I was telling my care group tonight that it's been somewhat of an epiphany to me that
I don't have to enjoy homeschooling. It's my job right now. And I actually have liked it this week.)
Somehow I --and it seems other women I know-- feel they have to like a job to even consider taking it, or they quit as soon as they can if the job isn't something they're fond of. I guess I'd bought the cultural lie that if I don't like it, it's not for me.
Well, guess what? This is really kind of funny to admit. Hello? How many people don't like their job but they stick with it because it pays the bills and feeds the family? And I don't just mean in this bad economy. I have been hearing women and men both complain about their jobs for the past 20 years. Just seems like women talk more about their feelings toward co-workers, whereas men refer to the workload or the pay not suiting them.
I think I'll try to start viewing my job as a homeschooler more like a man would from now on. But I will try not to complain about the load or the pay. They're both pretty light:) As for my co-workers, I love them all! Not that I see them much around here during the school day.
Just let me know if my manly viewpoint ends up with this chick wearing muscle shirts and
a moustache. I tend to take things a bit far.
Showing posts with label job. Show all posts
Showing posts with label job. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
My Parents Trained me in the Way I Should Go
Scripture says, "Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old, he will not depart from it." Many Christians erroneously believe this verse means "Do all the right things as a parent and when your kid grows up, he'll turn out right." What's a parent to do when a kid hits adolescence and his behavior and attitudes seem all wrong? Have Mom and Dad screwed up? Has God made a promise He hasn't kept? It doesn't compute.
But the phrase "the way he should go" means something different. It refers to a person's God-given bent, the way his Creator hard-wired him. It's a bent that shows up in the diaper stage and continues for life. For some the bent is toward analyzing data, experimenting with variables, and logging outcomes. That child is always asking, "What will happen if I do this?" (while jumping off Dad's dresser that he just scaled like Spider-Man). Mom is thinking, "This kid is nuts!" but the kid is trying to figure out how high, how fast, how many times, he can do this and what the outcomes could be. It's a thrill that surpasses the pain of punishment-- which he may or may not have been smart enough to predict. After several trips to the ER, the kid grows up to be an aerospace engineer.
God wired me to teach, and I credit my parents for recognizing, nurturing, and encouraging my bent. Most of the encouragement has come from their modeling. My mom has been a student for as long as I can remember, so books weren't just for us kids. While a pastor's wife, she earned double degrees, one in Political Science and the other in Religious Ed. (Sidebar: she missed her college graduation ceremony because she was recovering from a miscarriage/D&C that caused her to bleed to death on the operating table; she was miraculously revived.)
I grew up watching my mother teach. My earliest memories, of course, are so deep they aren't even observations. They just are. For instance, I didn't watch my mom teach my older sister to read. I don't remember that one day Rachel couldn't read, and the next day she could. I just know that reading was as natural as eating (though a rule in our house was "no books at the table" because it's rude unless you've planned to share it with the rest of the family). Somebody taught her, and that somebody was Mama. My mom taught all four of us girls to read. We had plenty of stories read to us by Daddy, too. (He has the best bedtime story voice; I tease him that I fell asleep during his sermons not because he was boring, but because his voice is so rich and smooth and peaceful.) I also watched my mom teach Backyard Bible Clubs to neighborhood children. Those flannelgraph boards with pictures of Jesus and His miracles made a lifelong impression on me. I grew up believing there's nothing Christ can't do, and subsequently, that I wanted to be a missionary and a teacher so I could manipulate flannelgraphs and flipcharts for a captive young audience.
Mama also taught Women's Aglow Bible studies, English to Chinese students, and taught an illiterate adult man to read so that he could read to his five-year-old daughter. I saw my mom at lecterns, around the kitchen table, and side-by-side students . I saw light in her eyes and heard a lilt in her voice when she taught, when students would have "aha!" moments or exclaim, "I can DO this!"
My dad loves theology, science, antique cars, and genealogy. Einstein is his favorite author. Does that tell you something? Daddy got his Mechanical Engineering degree at KU, met Mama, married her, and moved to Edgewood, MD, to work for the Dept of Defense. He later felt called to ministry, so he and Mama packed up their young family and moved to Missouri where Daddy got his MDiv (Masters of Divinity) at Midwestern Baptist Theological Seminary. Pastoring seemed every whit as woven into his DNA as engineering was.
But what I remember my dad mostly doing was helping me with algebra. I cried and pouted and stomped every single night about how stupid I was. "None of my daughters is stupid," he'd say (For the record, he had no sons.) "Let's work this out together. You'll get it." And painstaking after painstaking problem solving, I did. The man who had tutored the famous basketball player Wilt Chamberlain in college at KU was sitting beside a math idiot named Zoanna. And never once complained. Never once let out a sigh of impatience. My dad made me feel like there was nothing I couldn't accomplish if I broke it down into steps. Baptist yet Methodical, that's my dad.
Idyllic childhood I had, with great parents. Then came the teen years. Did my bent change? No. Did my behavior? Oh, yes. The Bible tells us not to dwell on the former things, the hidden things of darkness, so I won't. Suffice it to say that I went through a time of rejecting the Jesus I had once adored on a flannelgraph. I was double-minded and unstable in all my ways. (Good on the outside, rotten on the inside. Fooled lots of people.) But deep down I had an inescapable desire to help others learn things .
I was young. I am now old (er). So all that training up of me in the way I should go, has borne the lasting fruit of a love to teach. I am happiest when watching people of all ages soak up learning.
When they "get it," I have light in my eyes, I'm sure, because my soul is happy. I have not departed from my God-given bent. There's no possible way. I am just immeasurably thankful to God for my parents who didn't try to make an aerospace engineer out of me.
But the phrase "the way he should go" means something different. It refers to a person's God-given bent, the way his Creator hard-wired him. It's a bent that shows up in the diaper stage and continues for life. For some the bent is toward analyzing data, experimenting with variables, and logging outcomes. That child is always asking, "What will happen if I do this?" (while jumping off Dad's dresser that he just scaled like Spider-Man). Mom is thinking, "This kid is nuts!" but the kid is trying to figure out how high, how fast, how many times, he can do this and what the outcomes could be. It's a thrill that surpasses the pain of punishment-- which he may or may not have been smart enough to predict. After several trips to the ER, the kid grows up to be an aerospace engineer.
