decisions, decisions

bella's concert "simon says" was cute. she had a speaking part and was one of the dancers.' had a ball. my favorite line was when they were trying to reach mary magdalene as a witness for the trial of simon peter. a little girl pulled out a cell phone and dialed, then got this recording: "for hebrew, press 1. for greek, press 2. to continue this call in english, remain on the line." then, "i'm sorry, but the person in your samaritan network is outside the service area". :)

usually the hours between 2 & 4 in the morning are always the worst at work. my cleaning and paperwork is done and my ladies are usually asleep. so its hard to keep myself occupied quietly. but this weekend i discovered a new channel: theN. have you seen this? its sad, really. kind of like watching a train wreck~ you can't pry yourself away. i watched copius amounts of the series "degrassi". man, they cover everything on that puppy, don't they..... i don't quite remember high school that way.

i was also offered a different position in my job over the weekend. a position that i've secretly and not-so-secretly pined after for quite some time. mostly, i never really expected it would come available.

i've mentioned before that i work for the state in the mental health field. my proper title is *dsp* or direct service provider, as i work in-home, one-on-one, with adults with mental retardation. so as to not out-dooce myself , (yet coincidentally, please do read her latest newsletter to her daughter, leta.) i will never share names or intimate details. but for the sake of my sanity, i will share their stories, from time to time.

i work with many different recipients but primarily in-home with 2 ladies that, for story-telling purposes, i will call ebb and flow.

i've always had an interest in this field. even as a child. i was lucky enough in my jr.high/high school years, to have lived next-door for a time, to a director of just such an organization, who included me on outings, and then actually chose as one of my electives in the 9th grade, to spend 2 hours out of my day, working in an adult day-care facility.

its not a job for everyone. in many aspects, its a very thankless job. and it doesn't make me any more special, that i can hack it. its challenging and rewarding, yes. but its exhausting, humbling and just plain hard, many days. it's not pretty. not delicate. i've heard the term used: "glorified butt wipers" on more than one occasion. and yes, there's that too. plenty of that. trust me. but i signed up for that when i became a mom, thanx. i feel i'm now quite immune to the embaressment of the loud "I POOPED" declaration in a crowded store. never-mind if it comes out of my 2 year old or my 70 year old.

there are days when i feel like i've used up every last ounce of patience i can muster, in this line of work. so much so, that i wonder sometimes if i have any left by the time i get home and my real life sets in.

so this job offer, although really tempting, is also one i'm on the fence over. for those of you pray'ers out there, mama could use a lil' sump'n sump'n this-a-way.

its easy for the crusader in you to overshadow your own well-being sometimes. and for awhile now, that's kind-of how i've felt. for any small hurdles this field has climbed over, there are mountains more, to be moved. we've come a long way since abusive institutions. but the ratio of discarded people out there to caregivers is staggering. its almost painful to realize how many get lost thru the cracks. every single day.

you become their voice. their staunchest supporter and defender when they can't speak for themselves. you rejoice and sorrow with their achievements and the very raw emotions that sometimes they can only communicate thru you. in a world where people pass in and out of their lives like a revolving door, sometimes your presence is the only stabilty they have ever known.

you hold their hands in the hospital as they lay dying. you clothe and feed and comfort them. you're there to take care of them thru holidays, birthdays, when they're sick and afraid. you accompany them to family events when their families can't deal with the effort it takes to do so. you love them.

ebb and flow are lucky enough to live in their own home, provided by the state. they have round the clock staff. both cling ferociously to routine and are as different as night and day.

ebb will turn 51 this month. tiny and precious. born blind, she never ceases to amaze me with the clarity of her other senses. she has an affection for rain, country music and reece cups. she will repeat the same phrases over and over in the course of a day: "looks like rain." "i've been good, hadn't i?" "i feel better now" "you tell my mama?" every time, she expects your response.

she will tell you 50 x's in an hour that she loves you.

she is an accomplished pianist, having never read a line of music. she recognizes voices she hasn't heard in 15 years and calls them by name.

flow is the meanest ninety pound 72 year old woman i have ever known. institutionalized for over 30 years of her life, i have seen it it take 3 women and 2 grown men to hold her down. she will bite, scratch, kick, scream and hit when she is displeased and i believe whole-heartedly that she loves nothing more than to give a new staff member what i fondly refer to as a true introduction to this line of work. she is non-verbal, yet can cuss as clear as katt williams.

she is as manipulative as they come.

when you go into this kind of job like me, completely blind, you're given this whirlwind training introduction to mental retardation and certified in this, this and this, you're then plopped down in a situation that forces you to either sink or swim. nothing ever fully prepares you because its something you learn as you go, if you decide to stay. i remember when i first started at this particular house. they gave you a summary of what to expect for this and this person, which never does them justice, by the way, and off you go. even in my training class, when asked which house i'd be working at, there were painful winces, when i mentioned "flow". the hype was pretty intense.

for 2 months, at bedtime, i would literally pick her up and carry her. i didn't know any better and did so because she would lay flat down on the couch and raise her arms up when it was time. i thought she was physically unable to do so by herself. then one night, i heard noise coming from her room and i peeked in. she had gotten out of bed and was bookin' it to her bathroom. she did her business, washed her hands and then trotted back to bed, hopping back in, easy as you please. after she'd tucked herself back in, she noticed me standing there. probably with my mouth open to my kneecaps. she just grinned and closed her eyes.

this has very much defined our relationship. to this day, she has never once been mean to me.

i call her mama.

she has an affection for baby dolls and likes her shoes just so. in the moments before bed at night, she chatters quietly to me. i like to imagine she's telling me everything about her day. she likes me to comb out her afro into soft curls. she loves the song "amazing grace" and that i sneak splenda in her coffee. when i wear shorts, she laughs. and when i have cleaned her for the umpteenth time after an *accident* he hugs me so tightly, as tho her life depended on it. i like to think its because i don't compromise her dignity. because, tho i have never understood her, i know her.

the job i've been offered is to be her personal assistant. and the job has its pros and cons. my biggest issue right now has not so much to do with her, but me. with the place i'm at in my life, right now. and i think the fear of the unknown comes very much into play. aside from our short stint in nebraska, in our life together, i have always worked. and i have never had *normal* hours or weekends off. the idea of a 9-5 kind of job, or in this case 8-3, is actually kind of scary to me. and the very real truth is, sometimes i don't know how long i want to be in this kind of work.

so....keep me in mind, no? more, later....