jennethink

THE GREASTEST OF ALL TIIIIIIME

Is there any thing that you could be best in the world at?  How about writing sentences that end in prepositions?  I think I could kill at that. 

During the Olympics I asked what you could Gold in.  But I'm not talking sports ... not necessarily.  I'm talking anything.  We spend so much time thinking about what we don't do well and what we need to improve but is there a skill you have that you could reasonably be considered The Best?  Or is there a skill you could develop and be The Best In The World?

Steakbellie likes to eat.  I mean he REALLY likes to eat.  The Husband and I have talked about it and I've often wondered if it is because he has the chance to be The Best at it.  I mean with some work (and a lot of oatmeal) he could Win a competition designed to determine who really is the best.  That's exciting.  And really, after you've passed your 20s, there isn't much out there that you could excel at is there?

Here are some things I've thought about for myself:

-Listening.  I think I could at least be World Class if not Best In the World.

-Step-Momming.  I'm good at that. From all angles.  I think I could win in a competition.  I know I could easily get to the finals.  The interview process would be a snap and the fact that I know my kid's mom's ovulatory cycles would be a real bonus I think.

-Thinking.  I'm not exactly sure how you would measure this one but I'm a phenomenal thinker.  That's not to say that I'm phenomenally smart or that I come up with phenomenal input after I've been thinking but I really like to think.  I like to ponder.  I like to contemplate.  I don't think we do enough thinking in our world today.  Success is measured on activity and sometimes noise.  Doers are rewarded - at least in the short term.  Thinkers on the other hand ... well, let's put it this way:  If you walked down the hall at work today and passed a direct report of yours sitting in his or her office with his or her hands folder and staring up at the corner of the ceiling and you said "What are you doing?" and he or she said "I'm thinking."  What would your initial response be?

-Explaining.  I'm good at explaining.  But I'm not sure I could be the best. 

In high school I was voted best dancer but I think I topped out on that one early.  I was also voted funniest which I always have cherished.  I like being funny.  But I don't think I could win a funny contest.  I'm rarely funny on purpose.  And I have to be careful with my funny - I can get sarcastic and mean just like that.

I'm sure there must be some skill I could hone and develop.  Like tree planting, blacksmithing or whisking but I really can't think of one that appeals to me.  So there are my three Listening, Step-momming and Thinking.  That's not bad.

FRAYED KNOT

I have this dog, Ginger … sometimes called The Orange Dog, sometimes called GiGi, sometimes called Dumb Stupid Dog depending on my mood.  She’s lived in this house for well over 2 years.  She’s here all day.  She stays in when we go out and basically has the run of the place with The Yellow Dog all day long.

She sleeps a lot during the day but is up and about the normal dog amount, I suppose.  She trots around in the evenings when we are eating dinner and does her fair share of giving us the “oh pleeeeeeeease won’t you drop that chicken sandwich into my mouth?” eyes.  When the mailman comes in the afternoon she turns into a rabid cougar and tries to eat her way through the front door.  She finds her way up onto the couch when we aren’t here and is smart enough to jump down when the car pulls up out front.  She greets us at the door with a “wha? I wasn’t doin nuttin” look on her face and then immediately runs to the back door to remind us that she needs to go outside and do her business – which I wish I could say is accounting or tax preparation but which is actually dropping little turds in the yard and covering them up like a cat.

Friends come over and tell me how loving she is and my mom wouldn’t shut up about what a sweet face Ginger has.  On the occasions that Ginger has gone to doggie day care, the caretakers always greet her warmly “GINGER!!!” they chorus when she trots in and then they get down on their knees and rub her scruff and she cozies up to them like they are made of ham.  They call her things like “sweetheart” and “lovey dovey” and “darlingsweetbabyboo.”  And I guess I can’t blame them, I mean there are a lot of things to like about Ginger.

Ginger brings out the worst in me.  And it isn’t because she eats baby bunnies (which she does) or because she’s chewed through the back fence like a starving beaver (which she has) or even that she’s a little standoffish with me and occasionally looks at me like I’m too trivial to be trifled with and would I please put that dog biscuit away and stop with the sing songy doggie voice because I’m embarrassing myself (which she does.  Often.)  The thing that really gets me – the thing that sticks in my crack – the thing that makes me want to beat her with a sock full of nickels is that she’s scared of the vents.

