My Second Day

Today was much better.

If there’s one positive trait I lack, it’s certainly patience. I may have a lot of character flaws, but my biggest one has always been a lack of patience, my inability to realize that long-term goals take more than effort and desire. They take time and patience.

At the Patriot-Ledger today, I felt much less like the new kid on the block and more like I was in my element. Sure, I was still the secretary answering phones and clearing out e-mails, but I also wrote a story, got two more assignments and hit the street to interview some people for a few tidbits. For most of the day today, I felt more like a reporter than I have in any day since I started working as a waiter.

I still feel as if my talents and experience are being wasted in this low-paying position, but something is better than nothing. More importantly, I realize if I stick with it, good things will happen. Sure, this isn’t an ideal situation, but what is right now? With a little patience, maybe that ideal situation will come along.

My first day

It’s been nearly four years since I started a new job at a newspaper company, but today I had my first day at the Patriot-Ledger in Quincy. I wouldn’t say my beginnings at the Sandusky Register or the Naples Daily News were necessarily reflective of my entire time there, but today did not go well.

First, after driving all the way to Quincy, I realized I’ll have to fill up the new van at least twice each week just to make the commute. That’s a solid $90 expenditure when I’ll only make about $300 in a given week. Upon arrival, I was introduced around the newsroom as the new “intern” and immediately asked which college I was still attending. I had naturally assumed this already about the job, but it was nice to finally confirm I was performing a job typically reserved for those fresh out of high school.

After sitting awhile by my desk — trying not to fall asleep — I soon discovered some of my important duties. 1. I must be the secretary of the newsroom and answer the phone whenever it rings. 2. I must clear all the junk e-mail out of the newsroom e-mail inbox. I wasn’t given a coverage area, a breakdown of the newspaper’s editorial policies or really anything remotely to do with journalism (except for one assignment, which I’ll touch on in a minute). It’s safe to say that about 90 percent of this first day at the Patriot-Ledger had nothing to do with journalism. Of course, they could have been just easing me in; my new boss seems to have a solid head on his shoulders, so maybe today was just the orientation process.

Still, today, for the first time since moving to Massachusetts, I wished I was back working at the Naples Daily News. When I left there nearly a year ago, I was so glad to be gone from that downtrodden atmosphere that I couldn’t have imagined anything worse. Even after everything that’s happened since I left — the financial insecurity of the freelance lifestyle; the cold, long winter; losing my relationship with the Boston Globe; having to work as a waiter — I never once thought for a second that I’d be better off back in Florida. Now, I’m not saying that my experience at the Ledger will be worse than NDN (today was only one day after all), but for a long time today I was missing my old job in Bonita and all the perks that came with it.

But,  you know what? I still think I made the right decision. If nothing else, I had eight months were I got to work from home, see my little girl grow and help my wife with our pregnancy. Despite everything that’s happened since the end of March, it was all worth it just for those eight months. I wouldn’t give them back for anything. When I left NDN, I knew I might have to get a non-journalism job, or even start back from the beginning with another newspaper. What I’m doing now is exactly what I reasoned with myself that I would do if circumstances made it that way.

Despite all the gloominess from today, there was a little sunshine on an otherwise long eight hours. I was given a story assignment. Sure, it was a weather story, which I typically loathe, but it was nice to get back in the swing of things at a newspaper, interviewing people and talking about things I knew would matter to people in the paper. It may have been 30 minutes of joy surrounded by 7.5 hours of demoralizing boredom, but at least it was something.

Back in the fray

To be honest with you, the interview at Massachusetts Lawyers Weekly did not go well (see my Glimmer of Hope posting). I was late; couldn’t find a place to park; and off my game the entire interview. I’d be beyond shocked if I got hired there. I’ve never done very well on the interviews that last only 45-60 minutes (as opposed to the one- or two-day interview), but this was just bad.

