The Dream Job

Non-Negotiable Qualifications:

1. Absolutely (upon point of being fired immediately) never, ever, ever smile.

2. Treat the customer as you would the neighbor’s dog that barked all night and kept you awake.

3. No computer skills required. Not even the ability to change your password.

4. Take your time. Time (neither yours nor the customer’s) has any value. Keep the customer waiting in the waiting area. Keep them waiting while you serve them. Keep them waiting all day if necessary.

5. If, after waiting for over an hour, the customer called upon needs a service you are unable to meet, inform them that the area they want is on the other side of the room. And never, ever, ever forget to remind them to take yet another number and wait until called.

6. Never be helpful. If asked a question by the customer, be as unclear in your answer as possible. If they ask for clarification, be not only as unclear as before but also be exceptionally rude. Make it thoroughly clear that customers should never ask questions.

7. Even if the customer brings to your desk every important piece of paper ever issued to them in their lifetime (birth certificate, visa, passport, etc.) and all of them are in order, if you think what they are trying to achieve is wrong do not allow them to achieve their goal. Throw up as many roadblocks as possible. Send them away to get the one article they didn’t even know existed. Do this especially if they show any indication of being 1) raised south of the Mason Dixon, 2) friendly and polite and 3) a Republican.

8. If the customer should show even the slightest hint of actually being knowledgeable, pretend they weren’t talking to you. Always act superior. (For example, you know one’s middle name shows up on a W-2 even though that’s a complete untruth and the customer says so.) After all, the customer is never right.

9. When in doubt about anything, frown more. Speak in rude and condescending tones. Go about your tasks even more slowly than before. The number one rule in our office is: NEVER LET THE CUSTOMER LEAVE WITH A SENSE OF SATISFACTION AND ACCOMPLISHMENT. ALL CUSTOMERS MUST LEAVE WITH THEIR TAIL BETWEEN THEIR LEGS IN SHAME FOR EVEN HAVING COME TO THE ONLY PLACE IN THE COUNTY WHERE THEIR BUSINESS CAN BE ACHIEVED.

If you can happily (with a frown) meet all these qualifications, you are invited to join the ill-mannered workforce of the Pennsylvania DMV, your generous paycheck provide by the taxpayer (a.k.a.: the customer).

(What a way to start a week – renewing a driver’s license! It’s enough to ruin the rest of your year and wish you never, ever, ever learned to drive…)

Friends

It has been a long time since I sat on my bedroom floor and cried. Because having time to do something like is right up there with finding time to use the bathroom! But the other day, I was reminded of something I had avoided thinking about for a long time. And since the kids were down for naps and Ed was stretched out on the couch reading news feeds that only make him angry (????), I sat down next to my closet and cried.

For the sake of argument, let’s just call me a “military-brat”. It’s technically true and my dad working for a defense company after leaving the Navy equaled the same thing: move every two or three years. I will confess it wasn’t always easy. The biggest hurdle was always making friends…and then leaving them…and then starting the whole awful scenario over again. It was enough to wish I could lock myself in my bedroom with my books, pen, paper and imagination and NEVER leave. Thankfully, the Lord never leaves us to our own devices.

Knowing all this, I didn’t expect Pittsburgh to be any different. But I’ve learned that people here are some really weird mongrol of Yankee and Mid-Western. And they apparently dislike Philadelphia (the City of Brotherly Love) so much that the idea of even being remotely friendly is anathema. Because I’ve been here for nearly four years…and I still don’t have a single friend. I was reminded of that recently when one mother at church asked another mother at church if they’d like to take the kids to the zoo the one nice day (in the midst of seeming weeks of torrential downpours) that week. Right in front of me. In the middle of a conversation we were having. And my kids and I certainly weren’t included in that invitation.

Because I’ve never been asked by any woman of my four-year acquaintance who shares the same “time of life” as I do if I’d like to get coffee. Or have a play date. Or even hold a conversation after church. Honestly, I feel as invisible now as I ever did when I was single. (So for those of you who are single and reading this: marriage will not solve the invisibility problem.) And while I’m not a friendly, out-going person; I did try when I first moved here. But I’ve given up. Because I really don’t have time to sit on my bedroom floor and cry over this.

