SAA Ep. #41: Not Remembering Having Met People

I took the girls I watch to the pool today.  Since I had cleverly packed a bag full of my swimming stuff and cleverly forgotten it and left it on my bed in my apartment, I was not able to go swimming with them.  So I sat nicely shaded at one of those awesome tables with a huge umbrella and still somehow managed to get a sunburn.

I'd been there about twenty minutes when one of the moms from the neighborhood came up and started talking to me as if she'd known me my entire life.  "I saw you over here and wanted to come see how you were doing."

Now, usually I'm terrible with names, but good with faces.  I've gone to the same church for five and a half years.  I've sung in the choir for about four of those years.  There are still names of people in the choir that I just don't know.  There are many more people in the church whose names I just don't know.  But I know their faces.  If I've met someone even once, I usually at least remember the person's face.  This person?  Well, I had no idea who she was.  I mean, she WAS wearing sunglasses, so I guess that might have thrown me a little.  As she started talking, I just figured that she was someone I'd met once or twice and maybe shared a "gee aren't these kids so cute" moment.

But then this lady asked me a question that led me to believe that we've had more than just a superficial conversation.  As I was trying to figure out who she was, she asked me, "So how is your book going?"

I looked down at my hands, at the book that I was reading, wondering if she were possibly talking about that.  But no.  She had that annoying look that accompanies every person who asks that dreaded question, "How is your book going?"

I kind of made one of those "so-so" hand gestures and managed a weak smile.  She said something else before departing.  I can't remember what it was.  I was too busy trying to figure out when I'd had a conversation with her about the fact that I write books.  I mean, I just don't go up to strangers and say, "Hi!  My name is Ruth!  I write books!  I like Dragons!  My second favorite color is maroon!  I'm obsessed with Rich Mullins!  My sister once got bitten by a muskrat!  Be my best friend EVER!"  Maybe if I did, I'd have more friends, but somehow I doubt it.  There is a reason someone like me was born inside a shell.  The figurative kind--not the candy coated kind.  I think being an M&M would be slightly problematic for me.  I am reminded of Spaceballs when "Pizza the Hutt" ate himself to death.  If I were an M&M, my fate would be similar.

AND...back to my story.

The only thing I can figure is that either I was completely out of it when I did meet and speak with this person, or I really have only had surface level conversations with her and other people have been talking to her about me behind my back.  I don't really like to think about people talking about me because 1) my writing and I aren't cool enough to be the subject of almost total strangers' conversations and 2) that kind of thinking makes me seem paranoid--and I'm finally just now starting to get used to the idea that "THEY" probably aren't all out to get me.

But then there was this one time in college where I walked into the office of my new advisor, an English professor.  I never had the privilege of taking this lady's class, and I'd never spoken to her before.  But I sat down at her desk and the first words out of her mouth were, "So I hear you're a wonderful writer."  Apparently the English department HAD been talking about me.  And "THEY" might have even been out to get me. 

So I'm really not sure what happened, but apparently I meet people and then forget about it later.  Maybe I have amnesia.  Maybe "THEY" came and got me and erased my memory of having met this person.  How many other people have "THEY" made me forget?  What other things have "THEY" done to me?

I'mma go hide in my room now...

...and put tin foil on my head...

...just for good measure...

SAA Ep. # 29: Adventures in...Child Care Professionaling?

Before I go any further, let's get one thing straight.  I am NOT a babysitter.  I am a child care provider.  A child care professional, if you will.  What does that mean? 

It means I'm a glorified babysitter.

If you had told me eleven years ago that I would be working in childcare for a living, I would have laughed and laughed at you.  It wasn't that I hated kids, but I wasn't aware that I liked them very much.  I only realized I liked them due to a coincidence.  ...if you believe in coincidences, which I don't.

