I guess it’s time to face the truth. fall is here and there is no escape.

some good things come with fall:
I finally get to wear my pretty boots
I no longer feel the need to wear shorts which in turn means I get to cover my, usually, usually bruised legs
the good TV-shows are back. I’ve missed you Greek, Grey’s Anatomy and ANTM
nobody blames you for curling up on the couch under a blanket watching said shows.
and even though I love being barefoot, it feels pretty good to put on a pair of thick socks

at least until you discover the big holes in them…

yesterday I mentioned to F that I miss writing and that I want to keep doing it, only thing is I need something or someone to push me a bit. also what's the point of writing if nobody reads it, except if it's a diary or something to that end.
so my sweet F suggested that I should keep writing and post my stories here. and it's not a bad idea. I kind of like it to tell the truth.

I'll post some of the things I wrote for my writing class and whenever I write something else which is half decent.
the first assignment we got was to write about a day at work and here it is:

A Day at Work

My alarm rings and I turn it off. It would be so easy to just fall back asleep. And for two minutes I seriously consider going back to dreamland. But like every morning the better part of me wins and I get up. The good thing about working where I live is that at least I don’t have to get out of my jammies for my first shift – if you can call it that. All I need to do is get up, put my contacts in, pull my hair into a pony tail and go down the stairs.

As I make my way into the kitchen I wonder if this will be a good day. A day when both Bridget and Kyle, the kids I’m looking after, are sitting by the table, dressed and ready for breakfast and it is only seven am – I kid you not, it has happened. Or maybe this will be one of those days when the kids don’t want to get up and Bridget is grump. I’m still not fluent in grumpiness even though I’ve been here for over a year now. I know the difference between a clone and a storm trooper but I can’t for the life of me figure out if nnyhmhhmemiieee means one piece of toast or Lucky Charms without milk. Getting a “please” or a “thank you” on those mornings are just as likely as Johnny Depp appearing in the doorway.

As it turns out Bridget is sitting by the kitchen table ready for breakfast. Her choice of the day is Cheerios with milk and Cran-Grape juice to drink. Kyle is usually the hard one to get up in the morning, which is why I tend to leave that task to his parents. Before Bridget starts to eat she demands the comics and since she is the queen of this house she can’t be bothered to touch the newsprint so it’s up to me to fold it right. I guess I have myself to blame, I am the one who got the kids to discover Pickles, Baby Blues, Get Fuzzy and all the other good stuff.

While Bridget is eating and we’re waiting for her brother, I pack their lunches. Some days they get hot lunch in school and others, like today, I pack it. To mix it up a bit I try to give them different snacks with their sandwiches but it all depends on what is left in the cabinets. When their lunches are in their backpacks I start to unload the dishwasher and finally I hear the shower starting upstairs. Once I’m done with the clean dishes and have put the dirty ones in, I start to listen more carefully for sounds from upstairs. How far along is Kyle? Still in the shower or is he getting dressed? Bridget has finished her cereal and now comes my least favorite part of the morning. For the last few weeks she has had headaches every day and when my host mom took Bridget to the doctor they found out she had a sinus infection and she has to take medicine to get rid of it. She hates it and it takes her ten minutes to swallow five ml while whining loudly about it.

Kyle still isn’t down and if they want to get to school on time they need to leave in ten minutes. At this point there is only one thing to do: toast-on-the-go. I make two pieces of toast with butter, put them in a small plastic bag and fill a sippy cup with water for him to eat in the car. Finally he’s down and Bridget is almost done with her medicine. I do my best to rush them through teeth brushing and getting shoes and jackets on. And at last they’re out the door and I draw a sigh of relief. This morning went pretty well and now I can relax and have my toast while reading the comics in peace and quiet.

Now I’m free until I need to go pick them up at three pm. Two days a week I do the kids’ laundry, usually on Mondays and Fridays. It never stops to amaze me how many clothes these kids go through per week.

At 2.30 pm it’s time for me to get in the car and drive to the kids’ school. It takes about twenty minutes to get there if traffic is good and normally it is. I try to be a bit early so I can find a good parking spot but it seems like everybody else is thinking the same thing. It won’t kill the kids to walk a block, although it might kill me to hear them complain about it.

While I sit outside Bridget’s classroom, waiting for her to come out, I read my book. I always bring a novel with me, no matter where I go, and here it really pays off. Bridget and Celina, her best friend, come running out and immediately ask if we can stay at the playground by the school. The weather is nice and we don’t have anything going on tonight so I agree, but we need to locate her brother first. We walk out of the 1-2 graders’ building and Kyle and his friend are waiting for us. Once by the playground they drop their things, run off and my book comes up again as I find a nice spot to sit and read.

Days like these are the best, if we stay here for awhile it means that I don’t have to come up with an activity for them at home and I get paid to relax. I still keep an eye on the kids and the clock. I don’t want to get in the middle of rush hour traffic and both Bridget and Kyle need to practice piano when we get back to the house. As it gets closer to 4.15 pm I decide it’s time to leave. Getting them to stop playing is always hard and I don’t really want to stop their fun, but we need to get home. Getting Bridget off the monkey bars is the hardest and it always ends with me saying that I’m leaving and if she wants a ride home she better come now or I’ll see her tomorrow. Naturally I would never do that, but she doesn’t know that and I will use that advantage on her.

While driving home I put on some music and the Feeties come out. I hate the Feeties with a burning passion. The Feeties are Bridget’s feet and they have a life of their own, they talk in a squeaky voice, they climb on the windows and they never listen. If she’s ever caught doing something she shouldn’t she blames it on the Feeties and it drives me nuts. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the Feeties that drew with a purple marker on the white rug or told Kyle she hated him but she swears it was. Ignoring the Feeties and all the noise in the backseat as best I can, which is a necessity while driving on I-5, I turn the volume up a tiny bit and hope the traffic will be good to us.

Arriving at the house I carry the jackets while Bridget and Kyle take their backpacks. Once inside the house they get a snack, I unpack their lunchboxes and then it’s time to do homework and practice piano. Kyle and I have had endless fights about the piano. He doesn’t want to practice and his parents want him to and they count on me to make him. Some days it’s tiring and completely fruitless and the only thing I’ve gotten out of it is a headache and wasting one hour nagging him. Other days he goes to the piano and practices for 45 minutes after I only ask him once. I wish he could find a middle. I’d be perfectly fine telling him three times if I never had one of the nagging days again. Bridget is better, but then again she gets less piano homework so it’s easier for her. Before they practice I ask about homework and whoever isn’t by the piano does their work. Kyle finishes practice just as we hear the garage open which means that my host parents are home and I can start relaxing again. They come in and I give them a play-by-play about the day. I ask if they need me to do anything, and disappear to my room for a few minutes of rest before dinner.

Dinner in this house can be insane. It all depends on which mood Bridget is in. If she is tired and grumpy you just want to eat as fast as possible and get out of there. Today is good and we sit and talk. I check with my host parents about the next day. Will they need me to take Bridget and Kyle to school in the morning? Are there any activities after school that I need to know about?

When dinner is done I help cleaning up a bit and then I go up to my room again. Unless I have class or I am meeting up with friends this is where I spend the main part of the night. I can’t wait to go home to Sweden and get a real job where I can go home after I’m done for the day, but for now my room is the perfect oasis. And that is perfectly fine with me.