Confessions of a metroMAMA

2010-06-26T09:20:00.001-04:00

Coming Soon: LINEAGE, eye and lip filling balm, made with two patented ingredients to naturally plump, moistuize and minimize lines. http://ping.fm/SFxwy

2010-06-23T19:45:00.001-04:00

Cool off and reduce cellulite with our refreshing iced tea recipe!
http://ping.fm/1DDYk

2010-06-22T22:28:00.001-04:00

ISS was featured on Style Goes Strong Blog! Check it out at http://ping.fm/vUMvx

2010-06-19T08:50:00.001-04:00

Need a last minute Fatherâ€™s Day gift? Look no further! ISSâ€™ new spa flex plan is the perfect gift! http://ping.fm/S0LOY

2010-06-14T17:12:00.001-04:00

After a night of festivities or a day of stress, DIVA SOAK is the perfect way to unwind. http://ping.fm/mL0YM

2010-06-13T19:50:00.001-04:00

Check out ISS' new Spa Flex Plan! http://ping.fm/PJgu8

2010-06-10T17:29:00.001-04:00

ISS is on tv! Learn more about our products and services by watching this webinar. http://ping.fm/JwXc6

2010-06-06T14:20:00.001-04:00

Make your own tinted moisturizer! Learn how at
http://ping.fm/v0AnG

2010-06-04T15:23:00.001-04:00

Beat the heat and get ready for summer! Check out these recipes and tips http://ping.fm/C053k

2010-06-01T09:49:00.001-04:00

After a night of festivities or a day of stress, DIVA SOAK is the perfect way to unwind while your body benefits from the clay, seaweed and Dead Sea salts.
http://ping.fm/8rxhb

2010-06-01T09:47:00.003-04:00

After a night of festivities or a day of stress, DIVA SOAK is the perfect way to unwind while your body benefits from the clay, seaweed and Dead Sea salts.
http://ping.fm/1Jzvt

2010-06-01T09:47:00.001-04:00

After a night of festivities or a day of stress, DIVA SOAK is the perfect way to unwind while your body benefits from the clay, seaweed and Dead Sea salts.
http://ping.fm/KE4rS

2010-06-01T09:42:00.001-04:00

Kick off summer with a Summer Iced Tea. It's delicious and reduces cellulite! http://ping.fm/dqMGY

2010-06-01T09:36:00.001-04:00

Kick off summer with a Summer Iced Tea. It's delicious and reduces cellulite! http://ping.fm/dqMGY

2010-05-30T17:01:00.001-04:00

Kick off summer with a Summer Iced Tea. It's delicious and reduces cellulite! http://ping.fm/dqMGY

2010-05-30T12:28:00.001-04:00

Kick off summer with a Summer Iced Tea. It's delicious and reduces cellulite!
http://ping.fm/dqMGY

2010-05-30T12:12:00.001-04:00

Kick off summer with a refreshing Summer Iced Tea -not only delicious, but reduces cellulite too!http://ping.fm/cxlO4

2010-04-12T22:13:00.001-04:00

Leave Dimples on the cheeks and not behind! more on cellulite...www.agerebel.blogspot.com

2010-04-08T20:42:00.001-04:00

Met Barbara Orbison at my spa and gave her beautiful skin my signature facial. Exchanged products and tried her new perfume "Pretty Woman". Hmmm, sexy and earthy.

2010-03-29T23:07:00.001-04:00

Say Chao to Under-eye bags...read more www.agerebel,blogspot.com

2010-03-29T17:26:00.001-04:00

spa tips, wellness recipes, spring beauty-read more

http://ping.fm/ErhL1

2010-03-15T22:55:00.001-04:00

New blog post Zen Meets Chaos. Read more www.agerebel.blogspot.com

Recipe: Snowballs

2010-03-01T12:04:00.001-05:00

Snowballs
by Jodie Fitz

Grab the last of the winter fun and try these cookies at home. I love them because they are a no-bake! You can have a little fun in the kitchen and avoid standing at the oven for hours; always a plus.

16oz. Price Chopper crème filled cookies
1 ½ cups Price Chopper confectioner’s sugar
¼ cup Price Chopper butter, softened
2 T. Price Chopper
1% low fat milk
½ tsp. Price Chopper Vanilla Extract
1 oz. Price Chopper low fat cream cheese, softened
24 oz. White chocolate morsels
Optional: sprinkles

Crush the crème filled cookies by either placing them in a food processor or by hand in a zip loc plastic bag; set aside.
Note: The kids love the hand crushing activity in a zip loc bag….check out the elbow action at my blog http://yikestherearekidsinmykitchen.blogspot.com/
In a separate bowl mix together the confectioner’s sugar, butter, milk, vanilla extract and cream cheese. Add the crushed cookies. Beat until all of the ingredients are mixed together thoroughly. Create one inch bowls from the batter and place onto a cookie sheet lined with waxed paper.
Note: If the butter and cream cheese are softened to room temperature you can stir this one by hand!

Pour the white chocolate morsels into a glass bowl and place in the microwave on high for one minute. Stir the chocolate so that all of the morsels melt. Dip the cookies into the white chocolate so that they are completely covered and place them back onto the cookie sheet. Before the chocolate sets, add sprinkles if desired. After all of the cookies have been dipped, place them into the refrigerator to set. Keep the cookies in cool storage.

Jodie Fitz the personality of the Price Chopper Kids Cooking Club. She is also a wife and mother of three children; aged 17, 12 and 7. She is the author of several monthly columns and is set to release her first book next month, Thumbs Up to Kids Cooking…
To receive more of Jodie’s recipes sign up for the Price Chopper Kids Cooking Club which is a free resource to families; http://www2.pricechopper.com/kids/

2010-02-24T14:13:00.001-05:00

New Blog Post
"Is Water Enough to Stay Hydrated?"
read on www.agerebel.blogspot.com

Reviving the metroMAMA Blog - Looking for new bloggers!

2010-02-19T10:14:00.001-05:00

We are ready to revive the metroMAMA Blog. This time, we would like a few different moms to be contributors to keep it more interesting. If you would like to blog for metroMAMA shoot an email to sarah at mymetromama .com. If you are an expert that is great too! It is an unpaid position, but you can put links back to your existing blog or website. Thanks, Sarah

BECAUSE I KNOW HOW IT IS....

2009-06-28T07:39:00.002-04:00

when bloggers leave, I feel for you.

I have followed many blogs over the years and sometimes you really get to know people. It's always a disappointment when they juts disappear. I don't want to do that to you, my friends.

I know most of the people who read this blog -- and they know how to find me. I can look them in the eyes and tell them there is no way I am letting them read the vitriol that I am about to write.

But if you are someone who might fall through those cracks and you want to follow me to my new blogging place, drop me an email at aless1000 at aol dot com. Let me know who you are, assure me that we will never meet, and I will send you a link.

KEEPING YOU UP TO DATE

2009-06-24T07:18:00.004-04:00

CONFESSION #167: There is a reason why I never used cocaine.

It's because I am an addict by nature. One line in a stranger's bathroom and it would be a fast track to me becoming an undisputed crackhead.

I am the kind of girl people assume has a hot and spicy past. Mama friends are shocked when they find out I never experimented with hard drugs -- because even though I was fun and ran with a fast crowd, I happen to know myself very well. Even at 18 and 19 years old, I knew not to go where I couldn't handle myself.

And so what happened, after 18 months of writing this blog and amassing a very humble group of readers, I started a new blog and saw instant popularity. Within 2 weeks, I had 5 times the number of readers and 3 times the number of followers than I ever had here. Sometimes I would get 18 comments on a post. And it became like coke for me.

And I didn't handle it well. So yesterday, I deleted the account.

Because I have a few of you who have read this blog religiously -- some of you for a year or more -- I feel like I owe you the explanation of where I am right now with my writing.

I don't want to be censored anymore. I don't want to write (exclusively) about my kids anymore. I had always assumed that this blog would become profitable, and it hasn't. And in a lot of ways it has hurt me socially, because friends in town read it and then they feel they know everything about me and yet I don't have the benefit of knowing anything about them. This has led to a near-fatal loneliness that resulted in serious breakdown last night.

And so there you have it. MindfulMama is not invincible, and does not always have her shit together. And I said shit. And I need to say shit more often.

When I start my new blog, I will be able to share that blog with some of you, but not all. I can't let blog readership mean friendship, and I can't have friendships that are a one-way street into my soul. This is nobody's fault but my own, and it is all based on valuable experiences that have come from this journey.

The summary: I don't want to be a mommy-blogger, and I need anonymity. My heart isn't in it anymore. At some point in the near future -- after a Blog-tox of sorts -- I will be moving on. I need some time to print out some old posts, so my kids will understand me one day (I keep lots of these blog entries with your comments in a 3-ring binder called "My Life in Words") and I need to make things right with my friends at MetroMama. Maybe they will need a new MetroMama blogger, and maybe that is something YOU out there might be interested in.

This isn't goodbye. Not yet. But I felt I owed you these words all the same.

A BRIEF FAREWELL with updates

2009-06-16T08:37:00.003-04:00

CONFESSION #166: I have run out of things to say. And yet, I am spending way too much time banging away at these keys.

Pardon me while I go on a short blogging hiatus so that I may find the time to:

* live my life
check

* grow my business
working on it

*organize my house
not even close

* shag my man senseless
CHECK

* brush my kids' hair and clean their fingernails
still on the to-do list

* defragment my files
check

* scrub my floors
maybe later today?

* figure out how the hell I am going to make a living for the next fiscal year
burying my head under the couch cushions

* wash all the sheets
check

* plan my next mama getaway
check-- CHICAGO IN NOVEMBER!

* lose 5 more pounds
very close...

* smell the roses
trying to

* harvest the veggies
check! lettuce, spinach, peas

* figure out what is making my car smell like someone's ass
check. it was once a cheeseburger from McD, became a ball of black fuzz under a booster seat. HEY! I didn't EAT it, did I?

* catch up with friends I have neglected
getting closer...

* get back to making art (without words)
halfway there

* go on road trips
in the works..

* live my life
trying.

make sure to miss me while I am gone :-)

GIVE ME COFFEE OR GIVE ME DEATH

2009-06-15T08:37:00.003-04:00

CONFESSION #165: My brain functions in the morning but my body does not.

I have gotten into a comfortable routine of waking up, stumbling toward my coffee pot, drooling while the coffee drip drip drips to life and then sitting down and updating my many blogs. For some reason, my thoughts are fresh in the morning and as the day wears on, I am unable to think clearly as my day becomes muddled with activity.