But, by the grace of God and my own indecisive mind, I’m getting back into journalism full-time. This Monday I will start a six-month temp position with the Patriot-Ledger out of Quincy, which is just south of Boston. Now, I’m eternally grateful to the good folks at the Ledger for offering what feels like one of only a half dozen open journalism jobs in all of Massachusetts, but this is not my ideal return to journalism. It’s the 12-8 Sunday thru Thrusday shift (read: lackey), which means I’m starting below what I was doing when I first got out of college for the Sandusky Register. Also, the pay is terrible; as in so terrible I can make more money working at McDonalds; not as a McDonalds manager, but as the regular dude who cooks fries and slathers special sauce on Big Macs. This means, that I still have to keep one of my waitering jobs just to make ends meet for my young family (yea! working six and a half days per week!) It also means I’ll have to do the type of stories I couldn’t stand when I was with Sandusky Register and Naples Daily News, like doing a write up on the best fishing spot in Southern Massachusetts. My wife and I moved our family to Massachusetts so I could spend more time at home and write the stories I was passionate about; instead I’ll be gone all the time (it’s a one hour commute each way) and write what I’m told to write.

But, you know what? I’m glad to be taking this job. Sure, the hours are terrible and the money is worse, but when I’m back in the groove of doing journalism and writing full-time, I won’t worry about any of that. I want to freelance from home and I want to be my own boss, but that just not possible right now. Instead, I’ll take what I can get, and this is what I can get right now.

On this blog, I haven’t done a very good job of chronicling our life since I switched from freelancing full-time to working as a waiter. Now, I’m grateful to the folks at Picadilly Pub for helping me out of a tight financial situation when I needed it, but I couldn’t stand that place. The worst part every day for me was the shift board. In the kitchen (by the dishwasher and the ice machine), there’s a bulletin board where servers list all the shifts they need picked up for vacations, birthdays, weekend trips, whatever. When I first started in April, I hesitated to pick up anyone’s shifts because I always reasoned with myself that there was no way I’d still be working at Picadilly Pub in late May or June or July. Yet, the weeks would keep rolling by, and I’d grow more and more discontent that I was at that job longer than I thought I should have been.

The day of Enlightenment for me came about two weeks ago when I was still mulling over taking the job at the Patriot-Ledger because the pay and the hours were so bad. It was a Tuesday, and it was slow (as it always is at the Picadilly Pub) and I was roaming between groups of servers who were chewing the fat to take up the time. All the conversations were just so whiny and awful and unbearable that I had to go sit by myself in a corner. I ended up in front of the shift board, saw all those dates that I never signed up for two months ago, saw all those dates that were coming up two months in the future, and decided I needed to do something different. Then and there, I decided to take the job at the Ledger. If I stick with journalism, chances are something with come of it; if I stick with waitering, in 10 years I’ll still be making the same rate, hoping for 20 percent tip and having whiny, awful, unbearable conversations with other waiters. The choice was clear. The best few seconds I’ve ever had at the Picadilly Pub where when I gave my notice to my boss, we exchanged mutual appreciation for each other, he wished me luck in my new position, and I walked away. It felt great.

Patience is a virtue; and it is a virtue that is very important in life. It’s also a virtue that I’ve never had. I was ready to leave the Sandusky Register after six months and reached my breaking point after two years.  With the Naples Daily News, I was ready to out and out quit journalism just to get away from the place after three years. Yet, with a little patience, things might have turned out differently. My boss at the Sandusky Register was ready to promote me to city editor after just two years at the paper, a position which was one small step from leading the entire newsroom, and still I left. At the Naples Daily News, my boss — the enigmatic Tom Hanson — wrote in my last evaluation that I could be a great newsman if I just had the patience to wait out a promotion. I was close to being a section editor after less than three years at that job and would have been promoted soon enough had a waited around. Hell, I might have had a chance at being managing editor within 10-15 years, which would have been significant considering I would have been less than 40 years old when I got the job. Unfortunately, my complete lack of patience took me away from all of that.

I still consider my moves away from Sandusky and Naples to be good things. Regardless of what I should have learned, I still believe I made the right decision at the time. Moving forward, though, I wonder if I shouldn’t take a different approach to this Patriot-Ledger job. Maybe starting at the bottom, again, and proving myself over a longer period of time will reap greater rewards. Maybe I can lead the charge that will make journalism a great profession once again. Maybe it will crash and burn just.

Either way, I’m glad to be back in the fray.

A Glimmer of Hope

It’s been a rough week in the waitering biz. Financially, it has probably been the best Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday since I started as a waiter, but I reached my breaking point mentally at both my serving jobs on Tuesday and Wednesday.