God wired me to teach, and I credit my parents for recognizing, nurturing, and encouraging my bent. Most of the encouragement has come from their modeling. My mom has been a student for as long as I can remember, so books weren't just for us kids. While a pastor's wife, she earned double degrees, one in Political Science and the other in Religious Ed. (Sidebar: she missed her college graduation ceremony because she was recovering from a miscarriage/D&C that caused her to bleed to death on the operating table; she was miraculously revived.)
I grew up watching my mother teach. My earliest memories, of course, are so deep they aren't even observations. They just are. For instance, I didn't watch my mom teach my older sister to read. I don't remember that one day Rachel couldn't read, and the next day she could. I just know that reading was as natural as eating (though a rule in our house was "no books at the table" because it's rude unless you've planned to share it with the rest of the family). Somebody taught her, and that somebody was Mama. My mom taught all four of us girls to read. We had plenty of stories read to us by Daddy, too. (He has the best bedtime story voice; I tease him that I fell asleep during his sermons not because he was boring, but because his voice is so rich and smooth and peaceful.) I also watched my mom teach Backyard Bible Clubs to neighborhood children. Those flannelgraph boards with pictures of Jesus and His miracles made a lifelong impression on me. I grew up believing there's nothing Christ can't do, and subsequently, that I wanted to be a missionary and a teacher so I could manipulate flannelgraphs and flipcharts for a captive young audience.
Mama also taught Women's Aglow Bible studies, English to Chinese students, and taught an illiterate adult man to read so that he could read to his five-year-old daughter. I saw my mom at lecterns, around the kitchen table, and side-by-side students . I saw light in her eyes and heard a lilt in her voice when she taught, when students would have "aha!" moments or exclaim, "I can DO this!"
My dad loves theology, science, antique cars, and genealogy. Einstein is his favorite author. Does that tell you something? Daddy got his Mechanical Engineering degree at KU, met Mama, married her, and moved to Edgewood, MD, to work for the Dept of Defense. He later felt called to ministry, so he and Mama packed up their young family and moved to Missouri where Daddy got his MDiv (Masters of Divinity) at Midwestern Baptist Theological Seminary. Pastoring seemed every whit as woven into his DNA as engineering was.
But what I remember my dad mostly doing was helping me with algebra. I cried and pouted and stomped every single night about how stupid I was. "None of my daughters is stupid," he'd say (For the record, he had no sons.) "Let's work this out together. You'll get it." And painstaking after painstaking problem solving, I did. The man who had tutored the famous basketball player Wilt Chamberlain in college at KU was sitting beside a math idiot named Zoanna. And never once complained. Never once let out a sigh of impatience. My dad made me feel like there was nothing I couldn't accomplish if I broke it down into steps. Baptist yet Methodical, that's my dad.
Idyllic childhood I had, with great parents. Then came the teen years. Did my bent change? No. Did my behavior? Oh, yes. The Bible tells us not to dwell on the former things, the hidden things of darkness, so I won't. Suffice it to say that I went through a time of rejecting the Jesus I had once adored on a flannelgraph. I was double-minded and unstable in all my ways. (Good on the outside, rotten on the inside. Fooled lots of people.) But deep down I had an inescapable desire to help others learn things .
I was young. I am now old (er). So all that training up of me in the way I should go, has borne the lasting fruit of a love to teach. I am happiest when watching people of all ages soak up learning.
When they "get it," I have light in my eyes, I'm sure, because my soul is happy. I have not departed from my God-given bent. There's no possible way. I am just immeasurably thankful to God for my parents who didn't try to make an aerospace engineer out of me.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
The Majesty of God in the Sheriff's Department
Today I had to be fingerprinted for my job. I tried two days ago, but the line was too long and I had other things pressing. I didn't know what could take so long. Ink ten fingers one at a time and presto!
It doesn't work like that anymore. Forget the ink. Now the technology is more sophisticated, at least at our local precinct that can afford the $24,000 machine. You stand at arm's length from the scanner, the cop sprays water on your fingers, takes a print, and waits for the machine to tell him if it passed. They need scores of at least 93% to be acceptable. Otherwise they get a reading called "POOR MINUTIA."
The guy explained that since women's hands are softer than men's, they are harder to print. My prints were taking forever to be acceptable. and he explained that mine were the softest hands he had felt in a long time. That made me feel good, but I pitied the other lady waiting for her turn. He also said they're looking for two distinct parts: the swirl in the center of each print, and the deltas (pyramids to the edge of each of swirl).
"Your deltas are way off to the edge of your fingertips," he said, pointing to the sides of my nails.
"Sorry," I said. "Is there anything I can do to help that? " Of course we both knew the answer.
"Nope, not a thing. There's no problem with your hands, you just have very soft ones and the deltas are so far apart it's hard to get a clear reading. " I wanted to suggest he read my palms instead. Maybe there'd be easy-to-find deltas there. But I kept my smart mouth closed and tried not to giggle. "That's what makes you you," he added.
I got serious. "It's utterly fascinating, " I told him, "--a testimony to our creative God. No two fingerprints alike, " I said.
"Hey, that is so true," he said. "You can't tell me there's not an Intelligent Designer. I don't buy that crap about evolution. Six and a half billion people on the face of the earth, and not one set of fingerprints the same. No one can convince me that we came from apes or chipmunks."
"I agree," I said. "Even every chipmunk out there has unique fingerprints, too--in case you want to get into the chipmunk fingerprinting business someday."
What seemed like a major time-eater on my long to-do list before vacation ended up being a
wonderful setting for talking about the wonders of God. Six and a half billion times ten of them....and counting.
It doesn't work like that anymore. Forget the ink. Now the technology is more sophisticated, at least at our local precinct that can afford the $24,000 machine. You stand at arm's length from the scanner, the cop sprays water on your fingers, takes a print, and waits for the machine to tell him if it passed. They need scores of at least 93% to be acceptable. Otherwise they get a reading called "POOR MINUTIA."
The guy explained that since women's hands are softer than men's, they are harder to print. My prints were taking forever to be acceptable. and he explained that mine were the softest hands he had felt in a long time. That made me feel good, but I pitied the other lady waiting for her turn. He also said they're looking for two distinct parts: the swirl in the center of each print, and the deltas (pyramids to the edge of each of swirl).
"Your deltas are way off to the edge of your fingertips," he said, pointing to the sides of my nails.
"Sorry," I said. "Is there anything I can do to help that? " Of course we both knew the answer.
