It's not a glamorous position I hold. Very few actually understand what happens on a daily basis behind the closed doors of our home. My SPF (Staff Performance Review) is given by a 9, 7, 5, and 3 year old. Just the other day I was told the house was looking a little dumpy by my three year old, and lunch was too cold for my 9 year old. Most days I feel like I am working with four dementia patients who need everything repeated multiple times.....multiple times.
When I am not a chef, janitor, chauffeur, or Administrator of Littlejohn Academy, I am Sherlock Holmes. "Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?" "Where were you when the 'my little pony' was abducted from the shelf of Lucy?" "Do you deny any involvement in the abduction?" "Do you understand the consequence that will be doled out to the person who abducted the fore-mentioned 'my little pony'?" Then I go to my bedroom to deliberate.
Most lunches are work lunches, I do exactly that, WORK. Our company theme song is heart and soul, our company parties involve an episode of Good Luck Charlie and a Little Caesars pizza. My bonuses come in the form of a child taking an extra long nap or handing down a "go to bed early" card because of a rotten attitude. My work projects include figuring out the fastest and most efficient route through Walmart without having to go near the toy section or candy aisle. Work strategy involves knowing every Starbucks with a drive thru, and where to pick up stamps without having to go in to the forbidden post office. I have been fired multiple times because I am the meanest Mom EVER, and I have quit almost every month since I began this job nine and a half years ago. I have broken every rule in the company handbook and embezzled money from my children's piggy banks. I have hidden in the bathroom with contraband including, but not exclusively consisting of, Trader Joe's Christmas Joe-Joe's. My office supply upgrades include a new sponge for the dish wand and new hand soap for the bathroom. I am on call every day of the week, every hour of the week. In 9 1/2 years I have had about 3 weeks of vacation and I have not made one single penny. I have contributed nothing to our 401k, and I have not clocked one quarter towards my social security benefits since starting this job.
My co-workers are the epitome of dramatic, and they do a terrible job keeping their cubicles clean. They have made me cry, they have bullied me, they have stolen my brain cells, they have thrown up on me, peed on me, sneezed on me, pooped on me, and for years they have tortured me with sleep deprivation. Most days I tell them they are the reason I am going crazy.
But then something as simple as four pictures being posted on my facebook wall make all of the above null and void.
No job at any salary could persuade me to walk away from this... from these four faces that have imprinted themselves on my soul through the testing of fire. How is it that for one second of one day I get to be apart of this; the molding and shaping of these hearts and minds?
I am unworthy.
I am unfit.
I am incapable.
I am undone by the blessing of their touch.
So here is to my current resume!
~Sara
I love it!
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