Well, it's Tuesday, there's sun in the Northwest, an orange tractor in my yard, and am ridiculously lazy. I guess I should confess...
To the Confessional--
I confess on the sunniest day of the year, when everyone was out and being active, I stayed inside in my PJs all day and read with my daughter. I also got some work done and watched the documentary Good Hair with Chris Rock.
If you're a husband, and you've *ever* thought your wife spent too much on her hair, just watch this film and you will be thankful that your wife doesn't have a weave, and if she does...I'm very sorry for your checking account.
But it was a very interesting documentary and well, I *heart* Chris Rock, so I really couldn't lose with this one.
I confess that a friend of mine is turning 40 and she's heard 40 is the best decade. Since I'm not 50 (which I've heard is *even* better), I will say my 40's are (so far, I'm only in the opening years) better than my 30's.
My 30's were anxiety-filled. I was wound very tight. There were people in my life I kept in my life because I didn't want to hurt their feelings.
My 40's are much less apologetic. I'm still try not to be mean and keep my compass pointed at kindness, but I don't keep people in my life who aren't good for me anymore.
I also feel more of who I am now than in my 30's.
I spent a lot of my thirties trying to fit in with the other moms at my daughter's school only to realize I suck at scrapbooking and that I didn't have a lot in common with them except that we had unprotected sex around the same time and 9 months later had a child.
I confess the less I volunteer at my daughter's school, the happier I am.
I know, that sounds very Mommy Dearest, but honestly, it's true. I loved seeing her and being there for her, but really just being in the situation of her social world and the school's energy tied me in knots. I over-thought everything. And worried.
I confess field trips were the worst. The bus ride was a short purgatory. Then as an extra you-might-be-in-hell bonus, having to watch other people's kids. I was not born with the everything-will-be-fine gene, I was born with the omg-why-is-that-boy-walking-on-the-edge-of-the-downtown-street-someone-is-going-to-die-on-this-field-trip gene.
I confess I'm getting better at handling anxiety and some days I think I've mastered it, but it comes back sometimes and I have to think, "Oh right, I still haven't lost that baggage yet."
I wonder if becoming older helps me with my anxieties because I just can't remember what I was worried about. Hmmm, if this is the case, I can imagine my 50's anxiety-free. Okay, another reason growing older has its perks.