"Nope, not a thing. There's no problem with your hands, you just have very soft ones and the deltas are so far apart it's hard to get a clear reading. " I wanted to suggest he read my palms instead. Maybe there'd be easy-to-find deltas there. But I kept my smart mouth closed and tried not to giggle. "That's what makes you you," he added.
I got serious. "It's utterly fascinating, " I told him, "--a testimony to our creative God. No two fingerprints alike, " I said.
"Hey, that is so true," he said. "You can't tell me there's not an Intelligent Designer. I don't buy that crap about evolution. Six and a half billion people on the face of the earth, and not one set of fingerprints the same. No one can convince me that we came from apes or chipmunks."
"I agree," I said. "Even every chipmunk out there has unique fingerprints, too--in case you want to get into the chipmunk fingerprinting business someday."
What seemed like a major time-eater on my long to-do list before vacation ended up being a
wonderful setting for talking about the wonders of God. Six and a half billion times ten of them....and counting.
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
Announcing a New Direction
At long last my answer came yesterday.
I was hired by our church school to teach art, writing, grammar, and U.S. History.
Art will be for the 3rd/4th grade class as well as the 5th/6th grade class. As for the other subjects, I will be teaching only the 5th/6th grade class (a combined class, for those who don't know).
I've been so excited I can hardly sleep. My mind stays alert planning fun stuff. (I hope it's fun, anyway.) I want my classroom to be the most fun one in the whole building. No, actually, if it's as fun as Joel's first grade class, I'll be happy.
If I had the mental energy right now to tell the nifty details of how this all happened, I would. But for now I'll just say I feel privileged, humbled, excited, and a bit nervous all at once. It's such an answer to prayer.
I will also keep my feet in the homeschool world by teaching a writing class on Thursday to two high school girls. They really want to improve as writers, so they're self-motivated. They'll be coming to my house. The girls' mothers have been begging for a few years, but this is the first time it's worked out all the way around. Once again, an answer to prayer(s)!
I was hired by our church school to teach art, writing, grammar, and U.S. History.
Art will be for the 3rd/4th grade class as well as the 5th/6th grade class. As for the other subjects, I will be teaching only the 5th/6th grade class (a combined class, for those who don't know).
I've been so excited I can hardly sleep. My mind stays alert planning fun stuff. (I hope it's fun, anyway.) I want my classroom to be the most fun one in the whole building. No, actually, if it's as fun as Joel's first grade class, I'll be happy.
If I had the mental energy right now to tell the nifty details of how this all happened, I would. But for now I'll just say I feel privileged, humbled, excited, and a bit nervous all at once. It's such an answer to prayer.
I will also keep my feet in the homeschool world by teaching a writing class on Thursday to two high school girls. They really want to improve as writers, so they're self-motivated. They'll be coming to my house. The girls' mothers have been begging for a few years, but this is the first time it's worked out all the way around. Once again, an answer to prayer(s)!
Sunday, July 06, 2008
Life is About to Change....Part 2
I could just cut to the chase by doing a cut-and-paste of Beth's last comment. But why be concise when you can be wordy? :)
Yes, we are seriously considering putting Joel in school and me in the workforce. Our reasons are simple, but change is not easy.
I give God thanks for making me perhaps more easily adaptable to change than I might be without my family history of moving. We moved 13 times in my first 11 years and thus learned to flex at an early age. Learned a lot actually, from the experience.
Learned that acquaintances come and go, but true friends are loyal forever. Learned that it's not always beneficial to stay in the same place. Learned that God always prepares the path and holds my hand over the rocks, through the thorns, across the streams, and through the storms. He is faithful. He has my best interest at heart, as well as the best interest of everyone involved in the changes.
At this point it looks as if Joel will be attending first grade our at church school. We have observed just how he thrives in the company of kids his age, yet has none at home. Cousins are all out of state. We haven't made an effort to introduce him to boys his age in the neighborhood because, well, it is a huge effort. We like his friends who are from our church and our sister church; the effort to drive 10, 20, or 30 minutes to make playdates happen is very worth it. Joel comes away so, so happy after days with those boys, even if there've been little feuds.
Joel also needs some classroom savvy and a more disciplined schedule. As I've mentioned, he loved co-op. (Whenever people would ask, "Where do you go to school?" he'd say "Co-op." Who on earth besides another co-op family would understand that answer?)
But homeschooled kids (as I discovered years ago in a co-op) generally aren't trained to be classroom-savvy:
They don't have to raise their hands at home.
A lot of times they snack at will.
They are used to sprawling on floors and sofas to read.
They are not used to waiting to go potty until "class" ends.
They usually don't have timed tests.
Deadlines are negotiable.
All of those are valuable things to have in one's backpack for adulthood. Do I think they're better than the benefits of homeschooling? No, or I wouldn't have invested the past 15 years homeschooling. Do I regret not having sent my older ones to school earlier? Nope. Their exposure to the classroom setting by taking a few courses here and there really put them in good stead. Besides, none of them were as active or quite as social as Joel. (Ben came close.)
But with Joel in school and us carrying medical debts and college expenses, Paul needs me to help pay off some of it. I balked at first. Not at helping shoulder the load, but in giving up the comfortable life I know in this season. I racked up medical bills with my surgery. The way it turned out we messed up the timing. Had we known Paul would change jobs (read: insurance coverages) in March, I would've had the surgery in 2007. And we would have taken care of Stephen's oral surgery, too.
I have several options for work:
-teach 2 art classes at the school (elementary) PLUS:
-tutor at the college
-tutor elsewhere
-look for a job in floral design
-try non-medical caregiving
-teach writing to homeschool highschoolers (I've been asked; my heart is totally there but the money isn't there in return. Agh!)
-a combination thereof
-freelance writing (probably not likely to be published and wonder if tax-wise if it's worthwhile?).
I told Paul I am now (finally!) willing to do whatever it takes to help him shoulder the financial load. It should only be temporary. I was afraid before. Afraid to leave life as I knew it. Afraid to answer to a boss. Afraid I'd either like working outside the home too much or not enough. Afraid I didn't have anything to offer. Afraid that I'd lose touch with my kids.
But God has gently walked me through all those fears and called me to a new level of trust. It's just like moving, except I don't have to pack. I can handle that, with God's help. Would you pray for us in this transition? It still calls for faith to take the next step, whatever that may be.