You know those air return vents in your house?  The ones that are in the floor and they blow air occasionally?  What? You’ve never really paid attention to them?  Well neither had I… that is until Fraidy Dog came to stay. She can’t walk by one without staring at it like it is going to jump out and eat her.  Whole.  I will often find her standing in the doorway of the kitchen staring off to the side with her head cocked at the vent.  She’s simultaneously cringing and sometimes even shivers.  Ooooooooh the veeeeent ….. if she could, I’m sure she’d chew her nails while she stared at it or smoke.  It’s that upsetting to her.  As I type this right now she is staring staring staring at the floor vent.  She’s been doing so for about 10 minutes.  Every so often she will whine.  Real low and soft.  I can tell she wants to go into the kitchen to get a bite to eat but she just can’t bring herself to do it – she just can’t get past the vent. And if history is correct in predicting future behavior, I’ll be able to ignore it for about 5 more minutes then I’ll shout “IT’S A VENT!  IT’S ONLY A VENT!  GET OVER IT!  GA!”  And then she’ll throw me one of those looks.  Like I’m the crazy one.

Here’s the thing I don’t understand.  Why does this bother me so much?  I don’t find it cute.  I don’t find it curious.  I find it damn annoying.  Why should I be so put off by it

I have a number of friends who have a number of fears.  I have one friend who is afraid of flying.  I have another who is afraid of being homeless and another who is afraid of driving at night.  These are all very real fears to them.  In each case, my friend can cite all kinds of examples and statistics and reasons that support their fear.  “Planes crash!”  “People cannot survive at a minimum wage job!”  “More accidents happen at night than any other time”.  And most of the time, I’m sympathetic.  Most of the time I listen and acknowledge their fears.  Most of the time I say all the right things in all the right ways.  But occasionally, with each one of them I want to say “IT’S A VENT! GET OVER IT” . And I just realized that what bugs me about their fears, and what bugs me about Ginger is not the fear itself.  It is that the fear is controlling them. 

Each of those friends reads this blog and each one of them at this point is going to say in their heads “NO it doesn’t!” and then will come up with all the support for why it doesn’t control them.  They will say they still drive at night and still fly and still give away money and that I’m wrong the fear does not control them.  But it does.  Just like Ginger.  I mean ultimately, Ginger will move past the vent.  I’ve seen her do it a hundred times.  Eventually, she will gather up enough courage to run by the vent and go to the food.  At some point, the hunger will outweigh the ventophobia.  But think of how much time and energy she wasted.  In the end, the fear did nothing for her except keep her busy for 30 minutes or so.  Being afraid of the vent changed NOTHING about the vent.  It only negatively impacted her.

I’m going to get reamed for this one.

LORD! CELERY!

"I feel like I'm always becoming and never really am."

Janet says this can be good.  Or it can be really awful.  I have lots of thought about this but I'm too tired and rung out to type them in right now.  I was up before God this morning and on a plane while He was eating breakfast.  I've been running around all day and trying to manage all the little and big things that don't ultimately matter and somehow keep finding their way onto my to-do list.

There is a constant hum in my head - less like a rattle and more like a computer hard-drive that is just getting ready to dump all the priceless photos you haven't saved to Snapfish.  I'm sitting now in a dark room at the top of my yellow house trying to sort out what I'll wear in the morning and just how long I can sleep before I have to get up, take the car to the shop, meet clients for breakfast, council a leader on impending change, teach a class about emotional intelligence, meet with a client about training needs and take my mom to physical therapy.  Not long I'm guessing.  Not long at all.

LEMON AID

I was just sitting outside in the Florida sun.  I'm allergic to the sun so I can't stay out long but it is nice for a few minutes a day while I'm down here nursing my mother back to health to get out and see what the hub-bub is about.

My mom has a lemon tree.  I know it is a lemon tree because a few months ago it had big giant lemons on it.  Huge lemons.  Lemons the size of nerfballs.  These were big lemons.  I was sitting beside the tree a few minutes ago and I noticed it now has little green fruits on it.  The fruits are about the size of an egg.  Maybe a little bigger.  The look exactly like limes.

For one second I had the crazy thought that maybe this was a shape-shifter tree.  Something produced by Sprite, half lemon / half lime.  I actually wondered if a tree could do that.  Can it produce lemons one month and then a few months later produce limes? 

Of course it can't, and obviously it was time for me to get in out of the sun.  Because we all know that lemon trees produce lemons.  And we can surmise that those green fruits hanging from the tree now aren't limes, they are baby lemons.  That makes much more sense.  Of course, lemons don't just appear one day - full and yellow and juicy - they grow.  They mature.  They become lemons.

