Where did the Confidence Go?

            I distinctly remember being about 10 years old, maybe 14, who really knows, and not afraid of anything. There was no fear in jumping off the school bus and racing to the horse pen only to jump on the back of one of my less than cooperative horses with no saddle, no bridle, nothing. I wasn’t scared to fall off and it never worried me that I was home alone unsupervised and at any time something horrific could have happened and nobody would have known until my mother arrived home from work.  I was fearless in all of the sports I played and never backed down even though I was often one of the shortest people on the team. Slide head first into home plate with a 300 lb catcher…no problem! And when I turned 21 and was able to go to clubs, I never failed to walk through the doors knowing that I was the hottest girl in the bar and if necessary I could beat the tar out of any other snotty girl that said otherwise, or at least take off my 4 inch heal and hit her with it!

            So, now I’ve celebrated the 4^th anniversary of my 25^th birthday, been married for over 4 years and not without some battles, have two wonderful children, survived 4 moves into new homes in less than one year, have tackled a new job, run a half marathon, made some new friends, taken up some new hobbies, and learned how to use the grill (finally)…and I wonder, where did the confidence go? It seems like I’ve accomplished some pretty spectacular things, at least in my own opinion, and yet I walk into a club now and feel completely out of place, put a helmet on when I ride a horse, and sliding in softball or diving in volleyball…simply out of the question! I gained a few years and many more amazing experiences and apparently lost my coolness, or maybe gained a sense of reality. I’m not quite sure which it is, maybe I’m stuck somewhere in the middle.

            I went for a long run tonight, alone this time, because I wanted to think. I thought about how it was when I didn’t have these fears, no sense of real life, and no real responsibilities other than going to the gym and making sure my dog was fed twice a day. It was okay to have some dishes in the sink, and it was okay to skip a day of school or work to watch re-runs of 90210, and sometimes it was even okay to have a beer before going to work! And now…rush home from work, make dinner, wash the kids, put them in bed, do the dishes, get the laundry clean (who cares if there’s no time to fold it), and then…if I’m lucky enough to have any energy left…a glass (or bottle) of wine for the night. And although I’m able to tackle all of that in a couple of hours, it’s still sometimes difficult to get back on the horse!

Ferdinand

It was bedtime for Benji, I was not really in the mood to do much of anything but drink a glass, or bottle of wine. Presley had pooped on the floor, stepped in it, picked it up, then smeared it on her leg about 30 minutes ago. Oh, and then the dog tried to eat it. Don’t worry, Adam sat in the chair gagging, that was helpful…but the last thing I wanted to do was read books to Benji.  He so sweetly asked if I would read him a book, so of course I couldn’t say no without feeling intense guilt for the next three days for knowingly depriving my child of a chance to learn…so, “sure buddy, only one book tonight though, mommy is tired.” He excitedly ran to one of the many bookshelves that we have in our house, he picked up an old, worn book that looked a little rough around the edges. I stood up to see what it was because I did not recognize it which is unusual because I was quite positive that I had read all of the hundreds of books that we have in our home at least 89 times each. It was The Story of Ferdinand, my favorite book from my own childhood. I remember making my mom read this book to me several nights in a row, and I am quite positive that I now know what she was feeling every night when she read to me. After a full day of work and never quite feeling rested, the last thing that sounds appealing in the evening is reading the same children’s book that you read the previous 14 nights. But she did it, because I wanted her to, and because she realized the importance of the quality time and reading to children. Initially I wasn’t too excited to go read, all I could think about was how lonely the bottle of Moscato was looking in my fridge. (Stop judging me.)  As I carried Benji to bed with The Story of Ferdinand in his hand, I began to remember my old bedroom, and my mom sitting next to me reading this exact book. This exact book that started with me, was handed down to my nieces and nephews, and now has found its way into my home and to my own child’s bed. I couldn’t help but to smile a little and read with just a little more excitement than I usually do.  As I read the words, I felt like my mother. The person that I idolized as a youngster and couldn’t stand to be around as a teenager. The person that carried me for the first few years of my life because I screamed if anyone else held me, and the person that I screamed and slammed doors at when I was 14.  I felt a connection tonight, although she wasn’t here, I felt what she felt when I was reading. There’s nothing stronger than the love that a mom has for her babies…babies of any age I’m sure, even the babies that grow to slam doors in your face and “hate” you.