Yes, we are seriously considering putting Joel in school and me in the workforce. Our reasons are simple, but change is not easy.
I give God thanks for making me perhaps more easily adaptable to change than I might be without my family history of moving. We moved 13 times in my first 11 years and thus learned to flex at an early age. Learned a lot actually, from the experience.
Learned that acquaintances come and go, but true friends are loyal forever. Learned that it's not always beneficial to stay in the same place. Learned that God always prepares the path and holds my hand over the rocks, through the thorns, across the streams, and through the storms. He is faithful. He has my best interest at heart, as well as the best interest of everyone involved in the changes.
At this point it looks as if Joel will be attending first grade our at church school. We have observed just how he thrives in the company of kids his age, yet has none at home. Cousins are all out of state. We haven't made an effort to introduce him to boys his age in the neighborhood because, well, it is a huge effort. We like his friends who are from our church and our sister church; the effort to drive 10, 20, or 30 minutes to make playdates happen is very worth it. Joel comes away so, so happy after days with those boys, even if there've been little feuds.
Joel also needs some classroom savvy and a more disciplined schedule. As I've mentioned, he loved co-op. (Whenever people would ask, "Where do you go to school?" he'd say "Co-op." Who on earth besides another co-op family would understand that answer?)
But homeschooled kids (as I discovered years ago in a co-op) generally aren't trained to be classroom-savvy:
They don't have to raise their hands at home.
A lot of times they snack at will.
They are used to sprawling on floors and sofas to read.
They are not used to waiting to go potty until "class" ends.
They usually don't have timed tests.
Deadlines are negotiable.
All of those are valuable things to have in one's backpack for adulthood. Do I think they're better than the benefits of homeschooling? No, or I wouldn't have invested the past 15 years homeschooling. Do I regret not having sent my older ones to school earlier? Nope. Their exposure to the classroom setting by taking a few courses here and there really put them in good stead. Besides, none of them were as active or quite as social as Joel. (Ben came close.)
But with Joel in school and us carrying medical debts and college expenses, Paul needs me to help pay off some of it. I balked at first. Not at helping shoulder the load, but in giving up the comfortable life I know in this season. I racked up medical bills with my surgery. The way it turned out we messed up the timing. Had we known Paul would change jobs (read: insurance coverages) in March, I would've had the surgery in 2007. And we would have taken care of Stephen's oral surgery, too.
I have several options for work:
-teach 2 art classes at the school (elementary) PLUS:
-tutor at the college
-tutor elsewhere
-look for a job in floral design
-try non-medical caregiving
-teach writing to homeschool highschoolers (I've been asked; my heart is totally there but the money isn't there in return. Agh!)
-a combination thereof
-freelance writing (probably not likely to be published and wonder if tax-wise if it's worthwhile?).
I told Paul I am now (finally!) willing to do whatever it takes to help him shoulder the financial load. It should only be temporary. I was afraid before. Afraid to leave life as I knew it. Afraid to answer to a boss. Afraid I'd either like working outside the home too much or not enough. Afraid I didn't have anything to offer. Afraid that I'd lose touch with my kids.
But God has gently walked me through all those fears and called me to a new level of trust. It's just like moving, except I don't have to pack. I can handle that, with God's help. Would you pray for us in this transition? It still calls for faith to take the next step, whatever that may be.
Thursday, July 03, 2008
Life, as I Know it, is Probably Gonna Change Soon
The end of an era is bittersweet. For us, it looks like life as I've known and loved is about to change. It's not definite, but talks with Paul over the past several months have swayed in a new direction.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
From an Ellipsis to a Big Fat Question Mark
"I only took the job because I could get tuition reimbursement."
Paul Zubrowski, every time he's asked how he chose his career
My hardworking, God-fearing, intelligent, funny, talented...husband....
has been with the same company since ...1984. Yes, in today's economy that's nothing short of miraculous. He is a senior underwriter. Don't know what that is? That's okay. Just means he's the head hauncho go-to guy at work when multi-million dollar financial institutions need multi-million dollar insurance coverage on their property ,vehicles, personnel, and who knows what all else. He gets to make the tough decisions about whether big whigs like Wells Fargo, Countrywide, and M&T Bank are considered good or bad risks depending on lots and lots of factors. I find it very impressive (as I do all careers that I don't understand a monkey's nose about). And what I find even more impressive is that Paul is the only person in his company who can handle this specialized division he's in called Master Trust. His job has been more secure than many others' because he not only has the knowledge, experience, and personality to handle this kind of work, he has 24 years of doing just about everyone else's kind of job, too.
That has its ups and down. He wears the ups in his paycheck, the downs on his face. He is road weary. He is beaten down by the pressure. He hates confrontation but this past year has been in a managerial position over people who'd rather file their nails than nail their files. He has to deal with folks who--how shall we say this diplomatically?--have Masters degrees in marketing , but were a few degrees south of an A in geography.
I kid you not, the other day a new co-worker came to him scared stiff about renewing a policy in the West Indies. After all, that's a flood zone. We don't write in flood zones, do we, Paul?
The West Indies? Paul wanted to know. No, we've never written policies in the West Indies. And you're saying this an app for a REnewal? How do you know it's in the West Indies? Let me see it.
Paul skimmed the app, and saw a request for coverage in SD, MN, and WI. The return address, in bold letters, stated the bank's town, street address, plus "WI", and the zip.
Last time we checked, (Sherlock), WI stood for WISCONSIN.
(Can you hear just hear a marketing agent saying, "Yessiree, my client would like snow and wind coverage for our bank branches located in South Dakota, Minnesota, and while you're at it, the West Indies"?)
That was a good one. It was enough to make my hubby pick up the phone to tell me about it later.
has been with the same company since ...1984. Yes, in today's economy that's nothing short of miraculous. He is a senior underwriter. Don't know what that is? That's okay. Just means he's the head hauncho go-to guy at work when multi-million dollar financial institutions need multi-million dollar insurance coverage on their property ,vehicles, personnel, and who knows what all else. He gets to make the tough decisions about whether big whigs like Wells Fargo, Countrywide, and M&T Bank are considered good or bad risks depending on lots and lots of factors. I find it very impressive (as I do all careers that I don't understand a monkey's nose about). And what I find even more impressive is that Paul is the only person in his company who can handle this specialized division he's in called Master Trust. His job has been more secure than many others' because he not only has the knowledge, experience, and personality to handle this kind of work, he has 24 years of doing just about everyone else's kind of job, too.
