It must have something to do with the fact that my son loves Jeff Saturday's beard, or because Saturday wears number #63 on his Indianapolis Colts jersey because Reuben wore #63 when he played for his high school team. Whatever the reason is, it is only known to Reuben, but he has donned me to be "Jeff Saturday". I have been called so much worse, I assure you.
Whenever I need to make a point to Reuben I do so by using football analogy. If I can't use a comparison to something dealing with football, I try to use the next best thing; war. Somehow football and war are close enough that no matter what my point is, I can usually make it by finding something to relate it to using either of these two subjects.
Well, today I was telling my son that I need to be more of a team player, more blended and less noticed. I recently lost another job because I was curious and asked too many questions about ethics and oh, I don’t know why it is, but I usually expect my employers to actually have ethics from time to time. I was working for an insurance company in Indianapolis, a new company mind you, not the one I was working with just a few weeks beforehand, where I had quit due to the fact that the boss fully expected me to work for free without paying me after I sold $22,000.00 in annualized property and casualty premium – small things like that sort of bother me. I was working for the new company, and they had flown me to Chicago from Indy to train for a week. I made it past the first night OK, even though I had to pitch a fit when they had tried to double book my room allowing another woman whom I had never met before be my roomy for the week. That’s a no-go.
While there, and I mean the first few hours of the first day, I managed to get myself into more trouble again, by asking why it was that the company trainer was asking us to break about sixteen laws and to be overtly immoral to boot? It was a valid question. I sat in the front row of the training room, a spot I always take, because to me, if you’re worth anything at all you’ll place yourself near the trainer so you both ask questions and see clearly if there are any presentations to be made. I was not alone in my thought process; a man by the name of Marty Kapp joined me at the front of the room while all the younger, less experienced sales agents were sitting so far back that at one point the trainer gave Marty and I a head nod thanking us for paying attention. She even leaned in and thanked us, but for all of her gratitude she failed miserably when it came to expecting her new agents to play the game correctly, or by the book!
I wasn’t there for the first lunch, we’ll put it that way. Within an hour of her presentation the woman managed to ask us to break at least two truly impenetrable laws which if we had been caught doing would have meant losing our licenses for sure; yet there she was demonstrating exactly how to get around every rule! Marty, an ex-police officer, Navy man, and good guy all around, just shook his head at her and then turned to me and said something like, “When you walk out of here, I’m right behind you.” Marty and I shared a quick lunch before both of us packed our bags and made our way to the airport to fly back to our respective homes. I was going back to Indy, and he to Ohio. I called Reuben (again) and asked him to pick me up earlier than he had anticipated.
Reuben looked at me from the driver's seat of the car and said "You know Mom, I'm getting a little tired of picking you up early and finding out that you lost your job because you think something isn't legal, or you think something could be done another way. You need to be more ... you need to be more like Jeff Saturday and less like Peyton Manning. Peyton has a right to know what's going on down the field, he's the leader, he's the quarterback, he's the one with the win or lose on his head. YOU, and Jeff Saturday, need to keep your head down, one hand on the ball, one hand on the ready to guard, and listen to full count before making your move. You never know, the QB may just call an audible at the last second." And with that I realized my son was actually being more like me....and I understood everything he was saying to me. It wasn't that I wanted to cause trouble by asking the trainer why they were allowing or even training us to break the laws, I just wanted clarification; and understanding of the situation. What I got was an ejection from the field for being up in the Head Coach's face during a play when I should have been on the field minding my own business with my hand on the ball and my head down, waiting for the count to snap. I get it.
Reuben explained that Saturday, as the Center, is in the middle of it. He's strong, quiet, paying attention, forceful but controlled, and he's the one the ball belongs to until he gives it away. I'm supposed to give my knowledge, training, and experience to the situation not fuss with the coaches or the managers about the rules of the game. I get it. Besides, Saturday is a Pro-Bowler and he's cute too. I can be cute. I'm not gonna rock a beard like his anytime soon, but I can do this. I can be Jeff Saturday...he's cute, I can do this.
It's so funny! These babies, they think they can get one over on me. No way. Please, I've been zenning babies since 1986. I have it down to a science. Within a minute or so after I pick a screaming squealing kid that simply won't shut up I can have him or her flat on their backs resting in their cribs and either sound asleep or in that hazy-lazy spot of zen-perfection. Easy stuff. All I have to do is put my little ipod on New Age music, maybe something Celtic, maybe something Oriental with dings and pings and little tinkling bells....that's it. Happy, cool, calm, collected baby. I set the leathery soft over-the-ear headsets on large so they don't fit tightly, but snug enough they can hear it all. I can hear it too, so I turn it down just a notch as not to hurt the tiny eardrums, and before I can say "Highland's March" the baby is out!
I asked Caity to assist me with this project of course before Copeland was even born. When she was 3 or 4 months along I asked her to put the headsets over her belly bump so he could feel the vibrations. I wanted to spend the extra money and get her some wireless headsets but never got around to it. I do watch the cords when I set him down to be sure he's not tangling himself in them. He's gone - - out. I can hear him every now and then cooing something or making a very satisfied sound such as to say "Don't bother me Granny, I'm listening to David Arkenstone at the moment and can't be disturbed." He even moves his arms around like he's conducting. He wants to have his music played for him, he cries for it..literally. If I had to guess I'd say his favorite are the Celtic Christmas tunes or the band 2002, which is more New Age zenny and he likes the harp. That much I know.
So, go on you old-fashioned grannies out there rocking, carrying, pushing, strolling, and driving your grand babies around to shut them up, not me..we zen. We zen, and we zen, and we zen. As soon as he's old enough we'll meditate with headsets on and I'll take him to a music store so he can pick out the instrument he wants to play. I don't know all there is to know about babies, but I do know, there will be music.