First, at Stephen Anthony’s, the owner repeatedly dogged me about wasting food at the restaurant. As a small, specialty restaurant, the place only has a limited amount of food, and the owner is understandably concerned about making sure everything that is prepared goes to a customer and is paid for. However, in verbally attacking me for wasting food on Tuesday, the owner wasn’t actually talking about food that had been prepared because of me, he was talking about food that was “almost” wasted because of me. This “almost” apparently happens whenever the cooks have a question about one of my orders. In the case on Tuesday, it was whether a piece of salmon should be made well done or blackened, and the matter was settled before any food was wasted. In the five weeks since I was hired, the amount of food that was actually wasted because of me (prepared food that was sent back because it was wrong) totals about $11, which is for a side of breakfast ham, a Western omlette and a sandwich. If you add the one beer and two glasses of wine from my first two days of training, I figure I’ve wasted about $30 total in menu value, which is not a small amount but not above average compared to other servers over the course of five weeks. Now, I genuinely feel bad about all the mistakes I’ve made and wouldn’t mind if the owner spoke to me in a professional fashion about needing to shore up my work. Instead, though, he scolds me using the same manner and tone of voice I use when I yell at the dogs for peeing on the carpet. He also uses the terms “all the time” and “on every shift” when he talks about me wasting food, even though he only happened on three separate shifts out of the 25 or so I’ve worked. And Tuesday was just the culmination of everything, in general, he uses the same demeanor (see, again, like yelling at dogs peeing on the carpet) whenever he is addressing the wait staff.

If Tuesday at Stephen Anthony’s drained me mentally, then Wednesday was a marathon taking me to the breaking point. First, both my waitering jobs had been pressing me to take an Alcohol Awareness class so I know how to spot a fake ID and when to cut someone off from the drink. On Wednesday I finally went to a class that was 25 minutes away. The class, of course, started an hour late (making me an hour late for my night shift at the Picadilly Pub; good-bye tips), and the entire session consisted of an old lady talking to herself for three hours in several different character voices, often pretending she was drunk. She did, of course, take the time to repeatedly insult the three Japanese waitresses who didn’t speak English very well, and verbally assault another waitress who had to leave early because of the late start. Then, at Piccadilly Pub, I had to stay late because one of the older waitresses refused to do any of her side work and had the manager force me to do it for her. The older waitress then used her free time to hang by the host stand, steal customers from the rest of us; and then, at the end of the night, sit on her fat butt and eat popcorn that is meant for customers. To top off my day, the manager also made me wait an extra 30 minutes to leave because she couldn’t figure out that the $10 gift card she rang up for one of my guests was the same $10 gift card charge that was on my report at the end of the night. What made this whole situation worse was that Sarah, Maggie and Desmond were waiting out in the parking lot for 15 minutes because they had to come pick me up. Of course, it was after Maggie’s bed time, so when we got home, she spent an hour crying in her room before she finally fell back asleep.

I tell you now, if I wasn’t so in desperate need of money at this point, I couldn’t stand waitering much longer. It is getting harder and harder not to bring this all home with me every day, disrupting what are some of the best moments of my private life.

Monday, though, brings a glimmer of hope.

I have a job interview with a legal magazine in Boston, looking for me to become their next courts reporter. I would be working right in the downtown financial district, and if everything goes well, Sarah and I can move our family a lot closer to the city. We would be living and working in Boston, not in freaking far Marlborough, which is an hour away. It’s not quite The Dream of combining my private and professional life to the benefit of both, but it is the dream we envisioned when we first said one year ago we wanted to live in Boston. This is a job I could keep and stay in and excel at. Yes, the money would be important, but I would also be furthering my career and doing something that suits me far better than bringing people plates of food. When I was having a rough time Tuesday and Wednesday, I just kept repeating to myself that it could all be over soon; that I wouldn’t be a waiter for life; that I wouldn’t have to abandon the dreams of a Boston life.  This could really be something.

Of course, I may be putting too much on this one job interview; that if I don’t get a job, that it will be even harder to pick myself up off the mat once again and keep going to Stephen Anthony’s and Piccadilly Pub. Or, even worse, it will turn out like the Patriot Ledger, where I have a job offer, but the position is very unstable and the pay is so low that I couldn’t possibly support myself, much less a family.

