Oh look! The oppressive fog of Mom Guilt! (No? Just me?)
I saw the text as I was exiting Jr’s room with my usual grace after a particularly quick bedtime. (In other words, I fell over the laundry basket and landed in a pile of library books, stubbing my toe on his dresser and holding my breath as I glared over to see if I’d woken him. Nope. Stuck that landing.)
“I know you may be in Jammies, but you wanna meet me at the brewery for a beer at 8?”
Two things….
1. It was like, 7 pm on a Saturday night.
2. I was TOTALLY in jammies.
An internal battle began. The Mr had just brought home a new load of wine that was calling my jammie-clad name, along with my comfy chair and puffy dog.
BUT.
Nobody wants to be the lamest mom on the block, right? Jr had fallen blissfully asleep super quick, The Mr had some hideous Bob Marley concert on the DVR he was dying to watch; in short, the stars were aligning to send me off into the night.
I would bet 20 bucks that my friend swore audibly from the shock of seeing my “sure I can do that” return text.
Mama was breaking out.
With almost no notice. On a Saturday night. WAY past the usual happy hour time for typical outings.
I took one last look at my snoozing offspring on the monitor and told The Mr adios. Then I backed out of the driveway, cranking up the Banner Pilot as I stole away from the subdivision like thief stealing freedom.
If I was going to do this, I was going to go all in. What did teenage Keri do when she was out and about in this town on a Saturday night?
Oh Hayyyyy, Taco Bell drive thru. Bell Grande me, por favor!
Except I sat in that damn drive thru for 20+ minutes. My pumped-up-edness totally deflated by the time I finally rolled up to the window, where the uber uninterested girl took my money and then didn’t come back FOREVER. When she finally stuck my order out the window, I was like “what’s going on in there!?” She looked at me like I was crazy. Every substance on those nachos comes out of a freaking caulking gun – how could it take 20 minutes!!!
Was the universe conspiring against me due to my horrible decision? Was it just me, or was Taco Bell girl giving me a “why aren’t you home with your small child!?” look?
I pressed on – I had REALLY hard-earned nachos to share, and there was beer to be had.
We laughed, we drank, we ate nacho-type-product. All was well. I only semi-obsessively checked my phone/imagined my son waking up and being devastated beyond what therapy could heal when he found his ever-lovin’ mommy had abandoned him. (There is a small chance I might be inflating his image of me in my mind. Nahhh.)
After a couple hours of girl-timey goodness, I departed to head home in time to give Jr his booster of cough meds, LONG before the hour that Cinderella’s accessories were in any danger of becoming fodder for the farmers’ market. But hey – baby steps, yo.
A layer of super dense, weirdly stilling fog had settled over the town. Like, “can’t see the stop light until you are almost running it” fog. “Thick like potato soup, but not my grandma’s gross watery potato soup, REAL potato soup” fog. “Serial killers come out of this shit, don’t stop by that clump of trees, stupid” fog.
Like SERIOUS fog.
Again – my mind wandered to thoughts of universal signs, and images of Jr reading a fairy tale of a mother who left her son for selfish reasons and was swallowed up by a fog in the woods, NEVER to be seen again… except it wasn’t a fairy tale, it was YOUR CRUMMY MOM, JR!!
I hunched into granny-over-steering-wheel posture and soldiered on – MAMA’S YO’ RIDE OR DIE SON, even in the fog – I am coming!!! I am like the U.S. MFing P.S. – no weather can keep me from my appointed rounds!!!! (My parents always said I was “over dramatic” when I was young… I clearly grew out of that just fine.)
I punched the button on the garage door and did a total runner into the house, convinced that was the smoke/CO alarm I heard going off, or SOMETHING.
Nope.
There was The Mr. sipping on some Jeffersons, monitor humming an image of Jr peacefully off in dreamland, possibly having not even moved since I pulled my laundry basket dismount from his room hours ago.
Hm.
As my Aunt Della would say – guess I’m not so mucking futch around here after all.
But that Taco Bell wait was still totally messed up, yo.
Hello 2016! I am sure you are full of all the promise and potential that anyone could possibly hope for, and you and I will get to all of that, pinky swear. (I confess, sitting here on the first Monday back to work after a whole boatload of holiday fun and frolic, you are fairly well disguised as a big fat bummer right now. But I know, it’s me – not you. We will get over the hump.)
I have to say, as we all start into a new year, whether with a spark or a sputter, one trend this year has me super unimpressed.
