Every day since I was small I’ve felt like I’m supposed to do something that will make me exceptional. Problem is, being exceptional today takes some doing. It helps to be young, beautiful, double jointed, incredibly talented, a genius, wildly artistic or an exhibitionist. I’m none of those things. I don’t think I tried hard enough to be exceptional when I was young and now I’m 58, divorced and going through a shitload of self-doubt.

I don’t live in my lovely home anymore. After my divorce, my two kids and I moved back in with my elderly dad for two years, and now my daughter and I are in a two bedroom apartment that needs a lot of work.

I feel like I never really achieved serious success in any of my jobs. I was a sales rep and was OK. I was a news and traffic reporter and was pretty good. I still am a copywriter and I’m pretty good. I’m a voice actress and audiobook narrator and I’m pretty good. I’m a blogger and thought I might be almost exceptional at it but with writing, you’re not exceptional until somebody with the power to get you noticed, says you’re exceptional.

So, I feel like I’m pretty good at everything, exceptional at nothing. I’m not saying this for sympathy, it’s just how I feel sometimes, which is really hard to admit. And I keep asking for a sign. I keep hoping something will flash in my face and scream, “HEY, YOU’RE ON THE RIGHT TRACK!” Stick with this performance and writing thing, something good is coming. I’m not sure what I’ve been waiting for. It’s not like my name’s Moses and a burning bush is going to just pop up out of nowhere as I tend my sheep. I guess I was hoping some big time publisher would stumble upon my blog and go, “Wow, we MUST have her on our staff.”

That happens about as often as burning bushes appear.

Writing takes unbelievably constant self-promotion. Of course I would never admit any of this self-doubt to my kids, who both happened to be home tonight. Why add to their stress? It’s bad enough they feel insecure sometimes. I’m always their cheerleader. I can’t fall apart right now; they’ve already witnessed my wilting self-esteem more times than I care to admit. When my daughter and I got home, my son was here having a bad day. He hadn’t eaten anything and it was almost five. He was grouchy and feeling bad that he hadn’t been able to put the final touches on my computer, which he fixed yesterday and my daughter was tired and starving, as usual. So, I went into mother-mode and patched up a salad from last night’s leftovers and put the roasted chicken from Von’s on top with some quinoa and homemade salad dressing. My son ate that and my daughter’s lumpy, leftover, two-day-old burrito. I made some espresso for a quick latte for my daughter, who ate some chicken breast. She popped popcorn and my son was diving into my banana bread with chocolate chips.

He told me my banana bread was godly.

They were both sitting in the sunlight talking and eating while I watched. I just stood looking at them and they looked so beautiful I took a photo. Then my son got up and came over and wrapped his arms around me in a big hug. He apologized for being grouchy and for not being able to finish my computer and told me, the food was great and that I was a good mom. And as I stood hugging him with the afternoon sunlight shining on us in this small kitchen, I thought: Wow, this feels so nice. Maybe this is the sign. My kids are good kids. They’re kind, loving and good. Maybe I am a success at this, maybe that’s what I’m here to do. Maybe this job will have a more lasting effect than anything else I’m pursuing. It was a huge post-Mother’s Day gift. Maybe I don’t have to be exceptional on the world’s stage. Maybe I don’t need a big house. Maybe I can finally relax knowing that just being a good mom to my kids, who seem to be turning out OK is my job. Maybe I don’t have to be the next Ellen Degeneres or Nora Ephron.

Maybe just being the good mom that my mom taught me to be is what I’m here to do. And maybe I’m finally starting to be OK with that.

Banana Bread That Will Make You Feel Like a Success adapted from Kona Inn Recipe

2 cups flour

1 tsp. salt

2 tsp. baking soda

1 cup butter- very soft or melted

2 cups mashed, ripe banana – about six medium sized bananas

4 eggs slightly beaten

1 cup chopped walnuts

1 cup semi sweet chocolate chips

Stir together flour, salt and baking soda.

In separate large bowl, mix softened/melted butter, sugar, mashed banana, eggs and walnuts.

Add dry ingredients and stir until batter is thoroughly blended.

Pour batter into two greased and floured (9×5 inch) loaf pans and bake at 350 degrees until toothpick inserted in center comes clean.

Start checking for done-ness after 40 minutes of baking. (The bread sometimes gets very dark colored, but it’s not done until the toothpick comes out dry.)

Let bread cool in pans a few minutes then remove. I butter the tops of the bread and wrap them in plastic wrap to keep the moisture in.

About Fran Tunno

If I could stay home bake, cook, hang out and talk all day, I probably would. It’s how I relax. I also relax by feeding people. It’s an incurable disease I got from my Italian mother. As soon as someone showed up she sat them down at the table and fed them everything in our refrigerator. Then she focused on them like a laser beam and if they didn’t eat enough she’d say, with grave disappointment, “What’s a matta — you don’d a liiiga my food?” She took force-feeding to dizzying heights. She was also hilarious without realizing it and was, and still is, the source of my best material. She’s the reason I love it when my kids and their friends show up famished. There’s a certain loving appreciation in their eyes after they’ve just devoured what you fed them. The only other place I’ve seen that look is on my dog’s face after he’s waited all day to go outside. My kid’s friends seem to enjoy being here and I have a chance to get to know them. I feel like I have lots of children now instead of just three. Overall this is an incurable disease I’m happy to have. http://atfranstable.wordpress.com/