ATTRIBUTES OF GOD

Here is a transcript of a conversation I had with Bean this morning:

Bean: "When I get bigger, I have boobies."

Me: "That's right, Bean. You'll be a woman and you'll have boobies just like Mommy."

Bean: "And Cakes will have boobies."

Me: "That's right, because Cakes will be a woman, too."

Bean: "And Daddy will have boobies."

Me: "No, Daddy won't have boobies. Daddy is a man, and men don't have boobies."

Bean: "And God will have boobies."

Me: "Well, God MADE boobies ..."

Bean: "But, God don't have boobies."

LESSONS FROM ODD JOBS

HighCalling Blogs is hosting a meme about odd jobs and what you've learned from them.

Here are the rules:

1. Write a post about some strange job you’ve had and what you learned from it.

2. Link to other “Lessons from Odd Jobs” posts around the highcallingblogs.com network, or quote them in your post with proper attribution. This isn’t a requirement, but it’s a fun way to get people moving around the network and reading each other.

3. Tag your post “lessons from odd jobs”—if you use technorati tags or another form of meta-tags.

4. Tag other bloggers by linking to them in your post and inviting them to participate in the meme. Tag as many people as you like—we’re not limiting this just to people in the network!

5. Link back to Lessons from Odd Jobs in your post and email this month’s host at “Marcus AT highcallingblogs DOT com”.

My odd job was the two years that I spent working for a pathologist. She was not a very nice woman, which is why she was in her 50's and still single. I mean, it was admirable and all that she worked her way from the ghetto of Philadelphia through medical school. But, she had an enormous chip on her shoulder, and looked down on her childhood friends and family as being "uneducated and ghetto." She had one great love in her life, her rat-dog - er, her Maltese dog - Mozart. So, half of my job was preparing food for, brushing, walking, and generally caring for this rat dog. Preparing food involved going to the basement full of body parts in buckets and cooking up an organic chicken breast, cutting it into small pieces, and hand-feeding Moze.

This pathologist, having nothing else in her life but Mozart and work, would work full-time during the day at a local hospital while I acted as office manager/dog sitter for her private pathology practice. This was comprised of a lot of data entry of pap smear results, biopsy results, etc. Almost every day, the couriers would bring a mole, a growth, a bunch of pap smear slides, and the occasional testicle in to the office to be tested for cancer and other things. The worst part of the job, however, was when men seeking fertility testing would come to drop off their "samples." First, I would have to prepare the bathroom for the men to obtain their sample, which involved lighting candles and placing out various gentlemen's magazines. Then, I had to greet the patients, explain the proper way to obtain the sample, answer any questions, wait for them to do their business, then label the sample they gave me once they had collected it in the cup I left out for them. I don't know who was more embarrassed, me or the giggly, red-faced men that sheepishly came and went.

And, so, the lesson I learned from this odd job was that I didn't want to be a career woman. Some women are able to balance a career and a family, and do it well; but, I am not one of those women. I didn't want to sacrifice love, friendship, children, or a kind attitude for the aggressive mien and lonely life I saw in my boss. Being a doctor didn't bring her the respect she craved, even though she wore her lab coat everywhere she went, and the only legacy she was leaving behind was her dog. I love staying home with my girls, focusing on relationships with them and other stay-at-home moms, knowing that I am leaving behind a legacy that will continue long after I am gone.

OUR NEW HOME

We are physically in our new house now. We are still living among boxes, though. It took me two days to find my deodorant. I've moved almost all the boxes into the spare bedroom, and organized them in order of importance. The goal is to unpack one box per day. I have not yet, however, attained that goal. Right now, I'm still busy catching up on laundry and trying to clear off all countertops, etc., where things have collected. We made sure the girls' stuff was completely unpacked, to help them with the transition from the only home they've ever known to this new and much larger house. It's easiest to keep them happy when I open the front door and turn them loose on the great outdoors. They come back covered in mud, onion grass - all kinds of nature. But, they're happy and they're getting along, which makes the mess worth it.

We have friends who also moved the weekend we moved. They are SUPER organized, and I would bet money that their house is already unpacked, decorated, and looking like they've lived there for years. We just hope we can get the house in working order by the time my parents move here in July! *grin*

ANIMAL CONTROL - ATTEMPT #2

So, we have all read about my wonderful relationship with Animal Control here in Williamson County. Well, the saga continues ....

