fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!

I know, I’ve been gone a while, and I’ve chosen a crass way to re-introduce myself but that word stated in that way sums up the frustration I am feeling.

Here’s the deal:

I need to work. For my sanity, for my soul, and most of all, for my mortgage. Actually, the latter is not entirely true. Sure, we got in under that tricky wire with 100% financing, but we could always afford this place comfortably. We had simply decided to buy on a whim and only had enough dough on hand for closing costs, so we got 100% loaned. We refinanced to a more stable loan within 2 years and were feeling good. Well, pretty good, considering the typical gang bang of shady development deals, non-stop construction snafus and exorbitant special assessments that seem to exemplify living in downtown Chicago. It’s the taxes that are about to kill us.

The gang bang stuff was surprising in the typical way that first-time buyers are often surprised by the real costs of owning a place; it was all of the things that the mortgage consultant does not figure into your total payment, even though they know full well it’s going to be there. The additional surprises, like a 28% jump in our monthly assessments because nobody’s lawyer caught some very shady wording in our building’s code, made us slightly uncomfortable. We just had to cut back on cable, sell the Jeep and join a car-sharing service, that sort of thing. Good things, really, just things we may not have done unless forced. None of it would have been uncomfortable at all if I had been teleworking part-time as planned. Now though, with Daley proposing a tax increase to shame all tax increases (mostly to fund an Olympics we will not be getting) we face being forced out. Sure, there are caps on tax increases per year, but until we pay 35% of our very sizable loan, we are required by our mortgage company to have a tax escrow account. The amount required in that escrow account is based on proposed, not actual, taxes. That means we got a letter saying that we suddenly have to come up with 13,500 extra bucks this year for the bank to hold onto just in case the inflated projections become reality. I’m not crying, I’m just stating. So now, I must find work not because we can’t afford our place, but because we won’t be able to afford the razor sharp increase in the proposed taxes on our place. Sell the condo, you say? We would love to. I should be in Philly right now. I’m not. Huz should be scaling back on his work. He’s not. I’m sure you’ve read the papers. People just aren’t buying much around here. They may want to, but they can’t get financed. Kinda hard for most to come up with a 25% downpayment on $270,000 average value places (and I’m considered to be in a cheap one).

Am I boring the crap out of you with this? I am me.

Aaaaanyway, I am taking the long way around to say that I am feeling frustrated by my current circumstances (quick recap of a forced “opt-out”: if the amazing director who had hired me hadn’t been canned for being at odds with the unbelievably horrid CEO, I would have been teleworking at my prior job with the assistance of a helper for Bean all this time).  Sure I know that when one door closes, another opens. If you are me, you either kick one down or build a new one somehow. I’ve got my big boots on and my tools in hand. I’m ready but I am still bound by Huz’s insane schedule whilst trying to find some work. I never know from week to week when he will be home to look after Bean, or when I could even hire someone to be here to look after Bean. What hired caregiver would be available at any time on short notice? Kinda dumb to pay someone to be here on certain set days when Huz could very well be home. Besides, I decided before Bean was born that I am not giving over the care of my kiddo to another person with me or Huz off-premises until he is three and presumably articulate enough to tell us if that person is mean to him. That part is my choice, I know, and my choice adds considerable complication. I am educated, I am qualified, and I am being offered work but it requires me to be on-site 2-3 days a week. I can’t get Huz to commit to be here one day a week to look after Bean, let alone 2-3, or to tell me for certain what days I should hire someone to do so. See my point? 

It is not entirely Huz’s fault. Sure, he is self-involved to a degree but every time he has tried to have a consistent day at home, he gets called in to do some super-VIP tasting or some such thing at the last minute. Nope, he cannot say no. His employer couldn’t care less that his wife is trying to maintain a career and unlike most people only needs one consistent weekday to do so.

My quandary would be helped if:

• The hourly pay being offered to me by the company across the street (it’s off premises but hardly) was good enough to cover the cost of childcare. As it stands, I would be making $8 an hour after childcare and taxes (yes, I know $8 is a lot of money to some people and I am fortunate to currently be able to turn that net pay down).
• I found a job with quality on-site childcare.
• Huz’s job responsibilities were shared so that it would not always have to be him doing the last-minute super-VIP things and I could schedule consistent on-site work with clients one freaking day a week.
• My former employer would reconsider their refusal of my teleworking arrangement (and for that matter, apologize for making me repay them for the one month of postpartum health insurance I used while we were negotiating an arrangement- I could have strung them along for my allotted FMLA time, then showed up for one day when my leave was over then quit like so many women have to do in this broken system)
• The costs and management for the care of my child while I work stopped being completely up to me (hullo, Huz? hullo employers with subsidies or onsite care? hullo, IL and U.S. Government assistance?)
• We could sell the condo and move to Philly so Huz could scale back on work, I could ramp up and we would have family help with childcare.
• My art and writing skills suddenly increase exponentially and I am payed a billion bucks for my talent. I can create with Bean happily running around my feet like the cheeky little tyrant he is.

I know, I know. So here I am, still asking: is it too much for a parent to want to be near her child while he is so very young? Must she sacrifice not only the advancement but also the basic maintenance of her career to do so for this relatively short time? Must she choose between selling her once quite affordable home at a loss and being with her kid? These are not new questions. I still have no satisfactory answers.

So yeah, back to blogging. I had a dream last night where Theresa came over for dinner and told me it would be good for me and I should get back to it. She looked so great, it must be that Alaskan air. I think dream-Theresa is right. Hi again, peeps. Thanks for being here. I’ll be seeing you again soon.

Love,

a clearly not very evolved over the last 6 months B.