Well hey, ya'll. I know, I know--you thought I had died.
I just...had nothing grand to say. Which is sad, but true. I'm through the rough stage of learning to live in the middle of nowhere with my new husband day-in, day-out, and I've gotten the new job down pat. So now I'm just coasting--fighting every urge to nest in this house because I refuse to live here much longer.
Now, now, don't get me wrong. There is nothing wrong with our home. It's very nice, in fact. But it's not ours. This is not where we're supposed to end up. This isn't where we're going to paint and tile and buy furniture to fit the wall space... This isn't the Hoffman house.
You probably think I'm crazy, but hear me out.
Also, Ryan is coming to a close at work. That, too, sounds crazy. I mean, his band program is hardly ideal. But he's getting to a breaking point. He leaves the house every morning around 6:45 to head to school to work on planning. Why, you ask? Because he doesn't have a planning period. Which--beeteedubs--is illegal. BUT, if he chooses to take a planning period, the only time he has available is the time he has to travel from the high school to the elementary school to teach two classes of beginning band. Oh--and that's also his lunch. So eating is out.
Once 3:05 hits, it's over, right? Wrong. Mondays and Wednesdays from 3:15 to 5:30 is soccer practice. Girls in the fall, boys in the spring. Tuesdays and Thursdays from 3:15 to 5:45 is marching band practice. Fridays from 4:30 to 5:30 is music lessons with kids who need help, followed by football game call-time at 5:45. (I usually bring him dinner so he can actually eat.) Game from then till...usually 11:00. The last few parents show up to take their angels home around 11:30. Ryan is usually home by 12:00 or 12:30 after cleaning up his room himself...and that's if it's a home game.
Thank God that's only football season, right? Wrong again. As soon as football ends, basketball begins. More games! More nights of the week! Woohoo! Replace "marching band" with "concert band," "jazz band," and "winterguard."
It's a miracle I see my husband. To be honest and fair, he did warn me before we were married: "You will be a widow nine to ten months of the year. Seriously." And it's true.
But to do all this--for no more than one of the lowest teacher's salary? You don't even want to know. After 5 years of it, he's starting to really get tired.
Therefore, I'm job hunting--for the both of us--and I've narrowed it down. But this is all on the D-L, okay? No words on facebook, no mentions in public. Okay?
Plan A: We move down to Huntsville, AL, and I get my certification in contract management and be the bread winner while Ryan either 1) takes a less demanding teaching position or 2) goes back to school for an accounting degree or 3) takes a job in a factory to relax and chill out his mind.
Plan B: We move to Oman. Yes, Oman. I've found Ryan a music job there (I was googling international music jobs on a whim...). He's had one interview, and we're waiting to hear if he passes on to round two of interviewing. It's a two year contract with free, furnished housing, tax-free income, and relocation arrangements. HOLY CRAP.
Sooo...anyone know anything about Oman? Anyone?
I've been googling the crap out of it, but I still don't feel like I know enough. It's near UAE and Yemen (Yemen! Ha! All I can think about is Chandler taking a flight to Yemen to avoid Janice...) The capital is Muscat--home to about one million peeps. Oh--and it's HOT.
Greaaaaaat...
So...that's my life.
:)
Thanks for listening.
Now comment!