Still, I’m talking this job interview for what it is today: a glimmer of hope guiding me through a difficult time in a my professional life.

The Birth of Desmond Harold Kane

What’s the phrase? Mothers connect with their babies during the pregnancy while fathers don’t connect until they see their child. I wouldn’t say I wasn’t connected to my son until he was born, but it’s amazing how in one instant your entire world is forever changed. One minute I’m playing war with my wife and shaking off the cobwebs from an early morning rise; the next minute I’m holding my second child — my first son — with tears streaming down my face as I smile the biggest smile of the year.

Desmond’s birth on April 30 was much more calm than Maggie’s one year ago. This time, I mostly knew what to expect during labor and delivery and had some confidence from having been there before. That is not to say my heart wasn’t beating through my chest as my wife pushed her way to a second birth, or that I wasn’t on Cloud Nine as I held my son for the first time. This time around, it was just less frantic.

Professional athletes get MVP awards. Journalists get writing awards. Women should get awards for excellence in childbirth. With her performance on April 30, Sarah earned the Nobel Prize of childbirth awards. To fully appreciate what she did to bring Desmond into this world, you need to know two things. First, Sarah has a very, very low tolerance for pain. Two, Sarah gets very nervous during an sort of medical event — exams, blood drawn, vaccinations, etc. — especially when she’s not entirely comfortable with the doctors and nurses.

Because of our recent move to Massachusetts, Sarah and I struggled to find the right OB/GYN for us. We loved Dr. Kevin Fleischman in Florida and any other doctor paled in comparison. As a result of all our searching, we never got a chance to get a strong connection with any doctor in Boston; the doctor who ended up delivering Desmond, we had only met him twice before the birth day. Also, even though we had been to the hospital for a few false alarms before April 30, Sarah and I weren’t nearly as familiar with the Worcester hospital as we were with the one in Fort Myers. We felt truly on our own as we brought our son into this world.

When it came time for the actual event, Sarah’s epidural didn’t work like the one from Maggie’s birth. Instead of being an entirely painfree experience, my wife felt all the pain of each push, and I was pretty sure she was going to pass out before Desmond was born. Instead, she exceeded all expectations, defied the odds and pulled out the performance of a lifetime. I am so proud of her for what she did that day. Instead of backing off from the pain or trying to hold out for an alternative solution, Sarah plowed right through and was centrally focused on giving birth. Feeling all the pain, surrounded by her husband and a bunch of strangers, Sarah was amazing.

The time between when Sarah started pushing and when Desmond was born could’ve been 5 minutes, 20 minutes or an hour, but time doesn’t really exist in those moments. For me, they are forever etched in mind as the expanse where I ran through one thousand emotions and back again. When Sarah first started pushing, I was filled with excitement and nervous energy knowing the time was close for our son to be born. After she had pushed for an eternity and still there was no sight of Desmond, I became frustrated and anxious wanting to make sure he and Sarah were OK. When his head first came out of her body, my mind was blank, my body unable to move in those few seconds. When his face came out, I was filled with warmth and happiness as my son was no longer a bump in Sarah’s belly but an actual person in the outside world. As the rest of his body worked its way out, I once again became concerned for his safety, waiting to hear him cry, assuring me he was alive and well. As he cried and the doctored placed him on Sarah’s chest, I beamed with pride for my son and my wife. When I cut the umbilical cord, I had to calm myself down for fear of making a mistake. From that moment on to the rest of his life, I wanted to protect him forever from all harm.

Most of the days of my life are a blur, filled with various activities that occupy time but rarely have a lasting impact on my long-term memory. The difference for big days like our wedding day or the birth days of our children is that they are still a whirlwind, but in my mind I can slow them down by thinking of all the little wonderful things that happened, making them special. Such as the way Sarah’s hair looked when she was the bride, or the way Dr. Fleischman said “Happy Birthday” after Maggie was born. For the birth day of Desmond Harold Kane, there are countless little things, such as the game of war that wouldn’t end, the way Desmond cried but wasn’t fussy right after the birth, kissing him for the first time, sitting alone with him in the nursey as he had his first examination, hurrying so Maggie could see her new brother before visiting hours were over, the voice message from my younger brother congratulating Sarah and me.