That has its ups and down. He wears the ups in his paycheck, the downs on his face. He is road weary. He is beaten down by the pressure. He hates confrontation but this past year has been in a managerial position over people who'd rather file their nails than nail their files. He has to deal with folks who--how shall we say this diplomatically?--have Masters degrees in marketing , but were a few degrees south of an A in geography.
I kid you not, the other day a new co-worker came to him scared stiff about renewing a policy in the West Indies. After all, that's a flood zone. We don't write in flood zones, do we, Paul?
The West Indies? Paul wanted to know. No, we've never written policies in the West Indies. And you're saying this an app for a REnewal? How do you know it's in the West Indies? Let me see it.
Paul skimmed the app, and saw a request for coverage in SD, MN, and WI. The return address, in bold letters, stated the bank's town, street address, plus "WI", and the zip.
Last time we checked, (Sherlock), WI stood for WISCONSIN.
(Can you hear just hear a marketing agent saying, "Yessiree, my client would like snow and wind coverage for our bank branches located in South Dakota, Minnesota, and while you're at it, the West Indies"?)
That was a good one. It was enough to make my hubby pick up the phone to tell me about it later.
All joking aside, Paul is now in the midst of preparing intensely for a huge audit next week. He's been leaving the house at 6:30 a.m. and coming home at 7pm, working on more audit stuff, going to bed at 9, then repeating as necessary. Why? Because the outcome of this audit/evaluation could mean the difference between his position being kept or eliminated.
Lest you think the only good outcome is in favor of being "kept," Paul isn't so sure. He's not even sure he'd want a lateral transfer, or a promotion. He just can't stand his job anymore. He's ready to be offered a severance package so that he can invest it while taking time off--a good long time off--to think about what it is he really wants to do with his life.
He reads books all the time that stir the latent dreams in him. He wants to teach, to make a difference in kids' lives. He'd love to start his own business but can't risk the capital while we have kids to put through college. He'd love to cruise with me to exotic places, but I am more into remote villages to help orphans than I am to sip wine in the W.I... or Wisconsin. (Well, I supPOSE I could be talked into a wine-sipping jaunt off the coast of Just-About-Anywhere, on the way to said remote village:)
This next week will be punctuated by an ellipsis (i.e. dot, dot, dot) as Paul faces uncertainty.
Regardless of the outcome, he will still have a question mark at the end. It's been the punctuation mark of his mind for the past decade. The only difference is, it could be a big, fat question mark after the audit.
I thank God I'm not in his shoes. Lord, let me content and joyful about just keeping his socks clean. A man plans his way, but God directs his steps. May I be "in step" with the man I married nearly 21 years ago, someone who will stir his dreams and put wind in his sails. Hand in hand, side by side, looking mostly ahead but occasionally into each other's eyes for that knowing, precious beam of love. No matter how our lives are punctuated.
Lest you think the only good outcome is in favor of being "kept," Paul isn't so sure. He's not even sure he'd want a lateral transfer, or a promotion. He just can't stand his job anymore. He's ready to be offered a severance package so that he can invest it while taking time off--a good long time off--to think about what it is he really wants to do with his life.
He reads books all the time that stir the latent dreams in him. He wants to teach, to make a difference in kids' lives. He'd love to start his own business but can't risk the capital while we have kids to put through college. He'd love to cruise with me to exotic places, but I am more into remote villages to help orphans than I am to sip wine in the W.I... or Wisconsin. (Well, I supPOSE I could be talked into a wine-sipping jaunt off the coast of Just-About-Anywhere, on the way to said remote village:)
This next week will be punctuated by an ellipsis (i.e. dot, dot, dot) as Paul faces uncertainty.
Regardless of the outcome, he will still have a question mark at the end. It's been the punctuation mark of his mind for the past decade. The only difference is, it could be a big, fat question mark after the audit.
I thank God I'm not in his shoes. Lord, let me content and joyful about just keeping his socks clean. A man plans his way, but God directs his steps. May I be "in step" with the man I married nearly 21 years ago, someone who will stir his dreams and put wind in his sails. Hand in hand, side by side, looking mostly ahead but occasionally into each other's eyes for that knowing, precious beam of love. No matter how our lives are punctuated.
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
Just Hold their Hand a Bit, and Show them How
I think I've found the job I really want: tutoring at the local college.
Actually, it's not so much tutoring as handholding, from what I gather. I got a call back yesterday from a very sweet gal named Jenny after I'd inquired about whether they needed someone in their writing lab. As it turns out, they're looking to fill a position in the Communication Skills Center. "We are trying to help students become independent learners," she said. "A lot of students just need help learning how to study. How to pull the main ideas out of their reading. How to organize their notes, make self-study guides, prioritize assignments, that kind of thing."
"That's pretty much what I've been helping my own kids do for 15 years. " Maybe I should've bragged on them (they are my resume', after all), telling how well they manage their time between school, work, church, home duties, and social lives. How, once they hit ninth grade, I sat down on Sunday nights with them and said, "Here's what's due Friday, here are our outside commitments, and if you want to go to so-and-so's on Saturday, these must be done. It's up to you to fill in the blanks." Some chose to plod, others to double-up so Friday was free and clear except for gym. Taught them how to manage to their time so I wouldn't be holding their hands in college. (Academically, anyway!) Sometimes I fell into nagging, but that was rare (I think??).
I told Paul after the call that the pay is good and the hours are flexible. I can work around all the kids' schedules, not miss Ladies' Bible study or care group, can work Saturday if I want, days or evenings. It's really quite attractive.
Philosophically it bothers me that public high schools seem to emphasize team work and group projects to the exclusion of independent study. Not to mention that their students are constantly reminded when things are due. (Same goes for private schools.) My nephews on Baltimore City schools were not allowed to bring home books; if the books got lost, who'd pay for new ones? So here's the rub: after this group-minded subculture called high school, kids walk into their freshman year of college and suddenly they're expected to know how to study on their own, turn assignments in six weeks later without reminders, and juggle work and play with school. It's culture shock.
Help acclimate someone to a new culture of sorts? I can do that. I'm a global girl! I will applaud them for coming in for help, will pray (silently of course) for their success, and do what I can to help them learn not just new information, but how to dissect it, distill it, and dole it out in tests and papers. Sounds good to me. Please pray it works out.
