Once again, I made a pie to bring to the county fair bake-off at my daughter’s school.  Last year at this event, I was surprised to win third place among the many pies submitted for the pie category. This year when Em and I went to drop off my lemon meringue pies with homemade crusts  (that I woke up early on a Saturday morning to prepare), there was only one other pie on the judging table. I couldn’t tell what kind of pie it was but it looked like a crumble top and in my humble (judgmental) opinion the top looked a little burnt. My pie meanwhile had fresh-squeezed lemon juice from the tree in my own backyard and a nicely toasted, puffy meringue top. Em and I be-bopped out of there. But it was early. There was still over an hour for folks to drop off their entries.

But no – as it would turn out – my pie and the slightly burnt crumble top would be the only two pies to enter the competition that day.

Last year, when we got to the fair we bought one of my pies back at the bake sale so that we could enjoy it. I wanted to do the same this year and sent Liam to go pick up my pie.  He came back empty-handed.  “Your pie is gone already, but you won a second-place ribbon” he said.  I started cracking up, “There were only two pies in the competition!” I said. Liam and Em and my dad and I all started laughing. “Dammit! Next year I’m just going to make two pies and keep them for us to eat at home!”

Em kindly pointed out that, even still, I improved over last year. “Well, that’s true” I had to admit.

But I couldn’t help feeling like second place is first in losing. Losing what? I’m not sure.

The bigger question is why did I do this in the first place? Or maybe why did I do it in the second place? It has something to do with proving that I’m juggling everything adequately: motherhood, working, trying hard enough.

True to form, my life plays like a bad country and western song — second place in a contest of two.

Lesson learned. Next year I’m keeping a whole pie for myself.

I went looking for it with the intention of posting it here. Yeah. Only problem is that when I found it and ran back inside to the cool embrace of my air-conditioned bedroom to read it, I discovered that in some ways it is a wildly embarrassing document. For instance if someone were to send me a Freedom of Information Act request asking to see this personal record of my younger self — I would have to send it back redacted, black marker lines striped across the page. Absolutely, no doubt about it.

On the other hand, looking closely I’ve got to admit, I feel a sense of restrained pride at the number of items I’ve completed on this list.

Not to mention how weird it is to see that some of these things weren’t just fancy (though many were) but were the beginnings of real life-shaping goals that I’m still pushing toward.

Seeing the lines of personal information blacked out reminds me that mistakes have been made, and that is ok. I am still here learning, growing, editing. If my personal record were subject to disclosure I’m all right. And, maybe most important – it’s time to make a new list. I will keep you posted on the progress of that.