The end of the innocence ...

"Toward the end of eighth grade, students from the high school came to talk to us about the electives and classes we could take. When I raised my hand and asked about the school paper, the most popular guy in the eighth grade -- and anyone who remembers junior high knows that those guys think they're SO funny -- turned around and said, 'Oh, does Jennifer want to be Lois Lane?' I looked him dead in the eye and replied, "No. I'm GOING to be Lois Lane." -- Dec. 11, 2008

It has been 388 days since I called myself an employee of The Seattle Times. And no, I am not keeping track -- I used an online calculator. Ironically, the Jenn that walked out the door on that cold December night would have known exactly how long it had been since she left what at the time seemed like paradise -- down to the hour.

But that woman doesn't exist anymore.

And while in some ways, it seems like yesterday that I told that story about junior high in my speech at our company farewell ceremony, I stopped counting long ago.

One thing hasn't changed, though: I still love journalism.

Truthfully, I still miss my job. Every single day. After all, it's what I spent my life working toward.

It's why I'll cover swim meets on three hours of sleep after arriving home from Florida two hours earlier and it's why I jump at the chance to do editing projects for friends and family.

The thing is, though, I don't miss driving home from Seattle in the middle of the night, I don't miss the office politics (i.e. co-workers who stole food, chomped rather than chewed, and rode The Bitter Bus), and I certainly don't miss the constant fear of the newspaper industry crumbling. I've experienced it firsthand -- and I survived.

My days are now filled with teething and attempts at crawling, baking and folding, playdates and shopping trips that usually result in me frantically trying to find a missing sock somewhere in the maze of racks. My job is now being a mom -- and that won't change once I go back to work, whenever and wherever that may be.

Sure, I have moments where I miss the thrill of the chase and being part of the ever-evolving industry. There was no shortage of news in the last few months of the year, and for the first time in my adult life, I was nothing more than an observer. I watched the news and read the paper, and took some solace in the fact that my beloved Newsline would have been knocked off the front page, anyway, in the face of breaking news.

My attitude had shifted -- and then came December 15.

At 6:30 a.m., a time of day I have not been on good terms with since high school, I found myself all dressed up and navigating the icy freeway to Seattle.

This was the day I had both looked forward to and totally dreaded, the day when I would face my former employers in a legal setting. When I gave my consent for the Pacific Northwest Newspaper Guild to file a grievance on my behalf for being laid off out of seniority order, things were different. Very different. I was pregnant, facing the loss of a large chunk of our household income and medical insurance, and in shock that I had basically sold my soul to The Seattle Times for four and a half years -- and was cast aside without a second thought.

To make it clear, I don't regret opting to go to arbitration -- not one bit. I wanted, and still want my job back. But I would be lying if I said that I wasn't rattled at the thought of facing my mentor on the other side of the table. Even after everything, part of me worried that it would seem like I was saying "thanks for hiring me right out of college for my dream job; see you in court." Still, the reality was that I had been groomed to be a desk editor, and received nothing but good reviews, and I was going to have to hear that I was, in fact, not an asset to The Seattle Times -- past, present or future.

It would have been the equivalent of Perry White borrowing one of The Daily Planet's cars, running Lois Lane over, and then backing up and doing it again and again, until she was so bloody and battered that she was better off dead. I couldn't imagine what would be left of my journalism career by the end of the day. And what if I started to believe what they were saying?

It's safe to say that my queasiness far outweighed my optimism. I was so flustered even seeing The Times' contingent that morning that I knocked my water bottle into my purse, destroying my digital camera. And by the time their first witness, the paper's executive editor, started speaking about the state of the industry, I was concentrating on keeping my latte down.

So I was 100 percent willing to listen to my lawyer's proposed deal when he called for a break and pulled me into the hallway of the fabulously swanky -- and scary as hell -- offices of Davis Wright Tremaine. Would I be willing to settle for an extended recall? Absolutely. After all, I didn't do this for money -- I did it for love. I loved my job, I loved working for The Seattle Times, and I loved journalism. Like I said, some things never change.

There is no guarantee that I will get my job back, but as per the terms of my settlement, for the next six months, if a fillable desk-editor position opens, I get it, no questions asked.

I have been asked by several people why on earth I would even WANT to go back if the option becomes available, but to me, the answer is plain and simple. It's not about vindication, or money, or because I have yet to find another job.

I'm not done being Lois Lane.