In the evening, I go to the gym and I run. This clears my head, helps me sleep and reduces stress.

Due to a scheduling conflict (otherwise known as: my husband does whatever the hell he wants and I have to work around it -- sound familiar ladies?), today I had to wake up early to fit in my workout.

My alarm woke me at 5:50, and by 6:10 I had tripped over my own feet 300 times trying to get out of the house. Usually, I run right out of my driveway, no stretching, no warming up. Today, I walked for a good 1/2 mile before I could even contemplate speeding up.

Eventually, I ran. I squeezed in 3 miles before I had to get home so the Mr could make it to work on time. But unlike my leisurely and stress-reducing evening runs, this one was torture. I hated every song on my iPod -- too loud, too fast, too slow, too much. I hated the way my stomach felt -- empty, rumbling, vacant. I hated not having cleared my head and not having had any coffee. Blech.

Back to my regular routine, I think. I am officially set in my ways.

I DO HAVE HOPE

2009-06-13T07:50:00.004-04:00

CONFESSION #164: Sometimes your comments make me think. And sometimes that hurts my brain.

In response to my post about my mom, I received the following comment:
Hope Is My Middle Name said...
As the mother of a 30-year old daughter, I've learned that the only things I can talk to her about without starting a fight are: how wonderful she is, how wonderful her husband is, how wonderful her children are and...I guess that's about it! One day you'll be the mother of an adult daughter and you'll see what I mean.

Why, yes, this comment inspired me to think. And laugh a little too because I know what a presumptuous a$$hole I am when I judge someone in whose shoes I have never walked. I have been humbled a thousand times since having my own daughters, and my mother and I have laughed about this. I write about it, I think about it, I talk about it. So I get it.

And yes, I know that having teenagers will humble me further and having adult daughters will send me into an early grave.

I laugh about your comment, Hope is my Middle Name (and by the way, Hope really IS my middle name), because you described my younger sister. And it goes for not only my mother but for everyone in her life. She judges everyone on how introspective the questions they ask HER are. So yes, unless you are openly professing your admiration and love for her and her kid and her husband, there isn't much to talk about that won't ultimately direct the conversation as such. So thanks for the chuckle.

I, however, am a middle child who needs very little by way of compliments and validation from my parents, or from anyone else for that matter. I know exactly who I am and how wonderful I am ;-) and all I want from my mom is a mom.

Someone who is concerned with my emotional well-being, who cares about my life and who prides herself on being an attentive grandmother. Someone who can offer me tidbits of wisdom and share pieces of her life without telling me what to do with mine. Someone who offers help and reaches out for help in equal measure. Support, Mutual respect. I want to laugh with my mom, about anything. And lately, it seems we are getting closer.

She's been sharing stories with me about my dad's struggle with cancer. (Dad is not exactly one to share) She has been more open and honest about her goals and dreams for her own life. Now that we have severed the business ties between us, she is more open to talking about her business without a guard up.

So we are making some progress I am enjoying it. I am still waiting for Super-Gramma but it might be a few more years. And my mother knows very little about my actual day to day life because she is too wrapped up in herself to care, but that too comes from what I believe to be a very dark place that she is unaware of. (fear of losing my dad). So really, in general, it's all good.

But I am just so, so careful not to slip back into the old ways. Thanks for making me dig a little deeper on that :-)

GOING POSTAL

2009-06-12T07:16:00.004-04:00

CONFESSION #163: I have the occasional day when I am supermom.

Take yesterday for example. I was inspired. I was creative. I created MAGIC.

We have a little wooden store where the kids usually sell plastic fruit, but guess who was sick and F-ing tired of picking up the fruit and placing it back on the store shelves? Yeah. ME.

We also have this little doll armoire that nobody really ever played with.

And I have a drill and a saber saw and I am not afraid to use them. I have acrylic paints and paintbrushes and I am not afraid to use them either.

I have a friend who gave me a case of envelopes, and I have paper and ink pads and stamps and stickers. I have crayons and markers and glue and scissors.

And now? I have an interactive Post Office that keeps the kids busy for hours.

Yup. Supermom.

MORE ON MY MOM

2009-06-11T06:41:00.004-04:00

CONFESSION #162: I am not making the kind of progress with my mom that I had hoped to.

***warning: DOWNER POST AHEAD***

I am not one for New Year's Resolutions but I had decided around the beginning of the year that this would be the year I would change some dysfunctional patterns of communication with my mother. There are two main areas here:

1. The Gossip Thing
2. The Weight Loss thing

I nailed the gossip thing down during our last blow-out, letting her know I would no longer be feeding her gossip, or listening to her gossip, about my two sisters or anyone else. So far, she slips from time to time and I do the dog-training maneuver where I immediately turn my back on her and wait until she changes the subject before I open my posture back up to her. This seems to work, and without those subjects contaminating us, we've been able to talk about other stuff, real stuff. We see each other much less frequently, I think because we often have nothing to say to each other, but that's okay too.

But the weight loss thing. This is proving more difficult.

So here's the deal. It is starting to happen: I am losing weight. In the past 6 weeks, I have lost nearly 10 pounds, with a goal of about 10 more. The comments have started rolling in ..."You are getting SKINNY!"..."I can see it here and here and here" (with pinching hand gestures)..."Are you shrinking?"

And when these comments come from my friends, I beam and nod and explain how hard I am working and I appreciate the acknowledgement that it is, indeed, working.

But with my mother, I turn into a ball of flames.

This is because I have a long history with my mom of her being obsessed with thinness and her absolute favoritism of her thinnest daughter at any given time. I have resented this for...I don't know...ever?

And so when she saw what I was eating at Diva's birthday party and questioned me about it, I explained that I was on a health kick (I avoid the word "diet" in general, but particularly when talking with my mother) and that I was changing my eating habits.

She was hungry for more information. I reluctantly told her exactly what my strategy was, but then guided the night back to Diva.

Then the emails started.

HI HONEY! Are you losing any weight? How is the diet?

I ignored her at first, but they kept coming. How is your new diet? How much weight have you lost?

So I gently responded:

Mom, it's not a diet and it's no big deal and I don't want you to make a fuss. I feel great and I am eating well and that's the most important thing. So let's let it go, eh?

No response. Yes! I think I hit the mark.

Then 3 days later, I walked into her office and immediately:

Ooooh! You look like you are losing weight! So great! How much have you lost?

And for the past 3 weeks, when I see her on Wednesday mornings, it has been the exact same thing.

I tried the dog training posture trick. Didn't work. I tried changing the subject. Nope.

So yesterday, I looked my mother square in the eye and said Drop. It.

Because right below the surface of my skin lie a thousand memories of this exact type of questioning at family get-togethers, with the thinnest sister at that moment getting accolades and compliments and ooooh and aaaahhhs and the other two sisters getting completely ignored.

In the interest of full disclosure, I have often been the thinnest of my sisters and so I have often been the subject of this dripping enthusiasm. And instead of loving it, I see the faces of my two sweet sisters sitting there staring at me, all of us feeling uncomfortable and irritated.

I remember being a teenager and have a sit down with my mom where I asked her to buy us real food instead of just having Dexatrim in full supply. "But it helps with your appetite!" she said. But I want to eat, I explained.

My relationship with food has come so much further than my relationship with my mom.

RETRO MAMA

2009-06-10T06:32:00.007-04:00

CONFESSION #161: I have an unnatural affinity for things of a bygone era.

And I am not talking fashion, although I wish I were. I would be a helluva lot cooler if I wore vintage dresses and shoes on my rubenesque 1920s-era figure. Let's forget for a moment that I dress myself like a bohemian cavewoman and focus more on my abode, shall we?

Anyone who reads this blog already knows how i feel about my Vintage Little People Collection.

So here's something you might NOT know: I love chairs. Retro chairs. I have a lot of them and yet it never stops me from acquiring more.

I also love retro tables:

And I would make love TO my retro couch and chair/ottoman if it were physically possible:

And finally, when I travel I like to look like some sort of forlorn war bride with my 1920s suitcase and handbag. I really need a vintage dress to complete the look...

I did, however, just download an app so I can check my email from my phone, so I am slowly but surely entering the new millenium. It's just taking me a little longer than the others.

MY FAVORITE BODY PART

2009-06-09T06:45:00.004-04:00

CONFESSION #160: I love my feet.

When I was in my early 20s, I interviewed a reflexologist for a story I was working on about natural healing. She worked on my feet for an hour, which I hated every second of because for as much as I love my feet, I hate it when people touch them. Pedicures, massages, reflexology. I find the entire experience painful and miserable.

My feet are mine.

She did, however, tell me that I have a very strong base and that I am very grounded. This according to my feet, which according to reflexologists, tell the story of your health.

This is the time of year that my feet are constantly dirty, even right after a shower, because I spend so many hours of my day trudging through the garden. I have tan lines around my flipflops, the bottoms of my feet are rougher than any shoe on the market and my toe ring has sliced into my skin. My heels are blistered because I need new running shoes. My polish is chipped but I try to fix it every Wednesday night while I watch the one show on TV that I must see. I will never confess to exactly which show that is.

But I am proud of my feet, like a craftsman would be of his hands. My feet tell the story of a woman who never sits down, who doesn't wear shoes, who works in the Earth. My feet reveal a woman who likes to be pretty but can't be bothered with the every day stuff. My feet share my secrets: I drive barefoot, I garden barefoot, and yet I wear flips-flops around the house so I don't get my floors muddy.

My feet are my favorite body part. What is yours? (favorite part of YOUR body, that is. Not your favorite part of MINE. ;-P)

IF ONLY ALL NEWS WAS DELIVERED LIKE THIS

2009-06-08T19:12:00.001-04:00

DATING MY DAUGHTERS

2009-06-08T06:34:00.003-04:00

CONFESSION #159: I guess you could say I am dating again.

The Mr and I are experiencing some sort of revival around here. We are like honeymooners or something, all over each other and missing each other and supporting each other and having a marriage the way it should be had. We had a long laugh yesterday about how we feel like we've been through a war together, raising all these babies and changing all the diapers getting through all the sleepless nights. Torn clothing, desperation setting in -- we stuck it out, me and the Mr. And we have remained surprisingly intact but maybe a little damaged in our connection.

There were times (many, many, many times) where the stress and fatigue threatened to break us, but you know what? It didn't. And we are now stronger for it and reaping the benefits. We now have 3 children who are willing to be paid a crispy new dollar bill in exchange for leaving us alone for an hour in the middle of a Saturday afternoon. And this, dear friends, is a very beautiful thing.

