Wanna Trade?

My sister Caca wants to trade places with me. (No, Caca's not her real name. It's just what we call her). She was having a less than fun day, and she thought that my day sounded better than hers. I'm still considering her offer. Here's what I know about her job:

She works very hard. She has an office, with a door that closes. I'm pretty sure it locks, too. While she's working very hard at her desk, without anyone sitting on her lap, she sometimes drinks coffee. Without fear that anyone will drink it, spill it, or put a crayon in it. She has a cafeteria in her building. She gets to go there for lunch. By herself. They have a salad bar. And dessert. And there is no play area. They also have ice cream day.

She gets to talk to grown-ups, though I do have mixed feelings on that one. I'm just not sure I'd be that good at that anymore. Oh sure, I interact with adults when I go to work a couple evenings a week, but mainly I listen. People even tell me, "You are such a good listener". Yup, I sure am. Good thing, too, since I am no longer a good talker, unless it involves the phrases:

Did you use the potty?
Do you need a diaper?
Get off your brother.
Because I said so.

So maybe if I do trade places with her, I would have to limit my verbal interactions with others. Maybe I'll just schedule meetings on ice cream day when my mouth will be full anyway.

I'm still not sure if I should do it. I mean, if I trade places with Caca, and go work in her office with the door that locks, at the desk where I can drink coffee without anyone sitting on my lap, where they have a cafeteria with no play area and ice cream day, I might miss all the things I'm used to.

Like wiping pee off the floor.
And breaking up fights.
And pulling the wads of wet toilet paper off the bathroom walls.
Like changing diapers.
And finding Polly pockets, toy trains, and unidentified foreign objects under the couch...and on the kitchen floor...and under my pillow.
Like spending an hour a day looking for everyone's shoes...and everyone's jackets...and my mind.

I mean, who would want to give all that up? Not to mention, I wouldn't have a clue how to actually do her job.

I may just have to tell Caca we can work something else out. Maybe we can have the best of both worlds.

If she could lock me in a room with ice cream once a week, I promise I'll put a crayon in her coffee.

And maybe I'll even pee on the floor.