Homeward Bound

"Did you get my voice mail?" I asked Mom about a week ago.

"I did," she said and I nodded before she continued to speak. "I listened to it three times just to hear your voice."

Since I'd have to go through blog archives to recall my last trip home - perhaps the March interview with Pseudo-Academic - it's definitely time to trek north with the happy dog and protesting cat to see the much-neglected parents.

The problem was the same as when I was trying to find jobs the last time. I didn't know when they'd decide. I wasn't sure how much money I'd make. I had no flipping clue what I'd do if nobody hired me. Imagining their looks of horror should I mention moving to Texas meant I couldn't even comfort them with a back-up plan.

My parents are emotional, rather dramatic people. It's lucky I haven't inherited these characteristics - being the model of cool stability that I am. Seriously though, we feed off of the ambient energy and all worry together and it creates this suffocating feeling of impending doom. So Dad would have offered to loan me money from the cash he hordes and carefully deposits in the bank. Mom would tell me I'd be fine while her eyes looked pinched and stressed. So I avoided it - sticking firmly to my 'hibernate until there's good news!' plan. Now - Thank God - there's a reason to celebrate and feel relieved and happy.

"I told Aunt you had a job offer - she says to tell you she's so proud of you - and how much the salary was. We both gasped at how high it is and Aunt asked if you took it right away. I told her you were going to ask for more money and she said that all we could do was nod and smile. Her girls are the same way - you don't think about jobs and money the way we do."

I smiled and mused that I probably should have asked for more money still since my gentle 'how flexible is that salary number?' was met with thousands of dollars. I might have been able to push a bit higher, but I'm enough of Mom's daughter to pounce for now and nudge for increases later. As for travel demands and working hours (No naps? I don't understand. Napping is awesome!) and the stress that will certainly come from a high pressure job? I think I'm ready. I have decided I'm going to be fabulously good at this and on tough days plan to think of paper rejections and grant renewals and all that stuff that just never seemed OK to me.

"When are you coming?" has been the prominent question of late. With Friend asleep down my hall - we're likely to be nearly inseparable for the remainder of my time here, which will make leaving hard (I'm already bracing for the emotional fallout - I'm going to be very, very sad about that loss, folks. Not good.) - and the car mostly packed, I believe the answer to when is 'quite soon.' I'll see if I can't come up with funny parent stories while I'm there.