But the unexpected side effect of all this marital bliss is that my kids still need me after all, just in different ways. So when we were smooching in the kitchen and the kids started to pry us apart with their skinny little bodies, shouting and crying for attention, I knew that the elusive balance I am constantly in search of was just as far off as ever. And it was time to take action.

I asked each of my daughters out on a date.

On Friday night, Diva and I did dinner and a movie. On Saturday, Little Middle and I spent hours shopping at an upscale mall after a 45-minute drive blasting our favorite mix CD. On Sunday, Baby hopped in the bike trailer and we zigzagged throughout town and ended up at a corner store for some nasty candy treat she wanted. She's 2, what did I expect? The perfect date involves candy.

Somehow, this weekend of dating my kids did the trick and there was a certain peace that settled over the house. There was less fighting, less bickering, fewer tears.

And while I don't have a 401K or a stock portfolio, this simple weekend was like an investment with astronomical returns.

IT'S MEME SUNDAY

2009-06-07T07:10:00.004-04:00

Thanks to my dear e-friend (and perhaps real-life friend someday?) Delilah for this lovely blog award. I am tickled that anyone reads this blog in the first place -- having them like it is just the cherry on top. If you haven't had a chance to check out Delilah's blog, do so immediately. Put a piece of saran wrap over your computer screen -- her blog is one of the few that makes me spit Spelt Flakes and snort almond milk out my nose. Yeah, I'm on a health kick.

Now I believe the charge is write 6 wacky things about myself. I am not sure I can stop at 6 because holy crap I love to reveal unsavory facts about the real me, but I will try to edit myself:

1. I vacuum all the time. Like, I vacuum my whole house (2,400 sq. ft) twice a day. It's an obsession. And I love my vacuum so much that I put giant googly eyes on it and named it Suckah.

2. I never befriend people online that I don't have every intention of meeting in person once day. All of my online relationships are with people I am willing to travel to meet, even if I never do. Currently, I am scheming a road trip to my friend Charis' farm in Wisconsin with a stop in Chicago to meet Katiri. I hope to meet as many bloggers as possible between here and there...drop me a line if you want to host me and any number of my 3 children. And preferably serve us a meal. ;-)

3. I hate to fly and do it only when dragged kicking and screaming, which seems to happen about twice a year for holidays with my in-laws. I spend the entire flight clutching the armrests and gasping for breath while I wonder why everyone else isn't reacting to the fact that we are all going to die. I have a prescription for some sort of sedative and it seems to work okay, except that for the remainder of the day I act like I've been lobotomized. Which doesn't work for morning flights. My in-laws have enough trouble loving me without the blank expression and lifeless humor.

4. I scored 730/800 on my math SAT when I was 16, but then didn't add the numbers correctly for my final score. This made my older sister, the actuary, want to call the SAT board a report a fraudulent score or perhaps that I cheated. I think she actually cried she was so pissed. If I remember correctly, she only beat me by 10 points and clearly that wasn't enough. Sorry sis.

5. This is perhaps an offshoot of #1: I am obsessed with removing my own body hair. I shave every single day and tweeze eyebrows like it's my job.

6. When I run on the treadmill at the gym, I pretend that someone (the person always changes -- it's like a sexual fantasy but exercise related) is watching me. This makes me run further, sprint faster and hold my sprints for longer periods of time. When I run outside, I play a little game with myself that I have to run without stopping at least until someone I know sees me. This usually takes a good 2 or 3 miles, so only then can I walk or take a water break.

Sigh. I think I have revealed enough crazy for one day.

I WRITE

2009-06-06T07:47:00.003-04:00

CONFESSION #158: My laptop saves my sanity.

I write because sometimes I feel like I will turn to dust if I don't.

I write because I can't deal with the hour-long waits at the pediatrician, the eyes rolled at me when I tell them it's bedtime, the condescension coming straight from the man I love, the rest of it, which I presume comes along with the territory. It isn't my natural instinct to deal with it gracefully; I am a square-peg-mama. My first instinct is to find the words.

I write because I don't understand any of it -- the pain, the joy, the jealousy, the compassion -- until I am reading it on the screen in front of me. When I am writing, there are two of me -- the one finding the words, and the one reading them. Approving them. Finally comprehending them. Sometimes my own words make me cry, often for the first time, as though one person writes them and another feels them. I very rarely make myself laugh.

It's because I am overwhelmed and understimulated, overtaxed and underpaid, over-the-moon and under-the-radar. It's because I am stuck at home, even though I chose to be here. It's because I am trying to be grateful and graceful and grown-up in the face of the consequences of this life I have chosen. So I write.

I write because I have passion I can't place. Tears I can't release. Laughter I can't suppress. Joy I can't express. It's all locked up inside until it comes flying out in a steady stream of words, typed with two fingers and an occasional pinkie on the enter key.

I write because maybe someone else will understand too. Maybe there will be a phone call where there otherwise wouldn't have. An invitation to play. Maybe just some words thrown back across this screen. Maybe not, and maybe I can make peace with that too.

I write because I have to. And when I stop feeling that way, that's when I close the case, draw the curtain, unplug.

In the meantime, I write.

ODE to iTUNES

2009-06-05T07:31:00.004-04:00

Remember the days of loving a song you heard on the radio and then going to Strawberries and singing it for the guy working there hoping he might recognize it and know where on the shelves to find it? No longer. Now we have....ta DUM...THE INTERNET!

A song you loved in 4th grade? Type it in. For 99-cents, it's yours. Upload all your old CDs. Every single song you have ever loved is all in one place, accessible with the click of a mouse. It's heaven.

So here's my most recent favorite workout playlist, cheesy pop music and all, for your enjoyment:

New Soul...Yael Naim

I Saw the Sign....Ace of Base

Crazy B*tch...Buckcherry

Statue of My Friend...Foxtrot Zulu

4 Minutes...Madonna and Justin Timberlake

Blister in the Sun...Violent Femmes

MmmBop...Hanson

Let Me Be...Xavier Rudd

Alone...Heart

7 Things...Miley Cyrus

Sweet Pain...Blues Traveler

FLORENCE HENDERSON WOULD WINCE

2009-06-04T06:15:00.004-04:00

CONFESSION #157: I am not a great "homemaker."

John's comment last week about having a husband who supports me has made me paranoid about what other misconceptions of me people might have. In some ways, I've had to let it go. But there are other truths -- like this confession -- that I will purge through the proper channel. Via blog.

I have friends who really do the mom/wife thing well. They sign their kids up for the right sports, the right preschools, they buy the right clothes and actually own stain sticks. They shop while their kids are at school and they buy food on sale with coupons categorized by....category. Then, (here's the part that blows my mind) they cook it in time for dinner. Did you hear me? I said, THEY COOK IT FOR DINNER. Talent.

Getting dinner on the table....not my superpower.

So let it be known, here and now so that there is no misunderstanding:

My family is lucky if I make a square meal once a week. The rest of the time it's frozen tortellini or turkey and cheese on baguette. I even use cute little toothpicks on their sandwiches, like they are dining at a bistro. Cute, oui? I just don't have a flair for the preparation of a real meal, with veggies and a starch and everything timed so that it's ready to be served all at once. And I lose myself in whatever I am doing, be it dinnertime or otherwise. Those chef-like fembot women must have some skill set I didn't know existed. I fear it's too late. I am far too self-absorbed these days to care and the damage is already done.

Thanks for listening. I was really feeling like I just couldn't move forward without clearing the air between us.

And I still don't have a husband who supports me, either. {scowl}

ON MARRIAGE

2009-06-02T19:42:00.005-04:00

CONFESSION #156: My wedding was about as romantic as a corporate merger.

Clearly, I believe that marriage is (or should be) a business arrangement first. This is supported by the latest annoying FreeCreditReport.com commercial where the annoying kid is singing annoyingly in his girlfriend's parents' basement lamenting the fact that he didn't check his annoying girlfriend's credit report before goin' steady with her. But as annoying as the ad is, he is singing my tune.

My stance on this may surprise those of you who actually know me, because the truth is that I am a feelings girl. I am big on instincts and moon phases and intuition and especially love. In my life, there was no space for casual sex...I have never been with a man I didn't love deeply in some way. Even if for just one night. If our love affair lasted 6 hours, you better believe that during that time, I felt achingly passionate love.

But marriage? This is SERIOUS business here.

Prior to meeting my husband, I had what I like to imagine was a steady stream of suitors. Unlike most of them, I knew certain things about myself.

I knew that I was interested in being exclusive and monogamous. If we couldn't get in sync on this fine point, we never made it past Human Resources.

I knew that I wanted a family and I wanted it sooner than later. I knew that any travel plans I had would best wait until my Rascal can ride shotgun or in the cargo dock. I knew I would never make a ton of money, and I knew that my parents would be able to bail me out if I ever got arrested. I also knew that I would be inheriting a buttload of furniture over the years and that I could be happy raising my kids in a yurt if it came down to it, but we'd be eating organic veggies.

I knew that I would rather die than not pay my electric bill and that I would breastfeed to save money and that no matter how much money I ever made, I would still work in some capacity. I also knew that I would be able to spend money from time to time because, after all, you can't take it with you. Fancy vacations are not important to me -- but the little splurges are. I knew that I would rather "join bank accounts" with a man who made less money but was careful with it than someone who made tons of money and had no sensibility.

And why did I want these things? Because they would be good for my bottom line.

So ultimately, when I chose my mate, I had all of these things in mind. Some bonus points were that neither of us had college loans or credit card debt. That simple fact could have possibly changed everything.

It's not that I didn't choose my husband for love, because I did. But like I said, I have loved every man (boy?) I have ever been with so love was not exactly my best criteria. In the end, I chose the man who loved me the most, and that is the one decision I have never regretted.

Marrying him was a business decision, because loving him is the easy part. And the company picnics are tricky, but the most fun is had in the boardroom.

WEIGH IN NOW

2009-06-02T10:27:00.001-04:00

Two topics I am formulating ideas on, due later this week:

* Is marriage basically a business partnership?

* Does one partner always marry "up" and the other marry "down"?

Stay tuned. My answers might surprise you.

ANOTHER MILESTONE

2009-06-02T08:14:00.003-04:00

CONFESSION #155: Using foul language in context, in our house, is an important life skill.

Diva informed me last night that while her schoolteacher grandmother was visiting, she helped grade papers.

