Slave Labor

My children don’t like it when anyone else watches them except me.  They are getting better about it, but there is usually some trepidation.  Carter will follow me around for an hour as I get ready asking when I’m going to leave.  Then sort of crying (aww).  Henry cries “mama” and it breaks my heart.  This weekend I was in the basement sewing a jon jon for Henry while Craig kept the kids upstairs.  I could hear them cry when they fought or got hurt and wail for me.  Sometimes I would roll my eyes and defiantly continue my work.  Usually, I would be torn and end up going up stairs to help.

I had only been down there about 15 minutes and I heard Henry crying “I want Mama”.  I was less sympathetic than normal and rolled my eyes and went back to sewing, muttering to myself, “Am I really that great?”  Then it occurred to me, it is really hard to train a new slave.  They have worked really hard to mold me into their ideal care taker, I can understand why they don’t want to start all over.  To think of how long it took them to get me to cut the right amount of crust off their sandwiches or to read Monsters Inc with the perfect inflection.  How many fake tantrums they will have to throw to teach this new servant when they want to be held and when they just need to go outside.  I get it.  They are just trying to save themselves a lot of time.