Yesterday, I opened my front door to go check my mail and pick up my neighbor's mail (they're on vacation). When I opened the door, a large, beefy boxer (the animal, not the athlete) was sitting on my front porch looking at me. I didn't scream (after all, it wasn't a possum *grin*), but I did catch my breath and slam the door shut again. An hour later, the boxer was still, for some unknown reason, sitting on my front porch. So, call #2 this week to Animal Control.

Me: "A boxer has been sitting on my front porch for the past hour."

Animal Control: "Is he vicious?"

Me: "Maybe. I'm not about to go find out."

Animal Control: "Does he have a collar on?"

Me: "No." (Thinking, "But even if he did, I'm not going to try to go read it!")

So, they got my address and said they would dispatch someone. I thanked them, but I was thinking, "You will send out a truck for a possibly vicious dog, but not for a definitely-vicious-and-maybe-even-rabid possum in my trash can?"

After another half hour, Animal Control still had not shown up, and Big Daddy had begun tossing quesadillas out the front door for the boxer to eat. He eventually wandered away, and Animal Control showed up on my front porch with a leash 10 minutes later.

POSSUMS

So, my house has been in more disarray than the usual toddler-filled home because we're busy packing. Yesterday, I filled a trashbag with everything left over from packing up the bonus room, and went out back to throw the bag into our garbage can. As I released the bag, I thought I spotted fur in the bottom of the garbage can. So, I decided to take a closer look. I walked over to the garbage can, looked in, screamed, then soiled myself, because I had come face to face with the beady eyes and open mouth of an enormous, angry looking possum. I ran into the house, locked the deadbolt (just in case the possum knew how to work a doorknob), and told a wide-eyed Bean, "It's okay. An animal just surprised Mommy, that's all."

After changing my clothes (refer to the aforementioned soiling of myself), I called up Animal Control. The conversation went like this:

"Animal Control. How can we help you?"

"There's a possum in my trash can."

"So, tip the trash can over," said the Animal Control agent in a voice that suggested that I am a moron.

"Are you kidding me? What if it attacks me?!"

Pause. "Ma'am, it's not going to attack you."

"Seriously, it is looking pretty fierce."

"That's because it is scared and trapped. Just tip the trash can over, walk away, and it will leave." Again, spoken like I am a moron.

"Okay, thanks," I said, and hung up.

Now, there was NO WAY ON GOD'S GREEN EARTH that I was going to go near that trash can, so I leaned out of my back door with a broom, and tried to push the can over. The possum's weight, however, made this trickier than I thought it would be. It was like trying to overturn a Weeble Wobble, and hissing noises kept coming from the can every time it almost fell, and then rocked back into an upright position. This of course, had me screaming again. When the can finally DID fall on it's side, I panicked, picturing a foamy-mouthed possum flying toward me like a missile. So, I tried to quickly pull the broom inside the house so I could shut and deadbolt the door again. But, the panic made it impossible for me to pull the broomstick through the railing of our deck. I finally left the broom out there and slammed the door shut.

Would you know that the stupid possum did not leave that trash can until Big Daddy came home at 7:30 p.m., picked up the trash can, and shook the possum out while I watched from the window (screaming, of course).

Needless to say, I will no longer be taking our garbage out. That is now solely Burnie's job.

PACKING

We'll be moving in two weeks. So, the mad packing has begun. Of course, after 17 boxes, the house barely has a dent in it. How did we accumulate so much in just four years living here?

Maybe when we move, we'll find that remote that disappeared sometime after Bean was born ...

BALANCE

There are some days when I feel like all my children do is fight with each other and with me, disobey, throw tantrums, etc. I feel like I don't even see them because they spend so much time in Time Out. I am tempted to think, "This is not what I signed up for when we decided to have kids. Kids are supposed to be fun and enjoyable, and siblings are supposed to play nicely together and, therefore, make my job easier."

Motherhood is tougher than I thought it would be. But, the rewards are amazing. I think about those little kisses on my cheek, my oldest lisping that she loves me, my little one running into a room just to give me a hug and then racing back to her play. I look at all the potential packed into those little bundles of energy - all the compassion and humor and imagination and intelligence.

I may not get out much, and I may have an elevated stress level most of the time, but I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world!!!