It's like toilet water.

            The evening started off as many of our evenings have lately…Presley insisting on being carried on my hip until dinner time and screaming at the threat of being placed on the floor or in a chair and Benji requesting “different colored cereal” (Apple Jacks…duh!) for dinner…not once, not twice, but 14,002 times within a half an hour. Oh, and to top everything off, Adam is sick, so as much as he tried to pretend to help, he was fairly useless.  Oh, and by sick I mean a runny nose…which for a man is apparently comparable to a woman having diarrhea, vomiting, and giving birth to twins with no epidural all at the same time. Anyway, I hope he feels better soon. J As the night crept on, dinner was finally finished (and it was NOT different colored cereal), we sat together as the wonderfully chaotic family that we are, and then it was time for a quick work out before it was time to come back and put Presley to bed. As Benji and I returned shortly from our run, as you can imagine we didn’t make it very far as a three year olds little legs fatigue quickly, it was time to get Presley into her pajamas. It was apparent that Adam was too unwell to do this…he really should rest.  Presley was dressed in her sleeper and very unhappy about it, she has just recently figured out that a change of clothes in the evening means bedtime and she is far too grown up at age 1 for a bedtime, unfortunately for her and Benji  I need some kidless time for wine therapy at night.  Presley had several songs and a long session of the “mom sway” in my arms before she was laid down in her crib, tonight this was pointless as she is continuing to scream as I write this, there is no consoling a one year old that has the intellect of a teenager.  Continuing on with my evening with a “fake it til I make it” attitude…it’s almost Ben’s bedtime and then I’m FREE, I began to urge Benji to get his jams on, potty, and brush his teeth…of course he’s not tired either. He is a big kid and he’s “tired from going to sleep, it takes too long” (whatever that means.) While I was arguing with Benji to take his clothes off and get his pajamas on, Adam was able to make it into the bathroom to look at himself in the mirror…it’s important for a man to have a visual of how sick he really is. I followed him in, found some Nyquil and demanded that he take it, “It’ll help you feel better!” To my surprise he took the medicine and walked to bathroom sink where he planned to put his sickly mouth under the faucet to fill his sickly mouth with water to swallow the pills, and then he found IT! By this time I had walked back out of the bathroom to continue negotiating with my three year old about putting his pajamas on.

Adam: “BEN! Get in here, what is this doing in here?”

Ben: “What?”

Adam: “Right there, look, what is that doing in the sink?”

Ben: (Giggling) “I didn’t do it.”

Adam: “Why the hell would you do that?” (We don’t make a habit of swearing at our kids…usually)

Ben: (laughing harder)

Adam: “Get it out…now.”

Ben: “No.”

Okay, enough dialogue….but it was a turd. Yes, a turd. Not a big one, but a turd nonetheless and it must have been picked out of the shart stained superhero underwear by hand and placed in the sink. Why the sink? No idea. My mother who I’d like to think is an expert on child behavior (weird that she was never an expert on my behavior), always tells me that as a child’s body is physically growing, their brain tends to stop…and when the brain is growing, the body is stops. So…I have noticed that Benji’s pants are ALL very short on him lately, so it’s confirmed…his body is growing, and his brain has temporarily shut off. Who the hell puts a turd in the sink? I have to brush my teeth there, that’s like brushing my teeth with toilet water. Well, not really…but sort of and I’m forever grossed out by the turd in the sink. Adam was finally able to swallow the pills and now….as I finally finish my story, the whole house is quiet. Time for a bottle of wine therapy!