Actually, it's not so much tutoring as handholding, from what I gather. I got a call back yesterday from a very sweet gal named Jenny after I'd inquired about whether they needed someone in their writing lab. As it turns out, they're looking to fill a position in the Communication Skills Center. "We are trying to help students become independent learners," she said. "A lot of students just need help learning how to study. How to pull the main ideas out of their reading. How to organize their notes, make self-study guides, prioritize assignments, that kind of thing."
"That's pretty much what I've been helping my own kids do for 15 years. " Maybe I should've bragged on them (they are my resume', after all), telling how well they manage their time between school, work, church, home duties, and social lives. How, once they hit ninth grade, I sat down on Sunday nights with them and said, "Here's what's due Friday, here are our outside commitments, and if you want to go to so-and-so's on Saturday, these must be done. It's up to you to fill in the blanks." Some chose to plod, others to double-up so Friday was free and clear except for gym. Taught them how to manage to their time so I wouldn't be holding their hands in college. (Academically, anyway!) Sometimes I fell into nagging, but that was rare (I think??).
I told Paul after the call that the pay is good and the hours are flexible. I can work around all the kids' schedules, not miss Ladies' Bible study or care group, can work Saturday if I want, days or evenings. It's really quite attractive.
Philosophically it bothers me that public high schools seem to emphasize team work and group projects to the exclusion of independent study. Not to mention that their students are constantly reminded when things are due. (Same goes for private schools.) My nephews on Baltimore City schools were not allowed to bring home books; if the books got lost, who'd pay for new ones? So here's the rub: after this group-minded subculture called high school, kids walk into their freshman year of college and suddenly they're expected to know how to study on their own, turn assignments in six weeks later without reminders, and juggle work and play with school. It's culture shock.
Help acclimate someone to a new culture of sorts? I can do that. I'm a global girl! I will applaud them for coming in for help, will pray (silently of course) for their success, and do what I can to help them learn not just new information, but how to dissect it, distill it, and dole it out in tests and papers. Sounds good to me. Please pray it works out.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Can I Be Honest with Ya?
I don't like to work for other people. I had a spat (to put it mildly) with Paul last night, and some ugly things came out. For all the excitement I get out of thinking of jobs I like (crafting, teaching, sales, relief aid) I was recalling all the jobs I have had (umpteen years ago) and the bosses, the co-workers, and the general public.
The public will always be the public--some nice and polite and others who seem to live life at the corner of Whine and Complain. I can remember very few. I do remember one husband coming into G.Briggs (a clothing store in Timonium, long since out of business) where I was cashiering. He stormed in there straight to the register, with a stack of dresses and pants hanging over one shoulder and three shopping bags over the other. His wife trailed shamefully behind. He was irate with her and proceeded to broadcast that her compulsive shopping was putting them in the poorhouse. Indeed this woman was in the store every other weekend (probably when they got paid, although she always charged it). Every time, her ticket was in the $500-800 range.
Co-workers, for the most part, have been pleasant people in my memory. Waiting tables we servers always sized up customers and said, "You take them!"--the large families who left big messes and small tips. I usually took them because I knew the secret was to bring kids crackers right away, endless drinks with lids, and stuff to doodle with. I was probably tipped better because of it. I didn't want certain customers (whom I won't stereotype but they do live up to it) who ran you back and forth to the kitchen and only left a quarter. Still others I'd want even though I'd knew they be picky, picky, picky but leave generous tips.
But my biggest problems were my bosses. The women were headstrong hypocrites (except for one woman when I was working in a campus publication office. She was a single lady who didn't make it as a nun for I don't know what reason; she wasn't sleazy or mouthy or a big spender, from what I could tell) but she had the personality of a mountain goat. Cautious, aloof, skittish. Little did I know that if the worst you can say about your boss is that she or he is cautious, aloof, and skittish, you've got it good. One woman was a hotheaded Guatemalan. When she got mad, she used all the worst English and Spanish words she could string together in a solid minute. And she hated the smell of gladioli. "They remind me of a funeral parlor when my GRAN-moh-ther died." It didn't matter that these particular flowers had been a special delivery for one of the hostesses from her boyfriend, but Guatemalan Boss had to tell you her opinion of everything. I think of her every time I see (or smell) glads. Another female boss was very large and of a nonwhite race. She had it in for me. Well, me and a half dozen other girls like me. I think she tried to get me fired by making my drawer come up short routinely. No one on the floor believed her and I was the one with the goody-two-shoes reputation, but she convinced accouting. No matter that I was the type who'd get nervous if I accidentally stuck a restaurant pen in my purse. I was transferred to another location because there was no proof against me, just accusations by this large, nasty, racist boss.
If the women were nasty, the men were slimy. I wasn't raised to know anyone like that. My dad never made crude jokes, never hinted at looking at other women, and modeled honesty by returning too much money mistakenly given him, even if it was just a penny. So to work for men who laughed about cheating customers, cussed like sailors, and asked female employees for favors in exchange for raises, well I was shocked, appalled, and naive. So unaccustomed to that lifestyle I was, and so unaccustomed to balking anyone in authority, especially an employer, that I resolved never to work for a man again, nor a woman if I could help it once I was financially secure. I prayed my future husband would want to be the sole breadwinner and would want me to be a homemaker for years and years (forever) until (or if) I decided I was ready to go back to work. And when I was ready to work, it would be for myself, thank you very much.
Ah, well, funny how life doesn't work the way you plan very often. I've been grateful to have had a husband whose income has sufficed and who has supported this easy lifestyle for me. And of course, I've taken this easy road for granted. Now I am facing the music, and last night went into a tirade to my husband. I didn't realize how much of my ugly past I had squashed, and how much of it was related to employment. "So help me, if anyone, ANYone tells ME what to do, I'll tell him what to do with it."
Paul snickered. (The man who has worked at the same company since 1984 and has hated it since the late '90s.)
"I mean, if anyone disses me, boy," i continued without taking a breath--"I am not gonna take it. I am not some naive little college doormat anymore. I am a 42 year old woman who is perfectly capable of shoving it back. I have been multitasking for 20 years, not only can I do six things at once, I can do them with a baby on my hip, a phone to my ear, a dinner on the stove, and a dog in my way. Ain't a mother alive that doesn't have marketable skills, and I tell you what, I don't need a job bad enough to take crap off nobody."
