I think I want to become a cashier. In yesterday's classifieds I found an ad seeking Cashiers — yes, with a capital C. One of the grocery stores I frequent is looking for cashiers (who also will get to stock shelves and clean floors) to start at $10.80 per hour.

That's a lot more than I made last time I was a cashier.

This company appears to treat its workers better than everybody I cashiered for in my misspent youth, too. The people at the registers sit in chairs and customers bag their own purchases.

But, and this is what really got my attention, employees are eligible for insurance covering medical, dental, and vision after 90 days.

Wow. That would've been enough to get me excited, but wait, there's more: The company also offers a retirement income plan and 401(k), paid vacation after six months — and an extra dollar an hour for working on Sundays, when they don't open until noon.

I remember real jobs, the kind that offered such marvelous benefits. And the benefits are what I really need, thank you very much; if I could get an employer to give me decent health insurance, I might be willing to forgo a salary.

Heaven knows I've made do without one for years.

I have a graduate degree and lots of experience in areas other than retail. Before I moved, the Good Doctor instructed me not to sell myself short in my quest for work. She might not exactly approve of my aspiration to ring up roasts, instant coffee, and bags of apples.

On the other hand, I think she'd probably appreciate my desire to keep feeding and housing myself and the animals and to have the medical coverage I so feared losing when I got divorced.

When she got divorced, she was a waitress.

The ad says a representative will be available to meet Cashier hopefuls tomorrow beginning at 7 am. It'll be pretty cold then.

I hope the line won't be too long.

I've written about our happy days and sad, our intimacies and lack thereof, our dreams and traditions, and how those things have changed. Rob and I have both enjoyed each others' families and been hurt by them. Sometimes we've put each other first, and sometimes we've neglected each others' need entirely.

Rob has drunk himself near to death, stopped drinking altogether, and then found a balance. I've both searched for apartments so I could move out on my own, and gave my all to couples therapy in hopes we'd find the key to a happier marriage.

I've written extensively on my doubt, and shared my wavering heart as honestly as possible, even when my wishy-washiness seemed a terribly embarrassing mark of weakness.

In the throes of the holidays, with the New Year approaching, I've been playing my part as usual. Rob and I are having family and friends over tonight.

Who knows how we'll seem to some of them who don't know the troubles we've had, and who don't know we have a sexless marriage. Perhaps we'll seem the perfect hosts, with the perfect demeanor, with the perfect relationship.

But play-acting has never suited me, and I believe it's time for lasting change.

I'm not leaving Rob, and I'm no more sure about this marriage; I'm getting ready to leave you readers.

I joined First Wives World believing that through writing I would come to a better understanding of what was wrong with my relationship, and I would change it. Indeed, comments both online and off from readers have brought new perspective to my marriage, and I've felt both more empowered to take from life exactly what I want, and also more settled in present circumstances.

Overall, this is still an ill-fitting marriage. Perhaps I just need to grow up and let go of certain ideas about identity, or selfish dreams. Perhaps I need to learn how to better recapture the joy of youth here in present circumstances.

Turns out, in Portland, the joke is on us. That, and about a foot of snow.

Last week the local news weather types cried wolf for days and with every flurry we were sure Arctic Blast '08 was bearing its abominable teeth. And we, in our fair city of three snow plows, responded by closing everything. On one of my kids' snow days it didn't even snow.

By Friday, everyone knew the hype was nothing, but the week was already a wash, so no point in having school or doing anything else really. On Friday, the whole week seemed like a nice excuse to slow down and take a couple lazy at home days before revving up for the holidays.

Then came Saturday. And it snowed. It snowed and kept on snowing straight through the night and all day Sunday. Biggest snow Portland's seen in 40 years. Suddenly, it was not just an excuse. There was a foot on the ground and we really were housebound.

All the packages full of Christmas gifts from my in-laws are holding on some UPS snow route and they, the in-laws, are due in tonight on Christmas Eve.

I'm secretly hoping they don't make it. The gifts, not the in-laws. My fantasy is the whole family, Sam's, here and hardly a package to open.

The over-the-top-ness of this holiday, not even my holiday, is too much for me. Call me a Grinch, every year I have a little less tolerance for all the stuff, stuff, stuff, stuff.