Instead, I want to thank all the friends I do have for their texts, e-mails and cards – especially this past week over my birthday. Because it reminded me that I do have friends. They’re all hundreds of miles away, but they still pour moments into my life I am more grateful for now than ever. Because a moment of sharpening is better than none. And it reminds me of the wonderful times I have spent paring apples in Allyson’s kitchen while her kids run in and out wanting to show me something. Binge-watching Downton Abbey after spending a half hour dust-mopping and then mopping that huge floor with Haley. Hours of walking all over the neighborhood and talking about who-knows-what with Jenny. Baking cookies and playing games with Karen and Laura. Coffee with Andreä (because somehow coffee defines Andreä and I can’t sip a cup without thinking about her). Black-and-white talks with Tirzah who probably can’t imagine how much I needed the fast, hard friendship we fell into. Summer days at camp with Anna whose laugh brings a smile to my face just thinking about it. And even the extremely rare lunches at Panera Bread with Katrine and Astrid. Hours upon hours upon hours of iron sharpening iron, godly women pouring so much into my life. I miss those hours so much it hurts. But the moments of today will do. They’re treasured.

I know. I’ve been extraordinarily blessed. Whereas most people have but one or two long-lasting friendships in their entire lifetime, I have many. I haven’t seen Katrine and Astrid in years, but if we sat down at Panera today we would pick up right where we left off. If I called Allyson right now, we’d be so deep in conversation in five seconds we wouldn’t want to get off the phone. And I could drop by Tirzah’s anytime – she’d give me a huge hug, set me up in some corner and we’d enjoy the greatest whirlwind visit ever. Because I have the most wonderful friends in all the world. And I wouldn’t trade one of them for any person in Pittsburgh.

So, girls, thank you! And God bless each of you!

THIRTY-EIGHT

It’s a stupid question. I mean, the answer is obvious. Even to a five-year-old who is a decent counter. Why does thirty-eight seem so much closer to forty than thirty-seven?

Because it is!

 Today I turn thirty-eight. And, today, for the first time in the thirty-eight years of my life, I feel old. OLD.

It hurts too much to repeat it again.

My dear friend Allyson would tell me that age is mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter. And that is true. Honestly, I’ve never much cared about getting older. A couple of weeks ago I think my sister Sally had a mid-life crisis turning thirty. I rejoiced to turn thirty. Anything had to be better than the decade of my twenties! But forty?!?!? Since my years might, by reason of strength, be eighty…well, I think a mid-life crisis is somewhat justified.

I know, I know. I should hardly start panicking now. Thirty-eight is not forty. My husband has been in his forties for three years now. And while I may have more grey hairs, I’m quite exhausted most days and my body does not recover like it did even two years ago…I have to remind myself often that I’ve had grey hairs since I was twenty-five, I am parenting two toddlers when most people my age did that ten or fifteen years ago and my recovery time is less and less every year.  That’s life.

But, to be honest I’m trying not to think about the whole age thing very much. I just keep telling myself I’m simply having a birthday. I’m going to make my favorite broccoli cheddar soup, bake some crusty bread and even throw together a cheesecake (which I haven’t done in nearly ten years). And while the usual yearly spring thaw on February 21 spoiled my hopes and prayers for snow (for the 38^th time in my life), at least that means I can go on a good run to burn off those birthday calories. And start praying for snow next year on February 21…again.

Me at eight years old…I can’t believe that was thirty years ago!

The Camus Adventures of Powder Plots and Locked Roll Tops

The birthday weekend was one of those weekends…so chocked full with cleaning, cooking and cake decorating that adding one more thing to my to-do list was the furthest thing from my mind. I think this is where someone would pipe up, “But God has a sense of humor!” I disagree. God just wants Melissa Michele Sturm Camus to learn flexibility – again!

