You Are Not the Boss of My Talent

Weekday mornings in my home are peaceful and rather quiet until five minutes before we need to leave. It is then that everyone feels like I have somehow deceived them and I'm leading them down the path to Satan by telling them it's time to go.

Even though it is the same time every day.

Someone doesn't have their clothes on; another just remembered an assignment is due. Inevitably, someone has to go poop. Or has forgotten to eat breakfast. Yet all of them are angry that I would have the nerve to suggest that we need to leave the house.

To give you perspective, I work out, return from working out, make breakfast, clean up breakfast, take a shower, and get ready for work in the time it takes for Oscar to put on one sock.

Socks are his nemesis.

It is the same conversation most mornings. Don leaves before us and can't be interrupted from the conversation he is having with Alexa.

“Alexa, what time are the Steelers playing the blah blahs?”

“I do not understand the question.”

So he says it louder. She does not respond. Then he calls her a bad name, and I stand up for her because we women have to stick together. And he knows that the only way he can call a woman a name in front of me is if she is a cylindrical audio system.

Eventually, he leaves without his answer, and I'm left to get everyone to school on time.

I have heard that it is hard to wrangle cats, but I think those people have never tried to wrangle sloths. It is much harder. Especially when two of the sloths weigh more than I do.

I had finally gotten the majority of them out the door when I couldn't find Oscar.

The only time he is quiet is when I'm looking for him.

When I finally found him, he was playing Minecraft and crying. The thought of playing Minecraft makes me cry, too, but for different reasons.

He was upset because he couldn't make it past a level that all his brothers, and apparently every U.S. citizen, can. (His words, not mine.)

I told him to turn the tablet off, get his other sock on, and get in the car.

He didn't listen, so naturally, I got louder.

I read an article recently about how there is a way to get your kids to do what you want them to without yelling.

And it's a scam.

My voice is at an octave that is unheard unless I yell.

As I crammed his Fred Flintstone foot into a sock, I told him that he had lost his Minecraft privilege until further notice.

Then he said, “You are not the boss of my talent.”

Before I went into an orbit of anger about how he shouldn't be talking to me like that, or that Minecraft wasn't a talent, I thought about what he said.

Sometimes kids say things that are completely nonsensical. Like when he told me that he had seen a raccoon eat a frog.

But this, this made sense!

You are not the boss of my talent.

It was exactly what I needed to hear at that very moment.

Nobody is the boss of your talent.

That is what is so fantastic about a talent. You are the boss of it.

In my career, I have had some pretty awful bosses. I have had some good ones, too, though. But the horrible ones leave scars. Scars that make me doubt I'm competent or capable. Those thoughts sometimes come up when I have a tough day (like last week).

But what no boss or person can tell me is how to do my talent.

I'm the only one.

And if I view it as my talent, it's not subjective.

One talent that I have is persistence. It starts as an idea, and until I get what I want, I keep trying.

Example: Four boys.

Did I give up when I didn't have a girl? No, but I did when I realized my body had produced enough healthy babies in this lifetime.

This past weekend, as a friend and I were making posters for the Women's March, she said, “Noelle, you are a boss woman.”

I didn't know exactly what that meant. I mean, I do have a tendency to be bossy, yet I have never actually been the boss of anyone.

But then I thought about what my son had said.

Maybe being a boss woman isn't about being the boss of anyone else.

Maybe it's about being the boss of yourself.

Then I saw the definition of a boss woman on Instagram....

Well, hot damn, I guess I am a boss woman!

(At least I try to be on most days.)

And thankfully, I surround myself with other boss women—and men, for that matter.

People who have their own talents, their own opinions, their own paths, and aren't waiting for someone else to tell them they are allowed to take up space.

I recently found out that a woman said some nasty things about me. Not the good Nasty, the bad kind. And she is now on my list of women who I do not want to be associated with.

Unless she changes directions and can support women as a whole and not tear them down.

If she does this, then I will make space for her at my table. But until then, I'm not holding up dinner for her.

The truth is, we all have talents. Some people hide them (lame); others put them out into the universe.

If they make you happy, then it can only be right.

You may paint or do pottery. Do you like it?

Good.

Nobody else needs to.

My dad is a phenomenal artist and won't sell his art. Rather, he gifts it to people because nobody is the boss of his talent.

Just remember what a wise 6-year-old said during his sock resistance the next time you doubt yourself.

Nobody is the boss of your talent.