Revelations upon Leaving the Farm

Last night Lou  (who's three) and I left the farm and ventured into the Big City.  We went downtown to the American Burger Bar to watch the band, which can mean any number of standard bands between my dad and my brother, and last night was The Family Feed Bag.  A band made up of six members, two of whom are family, the rest of whom feel like the random uncle you see every so often, who may or not be related, and who shows up at the most obscure times. 

I love watching Lou when we go out to see either my dad or my brother play.  She's still young enough that she thinks that this is just what everyone does.  She was out there dancing her heart out, obvlious to all eyes on her, and taking for granted the fact that she could just strut around the stage and chat with the band as they played.  It's wonderful to watch. 

It's so easy to become conscious of the eyes around you, to censor your actions- and words- in social situtations.   And to some extent that's simply what happens when you mature.  You worry about others as well as yourself.  But what if you could forget about everything for just a short while and completely enjoy whatever it is that you happen to be doing that moment?  In the process of growing up we shed so much of ourselves, creating the adult that we think we should be.  Hell, we even lose brain cells.

One of the gifts (and curses) of having a child is that you have a daily reminder of what you once wanted to be.  And I'm going to guess that it had nothing to do with you being armed with a mop and Pledge, once again cleaning the living room that, despite your best efforts, remains covered in dog hair, toys, miscellaneous socks, and cheerios.  It had little to do with a revolving door of laundry, dishes, and more laundry.  I wanted kids and pets and a lively house, but I had no idea that I would be (or even could be) cleaning up so much poop, puke, and pee.  It's easy to forget to enjoy the music around you when all you can see is an endless list of things to do and others to care for.

So it's part of my new year's resolution, my loose web of life goals, to take a cue from Lou and start enjoying life more, letting myself be me, no matter what kind of chaos I'm surrounded in.

I know I'm still going to stress over the dog hair all over, honestly, it looks like we must be running a fur factory in here.  But there was a time in life when I couldn't have cared less about dog hair on the couch.  So I'm going to try to remember what it was like to be that girl.