When I was growing up, my grandma always told me I could be anything I wanted to be.  And I believed her.

As a young kid, I was going to follow any number of different career paths. 

There was the typical I want to be a teacher phase.  And then I was going to be a nurse; a nurse in the newborn nursery.  Then I thought I would like to be the daughter of a president, because I wanted a big fancy wedding at the White House.  For a while, I wanted to be a marine biologist.  I think it was after a trip to the beach.  What exactly is a marine biologist, anyway? 

I think I thought it might be cool to be an astronaut, but I’m afraid to fly.  I did go through a patriotic phase though, and I desperatley wanted to attend space camp in Alabama. 

As I got older I began to get a little more realistic about a career path.  My sophomore year in high school I started studying colleges and their basketball programs.  Because I was pretty sure I wanted to marry a future NBA star. 

I wish I were kidding.  But Georgetown and Seton Hall were serious contenders for a while there in the ol’ college hunt.

My freshman year in college, whenever anyone asked what my major was, I would say public relations.  I didn’t really know what that all entailed, but it was a really popular major at the time.  And I was nothing if not a follower.

And lastly, when it was time to get serious, I really thought I would be an architect.  I could draw some pretty awesome house plans.  And then I went to college and realized that while the vision for the floor plan of the house is a necessary thing, the structure of said house is even more necessary.  And getting the whole structure thing right, not to mention the 20,947 details that have to be JUST PERFECT for a building to stand on its own, you know, without collapsing,  required a bit of more knowledge than I had in a tricky little subject call Mathematics. 

So between my ineptitude in all things mathematical and my lack of attention to details, it ended up being not quite the right career path for me.

Luckily, I only wasted 3 years of my life trying.

Phew.  Glad I was so quick to get that figured out.

After countless, mind numbing jobs as anything from a bank teller to a french fry cook at Disney World’s famous Pinocchio’s Village Haus Restaurant: Fantasy Land location, I finally figured out was I was meant to be.

Besides me, of course. 

A mom.  I think I was meant to be a mom. 

Because I meet all the qualifications for the job description. 

I know how to french braid and brush out tangled hair with minimal pain.  I am really good at playing catch and hockey with my son.  I am pretty good at making sure everyone has clean and matching clothes every day.  I cook dinner for my family four or five nights a week.  I usually always have a pantry and fridge filled with good snacks and I never mind when the kids want to share with their friends. 

I drive, so that’s a major plus right there.

I know how to pack a lunch, I can kiss a boo boo and I can make a cake out of play doh.  I like to go to the park.  I always have a supply of pickle jars ready for catching lightening bugs, and I think the dirtier my kids get, the better.  To me, dirty kids are kids that have been outside playing hard.  And those are my kind of kids.

I like to ride a bike, and I like to go for walks with my kids.  I usually have money for the ice cream man, and I will always get in the water and swim with my kids.  I like to have fun.  I like to ride wave runners and ATV’s.  I like to go out for ice cream, and I have even declared ice cream dinner a time or two.  I like to grill hot dogs and hamburgers, I don’t mind eating at McDonald’s if the happy meal toy is a good one and I let my kids play with bubbles outside, even though they and the driveway always turn into a sticky mess.

I always have had a sand box in the back yard for my kids, even though half of the sand always comes into the house with them.

I’m practically a saint.

I also yell and sometimes scream, I discipline and I admit I have swatted.  I expect report cards to come home with A’s and I drag my daughter to a tutor every week to make sure that happens. 

There are times when I ignore, and times when I am at my wits end.  There are always situations I don’t want to deal with and questions I don’t want to answer.

There are times when I say “sure, invite your friends over” and other times when I just don’t feel like entertaining.

Some days I throw open the windows and welcome in the day, other days I want to sit in the darkness and listen to the quiet.

I run out of milk at least once a week.

I can laugh at Cory and Hannah and Zach and Cody, I cringe at Sponge Bob and the Rugrats. 

I never seem to have a bandaid when somebody needs one and I have sent my kids to school without gloves more times than I can remember.

I know what friend has lizards and which friends want to shave their arms. 

I have the patience to bake cookies with two three year olds on a rainy afternoon, and I have been impatient while listening to the story telling of an 8 year old.  I may even sometimes say, “Spit it out already.”

I have taken my first baby to the emergency room no less than five times during her first year of life.  And I have not taken my fourth child to the doctor for any illness or problem in almost two years.

I sometimes laugh when I shouldn’t and tease when I know it’s not right.

I also love.  Deeply, strongly, and without condition, every single day.

After years of searching, I think I have finally found the perfect career for me.

And I should get a raise.