Her "Ya-Ya" let Diva read the reports and then decide if the student was to receive a 1, 2, 3, 4 or 5.

Diva told me she only cursed two students with the dreaded "1."

Me: What were those papers like?

Diva: They totally sucked.

That's right honey. You have your daddy's eyes and your mama's potty-mouth. I couldn't be more proud.

MAMA GETAWAY

2009-06-01T08:35:00.004-04:00

CONFESSION #154: Sometimes a giant step back is all that's needed for some perspective.

I am forcing myself to blog right now, because I don't want to disappoint anyone who is logging in here today to see how my trip was. But sometimes these weekends (now that there have been a few) feel like a precious stone I am not quite ready to show, or a pastry I don't want to share.

But I will, for you. But you will have to make do with a list of thoughts and not a heartfelt essay. The longer version will not be posted here, but carried around until I find the time and space to share it.

So in addition to the perspective on my own life that I gained while away, I also had unforseen chances to explore so many other blessings. Over the course of several days, I did all of my favorite things:

Held babies (Nora and Toby)
Met new people (Jillian, Dave)
Played with kids (Aidan, Seamus)
Saw old friends (Jen, Kristin, Mel)
Dug my hands in the dirt (patio flower boxes)
Buried my feet in the sand (Margate City Beach)
Drank martinis (Blood Orange)
Smoked cigarettes (Parliament Lights)
Ate chocolate (fondue, and those delicious little crunch mint/ dark chocolate hearts)
Showed off my culinary prowess (Caramelized Onion Pizza)
Took a long walk (up Atlantic, down Ventnor)
Took a risk (Trump Plaza...goddamn quarter slots)
Sang with a news friend in the car (Angels of Montgomery)
Listened to hours of talk radio (This American Life)
Solved my work crisis (Summer babysitter -- she texted me back right away!)
Heard new music (Something about Zombies?)
Wrote from the heart (Blog blog blog)
Sat in a quiet coffee shop on my laptop (Starbucks, love WiFi)
Beautified my outside (new ear piercings)
Tightened up my inside (Kegels)
Remembered my pain (I still cry about him)
Remembered my joy (I still love them. All of them.)

My spirit sings with this new, refreshed mindset. And all the notes are finally in tune.

ALRIGHT, YOU CAUGHT ME

2009-05-29T09:14:00.005-04:00

CONFESSION #153: I care.

You know what? I care. Not very often, and not very much, but every. little. onceinawhile.

I care what people think of me. Especially when they are wrong.

You want the backstory? It begins with a little dig and it grows like a freaking disease in my mind. I don't have many hot spots -- not too many emotional landmines -- but my friend John (at the gym) tripped on one last week. I have one great sensitivity, and it has everything to do with my work ethic and my feelings of entrapment as a mother, like I am trying to paint a canvas with a brush clenched in my toes or trying to climb rope with hands tied behind my back.

So here's how it went down:

I go to the gym twice during the workweek, begging borrowing and stealing those minutes to myself by bartering childcare and schlepping my kids around like cheap luggage. Each Tuesday and Thursday at 9 a.m. I hit the gym and chat with John. We talk about God. We talk about local politics. We talk, on occasion, about our jobs.

I know that he is a professional bodybuilder and that he owns and operates the gym to which I belong. He knows only that I write for the paper, teach Kids' Yoga and that I am looking to open a Recycled-Art Studio. He sees me dragging a billions kids around downtown with my landscaping wagon, orchestrating trips to the library, the cupcake shoppe, the bead store. My work is not conventional, his is.

So when we were chatting last week and the dig came, I was unprepared.

"How are your yoga classes going" he asked.

"I'm in between sessions," I replied. "I am gearing up for my summer camps. On a bit of a hiatus...I'm an underachiever," I added with a grin.

And then BAM: "You only have the luxury of being on hiatus because you have a husband to support you," he said.

OUCH.

This bothers me on so many levels, I almost can't process it. And so maybe I won't. Maybe I will try to scrape the stinger out with a credit card and wait for the redness to subside. Maybe I will rub the wound fiercely until the friction hurts worse than the wound.

And maybe I will let someone kiss it and make it better.

Yesterday, I had the opportunity to visit with my brother-in-law, who has known me since I was 17 years old. He is my sister's savior. He is the stay-at-home dad to their 4 kids. He understands. Over coffee, I poured this story out to him, shaking my head in disbelief and shame over how much this one conversation was plaguing me.

"He obviously doesn't know you," BIL said. "Nobody hustles more than you."

Hmmm. A hustler. I am liking how that sounds. I am a stay-at-home hustler.

And how would you possibly explain that to anyone? How can I define the hours I put in, the social skills I have had no choice but to develop, the love I pour out, the late nights spent on the computer on deadline, the classes with 30 kindergartners I have to pretend to enjoy even if I have been sick or crying or up all night with a puking toddler? How do I explain that while John at the gym gets to wake up and go to work and come home in the afternoon, my job is constant and continuous and I am always running from someone's school to a job here to the office there to the printers and back again and all over the next day?

And mostly, how do I explain that while some women go the gym in the morning because their husbands make tons of money and their kids are all in school and they can fill their days with workouts and lunch dates and shopping trips..how on earth do I differentiate myself?

I am not one of them. I'm a hustler.

ONLINE FRIENDS

2009-05-27T18:29:00.003-04:00

CONFESSION #152: I have online friends.

You know what? I have online friends and I am not ashamed to admit it.

Once upon a time, I was part of a sucky message board that advocated practices associated with Attachment Parenting and honestly, I met so many awful people I was jaded for many moons.

When I was pregnant with my third child, I got friendly with a group of women in what is commonly known as a "due date club" and we moved ourselves, post babies, to a private board where we chat hourly if not minutely.

During the first summer after our babies were born, 4 of us met for lunch in Philadelphia while I was on vacation in Southern NJ. Last year, 6 of us met at my in-laws' beach house in Atlantic City for a long weekend. This year -- beginning tomorrow -- 4 more of us will meet for a 4-day weekend of fun, sun and much debauchery in that very same house.

I have grown rather attached to my online friends, especially now that we meet in real life (IRL, to you online-speak newbies). They know probably more about me than my real-life friends, including my pubic-hairstyle and how many times a week I get laid. There is much comfort and familiarity in these online relationships, and getting together is like summer camp for drunken mamas.

Don't worry -- I will still be blogging while away. There is no wireless Internet, but a very lovely Starbucks I love to frequent. Stay tuned for updates, and drop me a line if you have any questions about this experience. As usual, my life is an open book.

ON FEMALE FRIENDSHIP

2009-05-26T19:20:00.005-04:00

CONFESSION #153: I am a girl's girl.

Some girls have a harem of guy friends. I do not. I am all about the ladies.

Pardon me for saying what perhaps other women keep inside: I love men. (almost) All men. In a sexual way. I love men in all shapes in sizes. I think Santa Claus is hot. I want to take Anthony Bourdain home with me and show him a thing or two he hasn't seen before. I love my mailman. I love men who write blogs who live halfway across the country who I have never laid eyes on. I have admitted here, recently, that I would voluntarily sleep with George W. Bush. And holy God let's not even talk about Obama, or my gynecologist or the dads who do preschool drop-off or the barely legal high school senior who works out at my gym on Saturday mornings. There is no end to my desire for the opposite sex.

Lucky for my husband, I am also a firm believer in monogamy and marriage and loyalty and love. So when I walk into a party with my friends and call out to the room "Lock up your husbands, bitches! I'm here!" my friends know I am kidding. Mostly. Perhaps they clutch their men a little tighter when I am around. Perhaps they should.

I have one male friend who I have very little sexual attraction to and therefore my husband is alright with our friendship. He is actually quite attractive -- he is 6'3", built, handsome with a deep voice and he is a pilot in the US Air Force. And he is decidedly straight. We met making music together at Rhode Island open mics. I spent long evening hours with him in recording studios laying tracks. There is just something that smells wrong about him to me, and we have maintained a completely platonic friendship for nearly 8 years because of that little pheromone or scent. He brings girlfriends to me for approval, he gets it every time and then they break up anyways.

But other than that? I don't have other male friends. I just don't see the point. I hang out with my friends' husbands, always in groups, and I love to pal around with any of my four brothers-in-law who I adore. But in the end, my confidences lie with my girlfriends.

I love the banter among women, I love the secrets and the sharing and the feelings and the soft touches and the laughter and the forgiveness. I love that the women come running with meals and offers of childcare when they call and hear a stuffy nose. I love the way they rub my forearm when I cry -- and I do cry to my friends. I love when we cry together. When I labored with my babies, it was my best girlfriend who rubbed my feet and whispered loving things into my ear. While the Mr fumbled and stuttered and lost his way, it was my girlfriend who told me I was amazing. Who assured me I was doing it right. Who wiped my tears and kissed my forehead.

My husband recently walked in on me and a girlfriend having a little cry together in the kitchen. I saw him roll his eyes to the back of his head and turn on his heel to hightail it back into the living room. What he will never understand is that those are the moments of intimacy with my friends that I absolutely live for and that I could never have with a man -- who might pereceive my raw emotion as manipulation or loss of control.

He can be my king, but my girlfriends will always hold court.

ONE MAMA'S IDENTITY CRISIS

2009-05-25T16:57:00.004-04:00

CONFESSION #(where did we leave off?) : I really liked answering your questions and am kind of sorry they have all been answered*.

This confessional-turned-interview was a very safe haven for me as I underwent my most recent identity crisis, so I want to thank you all for playing along. Your questions were thoughtful and funny and they made me think, so I need you to know that I will forever be willing to answer any questions you might ever want to pose for me...just leave them with your comments.

Now onto the identity crisis.

I'm going through a little something, something that I can't quite name.

Something that leaves me feeling utterly unfulfilled by my days at home with my kids. It seems these days that I am only feeling alive when I am writing, or laughing with friends, or even working. Or exercising, or being with the Mr. or cooking or gardening or whatever WHATEVER it is that I am doing as long as it's not....mothering.

This is an alarming frame of mind for someone like me, who has prided herself for so long on being some supernatural badass of a mom.

But my reality is that I still have a 2 year old who deserves to have a mother who does all the fun stuff with her that she did with the sisters. I have taken a couple steps to fight off this little demon, at least for a couple more years, so that I can find that elusive balance between being a great mom and an independent woman.

The solution: I am going to be doing a lot more writing where motherhood is never mentioned. Where I write about everything ELSE. Thank you all for asking your questions and reminding me I had something else to say.

