N (my husband) is in the midst of a turnaround at the refinery where he works. He works for an inspection company and is doing twelve hour days seven days a week until they bring things back online. I have a hard time defining a turnaround, but in simple terms they are a specific period of time when the refinery shuts down parts or all of the refinery to do maintenance work that cannot other wise be completed (while running). Since it costs so much to the refineries to not be making oil these periods of time are well planned and completed as quickly as possible, hence the 12 hour shifts round the clock.
N and I are no strangers to turnarounds. Both of our fathers worked them when we were kids and then when we were first together we worked specifically turnarounds only at a bunch of the local refineries. The money is spectacular, the hours ridiculous, and the character building immense.
This time around is no different. The little I see N is usually when he is passed out next to me in bed. The character building I think is mainly happening on my end. While he is off earning the next paycheck, I am on regular Working Mom duties as well as filling in for SuperDad.
I'm pretty sure I am losing my mind.
The day starts at 04:30 when I "gently" remind Nathan that he has to get up and go to work. Next is actually coaxing myself out of bed to get myself and Z (our two year old daughter) ready for the day. Lately it seems that I am not leaving myself enough time to do these things very well as I have been rationalizing a lot of short cuts. Today I caught myself putting Z in socks that don't match, that she wore yesterday, that don't match the shirt she is wearing, that she also wore yesterday, that has a stain on the front from a food item that she spilled on it when she wore it also the day before yesterday.
I know, I'm working on it, and I'll do better tomorrow. But mostly because tomorrow is Saturday and I'll get to sleep in until 8. :)
Much Love,
AJ
Friday, May 13, 2005
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
First Personal Blog
I found out yesterday that my friend A died. Four hours later I attended his funeral. I have other blogs and places that I use to publish things for our small group or family, but I've been longing for a place for me to just simply write. It's my best outlet. A has been on my mind constantly and I am wishing to tell him many things.
God has been teaching me so much lately about grief that I need to start compiling my thoughts a bit better.
More later...
A,
I'm not sure how, but I just wanted to say thank you for your friendship...
I was remembering back in 1999 when I was the only girl out at the Refinery with the Patinting crew, and how terrified I was to be in this tiny break trailer with all these dirty smelly guys.
You were the very first one who actually talked to me and made me feel comfortable out there. During the ENDLESS hours of Hole Watch you and a few of the other guys would venture out and talk and laugh with me, keeping me on my toes, but helping me to feel welcome.
When I finally got to try some "real work" and push brooms around and what not, we all seemed to have enough humor amongst us to have a pretty good time (my sides would be sore from all the laughter). I remember you and J finally convincing me to try a teeny tiny piece of chew which I tried very hard to take like a man (if you remember I failed miserably and I haven't tried it since). You and M taught me never ever under any circumstances to bring a banana in my lunch.
We would take these ridiculously long smoke breaks visiting every smoke shack in the plant talking about everything from fishing to marriages and once I was a mom, you gave me heads up on the adventures I was in store for.
Remember how we would all huddle in the break room when it was raining and you and M taught me the art of the "rain hard enough so that we can go home and claim unemployment" dance?
You showed me how to hold a paintbrush PROPERLY, and how to mix paint. But most importantly, you showed me how to thoroughly enjoy my summers spent covered in dirt, taping off washers, sandblasting in the incredible heat of the old boneyard. You taught me sumo wrestling in the "coliseum", some very sparky spark testing, overcoming fear of heights, and learning to be "One of the Guys." I know I was never all that good at that job, but I also know it was some of the best fun I have ever had while working, thanks to you.
Even after I left Painting, whenever I saw you at the Refinery, you would wave to me in the parking lot and fill me in on all the of latest gossip.
I will really miss seeing you there. Even though the refinery isn’t a very aesthetically pleasing place to be, you sure brightened it up and made it enjoyable. Someone once told me that it is our friends who make up who we are. All the memories of our experiences with those around us become a part of who we are and then on to all who we meet. You will be missed very very much, but shared with many forever.
So thank you A, I will never forget the adventures and laughs and life lessons. I hope that I can someday be the friend you were to me, for someone else. Save me a spot up there and I'll see you when it’s my turn…
AJ
God has been teaching me so much lately about grief that I need to start compiling my thoughts a bit better.
More later...
A,
I'm not sure how, but I just wanted to say thank you for your friendship...
I was remembering back in 1999 when I was the only girl out at the Refinery with the Patinting crew, and how terrified I was to be in this tiny break trailer with all these dirty smelly guys.
You were the very first one who actually talked to me and made me feel comfortable out there. During the ENDLESS hours of Hole Watch you and a few of the other guys would venture out and talk and laugh with me, keeping me on my toes, but helping me to feel welcome.
When I finally got to try some "real work" and push brooms around and what not, we all seemed to have enough humor amongst us to have a pretty good time (my sides would be sore from all the laughter). I remember you and J finally convincing me to try a teeny tiny piece of chew which I tried very hard to take like a man (if you remember I failed miserably and I haven't tried it since). You and M taught me never ever under any circumstances to bring a banana in my lunch.
We would take these ridiculously long smoke breaks visiting every smoke shack in the plant talking about everything from fishing to marriages and once I was a mom, you gave me heads up on the adventures I was in store for.
Remember how we would all huddle in the break room when it was raining and you and M taught me the art of the "rain hard enough so that we can go home and claim unemployment" dance?
You showed me how to hold a paintbrush PROPERLY, and how to mix paint. But most importantly, you showed me how to thoroughly enjoy my summers spent covered in dirt, taping off washers, sandblasting in the incredible heat of the old boneyard. You taught me sumo wrestling in the "coliseum", some very sparky spark testing, overcoming fear of heights, and learning to be "One of the Guys." I know I was never all that good at that job, but I also know it was some of the best fun I have ever had while working, thanks to you.
Even after I left Painting, whenever I saw you at the Refinery, you would wave to me in the parking lot and fill me in on all the of latest gossip.
I will really miss seeing you there. Even though the refinery isn’t a very aesthetically pleasing place to be, you sure brightened it up and made it enjoyable. Someone once told me that it is our friends who make up who we are. All the memories of our experiences with those around us become a part of who we are and then on to all who we meet. You will be missed very very much, but shared with many forever.
So thank you A, I will never forget the adventures and laughs and life lessons. I hope that I can someday be the friend you were to me, for someone else. Save me a spot up there and I'll see you when it’s my turn…
AJ
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