Day 7 I found my calling.
I thought I had found my calling when I was living in Louisiana working at a group home. I was indirectly counseling the boys, and knowing I couldn't live in a group home forever I thought, "Where else can I help kids in a similar capacity?" I remembered my substitute teaching days and how much I loved working in a school but loathed teaching, and BAM! School counseling. Just like that I had found my calling.
Except I hadn't. Because then I got pregnant and had all these babies, and the job disappeared, and I thought, "I get it now." These babies, the nursing & kangaroo care - yes! This is so me. Mothering. This is what I was born to do.
But then those babies got bigger and became toddlers, and I was all, "I'm out." Kids, you're great and all, but parenting - NOT MY CALLING.
And then I started blogging, as a way to chronicle this journey of life and motherhood and family, and I discovered a love so deep. A love for words. And I was convinced - this is it. Writing. This is my calling.
But with the three minis at home, the part-time job, the house work, the hunter husband, all the things, the writing became more of a challenge. Try finishing a single thought, let alone writing it down, while a two-year-old wails and a five-year-old screams and a six-year-old growls like a lion.
The struggle is real.
And so I thought, there has got to be something - something - that engages all these loves - the school environment, the working with children, the mothering of souls, the writing.
And I found it.
I found my calling.
Have you ever? Can you even? You guys.
Publishing Shop. This is it!
This is the place.
And not just because of the rubber cement fumes.
My son's elementary school Publishing Shop was in need of a couple people to take it over, and I have never jumped at an opportunity so fast.
Every other week, I will meet pint-sized authors and look into their hopeful little eyes and speak softly to their souls, "You did it. You wrote a book. You are an author." Heavens knows, I'll be weeping the entire time. I'll take their tiny hand and walk them through the publishing process, the paper-wrapped cardboard backing, the masking tape wrapped binding, the die-cut decorated cover. I'll seal their creation with an authored-by stamp, and I'll send them back to class with an over-the-top, "I'm so proud of you. Are you proud of you? You should be proud of you. Show everyone your book, and be proud." And that timid little person who entered the Publishing shop will leave with his head held high and a spring in his step.
And I get to be a part of that.
And I pray they don't look back. Because if they do, there's a good chance they'll find me doing the another-one-published-a-book dance on top of the Publishing shop tables.
Worst case, I can just blame it on the fumes.