Recipe for Reflection

Once upon I had a dream. It was so vivid. It was one of those dreams you wake up from and you can't believe that where you just were wasn’t your “real life.” It involved me being a bonus mom to two blonde little boys. We adored each other.

Adored.

But then I woke up.

Wondered. Cried a little. And tried to put it behind me.

Life has gone on.

The dream has faded.

It’s now a bittersweet memory – one that is only occasionally revived as the years have gone on by the casual mention by one of the two people I shared it with, or some other trigger or another.

I have a blonde little boy in my life. Two actually. But they are not mine to mother.

But, I had an epiphany this afternoon.

I was in the midst of stirring in the 4 cups of flour in yet another cookie recipe. Muttering in my head. Cursing my compulsion.

Why do I do this? Why do I feel the necessity of constantly making cookies? Why do I bother? Dang (actually another word) my shoulder hurts, I should stop stirring for a moment.

So I did.

And I realized.

I realized who all these cookies end up feeding, besides me.

The I.T. boys
The Security Guard Dudes
The MailRoom Guys

Huh! So, I do have my boys.

Better yet. I don’t have to mother them. I don’t have to pick up after them, deal with their laundry, harass them about their chores, find their lost stuff, shuttle them to practices, deal with their boy stinkiness, clean up after their bathroom issues, or handle all the annoying things. I just have to feed them occasionally.

This is better.

But still.

I can’t help but remember how I felt in the dream.




I might have been a good mother.


.....


Right.

Back to stirring