“Mom you ARE her.”Okay. I didn’t know how I felt about that. I mean, there was a lot to deal with in that character. And, not all of it was nice.There was a protective pit-bull quality about her that I'm not sure I have. I want to be that protective "safe" bubble for my kids, but honestly, I'm not sure that I am. I do have high expectations for my kids, I do hold them to a high moral standard, but this was a mother who could smother you with her very large expectations. Um, thanks but no thanks?
I think I finally realized it about myself, about five weeks ago.
About five weeks ago we went to the Eagles Concert in Piedmont Park in Atlanta. (Yeah, I have to process before I can write.)
I learned several things:
the Eagles are awesome (well, I already knew this one)-even more so live and in concert,
I want an actual seat next time - a place to put my old butt -
I’m too old for chaos
and pot smoke always smells the same.
I’ll admit, it’s been a while since I’ve been to a concert. I’ve got little kids, I don’t have a nanny and by the end of any given day, I’m just plumb worn-out. But the Eagles are one of those bands that I don’t want to miss - they’re grandparents by now, they are more worn-out than I am and it’s only a matter of time until they say “enough!”
I don’t want to have missed it.
So, when my husband wanted to go and his brother couldn’t go with him, I sorta reluctantly agreed to go. I am so glad I did. Once we got past the “help me, I’m overwhelmed, how do we hire a baby-sitter?” part, it started to seem like a lot of fun.
However, it was at Piedmont Park in downtown Atlanta which was great in some ways
-being outside, the band, the weather,all of that was nifty.
But, it sucked in some ways
- there was only general admission, we had to sit on the ground and 30-something-thousand people fighting their way to the stage was not fun, particularly since they seemed to be doing it over the top of us. (Really, there was, like, a neon sign over our heads that read,
“Please, walk RIGHT HERE to proceed down the hill. Don‘t mind the old people beneath your young virile feet, they‘ll move their worn-out bodies out of your way.”)And, as we know already, I don’t like crowds, see November's “…Smell My Feet…” post. (In my defense, this concert happened before Halloween, so, you know, I plead the 5th. hahaha)
We’d found a spot up on a hill to put our blankets. It was sorta the “old fogies” section. It was a ways away from the stage but we could see and stretch out.
Even the pot smoke was kinda that nice, faint, sweet smell in the air, not the overwhelming, blue-haze, “I never inhaled,” Clinton-esq bull crap, that it could have been.
We were pretty happy
Until “Hotel California,” started up. I think that’s when this happened, my husband swears that they DID play “Hotel California,” but I only remember the last few chords of it, ‘cause it was at this moment that the young slightly (um, yeah right!) toasted kids behind us decided to rush the stage.
My husband was flattened up against a tree with the binoculars out, watching Joe Walsh hit his guitar licks. I was just about flattened by the mob that descended the hill, flying past me on both sides, walking on my stuff, knocking into me. It was a bit frightening until I heard myself start screaming.
“Hey! Hey! Stop it! Hey, guys! I’m SITTING here!"And, you know what happened? The mob stopped. One of the guys stopped directly above my head and glared at me, I glared back until he stepped over me and stomped away. But they stopped.
I knew then that I was not that same ‘ole “good girl” I’d always been. The one who would just about implode in order to maintain the
“A(-Girl), be nice!”order given by my mother. The one who’d take untold abuse in order to be seen as “the sweet one.” I’m not nice anymore. And, I’m proud of that fact. I’ve finally gotten healthy enough to protect myself.
I hope I am always kind, I will not always be nice. There is a difference.
In my mind, “kind,” always seeks to understand the other person, (there are never good enough excuses for bad behavior but there are reasons, I hope I always seek to understand a person‘s reasons) “nice,” infers that I won’t hold my boundaries.
I will.
That Friday night at the Eagles concert cemented that fact for me - no matter how much I may “understand” the other person’s reasons for their actions, I am not going to let them step all over me and my boundaries.
That makes me happy.
For one thing, that’s healthy.
For another thing, as an adult, I have a responsibility to protect the people who are under my influence. I will not be very good at protecting my kids if I’m not very good at protecting myself.
I know intimately the damage that can occur when the adults refuse to be the protectors of the children.
It’s not gonna happen in my life or the lives of my kids.
That is a very cool thing to realize this side of 40; I’m a good Mom. A mom who does a good job of protecting herself and therefore will do a good job of protecting her kids, as an extension of herself.
A mom who is okay with being kind but not always “nice.”
And, as I reminded Oldest Child, after The Blindside, a protective mom who drives you crazy with her high expectations can also make you reach beyond yourself to become greater than you would have been without her pushing you. She is, usually, also the mom who will stand toe to toe against the bad-guy-drug-dealer with the “gun in her purse” when it comes time to protect her kids. She will NOT back down.
You can’t buy that with a million bucks.
(And, to that young chick,
at the Eagles' concert,
who referred to me, as
“That annoying girl!”
hahahahaha
Thanks!
Jokes on you, lil' chica,
I’m old enough to be your mom, but thanks!!!)
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