There is so much more to me than the fact that I mother children.

Once I am able to express this fully, I will be more present with my kids and come just a tiny, little bit closer to striking that balance I seek.

* Except for one: Samantha, I am not going to be adopting foster children OR raising chickens because I was being ridonkulous and delusional and searching for answers in places that they didn't exist. I do that from time to time.

ASK MM Part XI

2009-05-24T12:33:00.004-04:00

Anonymous said...
Q: Where do you see your relationship with your Mom heading in the future? From your previous posts, I feel a kindred spirit with you on this subject (I think our Mom's may be twins separated at birth!)What have you learned that will help you change in your relationships with your own daughters?

A: {sigh}

The mother-daughter thing. It is bigger than I can blog about, bigger than I can understand and bigger than I can even put into a million words. It's painful.

The truth: I don't really like my mom very much. She was a loving mother when I was little and she continues to care for me and love me in the best way she knows how. I can tell you that the lower my expectations are of her, the less disappointment and angst I feel. Really, the less I see her, the better we get along. At this point in my life, we are down to a 45-minute tennis game on weekends and this suits me just fine. She gets to imagine that we are "close" and I get to play tennis.

Even in the best of circumstances, I find my mother to be self-absorbed and un-evolved. Unless you are spoonfeeding her malicious gossip about others (which is not my preferred mode of conversation , in real life or here on this blog) there is little depth to anything we talk about. I think Joe the mailman (who, incidentally, I think I am in love with) knows me better than my mother does.

It is only fair to admit right now that even IF my mother asked the right questions and even IF my mother had an interest in knowing more about me, I am not sure I will ever get to the point of trusting her with my truth.

My mother shrinks in the face of pain and conflict, which are two states of being that I am constantly in pursuit of embracing for my own life, in a positive way. I seek opportunities for growth; my mother seeks confirmation that she is perfect the way she is. I like to take the truth and understand it; my mom likes to rewrite reality so it is sunshiny and so it suits her perspective, without really taking the time to work through it. I can't appreciate this.

But here I am, with 3 daughters of my own who are poised to criticize every move I make from now until the end of my time.

So what have I learned? I have learned to set the bar low. I have learned to accept her for who she is. I have learned to fill the gaps with friends who can nurture me, to rely more on my husband and less on my family of origin.

With my own daughters, I will try to keep the very balance that my own mother has lost. To acknowledge them when they share, to validate them while holding my own ground and to listen to them, always. As we grow older, my goal will be to understand them as people, not just in the context of our family but the greater sense of how they fit into the worlds they create for themselves.

It all sounds so smarmy and Hallmarky and I can't really process it any other way. It's bigger than the words I know, and my head spins at the thought that even one of them will ever feel the way about me that I feel about my mom.

ASK MINDFUL MAMA Part XI

2009-05-22T19:49:00.003-04:00

Wifemotherexpletive asks:
Q: here's a question to keep you writing... when do you think grown up is a self identity? or is it?

A: Well, I think with this question, my friend, you presume that I am an
intellectual. What you don't know is that I flunked out of college once, and
then got my degree (media and communications) later -- after a cross-country road trip with my best friend and her dog -- by schmoozing the
lesbian professors and babysitting for their children.
So these kinds of questions -- which seem a natural type of banter for smart people -- intimidate me.
Let it be known that I come from a long line of super smart people. My parents are both engineers and my father has 16 patents in the field of Cryogenics. My mother is a successful small-business owner. My older sister is an actuary and my younger sister is a speech therapist. Black sheep? Why, yes, Yes I am.
So are you asking when one becomes a grown-up? Because now THAT is a question I can answer.
When you start picking up the tab. Paying for your grandmother's meals at restaurants. My sister and I have driven to Maine and taken our Grammy out to eat three times now and each time, I grab the bill. Me. Who has no tangible job -- just a fledgling new business and a career as stay-at-home mom. And nothing in my life has made me feel like such an ADULT.
I also have identified myself as "grown-up" when marital problems have arisen and I approach them with compassion and grace, and love. It seems that the little girl thing to do is tantrum and complain and cry and feel so sorry for myself. With a few minutes thought, I can summons the inner grown-up and find myself coming from a place of absolute love and acceptance for my spouse. And this makes me feel, yes, grown-up. A woman. No longer a girl.
I like to feel young. I like to pretend, even, sometimes that I am. But on my best days I imagine myself to have it all -- the mindset of a young woman and the perspective of a grown-up. And maybe therein is the very best marriage of ideals.

ASK MINDFULMAMA Part X

2009-05-22T08:25:00.003-04:00

Shelmo asks:
Q: what defines you?

~shelmo

A: This is a trick question posed to make me reveal deep dark secrets. Okay, you got it. Ask MindfulMama and you shall receive.

The defining moment in my life was the day my high school boyfriend was found hanging in his college dorm room 4 days after he left for school. I was 15 years old. He had called me and told me he was going to do it; I was calling his bluff when I said "Go ahead." In the end, it was my bluff.

So why is this the defining moment? This was the day I lost my childhood and the day I -- in serious retrospect -- am most grateful for. This was the day I learned to be resillient and strong, this was the day I realized that the world was not my shell of protection. This was the day I realized that nothing is a given; people die and husbands leave and kids get sick. You don't get to sign up for happiness and enjoy the ride. You never really can rest on some preceived sense of security, life is fluid and the only way to live is not only to accept that but to embrace it.

So while I am loathe to admit that I am defined by the lessons learned on Sept 10, 1991 (Jesus, has it really been 17-plus years since that day, which seems like last week sometimes and others feels like it never even happened at all?), I am. My entire psyche is built upon the pain that shattered me that day, and all the beauty I have built up over it since then.

Sometimes the shelter I was trying to build woud crumble cruelly (some of you who read this blog have seen me through those times and you know who you are and I love for continuing to love me, even in those dark days). Sometimes I started it and couldn't finish. Right now, I am slowly decorating the rooms, and quite liking how they look.

And every. single. day. I release any and all love to those in my path -- knowing that it's useless to save it or hide it or be greedy with it. I am someone who is destined to share and love and be empathetic, all the things I couldn't be at 15 but can be now.

Why?

2009-05-21T17:34:00.004-04:00

Bethany asks another one:

Q: What Qs do you have for your readers?? :D

A: I really just would like to know why you come here to read. I know I visit a lot of blogs and some of them inspire me as a mother, some of them inspire my inner goddess, some of them are ways to keep up with friends from real life, others are online friends. Some inspire me in the kitchen. Some make me laugh. Some make me cry.

They are all very important part of what makes my day what it is.

If you feel so inclined, I would love to hear what makes this blog part of yours.

ASK MINDFULMAMA Part IX

2009-05-20T19:34:00.005-04:00

Bethany asks:

Q: You have one word to describe yourself, just one. What is it?~B

A: Sorry. I can't do it. I really can't! How can you pick just one word? Okay..I got it. COMPLICATED.

At the risk of sounding like an Alanis Morrisette song, I have to say that this is a tough one because I confuse even myself.

I'm sensitive but I'm tough.

I'm an interesting conversationalist but I am a good listener.

I am a great friend but I am self-interested.

I am strong but I am vulnerable.

I am hardworking but leisure-seeking.

I am full of love but conditional.

I 'm wrong and I'm sorry baaabbbbbyyyyy...

And what it all comes down to is that everyting's gonna be fine fine fine.....

(it';s the red wine talking. I will be remorseful in the morning I am sure and will probably delete this post...)

ASK MINDFULMAMA Part VIII

2009-05-19T21:09:00.004-04:00

delilah said...
Q: I've got a question. What is your greatest fear? Your greatest pride? Your greatest insecurity?

A: Hey There Delilah.

God! That just NEVER gets old for me!

Um, this is a toughie. I don;t spend a whole lot of time being fearful, proud OR insecure and that's just the plain old truth. (Back me up here people...Kim? Steph? Vanessa?)

The first thing out of my head as far as my biggest fear was obviously the one that no mother will speak. But I will. I am terrified my kids will die.

But actually, when I think about it, my biggest fear is bigger than that. I am afraid that I will die, and not because I am afraid of death. But because I don't want my children to experience the pain of losing their mother and I don't want my husband to experience the pain of being widowed.

This whole motherhood thing has both toughened me like steel and made me vulnerable beyond words, and this was something I never saw coming. I know I can't shield my kids from everything, I can't dry every tear and kiss every boo-boo -- but my fear is dying because then I won't even be there to try. And really, who would? That's what mamas DO.

And when I think about my husband trying to raise these girls without me -- these girls that are defiant and strong and hilarious and sarcastic, JUST. LIKE. MAMA. I can't bear the thought of him doing it without me.

Well, that was depressing, thanks. ;-)

My biggest insecurity is failing at my work. Not making enough money. Not being successful, whatever that word really means. When I started my business, I was incredibly nervous. I guess you could call it insecurity -- maybe it's the closest thing to insecurity that I know. Not being good at my job.

My greatest pride? Yeah. It really is my kids.

Back in my folksinging days, I used to play with a pack of musicians and there was one in particular with whom I was very close. He was in his late forties and I would be lying if I told you he was like a dad to me. He wasn't -- there was actually quite a bit of chemistry between us that went unrealized. But the day I went back to the pub to play after I had my first daughter, the look on his face changed and I could tell we would never flirt again. I had her in the sling, my guitar in my other hand. I walked into that room and I couldn't wait to show him my baby.

He nearly cried, not about the baby. He said "You just walked into this room like a mama lioness, so strong and proud and joyful -- I've never seen anything like it."

And not always, but every once in a while, I get that feeling again. And it always has to do with my daughters.

ASK MINDFULMAMA Part VII

2009-05-18T21:11:00.003-04:00

Today we have the final installment of the VioletWit Quatrology. I made that word up.

She asks:
Q: When are you the happiest?

A: I had to think long and hard about this one, because here's the bullshit answer: I am happiest when I am with my family!

I love my family. Got it? Moving right along.

First of all, I think it bears mentioning straight up that I am a pretty happy person. I have a really sort of rosy outlook, dashed with realism and occasional tantrums. Generally speaking, I am grateful just to be alive. But grateful is not the same thing as happy.

I am happiest when I am -- forgive the hippie-dippy stuff that I am about to spew -- sort of living in the fullest expression of who I am. Right.

So, for example. if you were to ask me the five happiest moments of my week last week, I can tell you:

* Picking a lemon balm leaf from my garden and rubbing it repeatedly between my thumb and forefinger and just seriously devouring the scent. I could die from the bliss of that simple action.