I had a lot to do on Friday. I had left much of the cleaning for that day so everything in my non-Better-Homes-and-Gardens house would “sparkle” for my visiting parents and in-laws (mostly the latter, of course). And while the cake was made, it wasn’t decorated. And there was laundry to do. And meals to feed two kids. And just the general making sure Ethan wasn’t going up the steps, Emry was sharing and the dishes were done. So, when the kids accompanied me to the basement to move laundry from the washer to the dryer, I didn’t mind if they stayed down there and played with the toys they have down there. I came up and started on kitchen chores, listening to them happily play and peeking down ever-so-often to make sure Ethan wasn’t climbing the steps.

“Mama, it’s a mess!” I heard about ten minutes later. I responded somehow, thinking Emry meant her blackboard which she scribbles all over and calls a mess. Ethan wasn’t on the steps, so I went back to work. Another five or ten minutes passed and I hear Emry again.

“Mama, it’s a mess!”

This time I figure she wants me to come down and see her artwork and since I was at a breaking point anyhow, I headed down the steps…and stopped.

At this point, two thoughts crossed my mind: 1) is this really what my life has come to?, and 2) the British should be grateful the Gunpowder Plot was unsuccessful.

Have you ever seen a room covered with about half a container of baby powder? Well, that’s what my basement looked like. Emry stood on her stool, powder container in hand. Ethan sat happily on the floor looking like a very cute, powdery abominable snowman. And my floor, the table, the shelf…and just about every other surface was showered with baby powder.

“Mama,” Emry declared yet one more time. “It’s a mess!”

At least is smelled good.

I wish I could say that was the end my adventures that weekend, but Saturday rolled around. I was getting the kids ready, my parents would arrive soon and Ed was gone on the rather arduous rounds of picking up his dad and then his mom and her “friend”. I looked at my beautiful roll top desk and realized the piles on it – Emry’s school, Ethan’s scrapbook, various lists, bills to be paid, taxes to be done, letters to be written and mailed – were not a sight I wished my in-laws to see. So, I carefully rolled down the cover but made sure it didn’t latch and so lock in place. Not two minutes later, I found something I decided to shove on to the desk, Emry took some toy away from Ethan, Ethan cried and I had to intervene. So, I have Ethan in my arms, I’m holding up the cover of the desk just enough to shove whatever inside and scolding Emry. That’s when it happens. I drop the cover and it latches. Locked. With the keys inside.

Since I’m sure you already think I’m an idiot for having the keys inside anyway, I won’t explain to you my perfectly logical reason for having them there. I’ll just go on to say that I had supposed that lock to be rather simple. The few times I had locked it, using the key didn’t seem to be a big deal. But I am very happy to declare that the lock is not simple and it would take a very good locksmith (or a pretty accurate skeleton key) to get into it. YouTube, picking-lock forums, calls to a local hardware and locksmith shop got us nowhere. I did find a similar looking key online and placed an order but for the next three days my lock picking skills were proved failures and I kept remembering all the things locked in there – thankfully not overdue bills to pay, taxes to do, my laptop, now-late birthday cards, my Bible study book, my ESV Bible…

By Wednesday I was nearing desperation and decided to try something that had crossed my mind but I was 95% sure wouldn’t work. But you know what desperation can do… I cleared off the top of the desk and lifted. I knew the top was a separate piece but I didn’t think it was light enough or attached in a way that I could lift the back right corner enough for me to maneuver my hand inside and wiggle the drawer out that held the key. To my surprise, it was light enough and did lift enough that I could prop it up with books, get my hand underneath, pull the drawer out and then push enough stuff out of the way that I could get the drawer in a place where I could get my hand inside, find one of the keys and pull it out. Success!!!!

Yes, yes, yes. The keys are now not inside the desk. I will be much more careful about closing it. And, I discovered something. I was under the desk trying to figure out if I could get up to the locking mechanism from underneath when I found an old sticker now barely legible that had the name of the company that made the desk. I had always wondered, but I don’t know that my grandparents knew or I had simply never asked. But now I can do a little research.

