Saturday, July 7, 2012

Teenage Dreams

Do you ever stop mid-flow in the busy hum of your life and wonder "How in the name of Methuselah, and all his beardy buddies, did I get here?"
Not in a Big Bang vs. God kinda way, but in a "why am I scrubbing the jacks when I was meant to be saving the planet?" kinda way.

I am appalled to discover that approximately three seconds ago I was 14, with ambitions to have boobs and well behaved hair.
I was going to be a world famous scientist who would discover a cure for cancer while wearing Chanel and bouncing an immaculately behaved baby on one hip.
My life would be as smooth and polished as a 1980's Filofax.




In the space of nanoseconds, I appear to have got married, given birth to children and acquired a magical laundry basket that fairies fill overnight with small mountains of mouldy socks.
I swear it growls at me some days.

I have scored a hat-trick on the baby front and have three marginally feral children who are fabulous whirlwinds of energy, but leave little room for any pretensions of order.
I have difficulty matching my socks never mind juggling a family and a career.

I'm pretty sure that if I ever made it to the bottom of my laundry basket I would find my fossilized Filofax.
In years to come, archaeologists might pore over it and wonder just who was this dynamic creature and what led to her extinction?
Or maybe they'd chuck it in the bin and say "what a complete eejit...no-one is capable of doing all that without a crack team of childminders, house-keepers and bar-tenders in the background.  Especially the bar-tenders."







And to my horror, I am still no closer to realizing my ambitions on the boob or the hair front.

If it's taken me thirty years to get exactly nowhere with my teenage dreams, I should  just about have chased them down in time to make a very pretty corpse.

But teenage dreams are too full of rock stars and Hollywood to allow for autism, depression, sick babies, financial struggles, job worries and all the crap that the universe, in it's infinite *cough* wisdom, flings at us.

They also don't allow for the joy you feel when you know that you married a great guy who can hornpipe through life's horse turds with you (I wish I'd put that in my wedding vows).
Or the thrill when your autie kid makes eye contact with you.

Or the elation when you finally match your socks.




Life is great, and it's so much better, and harder, than I ever dreamt when I was 14.