In this lifetime, I have been a lot of things — a son, journalist, rugger, waiter, drunk, teacher’s pet, boyfriend, track captain, wanderer. I used to think that after someone died that the coolest thing somebody could have said about them is “Brewer, Patriot.” I no longer think that. Even though the titles have applied to billions before me and billions more after me, the best thing anyone could say about me after I pass on is “Husband, father.” I may never figure out my professional role in this world, but I know that when I am with my family, I feel more complete than I have ever been.

Thank you Desmond…. and Maggie and Sarah. Bella, Molly, Vegas, too.

Sorry for the lack of updates

Hey everyone,

I know it’s been a couple of weeks since we last posted everything, and we thank for your patience. It’s mostly because we just had a baby and have zero free time now, but also because finding and working three different jobs leaves even less free time.

Don’t fret, though, I’m planning an awesome post about the wonderfully terrifying experience that was the birth of our son, Desmond Harold Kane.

Expect it in a few days.

Remembering why we moved here

I’m going to keep this short since Sarah and I are leaving for the hospital tomorrow at 5:45 a.m. to induce the birth of our second child.

I love Boston; I love the city and everything it is about. We don’t get to visit the city that much since we live almost an hour away, and our passion for Boston doesn’t really shine through on this blog because of that fact. Yet, more than any other reason, the city is why we moved to New England.

Today, I drove into Boston for the second time in a week, this time for a job interview. I got to walk through a part of the city I hadn’t seen yet, so it was all very cool. If the job comes to fruition, being in the heart of Boston will be a major perk. It gives me hope that Sarah and I can relocate closer to the urban center, as was our original plan when we left Florida.

The best 13 and 1/2 months of my life

One week from today, on April 30, Sarah and I will go into St. Vincent’s Hospital in Worcester and come out with our second child, Desmond Harold Kane. Unless the little guy decides to come out of his mother’s womb early, this is the last week Sarah, Maggie and I will spend as a family of three. While I have no doubts that Desmond’s birth will be a joyous occasion in the history of our family, allow me to take the time to reflect on how our first child has impacted my life.

The first 13 and a half months of Maggie’s life has been, by far, the best 13 and a half months of my life. There was the slow disillusionment with my reporting job in Naples, the instability of moving to Boston without a steady job, the loss of my role with the Boston Globe, the many ups and downs of our extended family, and one needlessly long December road trip. But watching that child come into this world; learn to move, talk and walk; and develop into the joy of my life has made me feel like the luckiest man alive.

Looking back on my pre-child, pre-married life, I wonder what it all was for. I never was searching to settle down, to find a wife and raise a family. My entire life consisted of going to work, partying, drinking and spending as little time as possible investing myself emotionally in anything. Like any modern guy, I resisted commitment and the idea of children before I was 30, although I couldn’t tell you why, except maybe it’s some sort of cultural fear that is ingrained in all of us from when we are young.

Then, along came Sarah, and it was just so easy and effortless to say yes to committment, then to children and marriage. There was no fear, just a love that radiated between both of us and burns bright to this day. It was the best thing that could’ve happened to me.

Then, along came Maggie, who I loved wholly and deeply from the second I saw her. Throughout 27 years of my life, there’s nothing that came close to comparing how completely having a child changed my life. No one can be prepared for the awesome responsibility of raising a child. But, again, it was so easy and effortless. There was no more partying or drinking or burying myself in my career, and it was a change I would gladly accept 1,000 times over. Holding Maggie in my arms or playing with her around the house is far better than anything I’ve ever experienced in my life. Forget drinking, random sex and professional accomplishment, I was put on this Earth to raise that child, and I can’t believe it took me 27 years to make it happen.

As great as the rewards were during the first few months, the stresses were very high as well. Maggie has colic, so she screamed bloody murder four hours a day. Sarah and I had only known each other for about a year, so we were still very much adjusting to each other and our new lives. Having never raised a child or even babysat before, I was finding my way through the dark when it came to diaper changes, feedings, sleep times and everything else. When she would cry and I didn’t know what to do, it was the most frustrating thing in the world.

