This Thursday is a big day for me. It'll be a big day for Eli, too. It's Take Your Child to Work Day, and this marks the first year that one of my offspring is eligible to participate. If the constant "how much longer 'til I get to go to work?" routine that started last week when I announced that Eli would get to go is any indication of how excited he is, then he's pretty dang excited. Last night, the question changed from the usual "how many DAYS" to "how many more HOURS." On Sunday, Eli asked when we got home from church if he could use my extra briefcase because he had some things he needs to carry to the office (four days away). I hurriedly emptied the contents out of my black leather executive briefcase and handed it over to him. Ten minutes later he was back saying he was ready to go. The contents, carefully selected and strategically arranged for accessibility and balance, included 238 crayons of various lengths and shades, a Spiderman activity/coloring book only partially completed (he's been needing to get that finished), and two packs of maple sugar instant oatmeal.

I don't know if there was such a thing as TYCTW Day when I was a kid, and I'm not sure if I would have enjoyed it. My dad was the mid-Western blue-collar, hard working type who showered after work, not before, for a reason. I was the seven-year-old kid who when my grandpa took me and my little brother to the store once and said "you can each pick out one thing" picked out a burgundy pleather portfolio with a pad of legal paper, a Bic pen and compartments for gadgets, a stark contrast to the dump truck that made crashing sounds eagerly selected by my kid brother. Seriously, shouldn't that have been a red flag to somebody? That's just not normal. Anyway, after watching me sit in my cube all day, he may wish I had a "fun" job. At least there'll be candy in my drawer.