Paul snickered again and got his Bible. "Oh, don't preach," I said, "you know what I mean. I don't mean I won't take directions or do stuff I don't want to do like paperwork and lifting heavy boxes and stuff. I mean, you know what I mean."
He opened and read to me this:
First Peter 2: 18(A) Servants, be subject to your masters with all respect, not only to the good and gentle but also to the unjust.
"Okay, I'll be subject till they give me moral reasons not to. Then, baby, I will blow a big, fat whistle and call the cops and the Baltimore Sun, and sic my tall, strong husband and body-building son on him. How would ya like that?"
He snickered again. (I think he secretly likes it when I make an armored warrior out of him in my mind. Not that I've ever seen him throw a punch. As for Ben, I have no doubt at all he could and would knock someone's lights out if he got angry enough. I haven't seen that either--thankfully!-- but the young man's got some serious muscles. I love to think of him also as an armored warrior.)
Emotional baggage? Naaaa. Eager to return to work? Naaaa.
The public will always be the public--some nice and polite and others who seem to live life at the corner of Whine and Complain. I can remember very few. I do remember one husband coming into G.Briggs (a clothing store in Timonium, long since out of business) where I was cashiering. He stormed in there straight to the register, with a stack of dresses and pants hanging over one shoulder and three shopping bags over the other. His wife trailed shamefully behind. He was irate with her and proceeded to broadcast that her compulsive shopping was putting them in the poorhouse. Indeed this woman was in the store every other weekend (probably when they got paid, although she always charged it). Every time, her ticket was in the $500-800 range.
Co-workers, for the most part, have been pleasant people in my memory. Waiting tables we servers always sized up customers and said, "You take them!"--the large families who left big messes and small tips. I usually took them because I knew the secret was to bring kids crackers right away, endless drinks with lids, and stuff to doodle with. I was probably tipped better because of it. I didn't want certain customers (whom I won't stereotype but they do live up to it) who ran you back and forth to the kitchen and only left a quarter. Still others I'd want even though I'd knew they be picky, picky, picky but leave generous tips.
But my biggest problems were my bosses. The women were headstrong hypocrites (except for one woman when I was working in a campus publication office. She was a single lady who didn't make it as a nun for I don't know what reason; she wasn't sleazy or mouthy or a big spender, from what I could tell) but she had the personality of a mountain goat. Cautious, aloof, skittish. Little did I know that if the worst you can say about your boss is that she or he is cautious, aloof, and skittish, you've got it good. One woman was a hotheaded Guatemalan. When she got mad, she used all the worst English and Spanish words she could string together in a solid minute. And she hated the smell of gladioli. "They remind me of a funeral parlor when my GRAN-moh-ther died." It didn't matter that these particular flowers had been a special delivery for one of the hostesses from her boyfriend, but Guatemalan Boss had to tell you her opinion of everything. I think of her every time I see (or smell) glads. Another female boss was very large and of a nonwhite race. She had it in for me. Well, me and a half dozen other girls like me. I think she tried to get me fired by making my drawer come up short routinely. No one on the floor believed her and I was the one with the goody-two-shoes reputation, but she convinced accouting. No matter that I was the type who'd get nervous if I accidentally stuck a restaurant pen in my purse. I was transferred to another location because there was no proof against me, just accusations by this large, nasty, racist boss.
If the women were nasty, the men were slimy. I wasn't raised to know anyone like that. My dad never made crude jokes, never hinted at looking at other women, and modeled honesty by returning too much money mistakenly given him, even if it was just a penny. So to work for men who laughed about cheating customers, cussed like sailors, and asked female employees for favors in exchange for raises, well I was shocked, appalled, and naive. So unaccustomed to that lifestyle I was, and so unaccustomed to balking anyone in authority, especially an employer, that I resolved never to work for a man again, nor a woman if I could help it once I was financially secure. I prayed my future husband would want to be the sole breadwinner and would want me to be a homemaker for years and years (forever) until (or if) I decided I was ready to go back to work. And when I was ready to work, it would be for myself, thank you very much.
Ah, well, funny how life doesn't work the way you plan very often. I've been grateful to have had a husband whose income has sufficed and who has supported this easy lifestyle for me. And of course, I've taken this easy road for granted. Now I am facing the music, and last night went into a tirade to my husband. I didn't realize how much of my ugly past I had squashed, and how much of it was related to employment. "So help me, if anyone, ANYone tells ME what to do, I'll tell him what to do with it."
Paul snickered. (The man who has worked at the same company since 1984 and has hated it since the late '90s.)
"I mean, if anyone disses me, boy," i continued without taking a breath--"I am not gonna take it. I am not some naive little college doormat anymore. I am a 42 year old woman who is perfectly capable of shoving it back. I have been multitasking for 20 years, not only can I do six things at once, I can do them with a baby on my hip, a phone to my ear, a dinner on the stove, and a dog in my way. Ain't a mother alive that doesn't have marketable skills, and I tell you what, I don't need a job bad enough to take crap off nobody."
Paul snickered again and got his Bible. "Oh, don't preach," I said, "you know what I mean. I don't mean I won't take directions or do stuff I don't want to do like paperwork and lifting heavy boxes and stuff. I mean, you know what I mean."
He opened and read to me this:
First Peter 2: 18(A) Servants, be subject to your masters with all respect, not only to the good and gentle but also to the unjust.
"Okay, I'll be subject till they give me moral reasons not to. Then, baby, I will blow a big, fat whistle and call the cops and the Baltimore Sun, and sic my tall, strong husband and body-building son on him. How would ya like that?"
He snickered again. (I think he secretly likes it when I make an armored warrior out of him in my mind. Not that I've ever seen him throw a punch. As for Ben, I have no doubt at all he could and would knock someone's lights out if he got angry enough. I haven't seen that either--thankfully!-- but the young man's got some serious muscles. I love to think of him also as an armored warrior.)
Emotional baggage? Naaaa. Eager to return to work? Naaaa.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Baby Portrait Sales: Would You Hire Me?
Please read and critique this letter for me. This is for the job I think I'd like at the local hospital selling newborn portrait packages. I found it online through CareerBuilders.com. There was no contact name, just MidAtlantic Recruiting, so I ded the best I could with what little info I had.
September 26, 2007
Dear MidAtlantic Recruiting,
I am very excited about the job opening listed by photo company Our365 for a part-time Baby Portrait Sales Representative.
