SOMETHING strange is happening. We have in our home someone who wants to get up for work in the morning, who springs out the door well before 8am. Someone who has a cheery demeanour and says things like, “The Forth Bridge was looking beautiful in the sunshine this morning." Someone who comes home smiling, despite the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune that beset everyone in the daily grind. Such enthusiasm, such joie de vivre.
SOMETHING strange is happening. We have in our home someone who wants to get up for work in the morning, who springs out the door well before 8am. Someone who has a cheery demeanour and says things like, “The Forth Bridge was looking beautiful in the sunshine this morning.” Someone who comes home smiling, despite the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune that beset everyone in the daily grind. Such enthusiasm, such joie de vivre.
I didn’t bring up my kids to be like this! And then I wonder if I was once the same. Did I view the world of work as a shining opportunity to make my dizzying way up the career ladder, with every day beckoning me on to a glorious future of fulfilment and a fat wage packet? No, I don’t think so, or else it was so long ago that I can’t remember.
Enjoying her work has turned Daughter Number One into the Daughter Number One we always wanted. She is oddly pleasant to be around, dispensing bonhomie to the fellow wage slaves at home, even making a brew when asked, contributing to the household budget and taking an equal share of household duties. OK, I made the last bit up – you can’t expect miracles.
She’s even, on occasion, nice to her sister, a third-year medical student. And Daughter Number Two also seems pleasantly engaged in her work at present. Well, pleasantly may be the wrong word, as last week she had to stick a finger up a man’s bottom. All in the name of good medical practice, obviously, but if anyone has reason to dread turning in for a shift, it has to be her.