Given the fact that my clothing palette extends boldly from black to white with numerous stops in grey-- I am not sure where my sweet girl got her feminine flair. I have never known how to put a cute outfit together and yet my daughter proudly wears a tutu and matching shoes as if her sweet brothers were judging her runway strut.
Part of my girly-girls' recent hobbies is watching me put on make up. (chapstick). *
While at Target yesterday on a mommy-daughter date I shopped for golden grahams while she explored the various cards and trinkets in my purse from the comfort of the cart. A woman walked by and gave me a quizzical/judgmental look-- Deirdre was oh so carefully puckering up and "applying" an OB tampon to her lips.
I can see the confusion.
*Twice now she has come in to the room to have us admire her shiny face as she had applied half a tube of lip gloss to her entire face. Pretty.
Football dominates much or our household conversations. Generally it's about the Irish but it could also be about the specific actions of building a block stadium and which 'guys' go where and why or how exactly one goes to Tokyo.*
James is well aware of the Bears/ Vikings duality here-- He sports both uniforms** and understand a few key players from each team. Last week we watched the game on tv and I pretended to be interested while also multi-tasking.
Asked James for the score from the other room and he responded "It's when one team gets the touchdown. That's the score mom."
I am slowly being outed by my kid on my failure to really learn the rules of football-- a sport so revered by my friends and family and one that despite years and years of exposure, I still don't love. meh. He's passing me on the specifics of the rules.
So for a few days I was contemplating the end of this power dynamic in our relationship when he asked me to change a fake opponent in one of his block guy games. The Raisins.
I corrected him that the team is the Baltimore Ravens. He questioned me in great detail but I held my own.
Yes, the Raisins are a piece of dried grape. The Ravens are an intimidating black bird.
I feel confident in my response and once again relevant in the eyes of my football worshiping 4 year old.
*James thinks this is slang for a touchdown. I am not going to touch this one.
** Even though his sports ambivalent mother prefers to think of them as outfits or costumes.
Here are the truths going on here: 1. I thought I was going to get laid off; 2. I was planning on quitting shortly and had many plans to support this action. 3. I didn't like my job.
Where do I have the right to be surprised and hency funky about the situation? Well, I really don't. Other than, it was a mild surprise and I didn't have a plan to support it this very minute.
Second truth be said, I don't transition well.
During my last big life transition I developed a program called Camp Obiwadana.* This "camp" was my program for coping with a dramatic life change.
What is camp about? Trying things with little risk of failure. Archery? No problem if you sucked, it's just camp after all. Capture the flag? Sure, I'm not fast but I'll give it a go.
So in light of a period of lonely and lost I made it my life's policy to say yes to things. It's not hard to say yes-- but I was out of practice and need of some good old joy. Say yes. So simple.
Many, many good things came out of that period for me. I had new friendships that I may not have pursued including trivia nights, pub crawls, day trips and other lunacies. I went to new countries because people asked me to come and I didn't say no-- in fact, I visited 6 continents that year! Most importantly, I met my life partner. Under normal situations, I may not have dated Matt at that time of my life but because I had the 'say yes' mantra going for me, it developed into a wonderful friendship and love that I managed to not scrutinize and question to it's demise. And although it seems trite to mention this after discussing the love of my life, I did one final thing that I was super proud of- I rode the damn pirate ship at Valley Fair.**
Living a fearful life is part of my MO. I am a worrier, planner, analyzer and frankly a real pain in the ass. I have spent years wishing I was more fast and loose but it's just not the case.
Camp Obiwadana seems like a long time ago and now that I am faced with another big transition and one that wasn't carefully orchestrated by me*** I am feeling lost with no counselor, t-shirt or camp dance to pick me up. I have been off for two weeks and I am not entirely sure what I have done with my time.**** Although I recently came off of maternity time, this time feels different now. I saw my maternity time as sacred Simon time-- meant for he and I to get to know each other. Time that had no measurements, goals or deliverable. The time now, although no less sacred, feels a little aimless.
I am writing about this here because in addition to my worrying, analyzing neurosis, I am also highly accountable. If I put this into the universe, I am trusting that the grit will be there to create the structure and support to not just 'get through' the next few months but to really thrive. It's an exciting time and I want to be all eye of the tiger about it.*****
I am working on structure now and am thinking about how to be proactive, powerful and solid in this new little life. So dear internets, keep me in your prayers please so that I can shake this funk and get a little groove back into my day. We have awesome things in store for the Fitzpatrick family and I want to be ready to jump in with gusto.
*Yes, there was a logo.
**That thing scared me as a kid and I never had the guts to ride it.
*** Even though it's only a few weeks from one that is carefully orchestrated from me, forgive me for my moment to rant.
****Although I did take the kids to Nickelodean Universe-- going on rides worked the first time didn't it?
*****Eye of the Tiger was my favorite song for years and now Miss Katy has re-made it. Swoon.