Sometimes, we all do things we’re not proud of.
For example, I just ended that sentence with a preposition. Not proud of it. Nevertheless, I press on.
Crap! I did it again.
Speaking of things we’re not proud of (which we are, because I just brought it up), I attended the opening concert of the Miley Cyrus world tour this week.
In the arena, filled to the brim with SCuh-REAMING little girls, I’m embarrassed to admit that I had a Buh-LAST!
This goes along with all of those posts, most of which have been written only in my head, on Who I Really Am vs. Who I Wish I Was.
I wish I was a patron of the arts. I wish I took my well-behaved and angelic children to art galleries and the opera. I wish I insisted that, if we MUST watch TV, then only PBS or the Discovery Channel were allowed. I wish we vacationed in Yellowstone and Washington DC.
My parents did all of those things. My husband’s parents did all of those things. We were educated by thoughtful, caring grown-ups who had an appreciation for life-long learning.
Sadly, something misfired. (With me; not with my husband… he still wants to spend time at the Smithsonian, so he’s good.) Even though my parents raised me overseas, steeped in Asian cultures, exposed to people with different ideas and various beliefs, I still managed to Americanize myself to the point where
I thought Miley Cyrus was AWESOME.
I’d tell you that I took Abby to the concert as her indulgent, long-suffering mother, hoping that the activity would draw us closer together. The indulgent part might be true. The draw us closer part is always a happy byproduct of hanging out. But the long-suffering part is just false. It was way too much fun for that.
Ms. Cyrus is an excellent entertainer. Her dancers were amazing. Her band was spot-on. The special effects were… special. I totally get why Abby loves this girl. It was just kick-in-the-pants fun.
Apparently, I can wish away about who I’d like to be. Then sometimes I’m faced with who I am. Heck, life’s too short to pretend to be someone I’m not.
My name is Beth. (Hi, Beth.) I love Disney vacations and roller coasters. I think it’s funny when my twin toddlers pee on the pitcher’s mound in the field next to the one where their big brother is playing soccer… and then play in the mud they made. I think homemade crayon drawings with “I love you, Mom” written on them are better art than that I’ve seen in galleries and museums. My floor is so dirty that I tell people not to take their shoes off at my house; I’m too afraid of what might squish between their toes. I enjoy popsicles and ice cream sandwiches… and I just found out that I love Miley Cyrus.
I know you might be too embarrassed to be my friend after reading this. I want you to know that I understand. Do what you need to do.