Performance Review
I am a woman. A slovakian. A Montanan. A filmmaker. A professional. I am a wife, a daughter, a sister. An aunt, neighbor and friend. A collector, a traveler, a thinker. As I update my resume with my latest position, the letters are so big, they push out the text of all my previous jobs. I type in bold text: M-O-T-H-E-R. And it takes up the whole page pushing out all previous positions. I bring my updated resume to the performance review.
There she sits at her little desk, in her little chair. One and a half years old. And very serious.
The following is a transcription of my half-quarterly performance review.
She: So you’ve been with me for a year and a half.
Plus nine months, I say, remember?
Well, that was just on-the-job-training, you know. We’ll say 18 months.
She looks down and scribbles with crayon some notes I can’t decipher.
You’re the boss, I say.
Yes, that’s right, she says.
So, am I doing ok?
Yes, she says. Overall. I’d give you an 8 out 10.
Hmm, I say. Thanks.
Sure. You come when I cry and you are an above average cuddler.
Thank you, I say.
You get most of my jokes and are quite proficient at cutting fruit, cheese and chicken into little bits I can safely chew.
Thanks, I say.
You change my diapers and are fun to play chase with.
I try, I say.
Now, don’t take this personally, but there’s room for improvement.
I understand, I say.
You could slow down a bit. Work on your patience.
I see. How long with this performance review take?
She shakes her head, clicking head in judgement. You know, Mom,this rushing here and there. Putting my boots on so fast and stuffing my little fat arms into my jacket. I mean, its no good. What are we hurrying for?
I see your point.
You know, your whole life happens “now”. Always.
That’s pretty deep for a toddler, honey.
Indeed.
And mom? More time at the park. Please.
OK. Duly noted.
And another thing, Mom. I know when you skip some pages of the stories that aren’t your favorite. Plus, when you tuck me in at night, you could add a few more books to the line-up. I You know how I love it when you read to me.
Yeah, I know. Sorry about my singing voice. I know its kinda out of tune.
Not to me. I think your voice is perfect.
Really? Thanks.
No, problem.
Any chance you will start sleeping through the night?
Unlikely, she says.
What’s your favorite part of the job? she asks.
When you come up and put your arms around my leg in the kitchen when I am cooking. Or when you giggle so much your nose wrinkles. Or when you are a little sick and you are warm and melted in my arms.
You like it when I am sick?
No of course not, but its just sort of precious.
You know when you put my hair in pig tails? You shouldn’t do that.
But you look so cute!
It doesn’t matter. And it doesn’t matter if my socks match my outfit. Dad knows it doesn’t matter.
Right. You sure it doesn’t matter?
Nope. Not even a little.
If you say so.
But overall, Mom, you are doing pretty good. Do you have any questions for me before we finish?
Yeah, any chance you can stay this age a little bit longer?
Not a chance. Its not in the contract. Better pay attention and enjoy.
I have another question.
Go ahead, mom.
Will you always be boss?
Yep. All my life.
I thought so.
One more question: Any chance of increasing my compensation package and benefits?
Not in this economy, Mom. Get real. You are lucky to have the job.
I know I am. I know I am.
Thanks for your time, Mom.
Of course.
Anything you ask. I love you, baby.
I know, Mom. I love you too.
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