Today, if I were to pick of few of those baby green fruits and tried to make lemonetteade, I'm sure I wouldn't be too impressed.  I'm sure if I sliced a few slices and garnished a pink salmon steak with them and asked "what do you think of the lemon?" anyone would probably say "Not too terrific."  or, more likely "that was lemon?"  The lemons would not fare too well.   That's because it would be wrong for me to judge the lemons in the state they are today.  They ARE lemons but they aren't through becoming lemons.  And for me to make a statement and a decision about the worth of lemons based on this stage in their development would be foolish. And unfair.

And yet.  I see that happen with people all the time.  Most of us are not in our full lemon state.  Most of us are still becoming what we are meant to be and what we want to be.  And yet, we judge each other based on where we are now. 

I want to be loving.

I want to be emotionally mature.

I want to be patient.

But I am not there yet. Just like the lemons hanging off that tree today,  I am growing toward something.  I am becoming all these things.  And I know it.  I see it in myself and because of that, I'm very willing to be patient with the process.  In me, that it.  I'm less willing to be patient with others who are in process.

After today I'm going to try to see this more.  I'm going to remember those little lemons - that at first glance appear to be nothing at all like lemons - when I see behavior in others that at first glance appears to be nothing at all like the person I think they should be.  I'm going to not judge people for what they are but instead I'm going to try to see what they can become.

Becoming is a wonderful process.

A SHOUT OUT TO ALL THE STEP-MOMS

Yesterday was Mother's Day.  If you are a step-mom you undoubtedly felt somewhat strange yesterday.  You felt misplaced.  You felt taken for granted maybe a little and misunderstood maybe a lot.  You were grateful you didn't have to wear or hold a pink carnation - sure, but that hardly seemed to make up for the rest of it.  You felt a bit like a dump truck at a black-tie ball  -- you know you have been useful and appreciated in the past but you just didn't seem to fit in at the current event.  And let's be honest, you sort of stuck out. 

Or maybe you didn't feel any of those things.  Maybe you felt wonderfully loved and honored.  Maybe you felt needed and cherished.  Maybe you didn't feel one bit of awkward at brunch and not one bit of clumsy opening your knock-off hallmark.  Maybe all you thought about is how grateful you are to be a part - any part - of this darling child's life.  And if that's what you felt, go screw off.

Did that sound mean?

What I'm saying is this:  It's not always easy being a step-mom.  There, it's out.  I've said it.  We don't always find our kids cute and cuddly.  Their antics don't always make us laugh.  And sometimes, when they sleep, we don't see angels.  We see drool.  It's true.  God help me, it's true.

Now I'm not saying we don't love our step-kids.  I'm not saying we don't get warm and fuzzy sometimes and I'm not saying we don't beam a little when someone compliments the fruit of someone else's loins that we are properly supervising - we do.  Sometimes.  We do!

And most of the time, we find a way to balance it.  Most of the time we juggle all the aspects of this strange situation brilliantly and keep the emotional-connection ball far away from wipe-the-boogers-without-flinching ball and never let the resentment ball enter the mix.  But on Mother's Day ... on Mother's Day, it is hopeless.  They all somehow collide.

Yesterday, The Kid called.  We talked for 55 minutes.  I know it was 55 minutes because every 4 minutes The Kid would say "HOW LONG HAVE WE BEEN TALKING ALREADY?!"  We talked about flowers and ducks and our dogs and her room (and her mom and when her mom hurt her ankle and what her mom had for breakfast and how long her mom takes in the shower.)  We talked about school and the teacher (and what her mom says about the teacher and what color flowers her mom picked out and how clean her mom's room was.)  We talked about a pair of shoes she's saving for (and what her mom told her about the shoes and that her mom pushed her bed to the center of the room so her mom could paint and why her mom picked out green and all.) we talked and talked.  Do you see what I mean?

Maybe that doesn't explain it.

This morning I woke up to an email from a friend who is also a step-mother.  She explained how she was feeling yesterday, what was hard for her and what wasn't.  She tried to put words to this strange feeling she was carrying around.  This feeling of having a child but not being "Mom."

My cousin is a step-mom.  I sent her an email this morning wishing her a belated happy mother's day.  In addition to sharing her own struggles, she told me about her co-worker who is a a step-mom to 2 20-something boys who she has step-mommed since they were 6 and 8. She agreed it is a weird day for step-moms. She said she doesn't like to go to church on Mother's Day b/c when they ask the mothers to stand up she doesn't know what to do and it's not worth the stress.

Man do I understand that perspective.

