(I have posted this same little bit over on Substack, with pictures! Will hopefully be cross-posting for awhile, at least. But I don't have my photos on my computer, only on my phone. So head there if you care about photos! anniehatke.substack.com ....But in the meantime.... if you haven't read it yet, here's an update:)
When we were engaged, Martin was working as a Catholic school librarian. It was a great job for a lazy couple—he didn’t have to be to the school until 10, and I didn’t have to be to my retail job until 11, so every morning we would get bagels and coffee before our jobs (after sleeping late.) Then, of course, he was done at 3 and would come down to see me at my store. (Not MY store—the store where I worked, selling Fair Trade goods. Best job ever!) Life was easy breezy. We’d walk for coffee every night, no matter the weather. I had a cute little upper floor apartment in a house, he lived with his mom a few blocks away, saving money because we were pretending to be grownups. Except after he spent all his money on an engagement ring and didn’t want me to starve post-vows, he got a different job working for the Indiana Secretary of State. I can’t even remember what he really did for that job, only that it was more than an hour drive down and another hour back at the end of the day, and he got Mono that fall and lost so much weight, he looked terrible; he looked like a skinny ghost on our wedding day. Also they didn’t give him any time off. So we didn’t take a honeymoon, we just kept working and he bought us our house so that we had a shiny new place to live together when we got married, so that was nice. (It wasn’t shiny or new then, and we are still in it now.) But you know, those first jobs lead to next jobs, and in those first few years he hopped around through a mixture of occupations having to do with schools (advisor/admissions,) social work (case manager for both adults and kids,) and social work in schools. But all those years while he was job-hopping and we were struggling and adding to our collection of daughters, he was applying to various police departments because that’s what he really wanted to do. But this was the early 2000s—everybody wanted to be a cop. They would hold testing days where a hundred applicants would show up because they were needing to hire ONE new officer. And he would move forward in the process, (sometimes getting really far!) but he never got the job. And time went on, until a few years ago he was in an active hiring process and it was looking good, but it was slow, and his birthday came, the birthday that made him too old to be hired. So he went to the police station and told them it was his birthday and asked if that meant he had to quit the process and the answer was yes.
I won’t pretend I didn’t feel a selfish wave of relief when that happened, despite Martin being crushed. Did I want to be married to a cop?! Did I want my husband to be always absent for holidays, going off to a job that shows him the ugliest and saddest side of humanity, immersed in the culture of drugs and guns? Doing wellness checks and finding dead people? Working nights and never seeing us?
(the answer was no.)
So with that door closed, I moved merrily on with my life and he eventually settled into a great job as Director of Operations at our church, over on the University campus. The job felt like home, it was wonderful. Our daughters were so happy. It paid more than case management! He had a second job as the manager of the local downtown Farmers Market, which was also fun for the whole family. We only live a few blocks away so he could be back and forth all morning if I needed him. Likewise, his job at the church—even though it was a lot of work and basically 7 days a week—he could also just pop by for a cup of coffee when he was out running errands, and he came home for lunch almost every day. If he had to stay late, we could go over and play in the church basement or help him with whatever he was held up doing. If he had too much on his plate, we would go over and help him out. It felt like that job was where we belonged, as a family.
Unfortunately, church work, while paying more than case management, still didn’t pay much. And while we do pretty well at frugal living…. Sometimes the shoe string you’re living on threatens to snap. And it was definitely at its breaking point. We were having nightly discussions about looking for other jobs, when he got a big surprise.
(You probably know where this is going.)
