I totally ripped that headline off from another blogger. Sometimes I need to do that–steal stuff, I mean–because I NEVER GET A DAY OFF. If I had, say, Sundays all to myself, I could think of blog topics and witty headlines, dream up new childhood-wrecking discipline techniques, maybe even invent a new main course for dinner. But my only time away from my mom job is when I’m at my work job, where I actually do work; time at the gym, during which all my efforts are spent trying not to strangle myself with my iPod cord while the bouncing death machine works me out; or time at the grocery store, where people ogle bananas and leave their carts all over the aisles and walk too slow and make me want to get a steam roller and flatten their cars in the parking lot because they’re just making my life harder.
Whew. That feels better. So anyway, I end up stealing stuff. Not the bananas or anything. Headlines. Recipes from all the “revolutionize your family’s diet in under 20 minutes” cookbooks. And behavior techniques from SuperNanny, from which I can crib while I fold laundry. That’s me: human aggregate. I have nothing original to contribute. That’s probably why I like being a writer. It’s maybe the only job where you don’t have to know anything. My role is to ask people questions about the original things they do. How awesome is that? My epitaph should read “Here lies Summer Embee: She didn’t know squat.”
One time, in college, I had an original idea. I wrote a paper for a psych class and my professor came to me and said that I should pursue this idea because as far as he knew nobody had ever researched it. He is my favorite college professor because he actually thought I might pull that off.
I didn’t, of course, which is how we ended up here. It’s fine. It’s just a little depressing that now, as a 25/7 mom, my prospects for originality are that much slimmer. I’m working on the perfect spaghetti sauce but it’s not like I invented marinara or anything.
This is not a pity plea. You don’t need to pat my head and tell me my blog is original. I’ll know you’re lying, anyway, because seriously, pick a clause and do a Google search: I’m not the first. Who knows, though. Maybe sometime I’ll get a day off, like when Sally is old enough that I can ship her and Mr. Embee off on a father-daughter trip. Imagine, I might have all kinds of ideas hiding in me, just waiting for a vacation day when I can put aside the constant stream of To Do items and let something original explode out of my brain. If you hear a sonic boom from the East Bay, it might be me.