HELL YES IS ALWAYS THE RIGHT ANSWER

Under normal circumstances, I have a wicked hard time making a decision.  When faced with a choice, I have an annoying tendency to weigh every option, cross-reference  the options with all possible consequences, consider all the possible permutations of all the options and/or consequences, and then summon my kids’ favorite (read with much sarcasm) alter-ego Worst Case Scenario Girl  to multiply it all by two, then check the barometric pressure.   It's been years since, when presented with a choice, I have just ridden the ragged edge and gone for it.

When I was a kid, decision making was easy.   Ooh look, a puddle.  Should I jump in it?  Hell yes.  Didn't matter that I was all gussied up in a frilly pink dress, smartly accessorized with little matching gloves and a sweet purse containing a quarter, a stick of gum, and a tissue with three melted M&Ms fused to it, and was on my way to church.  I was in that puddle up to the top of my lace-trimmed anklets.  Opportunity presented, decision made, action taken.  Moving on in soggy shoes and a muddy dress, and damned happy about it.  A question like ‘Debbie would you like some ice cream?’ would get a swift and correct  "Hell yes".  Remember I am Tim’s granddaughter.  If someone asks me that same question today it would be frought (fraught? frowt? I dunno I can’t decide which spelling is the right one) with issues.  I love ice cream but I have a social function requiring me to wear a dress next week, so I should pass.  But I do have Spanx and an elaborate sysem of pulleys and ratchets to help me fit into the dress, so maybe one scoop as long as it’s a fruity flavor so it sounds lower in calories, and the social event does not require me to  exhale…oh wait, does it (the ice cream, not the social event) have nuts in it?  They might get stuck in my teeth, so maybe if you could…ewww, I did have cream in my coffee this morning, I don’t want to trigger the lactose issue.  Is it chocolate?  Gee, that might stain my sweater.  Ice cream is melted and the party is over before I am close to a decision.

What the heck, you may wonder, got me to thinking about my flawed decision-making skills.  Well, like stretchmarks, mood swings and belly muscles that will not respond to my strenuous cardio-imagery routine (that is one in which I lay on the couch watching Cupcakes Wars and think about doing sit-ups) this can be attributed to my boys. 

They both had an opportunity to follow a dream and they decided to do it.  And they are happy.

Christopher and his new friends

Recently my first attempt at motherhood decided to follow his dream of fishing in Alaska.  He made the decision, bought the ticket and three weeks ago, made the questionable decision to let me take him to the airport.  After many hugs and assurances that he would be OK, and many, many tears on my part, I informed TSA and everyone in the cozy Bar Harbor Airport terminal that while most of the tears were because he was leaving, some were probably menopausal.  Christopher promptly assured everyone in the cozy terminal that I was only his mother til the real one gets out of prison and off he went through security to the special area where I was not allowed to have contact with him.  When the time came, I watched him fold his tall frame into the doorway of the plane, snapped one more picture, and thanked security for being so compassionate (they really were wonderful). I spotted an  absolutely adorable little boy with a neatly pressed white shirt and dark pants (I thought, with just a touch of snark, ‘somebody’s mom has a lot of free time’) skipping across the tarmac clutching a 20 ounce bottle of Mountain Dew.  Here's my conversation with the TSA man, who I suspect had been assigned to make sure I didn't jump the fence and contaminate all the freshly scanned passengers:
Me:  Oh, isn’t he cute.  
TSA:  Yeah, he's a nice kid.
Me: Must be take your son to work day.  Is his mommy or daddy the pilot?
TSA:  No, he’s the pilot. 
I do want credit for making the the difficult decision not to leap over the fence to drag my son off a plane piloted by a lad who skips and drinks Mountain Dew.

Tripod (2nd from left) and his pals

Although I spent a good part of the day fighting back tears, I was anxiously anticipating seeing my youngest son on television that very night.  To make a short story long (as I am prone to do) eight years ago, Aaron decided to take a year off between high school and college to work at a ski resort  and off he went, with my blessing, to Sugarloaf with friends to work on the mountain and ski. My blessing was tinged with relief since I had invested his college fund, one martini at a time at the Thirsty Whale.  Now, eight years later he is running a bike and ski rental shop in Aspen, and doing what he loves in a gorgeous location.  This decision resulted in some good screen time on a BRAVO ‘reality show’ called ‘Bethenny Ever After which chronicles the life, times and therapy sessions  of the creator of Skinny Girl Cocktails.   She was launching her newest cocktail, the White Cranberry Cosmo, in Aspen, and met my boy and his friends at the ski-shop, where they were instantly given nicknames.  I was a tad distraught that he had been dubbed 'Tripod' til he assured me it was only because he has developed an interest in photography.  True or not, it was still better than his co-workers nicknames Catchy and Twitch.   I was a little miffed he ignored my request to tell Bethenny his mother was the CEO of Chunky Chick Martinis—Stoli up with a twist of bacon.  I watched the show, and did not get  the feeling she was jolly (probably because she is skinny) so he might have made the right decision.  

Aaron well before the Tripod episode



Chris, before he discovered AXE

 Anyhoo, while the other 8 passengers on the tarmac were watching a wonderfully entertaining 28 year old 6’6” man who reeked faintly of Axe Body Spray, board a plane to chase his Alaskan fishing dream, all I could see was a 3 year old pipsqueak running to the backyard pond to chase frogs.  And while the rest of Bethenny’s fanbase was watching the lanky 26 year old  young man they had nicknamed ‘Tripod’ (yeah, my friends are not having at all a good time with that) mingling with the rich and famous, I was watching a grinning towheaded toddler in a baseball shirt playing with his pals.  I am very proud of both my boys, and of the decisions they have made.  But I still miss them.  And I miss that little girl who used to just go for it. 

That's why I have decided to have some ice cream - chocolate with macadamia nuts.  And I shall eat it while wearing a white Dunk 'Em tee-shirt (the reward for a decision proudly made at the Dog & Pony) .  Oh yeah, I am riding the ragged edge.