* Laying on my hardwood floor, hiding underneath the table and waiting for the kids to find me (hide and seek, duh) -- feeling the coolness of the wood on my cheek and admiring my "retro lounge" 50s, 60s and 70s - era furniture that I have lovingly acquired over the past 4 years, the color I painted the room, remembering the laughter that has taken place at the very table under which I hid. Feeling the presence of friends even though I was alone.

* Running. On the treadmill or on the street. Sweating and burning and working. Loud music, cool breeze, cars flying by. Usually, while I run, I keep the beat with imaginary drumsticks. This makes me quite happy.

*XXX being with my husband XXX

* Seeing a pregnant woman in the bathroom at a restaurant. Looking her straight in the eyes, gently taking her hand, and telling her she is beautiful. And sincerely meaning it.

What is the common thread? I am happiest when I am really, truly living my life. Not sitting at the computer, not being honored or laughed at or loved on or watching someone else's joy, but when I am letting myself feel everything that I can in a single moment.

I really don't know how well I answered this question. I can feel the answer better than I can write it. I hope it all makes sense.

Lucky for me, there are about 4 billion opportunities for happiness in each day. The worst days are when I don't recognize a single one. The best days are when I can't help but notice all of them.

ASK MINDFUL MAMA Part VI

2009-05-17T18:53:00.002-04:00

Melissa said...
Q: What are your biggest regrets so far about parenting? What are you most proud of, in terms of being a mother?

And VioletWit asked:
Q: What parenting mistakes did you make with your firstborn that you learned from and did differently with your middle and lastborn?

A: Well, I don't really have a lot of regrets. [insert: All of your experiences make you who you are, no matter where you go there you are, all those cliches]

Some might say they regret not working harder to make a good sleeper out of their first child. Or that they didn't take enough time for themselves. Or that they worried too much, went out too little with their friends or spouse. All of these things, theoretically, would be true for me. But I wouldn't trade the experience I had -- it was what it was. So I can't call them mistakes or regrets.

If I have one mistake -- one regret -- it was the judgements that I allowed myself to have of other women. Other mothers. I judged women who didn't breastfeed. I judged women who worked. I judged mothers who let their kids drink Kool-Aid out of bottles (okay, okay , you caught me -- I still judge those mothers, but quite a bit less passionately than I used to).

And what did all of those judgements, ultimately, add up to? A very lonely Mama who had put her stupid little 20-something self up on some motherhood pedestal, where not only did she discover that she didn't like the natives, but that pretty soon the judgements would turn on HER.

When she decided cloth diapering was not her bag. When it became clear that homeschooling was not at all her bag. When she decided to start her own business and employ some outside childcare. Turns out the judgemental people -- who, incidentally, hang out together in every community across America and often go by the title "Attachment Parents" -- were not the most loyal of company.

In discussing this with a friend not along ago while another friend struggled with meeting people who shared all of her beliefs, some very wise words were spoken.

My friend said, "You know -- I have found that in friendship it really doesn't matter if they have different religious, political or lifestyle beliefs. I have made a lot of friends over the years and the only ones that I had to let go were the judgemental ones."

And so to answer your question, VioletWit, it took 3 kids and a few bottles of KoolAid thrust into a screaming toddler's mouth, but the thing I learned was to be much, much more accepting and open-minded when it comes to other women. That we are all doing our best and we need support much more than criticism, that we all love our kids and live and die for them.

The result has been some really killer friends. And they are all different, from each other and from me. They accept me, I accept them. I wish it hadn't taken me so long to be open to that kind of friendship.

Melissa, to further answer your question and I promise to blabble much less for this one, the thing I am most proud of is that for most of my 8 years as a mother, I have taken good care of my own creative spirit. I have continued to pursue my own passions -- even if they have changed and grown to accommodate my kids, they have not disappeared completely. They are much too important, and I am proud of myself for continuing to honor this.

My painting, my writing, my music and my creativity. Check. Still alive and well.

ASK MINDFULMAMA Part V

2009-05-16T17:01:00.004-04:00

Violetwit with another zinger:

Q: What are you looking for in terms of a passionate married sexual relationship?

A. The truth is that I just typed out a long list of things I wanted and it looked more like soft porn than a family-friendly blogger entry. Since some of the people who read my blog actually have children that go to school with mine, I think posting the 100% honest answer to your question might be a bad idea socially.

But just so you know (na-na-nee-boo-boo) I do believe in sort of manifesting your own destiny and it just so happens that every single thing I had described wanting was something I got every night this week. I just would like for it to continue forever and ever and ever and never wane or ebb or be a valley or any of the other idioms of marriage that we all know to be true. I want passion, intimacy and all of the things I really can't talk about -- and I want them all the time.

It's unrealistic. Optimistic? At a table full of women out having margaritas last night, I was the only one who still had any desire left in her. I didn't have the heart to admit that my desire is practically eating me alive these days. Easier to complain about the ole man and roll my eyes and ... what is it that we women do? Overshare and commiserate?

I slipped out of the bar earlier than my friends, faking a phone call from hubby that he was having trouble with the kids. He wasn't...we were having trouble without each other.

For now, I will just enjoy the present. I am finding myself doing the things that my partner will find attractive. I catch myself putting on perfume. I am whispering things in his ear (things I can't repeat here). I am becoming vulnerable and trusting. I am talking less and listening more. And I am being rewarded tenfold.

And I am perhaps the happiest I have been since our life together began. And this, friends, is exactly what I was looking for in a passionate married sexual relationship.

ASK MINDFULMAMAM Part IV

2009-05-16T06:00:00.002-04:00

My friend Alex (who is my real-life friend and therefore knows lots of things about me) gives me a funchallenge:

Q: fine-- i guess i'll do a silly one: f*ck, marry, kill (with explanations please)1. richard simmons2. ronald mcdonald3. george bush (the son)

A: This one is relatively easy.

I am going to f*ck George W. because let's be serious, for as much of a crap president as he was, he was the only one of your 3 that I could even possibly get in bed with. I might even f*ck him more than once. I always felt like I missed out on that older man thing so the more I think about it the more excited I get.

The other two pose more of a problem.

I think I will kill Ronald McDonald because he's creepy and weird and he is part of the fast food machine that is endangering Americans with their fake formaldehyde-soaked nuggets and high-fructose-corn-syrup-laden-everything. I am not trying to play God, but he deserves to die.

I am going to marry Richard Simmons. He's a good guy. He helps people. He would never let me gain weight and we could do aerobics together every day. The man is busy and he's rich....and he's GAY so I can have a lover on the side and he would probably support me -- maybe even help me by covering for me with the kids.

The kids? We'd be adopting. This is not a marriage I would consummate.

ASK MINDFULMAMA Part III

2009-05-15T06:48:00.003-04:00

Katy asks:
Q: I especially liked the confession a while ago about smoking secretly. How's that going by the way? Do you still smoke? If yes, do you have a desire to quit? Want to be non-smoking buddies? :)

A: No, I don't want to be your non-smoking buddy, but you can hang out and drink mojitos while I chainsmoke in the twilight ;-) Yes, I still smoke on occasion and no, I don't have a desire to quit. I feel like i have the perfect balance in my life of addiction vs. enjoyment. I enjoy a cigarette like a classy man enjoys a cigar. And I like it that way.

I don't smoke every day. I don't even smoke every week. And when I do smoke, unless completely tanked, it's is usually one or two cigarettes at the very end of the day -- kids in bed, hubby out late, walking through my garden talking to my plants. It's a solitude thing.

I will admit that during my Mother's Day road trip, I felt inclined to buy a pack. I had finished a pack the week earlier -- the single pack of cigarettes that had lasted from New Year's Eve all the way to April vacation.

The best part was that the kid working at the podunk general store said, "You ARE over 18, right?"

I could have kissed him. I said, "Oh honey, I'm over 33. But thanks" and smiled at him.

Driving through the back roads and hills and my state, I smoked. I have never felt so free.

That was what? Almost a week ago? I haven't even thought about having a cigarette since. Tonight I will join my friends for margaritas and may have one when I get home. I will think of you :-)

ASK MINDFULMAMA PART II

2009-05-14T18:54:00.003-04:00

The following is part of a series of Q&A, where i answer all of my readers' questions. Feel free to continue leaving them here, and i will continue answering them!*********************************************************************************
My dear friend Katiri asks:

Q: why not roar with a babe in arms?

A: The way in which I want to roar is not appropriate for children. It's barely appropriate for them to be in the next room...much less in my arms.

Grrr.
;-)

ASK MINDFULMAMA PART 1

2009-05-14T07:00:00.002-04:00

The following is part of a series of Q&A, where i answer all of my readers' questions. Feel free to continue leaving them here, and i will continue answering them!
*********************************************************************************

Kudos to VioletWit, who doesn't have a blog of her own for me to read but who obviously reads mine because she asked the kind of questions that actually made me wince, it was like she knew me already...

So for our first installment, I give you this:

Q: Do you think you will ever accept your body?

A: No.

I think I have a very reasonable goal and dream for what I want my body to look like. I actually have a very nice shape -- I guess you could say I am an hourglass. I am also somewhat muscular, strong and flexible. And believe it or not, I don't walk around every day boo-hooing about being too fat, even though my biggest criticism of my body is this layer of extra padding I can't seem to get rid of.

I am one of the rare women who is very aware of her sex appeal, at any size. I know exactly what makes me attractive and I use it. I don't have good skin, but I have a pretty face. I don't have a great body but I have a great shape. I have bad teeth but full lips. I can be sort of obnoxious but I make eye contact and smile and laugh A LOT.

So while i don't talk about it here, I am perhaps secure and confident to a fault.

But the weight loss!!! Ah, the weight loss. It's all sort of a mystery to me, why I can 't take off this last bit of weight.

I run. I lift weights. I play tennis, I swim. I do yoga. I take care of umpteen children and I never sit down. I grow my own vegetables -- and eat them. I drink tons of water. I watch my carb and sugar intake. And because of all of this, I just simply cannot understand why I can't break out of a size 10/12.

My doctor tells me that this is my natural weight. That if I didn't do all of the above things, I would weight 200 lbs. Okay, fair enough I guess. But I don't think I will ever believe it and I certainly can't see the day when I accept it.

You see, I have these 3 little girls that watch me move. They watch me get dressed and they copy how I hold myself. So for them, i pretend to be completely focused on my health and well-being and in essence, it isn't THAT much of a stretch. I don't talk about losing weight except in the context of gaining health, and I never use the word "diet".

