In which I tolerate dogs.

So, let me just get this out there right away. I am NOT a dog person. Or a cat person, or an any other sort of animal person. Verily, I declare unto thee:  I have no patience for anything (other than a baby human) getting its hair and saliva all over me gratuitously. Hair-and-saliva-sharing score negative points on my love languages chart. My favorite thing about animals is looking at them, because they are really adorable and cute, from a distance. They are even more adorable and cute from this side of a computer screen. Thank you, YouTube.

I suppose if I had grown up with indoor pets I wouldn't have animal-tolerance issues. According to Brewer Family Legend, my mother declared to my father from the very start: "It's either me or the dogs!" And that is the story of how any dogs we ever owned lived exclusively outside.

I remember one time we returned home from somewhere to find a dog -an actual, live dog- IN our house. Just, you know, hanging out. It was a  surreal sight for us kids, in our strictly pet-free home. For my mom, it was also surreal, like a nightmare come to life. Son, you better believe that animal knew her wrath. It flew panic-stricken back into the wild and never dared to return. (I seem to remember a broom being involved in this scene, but I could be mistaken.) How that animal got into our house we will never know. That unsolved mystery also went down in Brewer Family Legend.

Another reason I am not a big fan of dogs is because dogs like to eat really disgusting stuff, like poop. Ugh. Ga-ROSS. Of course, people excuse them because they "don't know any better" and blahblahblah, and I agree. They don't know any better. However, my personal preference is to not be licked by or even be accidentally in danger of being licked by anything that doesn't know not to eat it's own poop. I also hate yelling loudly at things not to eat poop. It's just not ladylike, and I have suspicions that the neighbors find it uncouth.

 Dog's don't stop at poop though. They're like goats. Once I went outside only to find our dog in the act of eating a sock. It wasn't a small, wimpy, kid-size sock either, oh no. It was a thick, wool, man sock, of the tube variety. "NO!" I shouted, running toward him. "Mezzie, stop! No eating socks!!!" But at that precise second the twelfth inch of that thick, woolen sock disappeared down the creature's gullet. Ewwwww!  Until that moment I had taken with a grain of salt Mom's despairing claim every laundry day that all the socks in our house must get eaten by someone.

 There have been indoor dogs at the last two homes in which I've worked. I guess you could say I have been learning to tolerate dogs, with all their licking and their hair-shedding and their barking during the baby's nap time. (<--- At which point I confess to temporarily harboring an irrational rage towards the whole canine species.) But, *deep breath*... tolerance. At times, it is a very ungracious tolerance. Every time I find a dog hair in my food I remind myself that purgatory on Earth is much more preferable to doing time after death. Every time I find a dog hair in the baby's diaper I console myself that his immune system is becoming so potent that any invading diseases will wither to a crisp upon impact. Every time I come home looking like the business end of a feather-duster I remember that I'm a first-world citizen and have 24-hour free access to a change of clothes and a washing machine. But mostly, I just remember that home is a dog-free zone and that makes me quite happy.

By this time, most dog owners/lovers/rights-activists probably think I'm a dog-hater, but that's definitely not so. There are things I love about dogs, like their puppies. #SOCUTE!!!! Puppies are awesome and I can never get enough of them when our dog has a litter. That said, I enjoy them OUTSIDE, where they can do their business in places that I don't have to clean up afterward. I also enjoy the serene presence of a dog lounging beside me while I read or watch T.V. Not licking me, or being overly demonstrative, but companionably laying-beside, kind of like a space heater that you can stroke in a friendly sort of way every once in a while. (That last one begins and ends my list of things I enjoy about dogs being indoors.)

It's worth it to state here that the point of this post isn't really anything. I just wanted to say funny things about dogs in order to come to better terms with my conscience, which feels guilty about not sufficiently liking the cute, slobbery, furry balls of friendliness which are fondly referred to as "man's best friend." Oh well. At least I tolerate them. :)

Inner Musings of a Single Nanny

I have been racking my brain for some meaningful topic of blogversation, but nothing of useful or beneficent nature to all mankind has struck my fancy yet. Therefore, I have decided to cast aside any vague fancies that I can be a useful beneficiary to mankind through this little blog, and settle down to my keyboard to write for my friends.

So, recently, I started a new nanny job. My new charge is a little seven-month-old boy, Emerson. He is an adorable little carrot-top, and a tiny reincarnation of Buddha to boot. He's one of those babies whose arms and legs look like they have invisible strings tied at the wrists and ankles. So cute and squooshy!

This new job is very nice, and, I am sure, will grow nicer as time passes and Em and I become more used to each other and are able to establish a rock-solid schedule. However, I am learning something inevitable about the Nanny Trade, and that is the frustration of having to start all over again. Having to start over with a new child, and establish a new trust relationship with them. Having to start all over again raising a little baby, when you've just securely reached the toddler stage with the previous charge and have finally come to an understanding!

 Ellis and I had gotten to such a nice point by the time I left. We'd weathered the ups and downs of her babyhood, and had surmounted Mt. Toddlerhood against all odds! It was going great! Every day was new and full of progress. And now, it feels as though I've returned to square one. At least as a mother you receive a continual return for your physical, emotional, and spiritual investment in a child. As a nanny, I've come to realize -- you don't really get that. Honestly, it's a bit disheartening.

That's one of the reasons (but not the only one) that I have decided I will not voluntarily be a nanny for much longer. After this job, which will last for a little more than a year, I really want to move on and invest my time and energy in something closer to home. I've spent the last two years investing so much in other people's families, and now I'm tired. These 10+ hour days in other people's homes with other people's families are so draining.

Ideally, it would be so wonderful to get married and have a family of my own in which to invest my domestically-inclined heart -- but I don't know if or when that will ever happen. It's easy to feel sorry for myself about this, since pretty much all my friends and acquaintances and even their younger siblings are happily in relationships, engaged, or married already. It comes so easily to some, you know? And then for others....we wait and wait and wait. And wait. God only knows when the waiting will end.

And in the meantime, I cannot, cannot, CANNOT allow myself to be sad, or wallow in self-pity. No way! There are tons of legitimately awesome things about being single and unattached. The freedom is quite lovely - I can do what I want, when I want, where I want (within moral reason of course!). I don't have a child to constantly tend to and think about, or a husband to consider. I can go out late and stay up late. I can take vacations and spend money on clothes without feeling guilty. I have lots of time for prayer, and don't have to snatch it at odd moments throughout the day when children aren't nagging for once. The possibilities are endless and therefore quite thrilling!

Perhaps the main thing I envy married people for is the security that comes with the sacrament. You will always have someone to whom you belong and who belongs to you (in a manner of speaking, as all of us ultimately belong to God, etc.). You will always have a home to go to, and you know what you will be doing for the rest of your life: being married to so-and-so. As a single person, I constantly wonder what the next year - or even the next six months will hold for me. Sometimes that's exciting and sometimes it's downright terrifying. I HAVE to fend for myself, because no one else will if I don't. There's no one to help me shoulder the burden of things like student loans or insurance payments.

Thank God for my large family. If I didn't have them, I would be in bad straits. While they can't help me with things like loans and insurance, I DO have a place to call home - and it's a happy place! I belong to these people and they love me. But I feel so much for single people who don't have a family to support and love them. It's a reminder that life is fragile, and often broken - and that but for the grace and favor of God, I would be lost.