I Believe That's Strike 3

Do you have any idea how exhausting it is worrying about what everyone else thinks of you?  I don’t know how I make it through the day, tip toeing around the minefield I’ve created for myself.  Is someone speaking ill of me?  Did I do the wrong thing or say something offensive?  I will get off the phone after talking to a friend and pick the entire conversation apart, wondering if I said something they might have misinterpreted.  When it was raining out and I said, “Stay dry!” did she think I was suggesting she was an alcoholic? 

And being a mom…?  Are you kidding me?  That’s like having a renegade “me” on steroids out there doing things that I can’t police or control.  Saying things like, “Who’s God?” and “My mom buys Lunchables.” 

Being a divorced mom, I feel like I have 2 strikes against me out of the gate.  I always fear that people (especially other moms) might unfairly pass judgment on me; that they might label me with some stereotype of a beer swillin’, tube top wearin’, “woo” girl, who flashes her boobs at NASCAR races.  I know I shouldn’t care what other people think, but when it comes to how I’m perceived as a mother, I absolutely do care. 

When Ryan first asked to play soccer, I decided to go the church league route.  Admittedly, my son is more of an academic than a jock, so I thought with the church league there would be less chance of any post-game swirlies should my son inadvertently score for the other team. (a very real possibility) 

So there we were – my slightly younger boyfriend, my son’s dad and I (sketchy already, isn’t it?) - at the last game of a successful, swirlie-free soccer season.  The coach’s wife was talking to me about how she and her husbanded decided to move their son to the church league because the city league was just too competitive for his young age.  “And you wouldn’t believe some of the things coming out of the other boy’s mouths,” she said, “We just didn’t want our son around that.”  Of course I was nodding in emphatic agreement. 

And I believe it was directly after the coach’s wife wrapped up our conversation with, “We have so enjoyed having Ryan on the team this year,” that my life came to a complete standstill – as Ryan thundered across the field, “You friggin’ SUCK!” to the opposing team….of girls… 

**hushed whispers**  - “Just as I suspected.  That beer swillin’, boob flashin’, floozy is raising a foul mouthed misogynist.  I’ll bet he eats Lunchables and doesn’t even know who God is.”

That might not be verbatim, but suffice it to say we haven’t been invited to any church socials…

With age I've gotten better about being my own person and not looking for acceptance at every turn.  I've also gotten better about not over-analyzing every conversation I have.  In fact, just recently my boss was popping popcorn (or as we like to call it in our office, "crack").  When my boss walked by, I said, "Your crack sure does smell good!"  And I still returned to work the next day.   

I call this progress.

By the way, the soccer anecdote notwithstanding, my kid’s a good kid.  Scratch that, he’s a great kid.  Even at 12 he still kisses me and hugs me in public.  When he introduces me to his friends he says, “This is my mom, isn’t she pretty?”  He’s exceptionally smart, has a great sense of humor and isn’t afraid to take the road less traveled.  This I admire as I’m a conformist to the nth degree.    

He has the kindest heart, a giving spirit, and a love for all things “family.”  I’d like to think that I had something to do with these last three.

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Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a NASCAR race to prepare for…