Opportunity Cost

For some reason, I thought it would be fun to browse back through some old yearbooks of mine.  It was fun, but it made me very nostalgic.  I had a blast in high school, and miss it a lot.  I am guessing a big reason that I miss it so much is because I went to high school in Colombia, and haven't been back since I graduated, nor do I have any immediate plans for a trip in that direction.  (And I LOVED Colombia.  If I could be Colombian, I would.)  Many of my friend are more nostalgic for college, but I prefer high school.  The main reason is that in high school, I could dream big.  By the time I was in college, I had to make decisions about my future, not just dream about it like I could before. 
In  my senior yearbook, each senior had a whole page to write wills or dedications.  Many of the people who mentioned me in theirs mentioned Physics or Chemistry (or Math).  I was quite good at those subjects.  I think most people who know me now would be surprised.  I also won a Calculus award my senior year.  Yes, I am apparently a math and science geek.  I was also going to be a doctor.  I wanted to be a pediatric oncologist.  Obviously, I didn't end up doing that! 
Now, I have no regrets.  I do enjoy my life, but sometimes I wonder.  In my Economics classes in college, I learned about opportunity cost.  That basically means that by choosing one thing, you are giving up many other options (those other options are the opportunity cost).  I have been thinking about my Opportunity Costs today.  What I had to give up to get here.  Many may think that I didn't have to give anything up, that I could have had it all.  But I disagree.  To be the kind of mother I wanted (and still want) to be, there is no way I could have done medical school, and held down a job after my kids were born.  There are some days when I feel like I need to be so much more, that my brain is atrophying away by spending hours upon hours relating to young kids.  Those are the days that I wish I had done more to have a career.  But then I comes back to my children, and how even imagining someone else taking care of them makes me hyperventilate.  In time, when both kids are in school full time, I do hope to go back to school to get some sort of medical degree (probably some kind of nurse) and I hope that I will make the time, and have the money to do just that. 
Does anyone else feel that there is a whole other person inside your "mom" exterior?  I am trying to find a way to bring these 2 people together, but so much of my day is "mom" that this other person (who I think is still in high school, because I don't feel a day over 17) gets ignored.  Any ideas on how to bring these 2 people together, or am I the only one who feels this way? 

Won't You Be My Neighbor?

Having neighbors is an interesting thing.  It is almost like family: you really want to like them, but they are always there, and can be annoying, and very interesting.  Over the past few months, we have gotten to know some of our neighbors. 
When I say "know" I don't mean in a deeply personal way.  They all pretty much keep to themselves, but are very nice.  When the kids held a lemonade stand, so many neighbors came over to buy lemonade, it touched my heart.  But being that it is summer, and our windows are open a lot, we hear all sorts of stuff from the houses that surround us.  The other night, at the house across the street, the teenage son was fighting with his parents.  He called his mom a bitch, then said he was running away, only to apologize 2 minutes later and go back into his house.  But the people on the opposite corner from us are definitely the most interesting.  They have about a million kids (or is at least seems like that) and they like to shout at each other every evening.  Almost every night, we hear the mom or dad yell, "Get your asses inside this house right now."  And they also like to use the "F" word.  A lot!  They did, however, buy $2 worth of lemonade from my kids, so I try not to judge! 
Our next door neighbors are nice.  My kids love to peer through the fence and just stare at their kids.  I hope they don't think my kids are weird . . . .