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Imagine
by Shannon O'Regan
May 5, 2010
As a young girl, playtime for me included a fair amount of pretend play. With my imagination I often acted out real life scenarios. I pretended to work in an office; organizing the compartments of my roll-top desk, talking on an unplugged Trim-line phone, writing documents of gibberish. There was store clerk pretend too; lining up merchandise around my bedroom to sell, using play money to check out my imaginary customers (little did I know one day I would spend time as a boutique owner). There was high tea hostess with all my “friends” (including my toddler brother) sitting around the petite table and chairs my grandfather made.
I imagined Donny Osmond was my boyfriend; that I was also a spot light dancer on American Bandstand with the body and technique of a Solid Gold dancer. Donny never became my boyfriend, but my husband is awesome, everything I imagined a great husband would be and more. My dancing skill is suspect, contained to the gym and my living room. While I still imagine I can dance like the pros, I channel the energy by critiquing Dancing with the Stars from my sofa. Might be time to sign up for lessons.
No childhood pretend play would be complete without playing “house” which invariably included pretending to be a mommy. Each of my dolls were put in a rotation to be the baby of the day, no favoritism allowed; taller, older dolls would sometimes play the role of siblings to smaller ones. Playing house I always imagined what motherhood would be like – to a point. As I grew older, my imagination of what kind of mother I would be evolved out of my own life experiences. I’ve been living the vision I had as a youngster, amidst a glitch or two, by being the mother of a lovely daughter the past 28 years.
When she recently announced her engagement, I rejoiced,then paused in somber silence. I never imagined this time in her life, our life, my life. Mother-of-the-Bride? How do I do that? How will I be being? Man, am I getting old. Just a few of the thoughts breezing through the transom of my brain. I reflected over the next several days , envisioning what would feel perfect to me while supporting my daughter. I observed how I answered her questions and reacted to her requests. My vision became clearer. Last week I proclaimed to her that I will be the Zen mother-of-the-bride. No Motherzilla here, but a beacon of calm, peace, acceptance, and joy. For this is, after all, her time. And all these many years, without actually knowing, that is exactly what I imagined.
Shannon M. O’Regan
SMO Ventures
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