Especially since my laptop is no longer locked inside…

Ethan's First Birthday!

Today we celebrated Ethan’s first birthday. I think he was about as excited as any one-year-old gets about his big day. Both sets of grandparents came. He had his favorite meal. Emry generously helped him not only open his presents but play with them. And he was introduced to cake. Really, what more could a little one-year-old desire?

 Honestly, it hadn’t crossed my mind to get his silverware from his great-grandfather out yet, but he grabbed my fork the previous night and knew exactly what to do with it. The stabbing is a bit elusive, but he loves to eat with it!

Emry helping...

Emry and Grandpa Sturm helping…

The cake. (My skills are simply not improving…maybe he’ll like pie!)

 He ate so much lunch, he didn’t eat a whole lot of his cake. (But not to worry – Ed and Grandpa Camus helped him finish it!)

 But he did get lot messier than Emry…peek-a-boo!

Happy 30^th Birthday, Sally!

Emry and Sally decorating cupcakes.

12 Months!!!!

I realized yesterday when I was reading old blogs about Emry that my memories of her a bit more blury than I wish. But I do remember clearly that taking pictures was not this difficult. For while she may have tried to pull off the sticker, she did not try to slide out of the chair:

Or throw Sock Monkey:

  

Or take the sticker off every time I put it on:

I did manage to get a few goods ones – and called it a day!

My little man is a whole year old today. Like his sister, he is not yet walking on his own. But unlike his sister, he has been crawling for months. He can crawl “normally” now, but his military style is much faster and he can hold something in his hands while he crawls that way. He pulls himself up on everything: doors, walls, shelves, legs, toys, whatever! And, as of yesterday, he climbs both up and down steps. He’s been going up for ages, but the whole “feet first” coming down has been extremely elusive. And just because he can do it (and we did it several times yesterday – who needs a stair-stepper?), that doesn’t mean he doesn’t try to first come down head first. Like he does with everything. No thought. No pause. Just dive in head first. Why not?

As far as personality, he’s really a rather laid back kid. Again, like his sister. Nothing really bothers him, even Emry taking thing away. He goes with whatever’s going on. And if he doesn’t like something, he simply wanders off or throws it (as in food). He doesn’t sit still for long, but when he does he is working on his motor skills. He can put caps on pens, tries to put Duplo blocks together and was even trying to build towers with Emry and I yesterday, although knocking them down is much more fun. And while I’m glad to finally see some of these finer motor skills being improved upon, like everything you can tell he’s not giving it a lot of thought but simply doing. Engineer he’s not. Demolition crew? Well, someone has to make room for progress…

The Logical Conclusion

There have been so many times in Emry’s not-yet-three-years on earth that I wonder at what we consider logical. Because, so often, Emry comes to a perfectly logical conclusion on a matter…and yet is quite incorrect.

We have had several discussions on what my name is and what Ed’s name is. Like a child’s address and phone number, children ought to know their parents actual names. For “Mama” is not typed on my birth certificate. And “Papa” is certainly not on our marriage license. It’s been many weeks – maybe months! – since I last discussed names with Emry. And yet a few nights ago she stops in the middle of her play, turns to me and says:

“Mama’s name is Melissa.”

At first I thought I didn’t hear her right, so I asked her to repeat herself.

“Mama’s name is Melissa,” she said.

“Very good, Emry!” I applauded her. “And what is Papa’s name?”

“Ed,” she said.

“Right, Emry!” I said. “Good job!”

But she wasn’t done.

“And Ethan’s name is ‘Brother’,” she continued. “And Emry’s name is ‘Sister’.”

I couldn’t help it. I started laughing. For I could completely follow her logic. In fact, according to the logic classes I had in high school, it was irrefutable.

For if Mama = Melissa and Papa = Ed then Ethan = Brother and Emry = Sister.

Funny how logic works.

Happy 5^th Birthday, Jay!

My nephew: the superhero!