Risky Business

On Sunday night, my best friend and I went to see Maroon 5 in concert. She lives in California now and as a birthday present, her husband surprised her by scoring us tickets. We were beyond excited at the prospect of a night out just the two of us while she visits East from West, awesome music, and of course, Adam Levine crooning with his shirt off. Unfortunately, it wasn’t hot enough for him to go topless, but we were satisfied with his white tank top and tatt-ed, chiseled arms displayed on the megatrons in front of our seats. It was a fantastic night!

Of course, one of the not-so-awesome things about going to concerts are the lines for the ladies’ rooms. There is no justice for us, ladies. I don’t know why they can’t build a stadium with twice the number of female pit stops as male. There’s never a line for the guys. Yes, I understand that their process is, well… quicker and washing hands often seems optional, but they never have to wait. So forgive us when we saw a few women start to take over a mens’ room that night and we, fortuitously, joined our sisters in line to stick it to the man. The two male event staffers who were gallantly blocking doors to allow us to use this restroom shall be met with excellent karma for days to come. We assured the young man, who sat on top of a garbage can to block a doorway, that he would be “gettin’ some” from his girlfriend or maybe a random concert goer to repay him for this good deed.

I am pretty sure I was the one who lead our charge to buck authority (or at least common social guidelines) and enter the men’s room, but my bestie turned to me and said, “Are you ok with this?” I said, “Of course, why not?” and she replied, “So I guess it is just with the kids that you get anxious over stuff like this and germs, etc.” I hadn’t really thought about it being so delineated, but it’s true. I used to occasionally throw caution to the wind when I was younger. I look back and think how stupid I was and marvel at how I wasn’t scared of some of the less than bright things I have done. I’ve been cliff jumping (not in an approved spot for such an activity), ice climbing on a glacier that had mysterious and cavernous crevasses, and I used to wait in the Albany bus-stop at 1am for my boyfriend (now husband) to pick me up after taking an 11 hour Greyhound at 18 years old. Dumb, Dumb, and Dumber.

Yes, some of those activities made me nervous, but I don’t remember feeling the same crippling fear that I get when I am watching my girls climb on a jungle gym. Most of my friends who I have talked to about my fear of flying have confessed that since they became mothers, they, too, feel uneasy or anxious on flights. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but that lioness roars in all of us when our little cubs’ safety and security is at stake. I wasn’t as scared when I went into my own surgeries as I was when my girls went into theirs. I’ve been told by many a seasoned mom that once you have kids, you will never sleep the same. This makes me really sad… I LOVE to sleep. I never understood it, but now I do.
I have to remind myself that I did these young, stupid things and I will have to brace myself for my little dare devil telling me that she wants to bungee jump. While I’d like to forbid her from doing these things, it’s a bit hypocritical. If I had had the chance, I kind of think I would have done it, too. There will be a time when they will want to explore and be adventurous. It was once good for my soul, spirit, and self-confidence and perhaps it will be for theirs, too. I just might have to tether myself to them while they’re doing it (and take 3 extra Xanax). And no, this doesn’t mean I’m going to stop freaking out when they’re climbing the jungle gym. I know myself too well.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s