I have another friend who is a step-mom.  We sometimes meet secretly to talk about it.  We talk in hushed tones.  After we've checked each other for hidden wires and DFS bugs, we say "it's hard"  and we admit that we have to choose to love when it is hardest and we both say how our step-children remind us of their mothers.  And then we take a long drink of vodka and nod.  We get it. 

If you are a mom and you are reading this, I know what you are thinking.  You are thinking you feel the same way.  You are thinking it is just as hard for you and you feel taken for granted and taken advantage of and you have to choose to love too.  I can almost hear you.  But just today I want to say this,  piss off.  And I don't mean to sound bitter, I really don't.  And I'm NOT bitter.  But I don't think you understand, not really just like I don't totally understand you.  I didn't push a 6% of my body weight out my hoo-ha and if that isn't enough to make you a saint, I don't know what is but I will never FULLY understand how you feel and what you go through as Mom.  So just today please don't tell me that you know how I feel.  This is the dilemma, the pull, the stress.  We, as step-parents, are given all the responsibility of being parents and few of the benefits - like a special day.  Or the right to be overwhelmed. Then again, we didn't get an episotomy either so maybe it does all equal out. 

I really can't and don't complain.  But it gets heavy sometimes.  It's hard to find sympathy or empathy.  Other mothers don't really understand.  Childless women don't understand.  Step-father's don't even really totally understand because it is easier, in my opinion, to be a man and be authoritarian and not be considered "out of line."  Single men surely don't understand and even dump trucks don't get it.

It's lonely.

But as a sign of encouragement, I'm ending this post with a snippet of an email The Hub sent to our very good step-mom friend and me today:

You’ve taken on the more difficult role (in my opinion) of raising a young girl to become the woman she’s meant to be when, at one time, this person was a complete stranger to you. You were under no obligation other than the love of your man to take this person and make her your own. The magnitude of your heart will never be measured by a card or a bouquet of flowers. You are appreciated, you are loved, you are amazing

The magnitude of your heart will never be measured by a card or a bouquet of flowers.  This is what I need to remember.

Happy Mother's Day, Step-moms.  No flowers, no flowery words.  Just this ... I get it.  Keep up the good work. 

BY REQUEST

A worksheet you can use to identify your values.  Once you've done this, simply put these values in a chart and plop it on your refrigerator.  Tie a string around a pen and tape it next to your chart.  For two weeks rate yourself on how well you lived that value.  1 is "couldn't have done worse", 5 is "couldn't have done better"  see how it goes.

Geoff, Jeff, and others who I've encouraged to do this - weigh in here, would ya?

Download personal_values.doc

TODAY IS LIKE A 8 OR 9

It's late and I need to get to bed.  Okay it's not really late but it is creeping up near midnight (in two hours).  I have an early flight tomorrow and will be leading a team through some strategic planning.  I love strategic planning. 

When I was young, maybe 12 or so, my dad used to leave me at the Rollie The Mechanic's house.  We lived in a small town and everybody knew everybody.  I went to school with Rollie's kids and even though we weren't in the same grade, we knew each other. After all, there we only about 200 of us in the whole school.  It's not hard to keep track.

It wasn't uncommon for us to have car problems.  When we did - we'd jump in the truck and head over to Rollie's.  When we would pull up, I'd jump out and run inside to see if Melanie was home.  Dad would head to the barn to ask Rollie a question.  Some time later, usually around dinner, Rollie would come inside and ask if I was spending the night.  I'd say no, I was leaving with my dad.  He'd say that's funny, he left a couple of hours ago.  Then someone would call someone and pretty soon my dad would turn in the driveway of Rollie's and cart me home. 

This happened more than once.  By the third or fourth time, I said on the way over "Are you going to leave me?" and he laughed.  No, of course not! he said and I jumped out and ran inside.  Later when he got home Mom happened to ask him a question that reminded him that he had a second daughter.  He was heading out the door to come back and pick me up when Rollie and I turned up our lane.  "I'll fix your car," Rollie yelled out the truck window, "but I ain't raising your kid!"

It was a little embarrassing. 

How can you forget me?  I asked over and over again - not without a few tears. "I lost track."  he said with a shrug and followed it with a hug.  I forgave him but I never understood that (and I never went back to Rollie's with him).  How can you lose track of a whole daughter?  It's not like we were a litter of puppies or catholics, after all.  There was only two of us!  How can you lose track when there is only two?

