Another One Bites The Dust

I have a bone to pick with the public school system, namely Western Elementary in Russiaville, Indiana. I have a few choice words for Miss Jones, Mrs. Dunlap, and Mrs. Adams. Yes, I believe they are all guilty for setting me up to fail as an adult. When I was an elementary school student, my pleasant, smiley teachers painted the world as a happy place where learning was an adventure, where cooperation was mutually rewarding, and where others shared in my successes with me. I would work diligently for a couple hours a day and they would reward me with a snack and chocolate milk followed by recess with my friends. And let's not forget how in the afternoons after story time, I pulled my carpet square out from its storage space and rested for a spell. And that's not all...there were celebratory parties for every occasion, room mothers brought in cupcakes for kids' birthdays, and we raised the roof during craft time by creating special keepsakes and hats for all major holidays. I was always buoyed with accolades of how smart I was, what a good job I was doing, and how I was a great helper. Teachers wrote my name in perfect penmanship on a white posterboard and displayed it prominently on the blackboard. I must admit I especially enjoyed the row of gold stars trailing my name on the "posterboard of progress". There, in front of the whole class, was proof that I was an above-average student, motivated to excel in all areas of academia, even if I did fall off the balance beam a time or two...

Yet now, as a 35 year old workaholic, I find myself in an unhappy predicament. No one gives me gold stars of accomplishment. No one brings me cupcakes to celebrate my birthday or anyone else's birthday. And absolutely under no circumstances do I get recess with my friends. Get caught looking at facebook for more than five minutes? Whoa, better kiss your job goodbye. That is an automatic write-up for commanding company equipment for personal use. No one has a sense of humor anymore. No fraternization is permitted around the water cooler. No casual Fridays. No "Hey, we're glad you are a part of our team." The only positive reinforcement we hear is "work faster and accomplish more with fewer resources. Congratulations, you have earned more responsibilities to add to your resume! With the economy in near ruin, management decided not to hire for open positions seeing as how you are so capable and all...by the way, your insurance premiums are going up...you don't mind working Saturdays, do you? After all, we are a team and you wouldn't want to detract from the team spirit, would you?"

So, I guess it isn't a far stretch of the imagination when I ask myself the following questions: Why is it I feel I need a week's vacation after single-handedly pulling off a public event? Why is it I sense a bulldozer running up my calf muscles while a horse whip is snapping at my backside? Why do I hear a faint chorus of We're Watching You as I look up from my desk only to lock "eyes" with the surveillance camera as it meets my every glance? Is my reward for excellence in education more work and less trust? Does corporate America enjoy its expertise and skill in micromanagement? And who abolished my beloved chocolate milk breaks? I only wanted my equal turn on the monkey bars...

***

This past Saturday marked my college's Fall 2010 Graduation exercises and my fourth time orchestrating such a star-studded event for the school. I must say being a PR extraordinaire is internally rewarding, although warm fuzzies don't go very far when you are searching for that extra spark of external validation. Perhaps I have low self-esteem, yet I take comfort in knowing I did a good job; I whole-heartedly believe my elementary school teachers would place a gold star of achievement by my name if they were running this place; however, I also know that I am no longer seven years old and in corporate America there are deadlines to meet, goals to achieve, and tasks to accomplish. We musn't lose sight of our objectives, even though we might want to "accidentally" misplace them from time to time. And although I did not receive candied leis from the students, raucous cheers to announce my arrival, or tears at the mere mention of my name, I did, however, receive a lovely crisscross jacket and prozac to help tame my overinflated ego. Actually, the school president very generously gifted me with one of the vibrant flower arrangements and I happily brought it home with me. It will grace my sofa table in the dining room until it wilts or starts to produce a strange decaying odor. I think it is clever that the florist added yellow and orange peppers to the arrangement. I never would have thought of intertwining vegetables in a floral bouquet (and reason #1 why I did not pursue a career in floristry. A fall-themed bouquet without a hint of harvest?). I give kudos to the designer who knows what she is doing.



In baby news, our little bean is getting some good kicks in. Thaus was able to feel and see movement for the first time Friday night. My growing stomach is resembling the wavy seas with baby practicing to be the future star punter of the Indianapolis Colts!