What made it worse was that all I wanted was to be home with my new family, all the time. Yet, I had to work. Before marriage and baby, I had no problem working late and going the extra mile. But suddenly, my mind was always at home, and lasting at the office until 5 p.m. was torture. It caused a crisis in my career and at home, and it remains tough for me to find the synergy between the two.

As many rough spots as there were, there were countless more bright spots. Maggie’s first smile; her first trip to Disney World; family walks and family trips. The first time I changed a diaper without getting poop on my hands. The first time I realized I could care for my child just as good as my wife. The first time Maggie said Da-da.

When we moved to Massachusetts as Maggie turned six months old, the Great Boston Experiment unwittingly made the next eight months were better than the 28 years that preceeded them, even though I worried about paying bills more than I should have. Sarah, Maggie and I were at home together all the time, and we were making it work. Enough money was coming in, and I was there for every event in my young daughter’s life. Doctor’s visits, the first time she crawled, the first time she walked, everything and anything.

It’s strange to watch your child grow, because it happens so gradually and so quickly at the same time. While I remember momentous occassions in her life (first steps, smiles, words, etc.) I can’t point to one single day or week where she seemed significantly more developed than the time before it. Yet, I’m astounded at how much she has grown. Looking back at pictures from her birth, baptism, first airplane trip, she still seems very much like the same baby but much, much bigger.

Right after Maggie was born, I remember the time when Sarah was exhausted from doing all the heavy lifting with our child and hadn’t slept really since she left the hospital. I told my wife to go to sleep while I watched the baby. I cradled that child in my arms for hours as I watched Into the Wild. Afterward, we fell asleep on the couch together; Sarah got plenty of sleep, and I felt more like a child care provider than I had ever had.

I remember the time right after we moved to Massachusetts, and I showed Maggie how she could pull herself up on furniture. She had crawled over to the coffee table, and I lifted her so she could hold onto the edge while steadying her legs. It was a brave new world after that day.

I remember our first swim together; her first Christmas; games of Blast-off; hours of crying; nights without sleep; and marveling at her laugh. The first and only time we went to the movies as a family; the day she cut her tongue; our first baseball game.

Large or small, the last 13 and a half months have been filled with the story of my daughter’s life, my relationship with my wife, and all in a way that is forever intertwined. It’s impossible to separate one of us from the other because we are so bonded together by love, happiness, sadness, memories and future.

Without me knowing or putting forth any intentional effort, we’ve created the perfect situation for Desmond Harold Kane to be born into.

A Great Boston Experience

Times have been tough, lately. Of course, they’ve been tough on everyone, but it’s been a rough couple of weeks for us. A big fight with my family over Maggie’s birthday; the loss of my role at the Boston Globe; an uncertain financial future; my going back to work for menial pay; bills piling up and little money to pay them. Before our tax return came in on Wednesday, I was near certain we weren’t going to make this month. On top of it all, Sarah, Maggie and I hadn’t been into the city since January when we dropped my cousin off at the bus station. A big reason we moved to New England was for the Boston experience, and we had only been once since early January. The one time we did go was two weeks ago when Sarah and I decided the stress of our situation was starting to be too much on our family, and we needed a day to just relax altogether. We took Maggie to the zoo and ate at Fire & Ice.

That trip to the zoo was a great experience in itself, but this past Thursday, we had the most amazing time in the city; one of the best since moving here. Sarah’s mom Debbie flew up from Florida a week ago Friday for her spring break to spend some time with us before Desmond is born. It has been great to have her around as well, as it gives Sarah someone different to talk to and interact with, and Debbie is fun to have around the house, especially to play with Maggie. On top of it all, Debbie seems to be a mission to buy out every grocery store in the area, stocking us up on food so we don’t have to worry about it after the baby is born.

Everything has been great with her here, but the kicker of the trip so far was that Debbie scored Red Sox tickets for the last game of their home opening series against Tampa Bay, in a repeat of last year’s American League Championship Series. She and Sarah’s grandmother run the press box for the Red Sox spring training and have all sorts of connections with the organization. So, this Thursday, not only did Debbie get us tickets for free, but we met up with her friend Dennis, who runs the luxury suites at Fenway. Apparently, one of the suites was not in use on Thursday, and he let us stay in there the entire game.

