Creative Problem Solving

                This morning was like most Sunday mornings.  I woke up somewhere in the 8:30s and before leaving bed caught up on both my news and social media.  (Another reason I’d like coffee makers to take up residency in bedrooms where they would clearly do the most good instead of requiring a three room hike all the way to the kitchen.)  Upon my morning Facebook surf I came across this article that was shared by not one of my super smart and interesting friends, but by two!  (Both of which you should absolutely read their blogs and laugh at their attempt at humor.)  Already I knew that this was either about bourbon/going to make my face super happy.  It was the second.

                This five minute cartoon read, and then following blog made me stop.  And read it again.  It was a moment when I thought, “Hmm, I’ve never had it put so succinctly as that.”  It’s a mental battle I’ve raged for years about my life’s choices and how I’ve come to find myself in the middle of my autobiography as it stands today.  I am not college educated.  I am not collecting a very high salary with a 401K.  I am not in a tax bracket that causes sleepless nights in the springtime.  My car is heavy on the rust and loud on the exhaust.  My home is ‘quaint’.  My luxuries in life include the NHL package on DirecTV and bourbon once, maybe twice a week.  I can my own food.  My freezer is the home of many styles of bargain priced meat.  You know what though?  I like it.  A friend and I had many a conversation about jobs and how it defines us as people.  I told him that I believed that our self worth is not based on net worth, that where we punch our time card is not indicative of our success, but that if you wake up most every morning happy to be you, then you’re winning.  Of course complacency breeds laziness and we should all strive to move in the forward direction that we so desire, it does not mean that we need to make our forward the same as someone’s vision of what it should be.

               “Angie you were so smart, you know you could’ve done anything.”

                This could be the theme of many a conversation people have with me.  Like the ‘smart’ I had in regards to book stuff as a child and teenager magically dissipated the moment I pushed my son from my most special of places.  Let’s be real though, anything?  That’s a little too broad of a spectrum, and what’s wrong with choosing to be a mom anyways?  Like if I had pro-choiced myself all the way to the clinic and gone off to college would that make my choices better?  Or if I had had my parents raise my son while I went away busy studying to be anything would people call me a success?  Would they use words of description like ‘sacrifice’ and ‘selfless’ and ‘hardworking’ to describe me if I sent my son to daycare and nightcare while I spent 12 hours a day working and going to school?  For what?  To maybe make more money than I do now that I could in turn spend on my son to make up for all the time that he missed out on.  To use money as a way to say, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for all your parent teacher conferences, for your first day of school every year, to make you dinner, to tuck you in, to watch inappropriate movies, to teach you how to garden and can and do laundry and do dishes and cook dinner and make your bed.  I’m sorry I wasn’t there to discipline you, to read you books, to take walks, to talk about your day, to cuddle when you still wanted me, to help you tackle a friend problem, a word problem, a next day book report, to sleep next to you at the hospital when you’re sick, to make you popcorn when the nurses aren’t looking.  But instead mommy has a degree and can buy you a new TV if you want, does that make up for it?” 

                Oddly while in school (high school that is), I never knew what I wanted to be.  I switched between a marine biologist (it was the 80’s and 90’s everyone wanted to be a damned marine biologist), or something with math, or with science, or history, or English etc.  I wanted to write a book that millions of people purchase/checked out of the library.  I wanted to live anywhere but where I grew up.  I wanted to do big things.  Turns out that I never really knew anything about what I wanted until I had my son (super clichéd and I care not), when I grew up it appears as though I wanted to be a mom.  I’m not sure if I’m very good at that, we’ll find that out at a later date after a myriad of therapy for my son, but I love it.  I don’t care anymore if I write a book that sells a million copies; I’m ok with a blog that seven people read.  I moved away from where I grew up and landed exactly where I was supposed to be.  I like to think that I didn’t ‘drop out’ of college; I just retired before I finished to pursue a more challenging life’s path, parenting and table waiting.  Even on afternoons like today where my voice turns into something similar to Darth Vader and I seriously think to myself, “How long do you choke someone until they just become unconscious?  Not seriously hurt or kill them, just enough to make them stop talking for fifteen minutes or so.”  Now clearly I wasn’t going to injure my son, I was thinking that maybe I needed to cool down and if one of us was going to get to take a nap damnit, it should be me!  I still know I made the right career move.

                So in all this rambling about myself and those pesky ‘feelings’ I hear I’m not skilled at expressing what I’m getting at is that, I’m happy, and if I could turn back time (who’s singing Cher in their heads now?  I know I am, and you’re welcome) I would not do it any different, well except maybe finishing the whole bowl of popcorn last night after Alex fell asleep.  I immediately regret it and am still harboring guilt about the whole sordid affair.  Mistakes are not what make a person, but their solutions and I’m enjoying all of my creative problem solving.