The day I turned 16, I couldn’t wait to drive.
The day I turned 16, my parents couldn’t wait for me to get a job.
I actually didn’t mind working. I loved the feel of a well-deserved paycheck in my movie theater popcorned hands, and I was proud to have helped plan someone’s graduation celebration when I worked in a party store. The local swimming pool, a bakery, my college campus art department with the biggest douchehead to date–these are just a few more of the places I’ve left a paper trail. When I earned my degree and began my career in education, I thought my days of menial jobs were gone.
And then I had kids.
Despite intermittent glances over my shoulder, afraid someone is going to figure out that I’m making stuff up as I go, I’m not too shabby of a parent. I’ll willingly become a human tissue if necessary, and I cater to most breakfast requests with a smile. Lately, I’ve been thinking about all of the newly honed skills I might add to my résumé…
Wiping things. Clorox wipe, wash cloth, or toilet paper–I’ve got this. Swiping the crumbs into my hand as to avoid a messy floor–I’m amazing. Having a toddler bend down and touch his toes to avoid subsequent skid marks in his Mickey Mouse underwear–I rule.
Scraping things. You’ve got anonymous goop stuck on your counter; I’ve got the thumb nail that will get it off.
Playdoh molding. Just name your color and stand back. A snowman? A pancake? A pair of glasses for our nearsighted teddy bear? I can do all that and more.
Finding socks. Not only are my super sleuthing skills helpful, but they’re also entertaining. Just the other day, I invented a new drinking game called There’s Another Sock. When you find a sock with no match, you do a shot. If you find the sock’s match, you do two shots. I’m bringing Happy Hour back.
Tea party extraordinaire. Our motto: Pinkies up or get out.
Diapering a squirmy child and/or a covering a baby boy’s peeper whilst diapering. If it moves, I can diaper it. I’m impressive like that.
Half listening. I’m sorry, did you say something? If you did, that’s why I’m smiling and nodding. If you didn’t, interpret my smile and nod as appreciation for your general presence. You’re welcome.
Multi-tasking. I’ve just sat down to eat a meal, and that means you’re about to see me at my best: Milk refills right this second? Absolutely. More ketchup? Of course! The phone rings, doorbell buzzes, dog vomits, and I started my period? Fantastic!
Boo-boo healer. I really excel in this role because I’m willing to go the extra mile to ease physical and mental excruciation. The ultimate goal is to defer all attention from the injured, embarrassed party, and focus on the parent as quickly as humanly possible. To achieve this, said parent must quack like a duck, dance like a ballerina, or sing The Wheels on the Bus at volume 60. A fancy Band-Aid on both knees, regardless of where the injury is located, also helps.
I’m sure there are more, but you know how fast these 15 minutes sneak up on me. Damn you, BlogHer Month of Risk!!