Picture this for my and Sarah’s first Fenway experience and Maggie’s first baseball experience. Great seats in the upper deck along the third base line. A luxury box with leather seats and  a flatscreen TV in case Maggie needed to get away from all the crowd noise. All the beer and soda we could drink. Free Fenway Franks. Free pizza. Free pretzels and popcorn. Free access to the dessert cart that most luxury box folks must pay top dollar for. To top it off, the Red Sox even had a ninth inning rally after they played sluggishly all game. They ended up losing by one run, but we couldn’t have asked for a better baseball experience.

Tax Day=Christmas Come Early

Sarah and I no longer have to worry about coming up with rent money this month; probably next month, too.

On Wednesday, we finally got around to filing our taxes; and despite not having paid an income taxes since I became a freelance writer in September, we received a $5,000 return from the federal government and a $100 return from the Massachusetts government. I’m not too sure how that happened (since I was expecting we would actually be cutting the government a check) but I think it had something to do with the child credits for Maggie and the write-offs for running a business out of the house.

Either way, since December, Sarah, Maggie and I basically have been getting by on the bare minimum, sometimes having only $20 for an entire week worth of groceries. We’ve been dodging some medical bills that were due from Maggie’s birth already. Since the Boston Globe stopped publishing its Northwest edition at the end of March, it’s been extremely tough and the small tips from my waitering job at the Picadilly Pub have been our only source of income and probably wouldn’t have been enough for next month’s rent. So, going from having next to nothing to now having enough money that will cover about two and a half months worth of expenses was quite the shock to Sarah and I.

As the shock wears off, the realization comes of what to do with the money. Our first reaction was not to do anything brash, and I’m still living at the Picadilly Pub trying to come up with enough tip money for our family. Our second child is coming in three weeks, so it’s important we don’t do anything that can’t be undone. However, having money opens up so many more possibilities. We could use it as seed money to start a new business (restaurant, child care, home brewery, something). I could quit Picadilly and really try for the next two months to make the freelancing thing work (although the last seven months had limited success); I could take the time to write that book I should have finished long ago. It could guarantee that Sarah doesn’t have to go back to work right away after Desmond is born. We could pay down the credit cards. We could invest it in retirement, the stock market or the kids’ college fund. The only limit to the possibilities is in the amount of money we have.

One thing we did decide was to take Maggie and Desmond to Disney World. Back in November and December, Sarah and I made a commitment to take a vacation to Orlando for Christmas 2009, since Maggie will be 21 months and Desmond will be 7 months, which means they still fly and get into the park for free but are old enough to take something away from it. As we began to plan the trip, our money and our credit ran out, so the only way we were going to make it was if we had a large influx of money, such as from the tax return. With the money, we’ve reaffirmed that commitment and will head down to Orlando over the holidays. It may not be the most sensible thing to do with our newly found money, but since when is the most sensible thing also the best thing?

Of course, in the good news/bad news category, one of the Globe editors called shortly after we filed our tax return to say that the newspaper could no longer afford to accept articles from me. Given the problems of the industry in general and the Globe specifically, I was hardly surprised; but for all intents and purposes, The Dream of me living and working from home is basically dead. However, there’s still plenty of good news to go around. I’m getting a paycheck from Picadilly on Friday; the Patriot Ledger is closer to offering me a job in the summer and is sending a check for some freelance work I did; and Boston Parents’ Paper also will be cutting me a check for freelance work by the end of the month. Also, Sarah’s mom has been in town since Friday and seems to be on a mission to empty out all the grocery stores for us, stocking us up with all imaginable food and sundries. We won’t have to buy groceries or diapers for at least a month.

Of course, the best news is our family is growing by one more on April 30 (or sooner). Desmond Harold Kane will be here soon enough, and we couldn’t be happier.

Back to the point, though; it’s strange going from having no money to suddenly having plenty. Not that I’m complaining (because I’M NOT!) but life is very simple when you’re broke. You pay your bills (at least those you can afford) drive the car only when necessary and buy spaghetti and bread at the grocery store. Now, with money, you have all the possibilities to consider. Although that might had a tinge of stress, it’s a stress certainly worth having.