Maybe I should just call it George

Last week, when Devon returned to daycare after the holiday weekend and our trip to Kentucky, her daycare provider informed me that she was closing her childcare business. This put me on a mad dash to find alternate care, all of which would be much more expensive than our dear Miss Aleace was charging. Plus payments on the new car start this month, and I was starting to get that panicky feeling in the pit of my stomach. In a moment of Totally Freaking Out, I happened to be in an email exchange with one of the editors at QH, who was all like, "How you doin'?" And I was all, "Oh, I'm good, but I might have to take my child out of daycare and quit freelancing for a while." And she was all, "OH NO YOU WILL NOT."

As is usually the case when I feel like I need to stop what I'm trying to do and either get a soul-sucking - I mean, real - job or keep Devon home and not write, my husband steps in and says he won't let me do that. He wants me to keep writing, and to focus on myself, to get healthier and better at what I do and says he doesn't mind making sacrifices in order for me to do that.  And, no you cannot have him.

So in the midst of all this panicking, I get an email from my old boss at the local magazine, who says that the person they hired to replace me is leaving and would I be interested in coming back? When they hired this person, as you may recall, they had been way behind on paying me, so they reduced the responsibilities of the position and also the pay. Presumably, they have been paying my replacement on time, but I'll find that out for sure when I hear back from her (she's a writer I hired at the magazine I worked for before this one and I brought her with me when I moved over. Then I recommended her for my job when I left.) She'll give me all the dirt, and then I can decide if the risk is worth it, and if the effort they will ask of me is worth what they are willing to pay. They did ultimately pay me everything they owed me, even though it took 6 months. I believe they are good people, just struggling, as many are, in the current economic climate.

I just feel like, for once, I am in a position of advantage where a job is concerned. I don't have to take this position. If I don't like what they're offering I can counter-offer. I can say no thank you and walk away. I can say that I'll do it until I get more freelance work that pays as well as QH. I'm not having to convince them that I'm worth hiring ("I'm a people person and I love puppies and I devote all my time and energy to worshipping my employer like the goddess I'm sure she is.") - they know I'm worth hiring. The question now is, are they worth working for? GOD, that feels good.

You know what else feels good? Sewing together 676 motherfucking half-square triangle units into one breathtaking quilt top. Pressing open that last goddamn seam, and pinning the finished quilt to the wall, stepping back, and just basking in the accomplishment.

I wish I had a better place to hang and photograph it, because this picture really does not do it justice. It's as if this:

and this:

made sweet, sweet love and had a baby. THAT'S how gorgeous my quilt is. The Jolie-Pitts WISH they could produce something this beautiful. In fact, Angelina is probably coming over here right now to try to adopt it. ("But, Braaa-aaaaad, I wanna quilt baby! It totally counts - the batiks are from Indonesia!"