Blah blah job blah blah

I had a phone interview a few minutes ago with an organization I applied to half a million years ago.

It's much more of a nonprofit administration type job, which is more of what I want. And the organization itself is pretty neat - it's a big, national organization that sets students up with internships in the environmental sciences. This position is for the coordinator of the internship program. You know, the person who matches students with organizations, and makes sure the match is a good fit, and provides support and all of that. So it's sort of administrative (I'd love to have "coordinator" or "administrator" in my title) and also sort of direct service, so I wouldn't have to give up on communicating with people. Except that these people are college/graduate students who can actually TALK to me and not two-year-olds who can't. Ha!

That would be kind of fun. I wonder if I'll make it to the next level. I'm still waiting and hoping to hear back from the Dream Job, because the person who interviewed me has been on vacation for the last two weeks and just came back today. *hope*

Something's just gotta give. Tomorrow I start my first day of being a therapeutic playgroup teacher. I'm not sure if it will make things at work better or worse.

My day at work

He smiles at me, cautiously, over the head of the rubber Tazmanian Devil puppet that he greedily ripped from my hand. I place my fingers around the head of the puppet firmly. He tries to slip it over his miniature hand. "That's /my/ monster," I say to him, highlighting the words with sign, a flat hand against my chest. "Mine." I snatch it back amongst protest.

"Do you want a turn?" I ask him, meeting his big brown eyes with my blue ones. "Tell me," I coach. He's dubious; I continue. "Say, 'My turn.'" "My 'urn," he mumbles, hands already quick and at the ready. I offer what he covets. He slides his thin, brown arm into the warm rubber before I have a chance to praise him. The goods are their own reward, I suppose.

It is the first time he ever willingly speaks to me at my request. He is two years old and dreadfully unstimulated. Within the hour he will flood my ears with words to label, to name, to demand. Ice cream truck. Flashlight. Hat. Monster. Ouch. Please. My turn. Move your foot. I ask if she has books for him, if he likes to read. She says he keeps bringing her the same book. Because she can't find any others.

I plan a trip to the local library. I ask her if she'd like to sign up for a library card. His mind is desperate for substance. Television can only go so far. He is two years old. His mind is full of words simply waiting to be born.

Perspectives on sailing

( +7 - I'm not sure if I like these or not )

Contrary to the look of the photos, we actually experienced no wind, and ended up motoring around for a little while before calling it quits. Boo. I sure will miss the boat when Mom and John take it to icky South Carolina.

(Oh, did I mention they're hoping to close on the house by mid-September and move around mid-October? Happy fricking birthday, right?)