When The Hub and I first got married we used to keep a simple chart hanging on the refrigerator.  The chart had our values on it - those things that we want to stand for, stand up for and can be counted on to defend.  It also had a place where we could rate how well we lived that value each day.  5 meant we couldn't have done better.  1 meant we probably should have stayed in bed.  This is an exercise I've done on and off for many years.  It's amazing the impact simply rating yourself each day can have.  For example, one of my values is encouragement.  If I was rating myself today on how well I lived that value, I'd have to give myself a 2, maybe a 3.  Not that I did anything that actively Discouraged people, but I didn't really spend much of my energy today being an encouragement to others.  Well just saying that and rating myself honestly will put that in the front of my mind tomorrow.  I guarantee it.  And tomorrow night, you can bet I'll be putting a 4 or 5 in that slot.  It is that DAILY awareness and intention that makes a difference.

Anyway - I got sidetracked there - the BIGGEST impact that chart on the fridge had was not having to do with our values.  Although that was really neat to see and talk about.  The best was a single question at the bottom of the chart that said, "What is your contentment level today?"  and each of us would rate our day.  No explanation. No judgment.  Just rated on a scale of 1 - 10 what our contentment level was. 

It did wonders for us.  Somehow just seeing that number every day keyed me in on how my husband was doing.  Sometimes (if the day rated at a 6 or so) I would bring it up directly.  Most times, I just adjusted.  Here's the thing, more often than not, I was surprised by his number.  I would check it before I went to bed and I'd see he'd put an 7 there or maybe a 6 and here I thought he was having a 9 or 10 day.  Or sometimes I'd think, based on little cues I thought I was picking up, I'd see a 4 or 5 and low and behold, there would be a big fat 8 on that chart. 

It wasn't like we didn't see each other all day.  We woke up beside each other.  We had breakfast together.  At that time, we drove to work together, had lunch together, worked out together and drove home together.  There was a lot of together going on and still I'd often be wrong.  Here we were, only two people, living two halves of the same life and just like that, we could lose track of each other.

Turns out it's not so hard after all. 

Sorry, Pops.

A PILE OF STONES USED AS A MONUMENT OR MARKER

I've started three different posts today.  I'm not sure what my issue is but my head is all over the place.  I didn't sleep last night.  I was awake - and I mean wide, deer-in-the-headlights, awake for most of the night.  I was working on an organizational chart for one of my clients, a employee retention plan for another and a really good chocolate chip cookie recipe for myself.  I was on my right side then my left side then my front side and then my backside.  I was up walking around for some of the night and making a shocking amount of trips to the bathroom.  It was just one of those nights.  My grandmother used to call it "The Big Wakes"  and that is exactly what I had.

So, today I'm a bit out of it.  My energy is low.  I'm in a questioning mood.  Every thing seems small.  I was just talking to someone recently - I don't know who and I can't remember when - that said something about being more creative when they are down.  I get that - man, do I get that.  Melancholy is a great Muse.

Years ago when I was in between the realization that my marriage was in a death rattle and that action that it would take to put it out of my misery, I wrote about, oh, a thousand poems.  I wrote and wrote and wrote.  I love those poems.  I used such great words like cacophony and cairn and quagmire.  Who uses quagmire? I wrote about being sick and being redeemed.  I wrote about Dark and Teeth and Claws.  About screams.  About being hunted.  About being chased.  I wrote about the trap and the snare and The Pain.  I wrote about clarity. 

It's days like today, when my energy is low and I'm very small that I want to find those poems.  I want to pull them out and tape them to the walls.  I want to dress all in black and put on dark eyeliner and smoke. I want the sky to open and I want the rain to come down.  I want wind.  I want cold, hard wind. And I want to point to the walls and say "See?  See what I've been thorough?  See how black and dark and folded up I was?"

And in that "was" I find victory. 

COMING SOON TO A SPEAKER'S BUREAU NEAR YOU

Each night The Hub and I call The Kid.  Some nights she engages in a conversation.  Some nights we get the blow off, "Well uh yeah, I gotta go eat some um dinner."  And some nights, like tonight, we get to actually enter her world for 20 or so minutes and get a tiny glimpse into the inner workings of her head. 

I've often said if someone could unhinge my face and flip it open they would see not only the inside of my skull, they would be able to witness a little three-ring circus in progress.  Dancing bears, a guy in a top hat and that little monkey on a chain all busy, all working, all going on at the same time.  It never stops inside of there.  My own private Ringling Bros, however, is nothing compared to what is going on in that seven year old's brain.