Having been out of the workforce for the past 20 years to raise and homeschool four children, I do not have a bona fide resume. But this I can assure you: I know how to sell whatever I have a personal passion for. I have successfully sold my own custom-made wreaths, as well as textbooks, clothing, and artwork as an eBay seller. When Hurricane Katrina struck, I started a short-term, non-profit organization using my sewing and persuasive skills to recruit seamstresses from 12 different countries to make and send unique disaster relief bags that I called Katrina Kits. These bags were filled with toiletries for all ages and toys for children. I raised the money for the items by going door-to-door, sending letters, and promoting the effort online. I even convinced our local FedEx shipping station to offer me the charitable rate from October through February. All in all, we sent 259 full Katrina Kits to a distributing church in Texas.
As an avid amateur photographer and scrapbooker, I have a passion for recording special family moments. Certainly there's nothing more life-changing than becoming a parent nor as gratifying as becoming a grandparent. Pictures of newborns at the hospital are priceless because babies are never again just a few minutes, hours, or days old.
I am positive I can convince new parents and grandparents of the importance of investing in baby portraits. Having giving birth to four children in various hospitals, I remember that some photo sales experiences were better than others. I've also cared for children with special needs in Russian orphanages, and know how to remain calm and reassuring in highly active (and sometimes stressful) hospital settings.
What I excel in is giving care to young mothers and their babies. To be your best employee, I would use my knowledge, care, and personal experience to provide new parents with a fond newborn-portrait experience. Trust and sensitivity are crucial when working with people, especially in a medical environment; I believe people respond instinctively to my care. As a mom, photographer, relief aid worker, family historian, orphanage helper, home educator, and eBay seller, I am absolutely certain that this job as a newborn-portrait sales rep is the one for me.
If you would like to talk about it, please call soon. I am actively seeking employment to fund the current phase of motherhood: college!
The best times are between 10:30 a.m. and 5 p.m.
Please call me at your earliest convenience. I am actively pursuing employment and would love to work for Our365.
Sincerely,
Zoanna Z........
September 26, 2007
Dear MidAtlantic Recruiting,
I am very excited about the job opening listed by photo company Our365 for a part-time Baby Portrait Sales Representative.
Having been out of the workforce for the past 20 years to raise and homeschool four children, I do not have a bona fide resume. But this I can assure you: I know how to sell whatever I have a personal passion for. I have successfully sold my own custom-made wreaths, as well as textbooks, clothing, and artwork as an eBay seller. When Hurricane Katrina struck, I started a short-term, non-profit organization using my sewing and persuasive skills to recruit seamstresses from 12 different countries to make and send unique disaster relief bags that I called Katrina Kits. These bags were filled with toiletries for all ages and toys for children. I raised the money for the items by going door-to-door, sending letters, and promoting the effort online. I even convinced our local FedEx shipping station to offer me the charitable rate from October through February. All in all, we sent 259 full Katrina Kits to a distributing church in Texas.
As an avid amateur photographer and scrapbooker, I have a passion for recording special family moments. Certainly there's nothing more life-changing than becoming a parent nor as gratifying as becoming a grandparent. Pictures of newborns at the hospital are priceless because babies are never again just a few minutes, hours, or days old.
I am positive I can convince new parents and grandparents of the importance of investing in baby portraits. Having giving birth to four children in various hospitals, I remember that some photo sales experiences were better than others. I've also cared for children with special needs in Russian orphanages, and know how to remain calm and reassuring in highly active (and sometimes stressful) hospital settings.
What I excel in is giving care to young mothers and their babies. To be your best employee, I would use my knowledge, care, and personal experience to provide new parents with a fond newborn-portrait experience. Trust and sensitivity are crucial when working with people, especially in a medical environment; I believe people respond instinctively to my care. As a mom, photographer, relief aid worker, family historian, orphanage helper, home educator, and eBay seller, I am absolutely certain that this job as a newborn-portrait sales rep is the one for me.
If you would like to talk about it, please call soon. I am actively seeking employment to fund the current phase of motherhood: college!
The best times are between 10:30 a.m. and 5 p.m.
Please call me at your earliest convenience. I am actively pursuing employment and would love to work for Our365.
Sincerely,
Zoanna Z........
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Oh, Goodness, this Excites Me!
I just got home from a date with Paul at Panera. (Yes, we are back to going on only cheap dates now that our kids' tuitions are sucking our cash out the window like a Kansas tornado.) He wasn't very talkative at first, but when I drew him out, he was churning about finances and asked me what I've done to look for a job. "Not much" was my honest, humble reply. He practically begged me to take a job, at least to get us through the spring semester.
So I came home and jumped onto CareerBuilder.com and searched by keyword. At first I tried "tutoring," but it's all contract work. Then, up came this job that looks so exciting to me. It's under the keywords Art/Photography/Journalism/Retail/Sales/Marketing. That's a bit of everything I like, except retail during Christmas.
Anyway, this job is for a part-time baby portrait salesperson with a company called Our365. It's part-time and the work would be at Upper Chesapeake Med Center, five minutes from my house!
"Must enjoy holding newborns 24-48 hours old." That's me to a tee. And ability to sell portrait packages to new moms? How hard could that be? I just see love written all over this job. They want someone 3 mornings a week. I could ask if that's flexible since I have to flex with my kids' college class schedules. The pay is not listed, but good grief, I would LOVE to hold babies, sell photo packages, and encourage new mommies in the hospital.
Oh, please pray this is a good match for me! And if it's not, that I can find something I'm equally excited about.
So I came home and jumped onto CareerBuilder.com and searched by keyword. At first I tried "tutoring," but it's all contract work. Then, up came this job that looks so exciting to me. It's under the keywords Art/Photography/Journalism/Retail/Sales/Marketing. That's a bit of everything I like, except retail during Christmas.
Anyway, this job is for a part-time baby portrait salesperson with a company called Our365. It's part-time and the work would be at Upper Chesapeake Med Center, five minutes from my house!
"Must enjoy holding newborns 24-48 hours old." That's me to a tee. And ability to sell portrait packages to new moms? How hard could that be? I just see love written all over this job. They want someone 3 mornings a week. I could ask if that's flexible since I have to flex with my kids' college class schedules. The pay is not listed, but good grief, I would LOVE to hold babies, sell photo packages, and encourage new mommies in the hospital.
Oh, please pray this is a good match for me! And if it's not, that I can find something I'm equally excited about.
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