeness it once did either. That’s humbling, very humbling indeed.

I realize now that I do have to keep a calendar. I do have to stick to my appointments. I do have to stick to deadlines. Oh, hey, there are deadlines, write them in your calendar, Jackie! I don’t like this at all. Yet if I would like to continue eating regularly and sleeping under my own roof I need to learn these things now. Now would be good, not tomorrow, not maybe next week. Now. It is time to put the crown and the cape and even the scepter away. Actually, maybe it needs to be buried.

Jackie, meet Reality, Reality kick Jackie in the butt for not recognizing you earlier.