What If?

You could say I spend quite a bit of time daydreaming. And a fair amount of that time is spent on “what if” scenarios.

They say we shouldn’t waste our time on what ifs. But sometimes there is nothing more enjoyable than a spot of “what if” imaginary role play.

It’s not just that it’s sometimes a fun diversion to think about what could’ve been (or more excitingly what could happen in the future), but it also serves the very valuable purpose of making us question whether or not we have done the right thing, and being grateful for the choices we have made.

Imagine how the tiniest shift here or there in the story of your life could have affected the current outcome. If you hadn’t gone out that night you might not have met that guy, who is now the father of your children. If there had been something worth watching on telly that night your kids may not be here now. Scary, huh?

I have just watched a shamelessly girly and immature film about a bunch of 14 year olds. I’m probably too old (and without even a daughter to blame it on) to admit that but I’ll take one for the team. But it got me thinking about all the ways my life could have turned out if I had made different choices.

Am I wistful? Yes, sometimes. Sometimes it’s nice to imagine a different life. That ridiculously chic cottage by the sea (always immaculate of course, no overflowing washing baskets or god knows how old marmite smears in my imaginary world), or that jaw droppingly buff bloke that treats you like a princess, ALWAYS hangs the bath mat up after use and adores everything you do. Or having everything that money could buy, including, but not limited to, an amazing and ever changing wardrobe, a nice big shiny black four by four with tinted windows and an uneconomically and ecologically low MPG (what can I say, I’m a mum). Luxury holidays to Sandals (which is probably not as good as I imagine it but it’s taken on magical proportions in my mind now I have imagined it for so long so please don’t ruin it for me). Travelling the world. Seeing everything there is to see. Living out of a backpack, something I never got to do.

They say you should walk a thousand miles in someone else’s shoes before you can understand what it’s like to live a different life. But we can never ever really do that. All we have is our, slightly overactive in my case, imaginations. And what a wonderful blessing that is. Because it does give us the chance, just for a moment, to live any life we want.

There’s this old guy I often see out for a walk. He has something wrong with his back, he is so bent over he looks like a right angle. It looks really, really painful. I often wonder what life must be like for him, spending his whole life looking at the ground, only occasionally turning awkwardly to see what’s around him. What a completely different impression he must get of the things that we see everyday. But there must be loads of stuff going on on the ground that we miss because we’re so busy being upright; lines of ants, interesting looking stones, random wildflowers poking out of cracks on the edges of the pavement. Things that go unnoticed to us who presume all the excitement and wonder of the world are out there in the distance. I’m not belittling this mans affliction, as I said it looks incredibly painful and every time I see him I am reminded of how lucky I am to have a straight spine. But every time I see him I also try to imagine all of the things he sees which I don’t.

It’s great to spend our time looking out at the world and seeing all the wonder that could be out there. But sometimes, there are some pretty interesting and exciting things going on right under our noses that we would see if we just looked down at them once in a while.

Am I wistful? Yep, and I think it’s perfectly normal and natural to get even more so as we get older and the number of possible outcomes to our life starts to diminish. My life isn’t the way I planned it. And if you’d told me when I was 14 that this is how I’d end up there would have been a big part of me running (shell suit swooshing, hair unmoving thanks to the whole can of Harmony hairspray holding it in place) screaming “Noooooooooo” towards the nearest careers office/travel agents/millionaire dating agency (delete as appropriate). But I think as much as I wouldn’t have wanted to admit it in public, deep down I’d be pretty happy.

A nice daydream is like a little reality holiday, but at the end of it, like all holidays, I just can’t wait to get home and back into my own bed.

Nothing Worth Having Comes Easy

Yesterday the man and I had two mealtime battles with son number one. The first at lunch time, it took us fifteen minutes to get him to taste a piece of cake. A piece of cake! You’d have thought we were feeding him cockroach, although being 4 he probably would have got a kick out of that. At dinner, another twenty minutes spent coaxing him into trying a roasted shallot. I am reminded of that old saying “nothing worth having comes easy.”

I never thought I’d have a fussy child, having always been happy to eat anything put in front of me (bar liver, I just can’t get past the offalyness of it). I’ll try anything once, except maybe eating monkey brains directly from the cut open head (or is that an urban legend?). I think even I might struggle with that one, but never say never eh?

Anyway, it’s a real battle to get my son to eat anything other than his usual diet of sausages, pasta, and two types of vegetables: peas and sweetcorn (or what we call Pirate Treasure, left over from a previously victorious battle). And son number 2 (who used to be a big eater) is now copying his behaviour and turning his nose up on food I know he loves. I go through periods of apathy where I just can’t be bothered with the fight so feed them chicken dippers or sausages every day, which plagues me with an overwhelming sense of failure, what kind of mother am I anyway? So this time I am determined to persevere. I know that despite it being depressing, frustrating and above all hard work, it’ll be worth it in the end, when they will both sit down to Moules Mariniere and devour them with gusto (I can dream can’t I?).

Working hard for something may not seem attractive at the time, but I think often it’s the hardship that makes us appreciate things more when they finally come to us. The car you’ve saved up for feels all the more sweet when you finally drive it home, and the dress I’ve starved myself to get into feels even more satisfying than simply buying it in a larger size. Besides, the easy option can all too often come back and bite you in the ass. The cheapo car might seem like a good deal, until within days of owning it, the head gasket has gone. Being immortalised in a photo wearing that dress in a size bigger than I had planned, posted on Facebook for all to see, taunting me with my own laziness and post pregnancy paunch. And when I don’t try to at least encourage more adventurous eating habits in my kids there is a nagging doubt in the back of my mind, keeping me awake at night “will I end up like one of those mothers passing MaccyD’s through the school fence to prevent my boys from starving to death on those oh so healthy school dinners?” Victory is so much sweeter when it’s hard won.

But what with everything we have going on in our lives we’re busy enough without constantly taking the hard road. I’m all for the satisfaction of hard work, but I think you have to pick your battles. Work hard for the things that really matter, and let the rest go.

I don’t know who said nothing worth having comes easy, but they were pretty spot on. Who wants an easy life anyway? It must be pretty boring to have everything handed to you on a plate. You hear about lottery winners throwing their money away and ending up far worse off than they started, “It” girls given every available opportunity but spending half their lives in The Priory. Nope, I’ll take my hard roads, and feel a smug satisfaction when I get to my destination. Moules Mariniere anyone?