Then I was young and unafraid
And dreams were made and used and wasted
There was no ransom to be paid
No song unsung, no wine untasted.
Because really, when you are wearing comfy-but-still-cute pajamas and lying on a pile of blankets with the TV screen showing a slightly snowy version of You've Got Mail next to your best friend and talking about The Future, there were lots of things that were not part of the grand calculation.
We drew blueprints of our dream houses and chose the colleges of our dreams. We wrote New York Times bestsellers and fixed all of the mistakes that our parents had made with us. We named our children and figured out the proper heights for our husbands. We picked out low-fat recipes and doctoral thesis topics.
We accounted for all the big stuff. It was just that lots of little tiny things never quite made it to the calculator.
Little tiny things that first cried and then smiled, and then laughed, and then talked, and then talked back. All the while needing to be fed and changed and then fed and toilet trained. And played with and held and discipled and loved.
We accounted for everything except for the fact that there are not enough hours in the day to have it all. To cure the worlds problems and to cure the bruised knee and bruised ego. To write the grand novel and to write, while holding her hand gently, her name. To finish the Phd and finish making dinner just the way he likes it.
Today I wrote back to the master's program that accepted me and told them that I would not be attending due to financial reasons. Half of me is hoping that they will hand me a scholarship.
The other half of me wants to make play-dough out of flour, water, salt and food-coloring, and kiss all the boo-boos away.