I spent five summers of my life working at Ridgecrest Baptist Conference Center.  I knew about this place because my dad worked there way back in the 60's, and my sister worked there one summer in the late 90's.  I had never had a job before (and I was 20 years old...pathetic?  Yes.), so I figured I'd give it a shot.  The first summer, they stuck me in the laundry department.  So I folded towels and sheets for an entire summer, and for some odd reason, I liked it.  So when the next summer rolled around, I decided to go back and I requested the laundry department again.

Imagine my surprise when I got a phone call from a friendly volunteer lady asking me what size t-shirt I would need for the preschool department.  I was like, "Um, I didn't know I was going to be in the preschool department.  I don't really like kids.  Can I be in laundry again?"  But she was just a friendly volunteer lady who didn't know anything about it, so I figured I'd just suck it up for a summer and work with kids.

But that summer, to my amazement, I found out I really liked kids.  I found out that they were pretty much awesome.  And I went back to that summer preschool program three times after that. 

If you count those summers and all the odd childcare jobs I've had, including the almost five years of being a nanny (for three different families) and the over five year gig at the drop-in childcare center, I've been a child care professional for about a decade.

Wow.

And now that I think about it, a person of my particular talents is probably pretty well equipped to be a childcare professional.  I can sing like Mary Poppins and/or Maria from the Sound of Music (I can't magically jump into chalk sidewalk pictures or make playclothes out of curtains, but nobody's perfect...except for Mary Poppins).  I can accurately mimic the sounds of a chicken, a cat, a dog, a frog, a duck, an elephant, a horse, AND a velociraptor (my version of Old McDonald is the stuff of legend).   I can make practically anything out of fuse beads.  Oh, and I'm BFFs with Santa Claus AND the Easter Bunny, which isn't a talent, per se, but it's still pretty cool to a five year old.

But over the years, I've learned some things.  I've learned that kids are full more bodily fluids than I even knew existed, and I've learned that I actually DO have the ability to hold back my gag reflex long enough to clean them up (most of the time).  I've learned that "Tom and Jerry" has magical powers to keep kids of all ages entertained for more than ten minutes.  I've learned that the pizza man being late with his delivery IS a life or death situation.  I've learned that kids say the most hilarious things ever.  I've learned that strong-willed children are often my favorites (yes, I have favorites)...probably because I'm strong-willed, too.

There have been scary things to happen to me in childcare.  Like the time I went to the bathroom and heard the girls I watch say, "What will happen if we throw it down the stairs?"  I'm stuck on the potty (yes, I call it a potty), unable to move, wondering what they're trying to throw down the stairs.  Their mother's vase?  The television set?  The betta fish?  Their little sister?  Turns out, it was just a hacky sack...but I had a mini panic attack before I was able to figure that out.

Let me be honest, here.  I work three (or four, if you count MOPS...or five if you count the random babysitting jobs I sometimes do) jobs in the childcare field.  That gets stressful.  That gets tiring.  Sometimes, it just gets downright old.

But despite all the stress and frustration that comes with taking care of kids, I really am grateful to have so many wonderful kids (and parents) in my life.  The kids at the preschool where I teach (and by teach, I have to admit that my skills are limited to shapes, numbers, colors, animal noises, and "It isn't nice to sit on your friends") just had a music/arts program this past week.  After my class did their portion of the program (they're all 2 or younger, so they basically just stood on stage while I prayed they wouldn't cry...or fall off the stage), I just went into the audience and watched the other kids sing and dance.  I was suddenly just overwhelmed with the knowledge that God's given me the opportunity to love so many kids.

Yes, I would like to eventually be able to support myself just with my writing.  I'd love to be able to call myself a full-time author.  Right now, though, I'm very much enjoying my life with all these fantastic kids.  I get to help shape these little lives, and that's a huge responsibility.  It's also a great joy.

If I ever do get to the point where I can quit my jobs and just write for a living, I have a feeling I'll miss working with kids.  But for now, I'm just loving my life and being VERY grateful for "Tom and Jerry."