Here's a life lesson for you: sometimes (meaning ALOT of the time) we have to do things we don't necessarily want to do.
Case in point. I don't like to cook. Now, could you garner my dislike for culinary activity from all of the recipe posting and dinner making I write about on this blog? No. Well, maybe. The point is, I don't cook because I enjoy it...I cook because my family needs healthy meals, and I firmly believe in all of the benefits touted in family how-to books about sitting down for a meal together. So I cook. And yes, I am a martyr.
And there are lots of other things I could include on my NOT-FAVORITE list like: laundry, feeding the dog, taking the dog to the vet, dentist appointments, staph infections, grocery shopping, chauffeur-ing....really, anything beyond reading, eating, or watching my DVR (oh, or going to San Fran with my peops). I know. I'm shallow. But I do all of these things. I'll lather up staph-infected sores with bactroban, I'll drive to the high school TWICE in one day. Heck, I'll even drop the dog off at the vet ON THE WAY to the dentist.
So, from where I'm sitting. I'm working the task list. I'm getting things done, even though...and here's the kicker...I DON'T EVEN WANT TO. And still, I feel like I spend a great deal of my life cajoling people into completing those tasks they'd just rather not do. I'm a cajoler. I don't want to be a cajoler...I want to be inspirational, or organized, or peaceful. I emphatically do not wish to be a cajoler.
Still. I'm cajoling away.
I wake up and cajole my little ones off to school. Mostly this includes Parker. I bring his clothes down. I fix his breakfast. I make light morning banter while he eats, and I make his lunch and pack his snack and vitamin-enhanced water bottle. Often I'll tie his shoes, even though he is perfectly capable of tying his shoes all by himself. All of this I do to ensure that he gets off in a good mood, that there is no break down, no crying, no disgruntlement of any sort.
I cajole Sterling's clients on the phone.
I cajole my students. They don't want to write papers, or read novels, or consider the way gender constructions have influenced literary criticism over the past 20 years. They sigh and shift in their seats. And I crack jokes and tell funny or intriguing stories to garner their interest, to stop the seat-shifting and the sighing. I don't pack them snacks. I have to draw the line somewhere.
And then it's back home where I cajole for piano practice and lessons, and homework, and to please...FOR THE LOVE OF MIKE...stop taking off your socks and throwing them about the living room...one on the couch, one on the other side of the coffee table. Also, stop teasing your sister. And you, the grouchy one, please go take a 30 minute nap so you'll feel more human.
You can't? You have too much homework?
Okay. Well then just grump at me for the rest of the night. All of the cool kids are doing it.
[I have now typed 'cajole' enough times that it no longer sounds like a real word to me.]
And, I know that there are more legitimate things to complain about than a cart-load of cajoling. In fact, upon rereading this I feel like a giant heel. But tonight, I'm weary of dragging people by the hand through school and life and down the aisles of HEB. I'm ready for soaring...like a swift mother duck with her ducklings just behind...forming a perfect V.
Of course, they'll be honking and quacking and pecking at each other...but I suppose all of that seems much more bearable with the wind beneath your wings. Right Bette?