Like the Grinch, I want to see how they react to Christmas without all the ribbons and bows.

My kids rip into the shiny paper and I see boxes of pieces of stuff that will by spread all over my house by the beginning of January, and swept into the trash by spring.

How can anyone appreciate anything when they have so much crap?

None of these things are special. They are just more. What my kids know is if they break or lose something, it's okay, there's more in the closet and another one coming.

I'm probably a really big idiot. You know how some women are completely blindsided when they find out their husbands are cheating? They never saw the signs and then one day something abruptly happens and husband's escapades are revealed while the wife stands there befuddled and betrayed.

I'm in a different situation: The signs are there that my husband may be straying — or thinking of straying — but I can't believe that it's actually happening. I just think I'm paranoid or hyper-vigilant. You tell me if this sounds off to you.

I planned a trip a couple of hours away for the kids and me to go visit some friends for two days while my husband stayed home. (He had to work.) Our babysitter (an adult woman) asked me what night I was leaving, and I told her Wednesday. She then turns to my husband and asks if she can swing by Wednesday night so he can help her with her college homework. He says sure, and I start to think about how the situation could be potentially inappropriate but then I bury the feeling because, after all, we're trying to save our marriage.

Halfway through the week I get a text from our sitter. Have I left yet? I reply that we hadn't left yet, and the unease comes back. I bury it again because, after all, why would my husband cheat on me when he's begged me to stay?

The kids and I wind up changing our plans to leave a day later because of the weather, which means I would be home for the homework session. An hour or two before our sitter is supposed to come over, my husband nonchalantly mentions that she cancelled because she figured her homework out all by herself. I raise my eyebrow, he explodes at me and says I don't trust him, and it all turns into a fight where I wind up apologizing.

"Going to a junkyard is a sobering experience. There you can see the ultimate destination of almost everything we desired." —Roger Von Oech, A Wack On The Side of the Head

I read this the other day and have since been trying to keep it in mind as Christmas creeps closer and closer and my bank account gets lower and lower. It seems that once you have a child there is so much pressure on you as a parent to perform in many areas, and acquiring "stuff" is a big one.

It was at the mall last night, where I was desperately searching for "stuff" to buy for Adrian, that this quote helped me the most.

Looking at rocket ships, dinosaurs, train sets — all overpriced — and parents stumbling over one another to have them; I thought about all of the toys that Adrian has had since he's been born. Then I thought about where they all ended up: either broken and in the garbage or outdated and donated.

We don't have tons of money, at all. Levi is still not contributing and as Adrian's birthday is so close to Christmas I'm still stuck playing a little bit of catch up from that.

As much as I'd like to, I simply can't afford to have a dozen presents under the tree and besides which, are these monetary, materialistic values the type that I'd like to instill in my son, anyhow? The answer is no.

It took a bit of reasoning with myself but I'm feeling okay with it now. Adrian is getting four presents from me (well, two Santa gets the credit for) and we will spend the rest of the day basking in each other's company — and maybe playing in the snow.

Christmas will be about more than gifts. It will also be about appreciating each other and strengthening the bond of our family.

I wish you all a very happy holiday.

Faith

If we took all the parents whose kids will be going with the other side of the family this holiday and put them all in once place, we'd probably have to ask the NFL to give up half their stadiums for a day. Talk about the perfect dating-after-divorce opportunity!

Seriously...parents who end up alone on a holiday are an awkward lot. If it's you, it's easy to fall into feeling sorry for yourself. Lonely, absurd...all the possible uncomfortable words can apply.

Stop it! The kids have it much worse. They are human ping-pong balls expected to pop back and forth between allegiances seamlessly. They don't want to be doing this, either. Trying to please everybody is a royal pain.

Here are 5 attitude adjusters to get you through if you will be solo without your kids for the holiday:

1. For a very short window you have no responsibility...this will pass quickly use it wisely — it's a gift.

2. You can lay on the couch for absolutely no reason, not make your bed, throw your towels on the floor, leave dishes in the sink — everything you tell them not to do — without guilt. Until they return.

3. You can go wherever you want, with whomever you want, and do whatever you want and not have to be home until they come back.

