Momma May I?

It's exciting to be a receptionist. The glamor of answering phones, the constant excitement of coworker interaction... It really can't be beat.

(So exciting that I spent the afternoon making those little word magnets for my refrigerator so I can craft poetry AND tasty treats *at the same time*. Because I'm so good with multitasking and all.)

RIGHT. Back to the point.

I'm a Mommy. I have 56 children, varying in ages from slightly to significantly older than myself. And I am paid, in part, to keep an eye on each and every one of them.

Now this is not an exhaustive duty. They are (for the most part) big boys and girls, and are capable of bathing themselves, feeding themselves and providing for their own basic needs. However, like a Mommy, I am responsible for maintaining an awareness of their current situations, and giving them little reminders to keep them in line.

They needn't be bothersome or stressful to impart - a simple, quiet statement often does the trick. Over the course of Friday afternoon, I doled out the following tidbits:

"Be careful on your road trip next week. Don't fall down." [To the man who broke his elbow on his last sojourn out of the office.]

"Have you eaten lunch yet? It's been 12 hours. Perhaps you should think about it..." [To the man complaining of being hungry, shortly after complaining that he's been up since 5 this morning.]

"Yes, that looks very nice. I'm very proud of you." [To the man hovering over my monitor, exclaiming "See that? I did it all by myself!"]

And, so we aren't being gender biased here...

"Well, if you need to go [poop], perhaps you should do that now to beat the rush." [To the woman complaining about how the smell in the bathroom gets progressively worse through the day.]

I should consider myself fortunate, I guess. I don't have to change diapers. I don't need to pay to provide their food (although - on occasion - I am asked to order, fetch, and deliver it. But it's with their credit card, and I often get a free snack out of it, so that's okay...) and I don't need to put them down for naps, although there are times when this would be beneficial for all involved.

But I do have to listen to their problems, help them find their own answers and give them a sense of self worth by validating their feelings when they find themselves excited, put-upon, belittled, enraptured, or any other in a host of emotions that run so rampant through the halls of our beloved establishment.

In my desk, beside the pens and scotch tape and Post-It notes, I have my emergency kit. Advil for headaches. Band-Aids for paper cuts. Smiley stickers for a job well done. Quarters for the snack machine. And, of course, duct tape.

I send out birthday notices, congratulations for special awards, and strive every day to make the lives of my children a little more fun.

And I didn't even have to go through that sketchy rip-a-screaming-being-from-your-loins bit, which is comforting because they're all so very much larger than I am.

Although... getting the free popsicles sounds nice.