What is with the backlash against resolutions this year?
When did setting goals at time of year so traditional for new beginnings become so downright terrible? The blogosphere is overloaded with messages about how failure is certain and change won’t happen. Or worse, that choosing to set goals (especially, it seems, at this time of year,) somehow equals a lack of self-acceptance.
Nope.
Here’s the thing about goal setting – OF COURSE it can happen any time. But January 1st (or 4th,) is just as good a time as any to start. ANDPLUSALSO – you may find that you have to start again, maybe even several times. Doing so down the road isn’t failure, it’s forward motion.
Don’t want to set goals/resolutions this year (or ever?) Fantastic, then don’t. No shame in that game, for sure.
But the seeming campaign against those who do choose to? It is weird as hell to me.
I do tend to reassess and determine if there are changes I would like to be making around the beginning of the year, and then again around my birthday which happens to be in June. It makes for a nice 6 month cycle, and I find both a great opportunity for self-reflection.
Additionally, I have a record of big and small successes under my belt in the “resolution” department, so I don’t buy into the whole “you can’t change over night,” or “setting yourself up to fail” arguments. The truth is, you can do whatever the hell you want, and you can succeed – eventually – if you get started.
If January 1 is the day you start, then wild applause to you!!
Last year I did indeed successfully lose the weight I had been carrying around since Jr was born. Started on January 1st. Didn’t fail. The year before that I set a really specific financial goal that was put into motion on January 1st. By mid June that goal was accomplished. Didn’t fail. Years ago, January 1st saw my first day on a nicotine patch after MANY years of smoking. Guess what? Didn’t fail. 10 years ago, I was one of the people that long-standing gym members complain about who chose January 1st as day 1 of her shiny new gym membership. I loved going to the gym 3-5 times a week for the next 5 years, until prego Keri decided she liked working out at home better. Didn’t. Fail.
Honestly, I bet if I sat and thought, I HAVE failed/not continued goals that I set around the start of New Years in the past. It isn’t anything I am dwelling on, because I fail at things on the regular. You can’t get up to all the nutty new ideas I have and not fail at things. But the successes are what stick in my mind, and in my self-esteem bank, especially this time of year.
I confess that this year, my goal may seem less lofty than some – but it is extremely intentional based on what this next year will bring.
In this year of Jr going from preschooler to kindergartner, and my parents setting their sights on retirement adventures near and far, and The Mr and I so seriously reassessing what we want our family’s future to look like – this year my goal is to “make it work.” Whatever comes, whatever shapes up, pans out, and comes at us. Make. It. Work.
Furthermore, make it work well. Accept, adapt, and drive on. This is a HUGE opportunity for growth on my part, as I have been known to worry, micromanage, and panic… Fret is a skill I have too finely honed.
Do I feel doomed to failure because I dare to call this a resolution and put a plan of action into place at the start of a fresh new year?
Of course not.
Neither should you.
Happy 2016!
Filed under musing
2015. What a ride it has been. Join me in a walk down memory lane in some of my favorite and most popular posts, linked throughout the post.
I started the year with bacon and nostalgic weeping over Fisher Price Little People and tiny underpants, and we are indeed, now in the land of big boy beds and button up jammies, and coloring in the lines (he is better than me at this point.) BUT, 2015 has been so much more than just that.
It was the year I got trapped in a car wash, the year my hair grew a mind of its own, and the year I got slightly less nostalgic about our former life in The Treehouse.
It was the final au revoir to a touchstone of my younger years, and the year I discovered that some hurt leaves holes in the heart that no amount of roast chicken can ever fill.
2015 gave me my most treasured and proudly worn laugh line.
For Jr it ushered in The Age of the Questionable Decision, and gave him ample opportunity to shake his preschooler head at his nutty mom’s behavior, (and occasionally pay her back for it. Just Sayin’.)
For The Mr, it was a year of deep, important questions…
Questions like “How’d she end up sick?” and “What the hell is that giant pear for, anyway?”
It was the year I mortified the barbecue man. (Seriously though dude, you have LOTS of company in that, I promise.)
2015 was the year that I clarified my stance on the all-important and extremely divisive issue of leggings usage. (Not Pants. NOT.)
It has been a great year, and fantastic to share the ups and downs, ins and outs, and highs and lows with all of you!
I appreciate you taking the time to read – I look forward to trying some new things here on Reluctantly Suburban in 2016, and I hope that each of you will join in with me.
Happy new year!
Filed under musing
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