duck-sized crazy

In a recent round of hiring at Kalisher we decided to implement a new “test” for our applicants that made it past the first interview: we wrote up five questions to be answered over email, giving each of them 24 hours to respond. There were two main things we sought to discover with this test, the most important of which was whether or not the person could write clear, coherent responses absent of glaring gramatical errors. Our company has been growing rather rapidly in the past few years and I handle a good portion of the hiring and I’m endlessly surprised at how difficult to find this quality actually is. The other quality we hoped to unveil was creativity as that was important for the role we were filling. We were quite pleased with the bevy of questions we came up with, but our absolute favorite was one that we didn’t write ourselves but rather pulled from the great and powerful internet:

Would you rather fight 100 duck-sized horses or one horse-sized duck?

The answers we got were pretty damn good, and hopefully original, but with the wealth of clever analyses published online about this meme there’s no way to know if some of what they offered was a reworked reply from someone else. Regardless, it was fun.

Why am I telling you about this? Aside from the obvious fact that I want you to be jealous of how cool my company is, it’s also because there are times when I think parenting two small children feels like what I’d imagine you’d experience if you were taking on 100 duck-sized horses. There are these moments when shit (sometimes quite literally) just keeps coming at you nonstop – someone’s whining to be held, someone’s crying to be fed, someone shat up their back, someone pissed the floor because they were in timeout throwing a tantrum, someone got hurt, someone needs something in the exact moment that the other someone needs something and you have to make one of them wait and while you do the sound of that one crying is causing your blood pressure and anxiety levels to creep up slowly until they reach the point of making you screw up whatever it is you were doing which makes everything take even longer and now you just want to go batshit crazy and start swinging maniacally with every limb at every last one of those charging duck-sized horses until you’ve punted all 100 of them into oblivion. Of course I’m not saying you’d ever want to actually punt your children, I’m simply speaking hyperbolically, but the point is that in parenting, every so often, you feel like you’re being attacked by an unrelenting army of fantastical beasts set out to destroy you. In a manner of speaking.

Don’t feed the animals.

IMGP5850Elderland out. XO.


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