What’s a good sign that winter has nearly overstayed it’s welcome? Well, generally its right around the time that I begin fantasizing about performing Stupid Mommy Tricks. Let me point out that I have never claimed to be completely normal. I’m just not. I’ve learned to embrace my inner-weirdo. Believe me, it has taken many years of costly therapy to come to the conclusion that I’m okay. Are you okay?
I’m the product of the late 70’s “feel good” vibe and the 80’s “Me Generation.” To sum it up, I’m all sorts of messed up. I’m a strange dichotomy of selfishness, but filled with love for my fellow man. I publicly joined ranks with Nancy Reagan and said “No” to drugs, but smoked huge bongs in my friend’s basement. I empathized with Allison but was more of a Claire… I thought that when I grew up, I’d drive a Ferrari, have a lucrative career as a super-model and miraculously sprout some boobies. Sadly, none of that happened. I have, however, somehow managed to tenaciously cling to my inner child.
Keeping Inner Child around to the ripe old age of none-of-your-damn-business has, at times, been difficult. Let’s just say that a career in the legal field, specifically personal injury and medical malpractice, put a damper on some of my more careless acts of stupidity. Skiinghas become a minefield of possible injuries, potential run-ins with orthopedic surgeons and their barberic tools of trade. I’ll admit that for awhile there, I became a bit of a buzz kill. A veritable Debbie Downer bent on presenting every possible tragic outcome of say…a walk down the driveway.
Just last week, as I procrastinated my exit from bed by feigning interest in the morning news, I was greeted with images of roof collapses and information about heavy snow load and pounds per square foot. Within moments, I conjured a visual of our house, complete with a caved-in roof and emergency personnel parked in the driveway. Surely, the snow up there was heavy enough to cause certain death.
Despite the fact that none of my neighbors were doing so, I climbed out of the guest room window and began shoveling snow from my roof. I gasped at the huge task ahead of me and it didn’t take very long to realize that I was never going to be able to tackle this chore on my own. Soon, my coat was unzipped and I paused to take a breather. As I paused, a neighbor drove past. Maybe I’m over thinking things, but when he slowed down to gawk at me on the roof, I suddenly felt very much like a displaced New York girl. I faked a confident wave and pretended to nonchalantly lean on my shovel until he drove away. After he rounded the corner, silence closed in and I finally paused long enough to see this…
I gingerly inched my feet to the edge of the roof line and peered over at the pile of snow that I’d shoveled onto the ground. It took just a moment to be transported back in time. I was standing in a 3rd story window of our “Big Barn” during haying season, watching the hay elevator carry bale after bale to that top floor. As each section of the enormous 3rd floor was filled with hay bales, the elevator would move down to a new window, leaving a pile of hay remnants behind. It was those piles of hay that would catch my 9-year-old body as I fearlessly leaped from the window and rode through the air in a joyful free fall. I’d quickly hitch a ride on the next hay bale being carried to the third story and jump out the window. Again and again, I would jump.
So Friday morning, as I stood perched at the edge of my roof, I recalled the exhilaration of my free falls. It’s true, this is no three story drop but it’s been awhile. Inner Child urged me to jump.
So I did.
Welcome home, Inner Child.