What's Your Occupation?

This evening has been quite calorie reducing for me. They should really come up with a fancy exercise name for a person who makes frequent jumps off their office chair and then jogs, sprints or runs out of the room about twenty feet to save the life of a small individual. If there was such an exercise, I could fill in the "exercise daily" section of the forms you fill out when you go to the doctor's office.

For now, I have to leave that section blank because my kids keep me too busy doing the office chair sprint exercise.

I've been sitting at my desk surfing around on the web, checking out my regular sites and writing emails. At least, I'm trying to.

After making repeated trips to the nether regions of our house looking for a 2 1/2' male child, I'll sit down only to have to lunge across the room to retrieve a UFO (unknown foreign object) from my woman child's mouth. Then a boy with the above description will come tripping into the office with a handful of large crackers (or "car-tures" as he calls them) and will march over to the fridge to get a pop.

When he made a find behind my desk (there's about a 2" gap between the desk and wall) and pulled out a small lego, I dove my hand to grab the choking hazard from my son only to hear a choking sound coming from my girl on the other side of me. I kind of did a fast motion sway between the two of them while trying to decide who's life to save first. I can't remember who I grabbed first or if I had to use my toes and legs for that one as well as my fingers and arms.

All I know is there was a cracker and that small hazardous lego sitting on my desk when the dust cleared. There was also a collection of cracker crumbs balancing precariously on my space key that eventually slid down into the keyboard. I don't where those came from.

As we speak, both children are playing peaceable in the pop fridge rearranging cans. There's a collection of crackers and large legos on the floor behind me. Only the sound of computers can be heard right now even though there are two adventurous little people cruising around the room. Well, the sounds of moving pop cans can be heard too. As well as an occasional "whoa" by the larger child followed by a wail from the tinier person.

I'm glad pop cans are somewhat kid proof when it comes to opening them or else we'd have a mess right now. The boy is stacking and moving a collection of them and the girl is chewing on her own personal can. There have been frequent wails and exchanges of cans between the two youngsters only I think the exchanges aren't all quite completed because that baby seems to be getting the short end of the stick.

I should also be able to fill out the "occupation" part of those forms with something other than SAHM. I'm also a paramedic, child care provider, chef, wet nurse and psychiatrist.

Yes, psychiatrist.

At least a half dozen times tonight my husband has asked me what's wrong with our child that favors a tendency to wail. Either it would take an interpreter or psychiatrist to figure it out.

Since they haven't come up with a "language" that babies use, I guess it would take a psychiatrist until that interpreter comes around.

And, since the wailing child happens to be mine then automatically I should know what's wrong, right? Well, compared to the rest of her parents, I think she's crying because something didn't go her way.

I guess if I had a cool can of pop all to myself just for me to chew on, I'd cry too when my bossy big brother took it away from me. You wouldn't think it would take a professional to figure that out but maybe it does if you're the dad.

Well, I just dug some moist cracker crumbs out of the corner of my female child's left eye and with the sleepiness that has come over her, I have to assume that she's ready for bed. Since I'm the mom, I should know that at least.

The night is coming to an end and it is time for kisses and snuggles down into warm beds. Troubles and wails cease for a time and tummies are full and diapers are clean.

And moms can sleep (or sit here and type or surf) without figuring out all the problems her children come up with.

I still think I should be called a psychiatrist.