Doctor, Doctor

I am, once again, sick as a dog. One who's been scooped after.

I made it three weeks this time before the sniffles, aches and "Dear God, please, just shoot me" started. I guess that means it's getting better. It's nothing compared to the pneumonia of Christmas time.

I work hard for my money. Daycare is not an easy job, no matter how much you love kids or how good you might be with them. There are three teachers in our room of 3 1/2 - 4/12 year olds. We are also a learning based classroom, so we not only have to follow all the legal mandates of whatever it is the government wants us to have going on in the classroom, but we also have to follow center policy on the educational portion of our programs. Normally, the educational part is the easiest.

Every morning, I go to a classroom that quickly fills up with anywhere from 16 to 23 children...the kind who's jobs at that age is to truly push the envelope. (You know, in preparation for teenager-dom). I play, teach manners, give cuddles and booboo kisses (I'm not sure if I'm LEGALLY supposed to give booboo kisses, but they're kids fer cryin' out loud!), ride shotgun on the hitters, kickers and tattletailers, feed breakfast, lunch and snacks, clean up breakfast, lunch and snacks, make sure toilets are flushed, hands are actually washed with soap, and most of the bodily fluids made it into the toilet. I help little hands use scissors, recite their alphabet, listen to stories and learn about the weather. I have cleaned up bowel movements, wet pants, puke and sometimes all three at the same time, all while watching the other sixteen because it's nap time and only one of us is on duty at that point.

I make under nine dollars an hour and I think that's a travesty. If it weren't for the fact that I truly like my job and the people I work with, and can see my son at any moment of his day (while only paying 50% for daycare), I could make more stocking shelves on the night shift at Wal Mart.

What I do is one of the more important jobs. Just like school teachers. In some ways, even more important because I'm potty training and teaching ethics. Hopefully the right ones. I even like the higher ups at my center. What I don't like is being told that the center won't pay for a desk lamp (to do our work while the children take naps) or glue (the teachers usually bring that in) or a desk calendar (well, the only one at Wal-Mart was $10 and that's our entire month's budget per classroom for art and other supplies). Healthcare isn't offered to full time employees and yet it is part of the job, especially in the first year, to be sick all the time. (Actually, it's INDIRECT health care - which means you pay for your own and it's really expensive) We've been told that we're to limit the children to one paper towel per hand wash (what?!?). Most of all, our cook is leaving because of her husband's amazing job transfer and they refuse to pay her for her unused vacation. They also refuse to allow her to take it during her last three weeks or, if she does, she won't get paid for it. That might be legal, but that don't make it ethical.

I don't know where I was going with all that. This job suits me for now while I begin classes for something a little more flexible and lucrative. It will take me about a year and a half, maybe two, to receive training for my new career. By that time Walker will be in Pre-School. Oy! Time goes so fast. In the meantime, I get paid very little to raise other's children while I pay someone else to raise mine. And, most of all, I am sick and tired of being sick.

I still don't know where I'm going with this. I think where I SHOULD be going is to take some NyQuil, head downstairs to bed, curl up with my new vampire novel and wait for the drugs to kick in. By Monday, I'll be all gung ho again.

Oh yeah, and for those who keep asking if there's a foot of snow here: there's been no snow for quite some time. Minnesotans are starting to complain about it. There's a plethora of people here who actually like and WANT the snow. (And not just snowplow drivers, either) But if it makes you feel better, it's ten degrees outside and Illinois (two states over) is having an ice storm.

Honestly, where was I going with this...

Three Dog Night

It has been over a year and a half since my husband and I have lived in the same state, much less the same house. To say that we are going through a period of adjustment is probably a bit of an understatement.

To say that our 90 pound Golden Retriever, Gimli, is going through a period of adjustment is almost insulting to his dignity.

Gimli is, for the most part, an Island dog. Raised on the beaches and trails of Block Island he is not, by any stretch of the imagination, a city dog. Gimli considers himself to be a 'work dog'. I use that term loosely. He loves to go to work with my carpenter husband, where he sits in or under the Jeep (depending on time of year and degrees per square inch of fluffy Golden hair) for up to ten or twelve hours at a time, rarely moving, usually sleeping and always happy to be outdoors. He's not even an old dog. Just a Golden.

Here, he is happy to be with his family. He really is. We have not seen each other for some time and I am more than happy to take him for walks around the neighborhood and let him crowd me out of my side of the bed. It's not like I haven't had practice with that. Although I must admit that taking an adventurous and athletic (by breed, not necessarily by personality) dog for walks on the beach and down the trails where one meets other socialized dogs and their happy-to-be-there owners is quite a bit different than having to take your dog on two walks a day, rain or snow, sleet or sunshine, soon to be below zero temps (for all those people who ask "Do you know how cold it is in Minnesota?" I have to reply "Um, not very. Do YOU?"), crossing the street when other dogs and their owners approach, plastic bag in hand.

Speaking of which, I may have mentioned before - like a year ago - that I take a certain amount of pride in responsible pet ownership. Folks, I pick up after my dog. Every damn time. I have emergency plastic bags in my car, my purse, my inner coat pockets. I clean up outside my fourplex and anywhere else the dog may choose to go. Obviously there are dog owners who do NOT take pride in their pet ownership.

I don't get it. There is no pride in getting away with leaving a deposit of steaming dog crap in somebody else's yard. Are there people so dense that they didn't realize their dogs shit? Whenever and wherever they have to? I have watched and taken mental note of the regular offenders around here. The ones that always walk at 7:15 in the morning and again well after dark (hey, at least they walk 'em, right?), never with that plastic bag hanging from their hands. Always at times they think nobody can see them. I wonder if these people have ever realized that they're expending two or three times the energy in avoiding cleaning up after their dogs than they would just by scooping the poop.

You know, I bet if I followed these people for a day or two (not that I would - I don't have the energy to be a stalker) I would find out that these are the same losers who LEAVE THEIR SHOPPING CARTS IN THE PARKING SPACES!!!!!

Anyway, I love having my dog here....