But there is a part of me that will never give up trying -- never stop seeking that magic answer (more iron? less Vitcamin C?) that will allow this fat to burn off my body and reveal the strong, curvy, lovely figure I have been cultivating for 33 years.

ASK MINDFULMAMA

2009-05-13T06:47:00.003-04:00

I am feeling very blah about blogging. While my niche around here has been talking about motherhood, some days it just feels like everything has already been said. Besides that, I am returning to my roots. After 8 years of pregnancy, homebirthing, breastfeeding and walking barefoot in gardens by moonlight with babies in slings (yes, I actually do this...for relaxation), I am finally cutting the cord. I want to hear myself roar again.

And frankly, I am boring even myself here.

Therefore, i am opening this blog up for questions. I tried this once before and nobody responded, which resulted in a nearly month-long hiatis from this blog.

So if you have been with me for a while and you want to still have something to read, ask me something you don't know about me. If you are new to this blog and you need a little backstory, ask a question. Feel free to be anonymous. Leave your question in the comments and I will address each question with its own post of the next few weeks. I will answer one a day for as long as I need to.

I may know how to write with wit and charm, but I don't know how to be anything but 100% honest so don't ask me anything you want a soft answer to.

No subject off limits.

MOTHER'S DAY: GOING SOLO

2009-05-11T07:19:00.002-04:00

Yesterday was perhaps the greatest day of my life. Definitely the best Mother's Day, but perhaps even the best day.

This year I made a decision. A very selfish one. I wanted to be alone for Mother's Day.

Luckily, the Mr is a pretty special guy and wholeheartedly supported this request, and not only did he play with the kids all day (no TV) -- he did all the laundry, mowed the lawn, vaccuumed out my car, cleaned the house and had a hot dinner waiting for me when I returned home at 6 p.m. He called me "Queen" all day and was just generally amazing.

My day of "me" included copious amounts of shopping clearance racks (where I revamped my frumpy wardrobe so I can start looking halfway human again), some time spent at the fabric store (where I awakened a love for sewing clothing and bought some supplies to make myself some pants), and some time spent playing tennis (with my own mom, whose ass I plan to finally kick this year now that she is in her 60s).

I also spent a couple hours at my friend's house setting up and planning out an enormous (30 by 80 foot) veggie garden that we will tend, harvest and put up for winter together. Barefoot, digging in the dirt, drinking cold beer. Enjoying female company. Laughing -- a lot.

My favorite part of the day was the part where I reconnected with what makes me ME, which was a nearly-2 hour drive through winding back roads, exploring parts of my small state I had never visited, popping in and out of small towns and villages and general stores. Behind the wheel, with no particular destination, knowing that wherever I wind up is where I need to go -- it occurred to me that I approach my solitary road trips very much the way I do my entire life. Taking whatever comes my way and finding authentic joy in doing so.

My friend Kathleen mentioned this blog the other day, and I have been addicted ever since. It has some seriously adult content, so be aware. But it also reminded me of a few things I had forgotten. Things about passion and lust and meeting needs and all of those things that we sort of check at the door when we start a family.

During my day alone yesterday, I thought of ChicagoSane often, reminding myself that somewhere buried under the rubble of my family life and the baby fog and the heavy cloak of caretaking is a marriage that could use a little passion.

How did I let this go? The time spent thinking was restorative and valuable.

As is always the case when you step outside your role as a mother and take the time to enjoy being a woman, I returned home to my family a better mother, a better wife, and maybe a better lover.

And it was a great day.

GARDENS and other CONSEQUENCES of LOVE

2009-04-29T12:27:00.006-04:00

CONFESSION #151: My garden is the most private 'public place' i know of.

I indicate that my garden -- the only garden on our property, among many, that I really lay personal claim to -- is public because there are always people coming and going at my house. Friends, parents of kids I babysit for, kids, sometimes strangers. It is not hidden behind a wrought iron gate, nor is it shielded by hedges or a fence.

My garden runs alongside my house, with a path leading straight from my kitchen, out the back door and into the pathway that leads through it. It is bare, and naked and open -- for all the world to see.

And yet somehow, it is hard to share here -- because it is the only piece of Earth that I cultivate and tend to and caress and nurture and it is the only piece of the world that isn't a webpage or an article or a canvas that I can really call my own.

In the past I have called it my "Kitchen Garden" or "The Snack Garden", because I grow all my herbs right outside the back door and I often make dinner with whatever is fresh and ready. The kids can always find a berry or grape to pick or peas to open up and pop into their mouths.

But this year I am changing course and dubbing it "The Sensory Garden," because it is truly a garden that appeals to all the senses.

SEE: colors, flowers, insects

TOUCH: lamb's ear, hens and chicks, sage, rocks

TASTE: berries, grapes, peas, beans, herbs

HEAR: chimes, traffic, wind, bees buzzing

SMELL: lavender, lemon balm, oregano, flowers

Without further ado, a tour:

30-something

2009-04-24T08:59:00.003-04:00

CONFESSION #151: If it weren't for the wrinkles and the snail's pace metabolism, I would adore being in my thirties. Those things aside, I do adore my 30s.

Because in my 20s, I was consumed with my appearance. My physical appearance, and then once I became a mother at 25, I was very much concerned with how people perceived me as a mother. Criticisms flow more freely toward younger mothers, which is both unfair and unwarranted, and I felt this injustice in my bones.

But still, I internalized it. I made sure my kids were a good representation of my superior mothering skills. I cloth diapered, I fed them organic snacks (in public), I followed all the rules, lest anyone think anything unsavory.

Now I am 33 years old and I have crows' feet and laugh lines (I do laugh quite a bit) and my kids' have peanut butter and jelly smeared on their faces. I can't seem to lose weight no matter how hard I try and my doctor tells me that I am in perfect health and that I should accept my body. These are the consequences of my age.

But at the same time, I get to enjoy the extra added benefits of being in my 30s: Security, confidence, semi-maturity, perspective, grace.

I am no longer concerned with what anyone thinks of me as a mother. The only people who matter are my 3 daughters. I reprimand them openly and love them fiercely. I don't really care what anyone thinks of any of it. Because I know what goes on in this home, and I know that my kids are safe, happy and loved passionately.

There's something magical about being in my 30s and caring deeply about the people I love, but simultaneously not caring what anyone else has to say about anything I do.

It's worth the crows' feet.

FOILED AGAIN

2009-04-22T16:20:00.002-04:00

CONFESSION #150: I like to bake for people.

More specifically, it is sort of my trademark that for my friends' birthdays, I make their cakes. I have made my friend Maria a birthday cake for the past several years, and of course I was planning quite the extravagant cake for her this year.

Sometimes I forget that two-and-a-half year olds can reach the counter if they push stools over just so.

I hope Maria likes Hoodsie cups.

SINGING GIRL

2009-04-20T10:52:00.001-04:00

2009-04-17T09:35:00.000-04:00

A ROOM OF ONE'S OWN

2009-04-15T06:27:00.003-04:00

CONFESSION #149: I need my own space.

And not just physically, like when my kids are crawling all over me and I just want to crawl out of my own skin.

But my own creative space.

When you have kids, it is sort of part of the drill: They start infiltrating every part of the house. It starts with the bouncy seat on the kitchen table, and it migrates into their shoes buried in couch cushions, their homework hiding under dinner plates and their toys finding their way across floors and under your feet every.where.you.walk.

Your bedroom is not off limits. In fact, for some of us, the kids are welcome -- or invited! -- into this space.

Then, as they get a little older, they start to take over the computer. This is where my biggest problem comes in.

We have a family office -- two desks, a couch, a "writing center" for the kids, and a nice carpet to curl up on with a book. On my husband;s desk is our family PC, where the kids can play Club Penguin or Poptropica or Snood, or watch videos on YouTube -- all while I am at my desk on my laptop.

Until my laptop dies, that plan is a go. However, about a month ago my laptop started making noises as though it was burning at the stake and pretty soon it was officially lights out.

For a month, I tried to share the family computer. I didn't enjoy this at all.

In a desperate moment, I hauled myself over to the refurbished computer center and got myself a $130 laptop.

And here I sit. And I have already written 2,000 words to an essay about my dad I am working on. I have blogged 3 times this week. I wrote a column for the local newspaper and am totally caught up on emails.

Ahhh. All it took was a laptop to call my own.

BALANCE

2009-04-13T08:46:00.002-04:00

CONFESSION #148: I don't know how available I will be as a grandmother.

Lately I have really struggled with my feelings about my mother, who I believe is going through a "Me phase" in her life where she is sort of -- after a lifetime of being bent on meeting every one's needs -- doing her own thing.

The abrupt loss of the mother I knew has been confusing and quite frankly has left me quite pissed.

She has offered halfheartedly to babysit, but will only do so at her house, which is never convenient for me and is barely fun for the kids. She wants to wear the grandmother of the year badge, yet she mails my kids birthday presents even though she lives 20 minutes away. She comes to visit when it suits her schedule, but demands my attention while blatantly ignoring the kids. She just isn't all that interested in them. She is quite interested in herself.

As with most angry feelings toward other humans, the antidote is to be empathetic, compassionate and to really put yourself in that person's place. Sometimes it takes me a while to get there, but this frame of mind is always my destination when anger overtakes me.

I think about how much of myself I give to my daughters and how much I will continue to give. Someday, when they have kids and they want me to babysit, or take their kids out for hikes and teach them about painting...will I really want to do this?

My stubborn, hurt self has long maintained that OF COURSE I WOULD! And part of me still feels that way.

But part of me wonders -- after the years of taking care of my own -- plus everyone else's -- kids...might I want the freedom (the hard-won and hard-earned freedom) to live my own life according to my own desires?

I might. And I probably will.

As always, there is balance. I might have to be clear in my boundaries and just how much I want to give. This might keep me from experiencing what I believe my mother to be going through -- which is the pendulum swinging wildly to the "Me" when it has wavered so long in the opposite end of the spectrum.

The goal is to always remember myself, so that one day I don't take of running back toward that place. The goal is to keep myself in mind always, even if it draws criticism and judgement.

The goal, always, is balance.

FAMILY FRIENDS

2009-04-11T07:30:00.003-04:00

CONFESSION #148: I cannot find the words sometimes.

What I want to say is that I love my friends, and I have typed and erased this post 3 times now, because I cannot find a way to explain it.

Last night we hosted a Seder for 26 people -- me and the Mr., 5 couples and our combined 14 children. I adore these people in a way I can't seem to expreess.

