I saw a post from an acquaintance today that got my brain spinning a little bit. I mean, what else is new right? She was showing the world the newest addition to her family….a gun. Swooning over it for all the world like it was a new baby, or at the very least, a puppy. I have to admit, I rolled my eyes. Hard. I don’t like it, but the combination of the Trump era and the pandemic have made me more judgey of people than I once was. I’m working at it. In progress. Please stand by. As I scrolled on I thought, maybe she just feels that it gives her a little bit of power in a world where we often feel like we have none. I get that. I do. Statistically speaking, her kids are more likely to shoot themselves with it than the chance that she will need it to face an intruder, but I digress. I just happen to acquire my small degrees of power from different sources. Much different.
Working. I’m not here to participate in the mommy wars, and frankly I don’t care what other people do, but since witnessing what my mother went through, I never wanted to be in a position where I wholly relied on someone else for my survival. Yes, I know it’s a partnership and an understanding and whatever else. For me, personally, I just can’t do it. I’ve seen too much and life is full of too many what-ifs. Your partner could die and the life insurance won’t hold out forever. Sorry to be morbid, but well, I’m a little bit morbid. Gallows humor, if you will. My people get me. What if they are horribly injured and can no longer work? What if they run away and join the circus just to escape your nagging? Do you have family that will take care of you financially? Because I sure don’t. Don’t misunderstand me, my husband is my everything. My rock, my best friend, my person, who I trust more than the entirety of my family, barring one person, but it took me several years to join bank accounts with him and even now after eighteen years together and almost thirteen married, I still have one account that is just mine. And my own retirement account. Yay for that job. I married a banker, y’all. There is no one better than him to make sure we are financially secure. Still. I just need my own little piece of power. And he gets it, which just means that he is extra super awesome. If tragedy strikes this family (and believe me, every time the doorbell rings I’m convinced it’s the police telling me everyone’s dead and I lose my shit. It’s a fun little trauma response. Please call first. Thanks.), I absolutely will be able to take care of myself and my children. Take that, deadbeat dad.
On a lighter note…..running. My thing, my me-time, my sanity. Oh, all this time you thought it was for weight maintenance? Haha, silly rabbit. I hate to burst your bubble, but weight is mostly genetics. Yes, you can fight genetics, of course you can, but the dedication that would require, considering how much I like food, is beyond my scope of free time. I only get out a few times a week (see job, above), but it gives me strength. My forty-one year old body, that has birthed two children, can run for miles, and I happen to think that’s pretty cool. It’s Ok if you don’t. I mean, I don’t think the mask-less dudes I saw in Walmart today wearing camo and buying guns are cool, but I would bet my first-born that they do. Can I roll my eyes again? But it makes them feel tough and strong, so should I judge them for that? I really am working on it. Cross my heart. Anyway, I’m banking on the fact that I would most likely be able to outrun any attacker. Or outrun whatever wild animal I encounter in New Hampshire. Maybe not. But I can play basketball with my kids, ride, bikes, race around the yard, and kick a soccer ball at my goalie kid’s head for hours without getting winded. I think that counts for something.
So find something that carves out a piece of the power pie for yourselves, ladies. I would love it if it wasn’t a gun, but you do you, boo.
Let's Be Dramatic 