Caving in to peer pressure

0005200032868_LG It just wasn’t worth the fight.

I didn’t want to wear green on St. Patrick’s Day. I really didn’t. I’m not Irish, I grew up at a time when wearing green on St. Patrick’s Day was a way to identify yourself as Irish, specifically Irish Catholic, so I didn’t. I’d go to the parties, sure, and celebrate with my Irish friends, but I didn’t make an effort to wear green.

But this St. Patrick’s day I wore green. My kids are of the “you have to wear green or you will be pinched” school, and weren’t going to let me out without green (I tried to explain that the only possible folks that would pinch me would be them, and they’d better not, but I finally gave up and put on a mint-green shirt. Which, they told me later,  was actually blue. But I counted it.) Anyway, it wasn’t worth the fight.

Then there’s the Gatorade. I think Gatorade is evil stuff; the artificial color alone is reason for me to leave it on the shelf, when I pick it up to read the rest of the ingredients, I shudder. And face it, while my kids are active, they aren’t stressing themselves to the point of needing a salt infusion.

But, as beverage mom for basketball last week, I bought Gatorade. Because that’s what all the other parents do, and that’s what the kids, used to seeing the Gatorade barrel at sporting events live or televised, think they should be drinking when they are involved in a sport. Water is boring, juice boxes are baby stuff—bringing either apparently would have branded me as the lame mom and caused an immediate drop in social status for my kid. So I bought the Gatorade. It wasn’t worth the fight. (Of course, now I have three leftover bottles of Gatorade in the pantry. I’m not going to drink it, I’m not going to put it in my kids’ lunches—but I can’t just throw it out….arrgh!)

I wasn’t always this way. Pregnant, I thought everything was worth a fight (hormones, I guess; I even called the painter who had painted my cabinets a year earlier—badly–and made him come and redo them). As my kids grew older, I learned to pick my battles, but tended to fight back more often than sit back. These days, it seems, I’m resisting less and less. Weak? Caving to peer pressure? Or just worn out? I’d try to figure that out, but it’s just not worth it.

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