At Crossroads

Mom is officially unemployed again.

“Does this mean we’re going to be poor, Amma? You can’t buy me any more pretty stuffs?” asks her daughter, alarm pooling in her eyes.

Frankly, after keeping company with nocturnal creatures in the house for the last three months by working Mountain Standard Time, and looking like a raccoon with dark circles around her eyes, mom’s not sorry to see her contract end.

“Negotiate with your boss. Ask him to renew your contract,” said grandma, unaware of the strings mom’s kindly boss pulled to get her a work-from-outside-the-country opportunity.

“What are you going to do now?” asked a friend.

As usual, mom has no clue. Beyond making baingan ka bharta for tomorrow’s lunch because the eggplant is starting to look a little limp, she has no plans for the immediate future.

“It’s not too late to do something professional like an MBA,” advises grandma.

“Why?” asks mom. “Is it because an M.A. is short of one letter?”

Grandma changes tracks. “I tell you, teaching is the best profession,” she says. “You can become a teacher in your children’s school just like your cousin who came back from California did. They give you a discount in the tuition for the second child, and you get two months off every summer.”

Obviously, grandma is unaware of the fact that mom went to work specifically to get away from her own children. Why then would she want to spend time with other people’s children?

Mom doesn’t feel settled enough in her new environs to venture outside the home looking for gainful employment. Besides, a kindergartner’s schedule of only three hours of schooling would severely limit her time on a cubicle farm.

“Do we have to go to extended day again if you work?” ask the kids, worry writ large on their faces.

It seemed to me that mom moved to take a break from her wake-up-at-5 a.m.-and-keep-going-until-you-drop-from-exhaustion-only-to-repeat-the-process-the-next-day lifestyle. Why then is she even eyeing glass office buildings she passes by, wondering if they have a corporate communications department?

Ask mom what she really wants and she’ll tell you without hesitation that she needs a vacation. In fact, never before has the need to get away been so acute.

There’s nothing she’d like more than to leave the house behind with its resident lizards and relentless ants, the sulking maid, the grouchy garbage collector, the early-bird milkman, the noisy neighbors, the barking dog, the matinal keerai kaari, the house pet, and even her children, and recreate her honeymoon with dad for a few days.

The only problem is it’s far easier to drag a goat to Bakrid celebrations than it is to get dad to spend time with her.

In the meantime, as she waits for the romantic rheum to awake in dad, mom nurses a secret hope that a creative, interesting, well-paying, part-time, exactly-what-she-wants job opportunity will land in her lap - sort of like the startled lizard that fell on her as she drew the curtains one evening.

Mom's screams could be heard all through the neighborhood as she ran to the restroom to scrub herself like Lady Macbeth.

Has anybody else ever been tickled by the soft underbelly of a creepy crawly?