I love it. I need it. I can’t to without it.
No. There’s one more thing I can’t do with money.
I can’t ask for it.
And it makes me CRAZY.
I’m a good writer. I’ve written things that have won awards. (Need to update my bio desperately).
I turn things in on time.
Why is asking what I’m going to be paid — and making sure it’s what my time and talent is worth so BLOODY hard?
I met with an editor I adore Friday.
She was giving me some assignments. If there should be anyone I feel comfortable taking rates with it would be her.
But when I got to the point of asking what she could pay, the words came out halting, stumbling like when I was 11 and asking Jimmy to the Sadie Hawkins dance.
I don’t get why I have this problem. There is some work I want to take, but need to ask for more money this time — if it’s going to be worth the time and effort for me.
Why can’t I do that?
* * *
This has always been a problem for me. I remember asking for raises at other, traditional work-outside of home jobs.
Do you have a problem asking for money in work situation?
This post was for the wonderful
Stream of Consciousness Sunday. Jana’s @jana’s thinking place
Her prompt this week:
What have you done recently or would like to do that’s outside your comfort zone?
his was my 5 minute Stream of Consciousness Sunday post. It’s five minutes of your time and a brain dump. Want to try it? Here are the rules…
Set a timer and write for 5 minutes.
Write an intro to the post if you want but don’t edit the post. No proofreading or spellchecking. This is
writing in the raw. Publish it somewhere. Anywhere. The back door to your blog if you want. But make it accessible.
Add the Stream of Consciousness Sunday badge to your post (in the sidebar). .
Link up your post below.
Visit your fellow bloggers and show some love.
We drink sodas.
We end up with lots of cans. Cans that used to end up in our recycling bin till the children found out they could get money for that aluminum.
A Saturday morning ritual.
After a few weeks have passed and a few bags of cans amassed, dad takes the children to a local metal recycling business.
But today dad had other obligations so I took my daughter.
We got our cans and drove back into the garage.
I fancy it something like the backdrop for
a remake of Mad Max.
Were jackals and howling hounds of hell going to leap from behind the towers of rusting metal?
For someone who usually has no problem with a healthy amount of clutter, I was surprisingly timid. My body appears to be moving slowly toward some sort of driving fetal position.
On the other hand, my daughter had stars in her eyes and waved vigorously after this photo was taken when she saw the owner.
Everything was fine. Better than fine.
Nothing scary. Only lots of security measures these days. For real.
Our precious cargo was weighed.
After after my picture taken, the cans picture taken, my car license plate’s picture taken, along with handing over the deed to our house as collateral — she got her cash.
This photo was the last I’ve seen of that money.
Next stop when hubby returned was the county dump. I’ll spare you a post on that.
Any other good ideas for your children to get a little spending change?
It all started with this.
This is my husband’s version of a to-do list.
Things Scotch-taped to the door jamb. I
usually see them.
* * *
He walked through the door yesterday afternoon.
“Jamie. You forgot to make the deposit.”
HATE IT when that happens. Especially when his face drops and his countenance ages 20 months.
How it happens somedays, I don’t know. I think yesterday, the deposit slip blended in with the white door frame. Like an itty anole lizard who leaps onto a green bush from the white painted porch.
“I’m so very sorry….what can I do?”
“You can pay the overdraft fees,” he replied.
Just between you and me, I didn’t say poo.
I said, “Sure, I can do that!”
And added, “You know, I do a lot of work around here that I never get paid for.”
This probably wasn’t the time to go asking my husband for a pay increase.
* * *
48 cents. That’s what my cleaning skills were worth in his estimation. “And that’s a gift. Jamie, look at this house.”
I beg to differ. It wasn’t perfect. It’s been worse. We all can find clean clothes and no dirty dishes lined the sink. (At moment of his comment.)
* I then asked what about all the driving of the kids I do. “ A wash,” he said. “I do just as much.” (No way.)
* I brought up my shopping. This is when my teenager chimed in about there never being anything to eat. (A pork roast for dinner bubbled in the Crock Pot as he made that comment.)
* “ Minus $50 for disorganization and paperwork.” I let this go considering the recent “failed deposit” incident.
* Then I brought up marital relations, what about that? “Yeah, that’s about the only thing you could really charge for.”
Super. Always got that for second career option. But at my age, employment in that line of work would entail relocating to The Villages.
“When you think about it. Jamie, you really do precious little. I think you
owe me $1000.”
Now, I know my husband. He meant every word. But you don’t know him and how crazy he is about me.
Why else would he stick with me for so long?
I have been thinking lately, how running a house is an administrative skill. And on personality tests, I score under the South Pole with admin questions.
I should have remembered to make the deposit. I’ve always had a great memory.
Or used to.
Ugh. Are you an administrator?
Yes or No?
(Now that was asked like a true administrator. Fake it till I make it, baby.)
I was out walking on the beach — enjoying all the babies, dogs and tattos on ivory blotchy skin.
