Every now and then, I am a total badass. And not the normal kind of Mom-badass that meme’s are made of either, the ones that show a super tired Mom wearing sort of dorky superhero cape and mask and her socked feet are propped up on the coffee table and she’s looking exhausted, I’m talking about something totally and completely different.
If I’m lucky, I can generally hang on to this unique badass feeling between 4-6 hours, because inevitably reality comes crashing through in the shape of some small crisis that only I can solve and wipes all traces of this feeling far away from me, and that is fine. I don’t think I could be this person every day, but for a few hours I LOVE this woman.
This feeling can be generated over time by a number of scenarios: a good dream the night before, a superbly good hair day, an unexpected compliment, or success of most any kind – children not fussing on the way to school, a problem solved, or crisis averted. Sometimes even over-consumption of caffeine can push me over the top. This is most rare, but it does happen that this badassness can come over me all at once from a particularly righteous song on the radio.
I know the feeling when it starts, and I welcome it with open arms. It’s a rush – like adrenaline but mixed with confidence. I imagine it’s what football players must be containing within themselves when they are televised walking all kinds of calm and sophisticated into a stadium with their super-cool outfits on, perfectly coiffed, Beats over their ears with that look on their faces like there is no way – NO WAY – they aren’t going to win the game.
When that badass feeling happens to me, I feel just like those football players must – minus the Beats – and when the light turns green, I floor my crossover sports utility vehicle that may as well have Middle-Aged Mom written on its door, and I win the imaginary race, beating anyone who dares race me off the light.
This badass says through the open car window to her totally color coordinated first grader whose hair is completely smoothed down – no cowlick for this kid, “Rock your day, buddy. Make good choices.” And in return, he doesn’t look back at me but raises two, tiny thumbs high in the air – with conviction, no doubt.
Squealing into the office parking lot with hip-hop on the radio, this badass has the bass cranked up just enough so that those co-workers who are beginning that fast-walk race from the parking lot to the time clock can clearly identify me, the badass, who has made it to work on time.
On the days I’m feeling that feeling, I might be wearing high heels and I clock-in at the office all filled to the brim with purpose, totally pulled together – everything matches. There are no bagel crusts or grey hairs or coffee spills on this outfit. Mascara is not forgotten today! Maybe I even have my handbag thrown over one shoulder and fancy sunglasses, bought at Target, pulling impeccably straightened hair away from my face like a headband – but not – because they are only sunglasses. And I will leave those sunglasses on my head like a headband all day long, because that shows that I am unpredictable and may leave at any moment.