Okay, so I wasn't meant to be a nose-wiper and bottom-cleaner-upper of other people's 4-year-olds.

After a solid week of "teaching" (read: glorified baby-sitting) kids during their camp sessions, I was subjected to an unexpected wake-up call. I was fired. Well, not exactly fired. More like "un-hired" for the position I was officially slated for.

See, I decided to go back to "school" because I remember loving working with little ones during my adolescence, volunteering at Head Start programs and the like. And also taking care of my neighbor's baby/toddler for a few months last year.

So I thought I was ready for a career change and swap the writing life for a more hands-on approach to using the other side of my brain. Except 'twasn't meant to be.

I was summarily brought into the director's office and told that the position for which I WAS hired was suddenly coveted by another member of the teaching team.

Which, I must add, comprises of mostly related-by-marriage-or-years-worked-there teachers. And since I was the most recent hire, I suppose my worthiness was less valued than say, someone with tenure and the right bloodlines.

The position I was originally offered and subsequently accepted, involved working with one wonderful teacher with whom I immediately bonded, and "teaching/playing" with the oldest (read: post-poopy pants/diapers) kids. Some were already literate. Others demonstrated some prowess dealing with the usual headaches of kidplay: fighting, dirt-throwing, name-calling, etc.

That I could deal with. Remember, I've worked with MANY editors over the years and most of the above, not-so-nice behavior was often well-documented and displayed in many a newsroom. I could name names. But, that's for my book.

So dealing with cranky people and miserable moods was not anathema or foreign to me.

But I was somewhat taken aback by this monkey wrench thrown into my good intentions. And I decided not to become a "floater" or work with another teacher I hadn't known. Those were my options. Options that I had turned down previously.

Well, it was a loosey-goosey type place, part of the appeal. But frankly, for $10 an hour, it just wasn't working. I didn't find my bliss, my purpose or my joy. I did discover, though, some nifty math. Turns out one day I earned a whopping $30 (!) and when I put gas in my car it cost $50. Hmmmm.. What's wrong with that picture?

So, my point is, and I do have one, I promise, is this: if your child/adult person or even toddler has to face some difficult choices, it's okay when they decline sub-standard options. Even if they start out with good intentions of following through.

And we must support our kids' decisions to do so. For example, when Emily decided she didn't want to play soccer anymore, no biggie.

She didn't love it, she was easily winded and it just wan't for her. Done and done. Of course now, she says she wishes she kept it up, but that's neither here no there. (It's really there, but I don't want to dwell.)

Let your kids make choices. But don't be Cruella de Ville about them. Changing your mind is often a good thing. Don't some of you wish you HADN't voted for a certain president who shall remain nameless?

And if we discourage our progeny from weighing all the angles to see what fits them best, at any given juncture of their development, we only harm ourselves AND them. Now and later. Trust me, it WILL come back to haunt you.

They don't forget the things we "make" them do. They appreciate when we allow them the opportunities to try new things and change their minds, if things don't work out.

It's called life. And if it happens to "grown-ups" like me (although some would scoff at the word "grown-up" when applied to me) it certainly happens to our kids a zillion times over.

My advice for myself and for you: go with the flow. Let them take chances. And always, always, offer encouragement and support. That's when I, uh, I mean they, need it the most.

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