This is the life - II

A few weeks back I shared the ironies of how reality compares with youthful visions of what adult life would be like. I had another of those moments Friday morning.

Sydney wanted "Pay-doh", so I dragged out our monstrous bin of Playdoh, along with the buzzillion cutters, presses, molds and other fun tools that accumulate in a home where the mommy is as big of a fan of the squishy stuff as the kids.

The size of our collection, most of which is AJ's, really is a bit of overkill for Sydney at this age. She's happy to simply bang the containers on the table in hopes the Playdoh will drop out for her. To do anything else, she needs help.

And so I sat at the table with her, providing help when needed. During the brief and precious moments when she was happily occupied, I skimmed through my recently received Murphy Reporter (the alumni newsletter from the U of M's Journalism School). I read that Dr. Fang, my journalism advisor, just published another book. At age 80. I, meanwhile, am sitting at a kitchen table helping Sydney create a dolphin out of pink Playdoh.

I remember in Dr. Fang's office, he proudly displayed a photo of himself with one of the (now deceased) 60 Minutes guys, whom he had helped receive a diploma based on his impressive life experience. I don't think I've quite achieved that level of professional success that would earn me a spot on his wall of fame. Though I will forever credit him for making me a better writer.

"Mommy, I cwoc-dile!"

Back to reality. Sydney now needs help cutting out a pink crocodile.

Breakfast time rolled around soon afterward, so we pushed the Playdoh to the side as AJ joined us at the table for a meal that included hashbrowns (the shaped kind, similar to what you'd order at McDonalds. AJ gobbled his down, then asked for another.

"Can I have more hashbrowns?

"No, you don't need another one."

"But I still have ketchup left."

Definitely not what the 22-year-old me imagined the 39-year-old me would be doing. But I wouldn't want it any other way. And come to think of it, by the time I'm 80, my kids will be in their 40s. They probably won't need as much supervision at that point in their lives. So I just might have time to publish a book of my own.