Its probably not a surprise to anyone who knows me that this post is coming from the fiery depths of the wicked practice known as procrastination. I'm procrastinating studying for my anatomy test that is Thursday. If you've been on the receiving end of my complaining about this test for past 2 weeks, then I apologize for bringing it up again. When its crunch time, I like to do everything BUT what it is I'm supposed to be crunching for. So my house is spotless, I'm all caught up on blog reading, I've done all paperwork that needs to be done for the week, AND I've called to set up cable, which is something I've been putting off since I moved here. Why have I put off calling cable? Because I hate calling companies and setting stuff up. I don't know why. The only reason I have electricity and gas is because my wonderful fiance called for me after much whining & pleading.
ANYWAY. The contents of this post stem from something I was thinking about on Father's Day, as well as something that happened in my therapy session this morning. Its pretty funny to me.
I spent Father's Day at home with my family this year, and I started thinking about little things my dad used to do that I thought were amazing. Normal dad stuff that I vividly recall being just so impressed with. I remember using a wash cloth after I brushed my teeth to clean up all the toothpaste I got on my face (I used to be a messy teeth-brusher). Occasionally my bathroom cabinet was stocked only with the bigger & newer wash cloths that were too thick for me to wring out. Thats when my dad stepped in. Good grief. It was amazing to see him wring out that wash cloth with one thorough twisty squeeze. ONE TWISTY SQUEEZE. Thats all it took! And it was ready to go. It would've taken me 57 minutes to do that kind of work at the time. I knew it, too. I knew I had tiny hands and sucked at wringing thick cloths out, and I knew if I asked my mom to do it, she'd do a good job, but not near as intense of a twisty squeeze as my dad. It was very exciting for me...I didn't get out much.
Another thing he used to do that blew my mind: Anyone remember chocolate soldiers? They were a chocolate milk/yoohoo type drink. Except better. Way more chocolatey. Which is awesome, BUT...that means more chocolate settled at the bottom of the bottle. Yikes. I used to ask my dad if we could stop at the gas station near our house to get a chocolate soldier when I'd be out running errands with him or after church. He was always up for that. Without having to ask, he'd shake that bottle up so vigorously, you'd think the milk came out of the cow chocolate. Seriously, 3 good shakes and the chocolate was more incorporated into the milk than I could've ever hoped for. "Freakin A, dad! Way to go!" I used to say to him. I think. Maybe not.
Tying this all together, this morning in a therapy session, my 3 year old client was wiping glitter off the table, and when I realized we were out of time, I got it all in one swift motion with a paper towel. The look on her face was exactly how I remember feeling when my dad would wring out my wash cloths or shake up my chocolate soldiers. She was impressed, man. It made me feel like a grownup, which is a bittersweet feeling as we all know. It reminded me, though, that I really am a giant grownup to the kids I work with. They don't know that I'm stressed out or concerned I may not be doing things exactly right. They have no idea. They just know that when its time for speech, if they don't fill up their sticker chart, they're not getting a prize out of my badass prize box.
In conclusion, being a grownup is cool sometimes.
