Letting go of Little Baby Girl

What began in September 2010 ended today – March 31, 2011. After giving my bosses my two week notice, I completed my last night on the job last night – er, this morning. Whatever.

My bosses, a Mom and Dad, hired me to watch their newborn two nights a week. The purpose was to help with the night-time feedings, as well as getting baby ready to face the day in the morning. The job also included household chores such as changing diaper pails, helping with laundry and feeding their cats. Continue reading “Letting go of Little Baby Girl”

Addictions. One year later.

Addictions come in all kinds of flavors. That was the title of a post I wrote a year ago today – March 30, 2010. As my 40-day journey without Facebook and Twitter continues, (I’ve reached the halfway point) I am no longer able to deny the fact that I was (ahem, am) addicted to those social media outlets. Conversations of rationalizations continue to pop up in my head, “You could just log on for a second. See if anyone has sent you an important message. You don’t want to appear rude by not responding, do you?”

Nonsense. Continue reading “Addictions. One year later.”

Yes, this is egg on my face.

You might be one of them, standing by the entry way to the grocery store with your youngin’ in tow, waiting for people to walk by you, hoping to make eye contact with the individual and ask the question, “Would you like to buy a box of Girl Scout Cookies?” Or maybe, you are the one that drives your son around the neighborhood, stopping at every house and walking with him to the door, as he does his best to sell popcorn for his Cub Scout troop.

I was never going to be that parent. Nope. If my kid was asked to raise money or sell something, I told myself I would make him do the work on his own. He needed to find out – through hard work and pavement pounding – what was involved in raising money, whether the money came from selling something or taking part in a sporting event. No Siree! I was not going to do my son’s work for him. It was his job. Not mine. Continue reading “Yes, this is egg on my face.”