Normalcy -

Things are starting to get back to normal around here. Sometimes I don't like normal. Normally, around this time of year, I start kicking myself in the butt that everybody is in school ... except me. My vision of ever attaining a degree seems to be gradually slipping away. I know that there are wonderfully inspiring stories out there of 92-year-old women never giving up and finally hobbling across the stage, outstretching their arthritic hand to accept the glorious diploma. These stories might be inspiring to some, but for me they just create conflict.

For the past two weeks, I have spent every evening and most mornings hovering over homework. I have been sharpening those #2 pencils and worrying about more deadlines than McCain and Obama. I have spoken with more teachers than should ever compile a semester's schedule and I've been worried out of my mind over perfecting some organizational skills . . .

AND I AM NOT IN SCHOOL!

I know that receiving my own diploma would be something that I would be very proud of, but at what cost? Where exactly would my study time be placed? Perhaps in between midnight and 2:00 a.m. because I selfishly demand at least three hours of sleep each night.

Right here is where the "should haves and could haves" begin to pile up like the laundry. "I should have jumped right into college as soon as I graduated from High School." The truth of the matter is, I did. I took a shorthand class ... anybody ever heard of shorthand?

"I could have been all done by now if I would have started at any point during the past 24 years!" "Why oh why oh why didn't I just go to school before I started running one?!"

Eventually I calm down and here is where I have to remind myself "why oh why oh why" ... I didn't.

I didn't go to school right out of High School because I HATED High School and couldn't wait to be done with education in any form (except for that apparent desire to be the shorthand Queen)! I had a dream! All I wanted to do was get married and have a family . . . and that's what I did. Unfortunately my dream consisted of a lot of nightmares before I finally woke up, but it all made me what I am today.

So there is the question. Without a bona fide diploma hanging in my pantry, what exactly am I today? At the end of this conversation that I normally have with myself, I begin to remember who I am ... and the list goes something like this.

I am a daughter of God.
I am a wife and a mother.
I am a teacher.
I am a writer.
I am a speaker.
I am an intimidator.
I am hilarious.
I am obnoxious.
I am a chef, kind of.
I am a counselor.
I am a nurse.
I am a recycler.
I am a psychologist.
I am a forensic specialist.
I am a lie detector.
I am a great date.
I am a lecturer.
I am a dreamer.
I am normal.

So life goes on. I will continue to dream of many things and grasping that diploma has not completely escaped my thoughts. However, at this point in my life, when I think of myself as that 92-year-old arthritic woman, I hope that I will be reaching for little ones who call me G.G. or something equally as cute ... and pointing my crooked finger at their many diplomas.


Aaaahhh ... normal.

What will you be doing at 92-years-old?