Tonight she let us know we would be listening to her speaking to a group - her first group - of a thousand people.  She'd been working, she said, at the office all day preparing the papers and the people were all in their seats and she was going to be teaching them.  We were all being treated to a talk about delegation.  Yes, you read that right.  Delegation.

I have to say I was practically GLOWING with pride at this point.  A couple weeks ago I took her with me on a business trip.  I was speaking to a group of 107 people.  (I know it was 107 people because she counted them and she passed out the papers.)  She was amazing.  Not only was she helpful and well-behaved but she actually participated.  There were a number of times I would tell the group to pair up and share something with the person next to them.  Each time I would look out across that audience and see that Kid turning to the person next to her and sharing.  One of these times I had asked people to share their greatest challenge from childhood.  You can imagine my panic when I saw her turn and begin telling the woman next to her something.  A hundred things ran through my mind and I could hear each of them in her little voice,

"Well, my biggest challenge was dealing with that stinkin' step-mom of mine."

"My biggest challenge?  One time I walked in on Daddy and Jenné taking a shower and they nearly drowned me trying to get me out of the bathroom."

"That woman up there never lets me have candy!"

Later she shared with me her biggest challenge from childhood, "One time I forgot the words to the song I was supposed to sing for kindergarten graduation.  It was when I was a kid.  I just mouthed along.  That was my biggest challenge from my childhood."  I was so relieved I nearly cried.

I spoke two separate times during that trip on two separate topics.  One of the topics was delegation.  So you can imagine how happy I was when she announced tonight that she would be giving a talk about delegation.  I guess for once I could understand how parents feel when their children follow them into their line of work.  It is quite affirming.  It was quite obvious she was imitating me.  Clearly she was being "Little Jenné" as she sometimes calls herself when we are doing business.  The Hub and I exchanged looks.  He raised his eyebrows in a "wow, good for you!" sort of way and I gave a "aw shucks, it's nothin'" sort of look back.  For the first time in my life, I felt like a hero. 

"Is everyone ready?" she said.

"Yes!" said her father and we both smiled. 

"Okay I just need to put on my mic here ..."  I laughed quietly. She'd seen me do that over and over again.  She really was imitating me.  "Okay, here we go .."

Then she started,

"DELEGATION", she was nearly screaming, "DELEGATION IS WHAT WE ARE TALKING ABOUT, HEY ARE YOU LISTENING?" Her entire voice and manner had changed. I hoped to God she was somehow channeling Patton.  "I NEED EVERYONE LISTENING TO ME! YOU GOT IT? LISTEN TO ME! IF YOU WANT TO BE A GOOD PERSON AND HAVE A NICE JOB THEN YOU HAVE TO DO WHAT I SAY.  YOU MAY THINK YOU KNOW WHAT YOU ARE DOING BUT I KNOW WHAT I AM TALKING ABOUT!" 

This is what I sound like?

I nudged The Husband and mouthed "this is what I sound like to her!" and he and I both started doing the silent crack-up.  Neither of us wanted to laugh out loud for fear she'd stop.  She didn't stop.  She continued talking about delegation and relmagation (we still don't know what that is but we were afraid to speak up) for the next 10 minutes.  She went on and on.  And on.  Somewhere in there The Hub whispered, "This is what you sound like? Man, you are boooring!"  I wish I had recorded her.  She went non-stop.  Moving from one topic to another seamlessly.  She was a real pro.  Of course there were times she veered into somewhat frightening territory,

"THINK OF THE BABIES! YOU ARE CAUSING HARM TO THE BABIES! DO YOU WANT TO BE A HARMER? BECAUSE THERE ARE BABIES AND THEY ARE HARMED ALL THE BABIES OF THE WORLD. WE DON'T WANT THAT WE WANT BABIES THAT ARE NOT LIVING IN A HARMING WORLD."

I've got to say, she's got a point.  But I don't recall ever mentioning the babies in my line of work.  Maybe it was implied.  Then she continued,

"YOU NEED TO PAY ATTENTION.  YOU COME HOME FROM WORK, YOU SAY YOU ARE TIRED YOU ARE ALL LAZY FROM WORK.  WHOOOO CAAAAARES!?"

How we kept from exploding, I'll never know. 

Soon after that, her mother interrupted to tell her she had to finish a project and get to bed.  In a instant, her voice was back to sugar and flowers.  "Okay, Daddy, Okay Jenné, I have to go now.  I love you!"

We hung up and laughed for 5 minutes straight.  I'm going to start saving for her therapy now.

WHEN BEING SEVEN JUST GETS TO BE TOO MUCH