I could...should be doing many other things. For instance calling my mother. It's too embarrassing to mention just how many weeks *cough* it's been. I should be working on my reading and lecture listening for a counseling class I'm taking called Dynamics of Biblical Change. One of the things said class is prompting me to think about is how much time I spend on good things like blogging when I could be doing better things like getting to know God. I should be working out to counteract the adverse effects of all the Girl Scout cookies I've ingested recently. Did I neglect to mention the Girl Scout cookies? People like bringing us cases of them. I should be mapping out directions to the art gallery I get to go see in New York City on Wednesday with my best friend. I should be sleeping so the beginnings of a sore throat that I feel don't spoil that New York romp. But I wanted to write out the following because it is just cute.
I live and work at a residential program for teenage mothers. It's fabulous. It's hard. It makes me cry and laugh sometimes all in the same hour. You parental readers can relate. I don't journal much here because my life is the girl's lives and their lives are frankly not your business. I'm bound by a code of confidentiality that puts Facebook's governing documents to shame. A panel discussion could be arranged to compare levels of vagueness and ambiguousness and other various and sundry details. However, I think I can share this with you without infringing on anyone's personal life but my own.
The last two weeks our resident has been in the hospital and emerged a human pincushion, poor thing. My life and room have been hijacked by her adorable, funny and busy! 20 month old daughter. I have Elmo toys and various books all over my bedroom floor. I have pull-ups and a tiny yellow toothbrush in my bathroom. And there's more of her laundry in my hamper than mine. Tonight she took it one step too far. She's in my bed. Her pink toddler bed has been alongside mine all these nights. Most of them she's stayed in it through the night. Tonight she just ached to fall asleep on my pillows, under my blanket, on my bed. I am a sucker for that "Oh, please I just want to soooooo badly" face that only a 2-3 year old can pull off. So her little self is warmly curled up snoring away in my bed. A few minutes ago I stood just watching her. So sweet. I also told her that in a few hours she's gonna be airlifted back over to her own bed. I just won't fit in a 2 1/2 foot long toddler bed. Anyway her mattress is harder than mine. And it squeaks.