Yesterday at the playground, in between pretending to be a seal and a ballerina, Maeve told me a few times I have a great job. Now, I actually think she was trying to say she was doing a great job, but I told her she definitely has a great job, and so do I.
The perks of Maeve's job are obvious: naps whenever she feels tired; entertainment via books, dvds, toys, or grownups making silly faces at the drop of a hat; menu set by her preferences; and she mostly sets her own hours. She has a boss who adores every atom of her being, who gives her positive feedback many times a day, and who bends over backwards to suit her needs.
Now, I suppose there are some downsides to Maeve's job, too. Her Boss gets irritable, makes unreasonable (to her) demands, and can physically put her where She wants her to go. The Boss insists on taking Maeve along on pointless errands or long trips, whether she wants to come or not. The Boss is always trying to make Maeve eat healthier, sleep longer, and learn more letters of the interminable alphabet.
However, I still think Maeve has one of the best jobs around, and as her Boss, so do I. I get paid in goofy giggles and sudden hugs, in sleepy snuggles and nonsense words suddenly squeaked out. And she gets paid in nuzzles, squeezes, and tickles, popsicles and long summer afternoons in the shade.
|We don't do casual Friday, we do optional dress-up!|