Pierre left for the office today, and 4 hours later, he walks back in through the door. Why did Pierre return early?

“I got laid off today” he says, walking through the hall, going about his busyness.

That’s just great news. Pierre, the guy who only 3 months ago moved from San Francisco to Sebastopol in order to be close to his job, no longer has a job.

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We moved for the stability, and because it’s a good place to raise kids. But most of all, we moved here because Pierre had been guaranteed one year of job security by his company. It wasn’t like we were on tenterhooks taking precautions should Pierre get the axe (like so many are these days). Then a mere three months and $12,000 in relocation expenses later, Pierre is told to pack up and leave. Bye Pierre, you’re on your own, dood!

 

“Can we buy organic with food stamps?”
“Can we buy organic with food stamps?”

 
The lay off itself does not upset me — economy changes — things happen. The one thing that does is that Pierre was laid off with only 2 weeks notice. No vacation pay. No severance package. No more insurance. Not even the computer that was given to him while on the job (not standard in the industry).

Manu & I dressed for the Women’s Shelter
Manu & I dressed for the Women’s Shelter

Okay, so we panic a little the first day and Pierre jumps on-line to research his options in creating time for us to live while he gets another job. He finds several possibilities. Yay!

 

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So, 2 weeks to find another job, insurance & doctors for the kiddos in another county, 2 weeks to move, lose $3500 in deposit, find a place to live, come up with another $6000 of move in cost out of our fairy dust butt holes.

 

On an aside and calmer note, Pierre and I aren’t too worried because we realize that we’re fortunate enough to have all the advantages that our age, education, resources and our continual good luck bring us.

Pierre is getting responses from good companies, and I’m trying to get my work in galleries. I like Sebastopol. I like being a stereotype family in a quaint little town with a little nanny, a house cleaner, babies, dog parks, and a main street that really is called “Main St”. How fucking awesome is all that? Now we might be homeless in a month.

Well then, as Kurt Vonnegut says, “Hi, Ho”.

As Edith Piaf says, “La Vie en Rose”

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The tests are in. They don’t say much that we didn’t already know - that the kiddos have nothing serious - but it’s always good to have it confirmed.

Manu still has a tiny Grade 1 (the lowest) IVH (intraventricular hemorrhage) - small blood vessels in the brain that are broken. It should resolve itself in the coming weeks. Apparently it’s part of the normal growth of the brain and in most cases it disappears before birth; that’s why it can be seen more frequently in premature kids.

Max is still in limbo. Merritt’s genetic test came back inconclusive, mine show that I am carrier of the galactosemia gene, so we still don’t know if Max will be a galactosemia carrier like me (not a problem except if he decides to have kids with another carrier) or if he has the benign form of galactosemia, called Duarte Galactosemia, in which case he will probably have to go on a low-milk or no-milk diet for the first 6-12 months. We’ll have definitive results in 90 days but at least, the really nasty Classic Galactosemia has been ruled out.

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The loud bangs on the walls and the animal screams you can occasionally hear at any time of the day and the night are not Merritt and I’s celebrations at the end of weeks of abstinence. It’s Merritt’s difficult convalescence of her C-section in the midst of postpartum uterine contractions and post-surgical constipation. A perfect storm, as you can imagine.

Yes, it’s not always easy to be a mom. Ask yours.

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