Who Do You Think You Are?

Have you ever wanted to be someone else?

I typically like where I am and would rather be me than anybody else.

But there are occasions when I fervently wish I could trade lives with someone who seems to have it all together.

Like last fall, when Jack went rogue at the zoo and we had to flee in a dramatic fashion with plenty of screaming and flailing. I drove us home that day, crying alongside Jack and suddenly wishing I were Ree Drummond, The Pioneer Woman.

In my illogical state, I imaged that The Pioneer Woman doesn’t deal with crazy meltdowns at an overcrowded zoo. She is too busy organizing her well-stocked pantry, and helping wrangle cows, and writing charming self-deprecating quips on her blog.

And I wanted to trade places with her.

Not now, of course. Just in that awful moment.

Sometimes we wouldn’t mind having a different life. Or even a different name.

On the way to swimming lesson last week, Charlie asked me his last name, which he totally already knows. I reminded him of it anyway.

“No,” he said. “I’m Charlie Gamehunter.”

While I laughed, he kept thinking. “Actually,” he decided, “I’m Charlie CallofDuty.”

At this point we were both cackling, and he knew he was on a roll.

“I’m Charlie ModernWarfare,” proclaimed my gentle six-year-old with a triumphant smile.

He christened himself with titles of Xbox games.

In the same tradition, could call myself Megan BloggyBloggerton.

Or Megan SnarkyPants.

Or Megan BookAddict.

Or I can just stick with reality.


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