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Change. I've learned to embrace it, ride it out til the end. Sometimes I'm kicking and screaming, other times weeping with my eyes clinched tight. Once in awhile I ride like a dog in a car, head out the window snorting what life has to offer. Mother to young adult children, a marriage of thirty years, and a desert to mountain to valley waltz with God have shaped me into someone I never imagined I'd be. Life is short and I want to live it. Tears, sighs, laughter and change. Every morsel granted to me. Scrambled, shaken or stirred.

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

Scribbles and Scrambles - On the Job Dangers

My daughter’s a nanny.

I used to take care of little children a long time ago.

It’s exhausting.

I referred to my most overwhelming day of the week, a handful of five-year-old boys and a two-year-old girl, as Black Thursday.

All day long, everyday, she has three under the age of two-and-a-half.

The youngest, a seven-month-old boy is now crawling several miles a day, usually he’s chasing her. He’s begun growling. She’s not sure why.

Phone calls are always interesting. Sometimes Elmo sings in the background. The A-B-C song is a reoccurring classic. Other times the pitter-patter of little feet and chitter-chatter of sweet little voices fills the earpiece like Muzak in an elevator.

Silence means its nap-time.

One day I had to lay the phone down, and when I picked it up, she didn’t know I’d come back.

She was in the middle of a serious conversation with the youngest, then five-months-old. “Listen, the girls and I took a vote. It’s unanimous. You need to get a new hobby. If not, we’re voting you off the island.”

Apparently, before he could crawl and cling, he was very vocal about not being held constantly.

I just received an e-mail from her. She closed it “the little bald tribal leader’s banging on a toy and chanting! So I should go!"

She probably should have voted him off the island before he learned to growl.