Stuffed Animal Love

Good day, except for the fact that my boss said he was not in agreement with one of the projects I have initiated. Oh well, win some, lose some. Now all I have to do is figure out how to change the “concept” of the project to suit his and the financial sponsors' expectations.

I am off tomorrow on a vacation-from-family weekend. Yes, my weekends start on Thursdays. Oh, the joys and delights of a part-time position. There is obviously a long list of disadvantages (e.g. economic belt-tightening, jealousy from colleagues, dead-end-street as far as possible promotions), but, on the other hand, turning off the computer on Thursday afternoon and knowing I won’t be turning it on until Monday morning, gives me a buzz every time.

Sara asked me whether stuffed animals ever die. I managed to quickly reassure her that they never do. The comfort and joy they give to her will always be there as long as she believes in them.

Sara worries that she is not distributing her love and affection evenly throughout her large stuffed animal menagerie. She takes two of the animals with her to bed each night but often feels that the other animals are coming up short on the deal: even though she rotates the pick of the evening.

So, the question is…. is this little obsession of hers stemming from the always-feeling-guilty Irish gene, the tending-towards-melodrama Italian one, or the let’s-make-things-complicated German favourite pastime?

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)