And I did do it. 

In fact, I did it frequently and not very carefully, which is why I got pregnant and dropped out to have a baby.

My baby is now 16 and two years away from finishing high school. That means that in a very short period of time, he's going to have more formal education than his mother. I tried to tell him that it's fine because I have a PhD in Street Cred, but he rolled his eyes at me. So I decided to piss off The Walking Food Inhaler and go back to school next month so I can graduate before he does.

Ok, so maybe that's not exactly why.

I've had a lot of shame and regret surrounding being a high school dropout. Let's face it: we're not exactly viewed in the brightest light and our world is not usually filled with financial opportunities. But no one has been harder on me than, well, me. I've been beating myself up longer than Justin Bieber has been potty trained.

Believe it or not, I went to seven different high schools. 

Let me say that again: seven different high schools. 

Why? Because life, that's why. I left all of them for different reasons:

School 1: Left due to extreme bullying. I was tormented every day and then lit on fire in the school yard. We decided it wasn't a very safe place for me anymore at that point, so I transferred. 

School 2: Expelled for missing too many classes. Oops. My alcoholism was in full swing by this time. Shortly after leaving, I went to a six month drug and alcohol rehab. I then returned home and back to the same school, newly sober. Shortly thereafter, I unexpectedly moved from Gatineau, QC to Ottawa, ON. That's just across the river, but in an entirely different province. I had to re-enrol at a school in Ontario.

School 3: Great downtown school with very cool people, but I was fairly transient at this point and was only in the school's catchment area for a short time. I was sixteen and living at no fixed address. I stayed at the YM/YWCA, a halfway house and a few other choice places. And by choice I mean scary. It was during that time I realized how much I love to write.

School 4: I asked for special permission to attend a school across the city from where I lived (in my very first apartment with my then-boyfriend-now-husband) because it was the only one that offered an English Writing program. There I met the teacher who changed my life. I walked into her class with purple hair and a leather jacket. Ms. Wagland could have written me off right then as a lot of other teachers had, but she didn't because she's awesome. She saw something in me. She believed in me, pushed me, and encouraged me to embrace my writer's voice. We moved to the suburbs after that year, however, so I took Ms. Wagland's teachings with me and went to a new school.

School 5: What happens when you're 17, living on your own, and going to school alongside suburban kids? You leave because those kids are really annoying. They think you're really cool because you live on your own and they want to hang around you all the time when all you want to do is go home and figure out what $12 is going to buy you for meals this week. Their parents are afraid of you because you're probably on drugs (even though you're likely the only sober kid in the entire school.) And you drop out quickly because you feel more out of place there than you ever felt anywhere else in your life.

School 6: Screw that noise. I decided to try my hand at a year-long upgrading program at the local college. If I finished this, I could apply as a mature student to one of their programs the following year. I loved college life! I loved the people and the energy and the fact that I was treated as an adult. I was two-thirds of my way through the year when I was pulled into the administrator's office. She tearily told me that, effective immediately, the government was cutting funding to the program for anyone under 18. I would either have to pay out of pocket for the rest of the year or I would need to withdraw. I broke down in her office and walked out with my things. With no way to apply for a student loan for that particular program, I simply couldn't afford the tuition.

School 7: I was at an adult high school and totally kicking ass up until the time I started throwing up. I left in my second trimester. 

Life got busy. I made choices. I don't regret those choices, nor the life experiences I've had. I've been sober for 22 years. I have a great husband and three adorable kids (Yes, even the bottomless pit who rolls his eyes at me.) I have full belly - a little too full, actually. I own a home in a safe neighbourhood. I drive a car that doesn't terrify me. I work for myself doing something I'm passionate about. I suppose I'm your typical, middle class suburban mom.

I am balls out happy, you guys. I really, really love my life. I'm grateful every single day for what I have because I remember a time when I thought I'd never have it.

But I never finished high school, and I hate that I never finished after all that work. I tried so hard. But the kicker is that I know I could have tried harder. I just gave up after a while and threw myself into parenting. Now it's time to do this for me.

So this is my year. Do you hear that, Universe? This is my fucking year. By June I will be a high school graduate and I will put blinking lights around my diploma and giant bedazzled arrows pointing to my name on it. It will go in my front hall and I will call random people off the street to come look at it. Also, my husband has been informed that he is to throw me a big grad party. It has to be ballin'. Don't worry, he has a few months to plan it.

My major goals this upcoming school year are:

- Finish these 4 credits

- Rule the school (look into how to do this while attending mostly online classes.)

- Setback: No cheerleading program, so can't be head cheerleader. Therefore, aim for valedictorian

- Inquire into getting credits "just for being awesome." (This could happen.)

- FOR FUCK'S SAKE DO NOT GET KNOCKED UP.

Oh, and one more thing:  Hold your head high no matter what. It's about time to prove to yourself you can really do anything you set your mind to. 

You're The Maven, after all.