Then I looked down and saw
I love to find coins. It’s an unexpected serendipity. I often thought I need to put every coin I find into a jar and then look what accumulated over a lifetime.
That never happened or will happen. But doesn’t take away the thrill of finding a shiny trinket that would buy 100th of a Reeses Peanut Butter Cup.
So when I looked down and saw a nickle and a penny — I was so excited — in an inside, keep it to myself because it would look odd to others kind of way.
I reached down to grab it and then noticed I was very near a group’s cooler. Not wanting to take anyone’s money I walked over and put it on the color saying, “I found this — could it be yours?”
“Oh..might be,” was the reply from the guy who glanced back a second then kept talking to the standing women with the tattoos swinging the beer can on her hip.
I kept walking.
He didn’t seem very happy about found money. Seemed like it was a bother.
Someone hands you six cents and you don’t even look up.
Well, at the giver, he was looking at the woman in the Piet Mondrian bikini.
Maybe he’s more into Modern Art than money?
Was it the University of Texas? No. On second thought, Sally remember that was Earl Campbell.
Tithing. That is the subject of John Ed’s 25th Chapter.
The tithe is ten percent of your income. So if you get a check for $100, multiply it by .10 and that leaves $10. Ten dollars is the tithe on a hundred.
He gave the example of Barry Sanders giving a tenth of his signing bonus to his church. And Mr. Sanders was reported to tithe the rest of his career.
This is fun. The Redskins and the Bills took a few hits in this. Actually, all these defenses look pretty defenseless to stop him. (You got to make it to the 2:50 mark run against Buffalo.) Watching this can’t help but think, he must have really healthy knees.
I’ll ask you the question I asked Sally, the sassy oyster above.
Where did Barry Sanders play college ball?
As far as tithing can’t say it better (without quoting scripture) than Barry. When asked why he tithed Barry said, “Because the bible says you should tithe.”
Sally still thought priorities a dirty word. They challenged her tendency to be content with life in a clump of oysters, in the mud, at the bottom of the bay.
John Ed speaks of the checkbook test. Look at your checkbook register and that will tell you where your priorities lie.
Of all the things my dear Atlanta pastor, Don Harp, used to say ~ this was one of the top three. “What would someone looking at your checkbook think was important to you?”
Makes me think on two things:
Does anyone have a check book anymore?
I never had much luck with one.
And let’s not get personal.
Numbers, subtraction — a smidge of addition every now and then. It took discipline to mark things down the minute you spent it to head off trouble later.
That’s why giving to needs to come first. Off the top.
Because subtractions always come.And the chances you have enough left to give what you originally intended grow dim.
Each day, there is something I should have done that I didn’t get around to. Multiple that by a week, then a year.
Over a lifetime, that’s a lot of things left undone.
Priorities might not be such a bad thing.
This was not our house last night. I definitely would not wear pearls with that check skirt.
Sally didn't have any spare change when the offering plate came her way. Then she thought of her pearl. Poo.
“Find out how much God has given you and take from it what you need; the remainder is needed by others. “~ St. Augustine
Some days I don’t feel like writing anything particularly spiritual. Especially money.
Then I read that quote by St. Augustine.
So simple, yet it poses so much.
What has God given me?
Okay, could think on that for hours.
What do I need?
Could think on that for days. Well, have an internal debate on that for days.
What is needed by others?
The answer to this question is easy. It’s just the implementation that is a bit more problematic.
This giving question go to the heart of transformation. Will we ever see money not as our possession ~ but God’s?
I wonder what Sally would do with her pearl.
Like if it was her choice, not when like some human scoops her up, wrenches a metal pick in her mouth, pries her jaw so wide it hurts and steals her pearl.
Guess they could do that at church. Pry open our purses and wallets.
Now that would be a terrible waste to toss in the plate.
Sally liked to give at church. Though there always was that awkward moment of how to deal with the offering plate.
When I first read that title this is the image that sprung to mind.
Though I'm usually staring at the other side of my teetering image.
Yoga. Holding poses. Getting in touch with our center.
If one concentrates and relaxes at same time — the body if strong — balances.
I’m not usually that relaxed. I’m thinking about lots of stuff — money, projects that I’m late starting, and how if I don’t wrap this up in five minutes I’ll be late getting to the pool.
Sometimes we have to intentionally concentrate to be in spiritual balance.
Giving ~ determined giving to the church is one of those areas.
It’s part of holding the pose. Working to discipline the body. It just doesn’t happen without determined action.
Same for a disciplined, balanced spirit.
How do I feel when the offering plate is passed at church? Do I dread it, or look forward to being able to give expectantly?
I once was a very expectant giver. Of course, I never really took into account what I was spending the rest of the week. I gave lots on Sunday, spent lots during the week and charged stuff.
Part of growing up is to give lots (with joy) and spend with discipline. I want to enjoy giving again. The right way.