4. You can hit the road and be an adventurous visitor to people you never have time to catch up with.

5. Kids are telegrams for family gossip — you'll get all the latest dirt about everything and everybody when they return.

Critical reminder: It takes kids a few days once they get home to come back from loyalty to the other side. It's not you...give them a break.

Leave me a comment saying "solo on the on holiday"...and I'll drop you one back...because my kid's going with her dad and I get it.

Email Debbie anytime: [email protected]

Okay, so Peter from Pelham never panned out. But the hits, they keep on coming, complete with lots of pep talk ("we're excited you're interested in Joe The Plumber!) and mumbo jumbo about my chemistry profile: it seems I'm a negotiator/explorer who is gracious, enthusiastic, and flexible (why thank you very much) who would have "jolly times" and "hearty laughs" with my matches.

And so far, I certainly have had some hearty laughs over their idea of my matches. I couldn't have been clearer that I'm a card carrying, blue state, bleeding heart liberal. If there had been a box that said Would Bear Obama's Children, I would have checked it. So why is chemistry.com sending me so many conservatives?

Or liars, like Wayne, who billed himself as being 53: "I'm a creative, caring, and passionate renaissance man who is 68 chronologically, but 53 in mind, energy, and spirit."

And Stuart, with his "cool Riverside pad" who is "looking for a lifelong romp or casual encounters." He too admits to being 57, but says he "looks 45."

Then there are the scary, grammatically challenged guys like the 6'4" correction guard, who presents himself like this, verbatim: "Just a nice guy looking for a companion friend at first...Not into liars, cheats, or game players. Trust is big in any type of relationship. I don't {like}people who will do certain things just to curb their curiosity. If your (sic) a person willing to have an affair with a married person then your (sic) a cheat even if you say you love them. I don't like liars and cheats your (sic) hurting alot of people when you do. I like up front and honest people who don't play with your emotions." EEK! More than a little angry?

In bed the other morning, we're laying there talking or arguing, whatever you want to call it, about the same old issues that never go away. Because they don't. And the thing that's worth bringing up here has nothing to do with the issues. At this point, they're all just blah, blah, blah.

What's different is how we start talking and keep going and no one walks away before we're done. That was how we used to do it. Walk away. Hold it in. Spit little sharp nails of spite at each other, that passive-aggressive bullshit. But never talk about what we weren't talking about.

When I have to tell the truth, Sam and I still have a lot to learn about the finer points of using our words. But give some credit for trying. Now what I recognize when we fight is it's the words not the ideas we're reacting to, the words and their delivery make it more argument than discussion.

I can stop the whole thing and talk to Sam about not knowing how to talk about it. And I do; it's a new thing I've been doing. When I say I don't know how to talk about whatever it is, suddenly the idea becomes the focus, and we're trying to figure out what that idea is and what we each believe about it.

We still have the same problems, they're the kind you can't talk away, and at the end of three hours taking them apart, we weren't any closer to resolving them, but I left the conversation satisfied. It's a huge improvement.

Any progress is good progress.

You don't KNOW if you don't TRY. So I'm applying myself to my marriage to see if it might work. And things are shifting.

Then at our last counseling session Rob spilled to our therapist that I had complained our work with her had been overly focused on him. I had told him that in confidence! I was horrified when — apparently unaware this would be a problem — he let on. I was left sitting there sheepishly, making excuses as to why I said what I said ("It was in jest!"), trying to convince her I had no problems with how things were going.

Anyway, I didn't mind the neglect. Rob is paying for these sessions; I guess the unbalanced attention allowed me to feel okay about not contributing to the fee. So as the therapist spent our time week after week asking Rob about his relationship to drinking and encouraging him to work on communication and connection, I didn't argue. It's not like I wouldn't benefit immensely from his improvements in those areas, so I watched patiently and hoped the work would stick.

And I assumed she felt it important for me to witness his determination and growth. Why else would she kinda ignore me for him all those times?

Whatever we're doing there, it seems to be working. I've felt more kindly and warm toward Rob. We're both more quiet and calm — with each other and others. I mean, I didn't even blow when he told our therapist about my complaints. It felt like a betrayal for him to embarrass me like that, but whatever. Perhaps I've finally learned not to sweat the small stuff.