It has been about a year since the group of us started getting together -- sometimes 2 couples at a time, sometimes a larger group. At first, the gatherings were pleasant and reserved, with handshakes and neutral topics. Much fun, but still feeling each other out -- how many opinions can we share? How off-color can the jokes be? Safe.

In the course of a year -- which included numerous parties, girls' nights, guys' movie trips, family get-togethers, poolside chats, long walks, sleepovers, meal drop-offs, Karaoke, tears shed, laughter shared -- we have evolved to the fullest level (so far) of being ourselves and appreciating that. Last night, the farewells came in the form of bear hugs.

I love these people because they are not the best friend. They are not the people who knew me in college. They are not the guys the Mr. went to high school with and their wives.

These are OUR friends. Their kids are going to be sitting at Seder tables and swimming at pool parties with my kids, even when they all start to groan about it. Too bad, kids.

Maybe the kids will all grow up and get married and come back with their spouses and introduce each other to their family friends. Maybe we will go to each others' kids' weddings. Maybe we will all lean on each other in the years between now and then, and maybe our friendships will deepen and grow just like I hope they will.

I have big dreams for all of us.

A DAY IN THE LIFE

2009-04-09T20:18:00.008-04:00

6:03 a.m. Wake up with the sun....Baby, who insisted on wearing her bathing suit to bed, is still sleeping -- she has been insisting on sleeping with me for the past 5 nights

BY 6:15 , my coffee is calling me.

6:55 a.m. Time to make the lunches. Diva has school and Little middle has gymnastics.

7:17 a.m. Gotta make the beds, because I am compulsive

7:22 -- Finish the signs I promised to the PTO for their fundraiser tonight

7: 29 a.m. Baby wakes up, time to give a snuggle

7:40 and 7:50 a.m. -- The babysitting kids start to arrive:

7:59 -- Get the 7 kids in the minivan and start dropping off -- two to elementary school, one to kindy, one to preK and two with me

9:00 a.m. meet two friends for a 5 mile walk - I think we did 6 miles after all was said and done

10:39: Visit with friends before preschool pick-up

12:02 dishing up some lunch for the kids and visiting with a friend

12:59: Lunch for me and some computer time

1:45 Cleaning the sunroom and cooking tomorrow's Passover meal for 30 while kids sing Karaoke

3:37 The school kids are home and have made a mess of the room I just cleaned..FORTS.

4:06 I do yard work while the kids play outside

4:32 Daddy is home from work and gets right on task with Passover cooking

5:41 Last minute trip to the grocery store

6:19 My nephew arrives -- it is my night to babysit

7:55 bedtime snack and ....

BEDTIME

ATTENTION BLOGGERS

2009-04-08T08:23:00.003-04:00

"A DAY IN THE LIFE" CHALLENGE to ALL BLOGGERS

I will be keeping my camera by my side all day tomorrow and snapping photos of my life in chronological order, then sharing my day with you all on Friday.

I would love for any bloggers out there to do the same and then post their link in my comments on Friday morning. Wouldn't it be fun to see what a day looks like for mamas across the country?

Please post this link to other bloggers you know -- especially ones you would like to know more about :-)

LIFE MADE EASIER

2009-04-07T16:04:00.002-04:00

CONFESSION #147: I am not above plastic.

I know plastic is full of horrible chemicals and that we should be drinking out of BPA-free water bottles and not nuking food on plastic plates and blah blah blah.

I also like to think of myself as relatively -- if not excessively compared to most -- green.

But since we are having 30 people over for a Passover celebration on Friday night, and since we do not have a dishwasher, and since I plan on drinking heavily and will be in no condition to stay up washing said dishes, and since I value my time as much as I do my lovely Earth....

We will be dining on plastic and using plastic utensils and possibly even plastic serving dishes. So there.

And at the end of the night it will all go into a giant plastic trash bag and someone will stagger out to the shed and dump it in a giant plastic bin where it will be disposed of properly on Friday when the trash guys come.

And I will watch through the window sipping a gluttonous Starbucks iced drink out of a plastic straw.

RAINY DAY CRAFT

2009-04-06T11:36:00.002-04:00

Spaghetti Art!

Boil a box of spaghetti, and divide it ino several bowls. To each bowl, add about 2 T. vinegar and many drops of food coloring, mixing well. Voila!

FINDING MYSELF AGAIN part II

2009-04-03T16:26:00.003-04:00

I think this might be a daily concept for at least the next week -- ways in which I am starting to rediscover and uncover myself -- and I am off for Diva's Girl Scout sleepover and will not be blogging again for a couple days.

But I feel compelled to leave you with the above picture and an explanation. Spring always brings out this feeling of rebirth and redefinition, and so pardon me while I bore you with the inner workings of my personal growth.

Another 'part of me' is sitting in a special spot and having some quiet time in the morning. Having 3 children has not exactly lent itself to quiet time, so you have to make it happen when and where you can. In this photo, Little Middle caught me in the act of multi-tasking -- it appears as though I am merely enjoying a bowl of cereal. Which I am.

But I am also sitting in my special spot thinking about my day and what my intention is, centering myself so that I can start from a good place.

One thing I like about this picture is the way I am sitting. It seems so thirty-something -- it's the way adults sit. I think I might even have pictures -- real or in my mind -- of my own mother sitting in this very same posture.

I guess I am coming to terms with my age, my cereal and my Friday all at once. Multi-tasking.

FINDING MYSELF AGAIN

2009-04-03T08:31:00.004-04:00

CONFESSION #146: Slowly, I am reclaiming the missing pieces of myself.

My baby is 2.5 and I am only just coming out of the baby fog.

Yesterday, I painted. I have always considered myself an artist, paint and canvas being my favorite medium. But after my babies started coming along, not only was the time scarce -- so was the desire.

And so when the mood started to hit earlier this week -- it comes on like a slow-moving train chugging up the hill -- I started to get excited. It was like the anticipation of a long-awaited house guest. I had enough time to run out and buy a giant canvas, clean my brushes and wait for the idea to come to me.

Yesterday, I went on a 6 mile walk with a friend while another friend watched my kids. As we reached the highest heights in a neighborhood in our city, I felt the inspiration start to tickle me.

And so, when I returned home, as the kids poked me and asked for snacks and watched me, I ignored everyone and created my first real painting, one that came from the heart, in many many moons.

And I am so grateful to have located this lost piece. Maybe that's what has been missing all along. Me.

GIVING IT UP

2009-04-01T08:10:00.003-04:00

CONFESSION #145: I've been holding back here.

The truth is that I am living a bit of a double life, and I need to make some changes around here in order to be truly free from these chains.

I have decided that life is short and that I am wasting myself on this domestic dump I call home. I bought myself a pass for the Euro rail and I am leaving my family indefinitely while pursue my dreams of travel. In fact, I might just fly from country to country, taking in the views from the air. My soul yearns to fly, fly, fly.

I have also decided to purify my body. I will be giving up booze, all illicit substances, gluten, wheat, dairy of course and I am proud to announce that I will be vegan from this day forward.

I am throwing away my laptop and will be living a life free from electronic devices, Internet connections and even my cell phone. No texting. Yes, a tough pill to swallow but I am absolutely called to it.

Ahhh, the freedom. Even just confessing all of this has been like letting go a thousand pound burden I have been carrying.

Oh, and...

APRIL FOOLS.

TO YELL OR NOT TO YELL

2009-03-29T20:28:00.005-04:00

CONFESSION #144: I am not one to raise my voice.

Unless completely sleep-deprived or under unnaturally high levels of stress, I am not really one to yell at my kids. And even in those circumstances, I would be most likely to yell near them and not at them.

I am much more inclined to be short-tempered and snappy, impatient and even unkind. But I do all of this pretty quietly. For as much of a loudmouth as I am, yelling is just not part of me. Never has been. Even as a pre-teen getting into it with my sisters, I am told (by my mother) that I was able to bring them to their knees with my silent reserves of evil. It was never about a screaming match, at least not from this end.

And so when I explained to my nearly 8-year old tonight that she would have to go to bed early after two nights of slumber parties and late bedtimes, it surprised me when she looked at me with crocodile tears in her overtired eyes and begged me to "stop yelling at her."

My poor pampered little children. They think discipline is abuse. They think limits are discipline. They think I am yelling when I am talking.

I think I might have to actually start letting loose when I am angry, just so everyone knows the difference. Apparently my calm demeanor has been misinterpreted.

SLEEPOVERS AND OTHER HAZARDS OF GROWING UP

2009-03-25T08:14:00.004-04:00

CONFESSION #143: I am not ready to let go.

Diva has her Girl Scout camping sleepover next weekend and I am not ready to let her go. I arranged it so that I can go as a chaperone, and my husband -- among other people I am sure -- thinks I am insane.

I remember my own second-grade camping trip with my Brownie troop and I can't say I remember it fondly. I can almost feel it if I close my eyes -- my little green sleeping bag, the high ceilings and the little girl across the room who cried -- but her mom was there and she crawled into the sleeping bag with her while I tried to find sleep on my own. I was lonely, the girls were cruel and I missed the safety and comfort of home. This is how I am, it's my personality. But I am not sure it isn't Diva's too. For as independent as she claims to be...for as little as she admits to needing me...I am just not so sure.

Lately I have been letting my daughters find their own independences in small, measured doses. Letting them wander of at the grocery store to find items I need. Letting them play outide without me hovering, while I do dishes with the window open and can listen to their shrieking, bossy voices. Letting them bring cookies to neighbors -- not just the ones nextdoor but maybe 2 or 3 or even 5 houses down the road.

The Mr and I don't agree about the sleepover, but I am the mama and what I say goes when it comes to my girls. I am going to have to be content with trusting my instincts, knowing that my sleeping bag has room for two and that if my daughter needs me, I will be there.

ONE ASANA AT A TIME

2009-03-19T14:23:00.003-04:00

CONFESSION #142: Yoga class is my church.

And so I guess you could say I prayed today.

I have been toying lately with the idea of becoming certified to teach yoga to adults (I already teach kids). What I interpreted as a calling was actually a brief disillusionment, and I have since thought the better of it.

My life has a missing piece I can't quite put my finger on. The unfortunate result has been a string of nonsensical ideas -- adopting foster children, raising chickens, going back to (yoga) school -- that really don't have a place in my life. I want something to fit so perfectly into that empty space, that in the past few days I have started to realize how desperately I am grasping at straws.

And so like any other person gravitates toward church or temple or some sort of holy place, I go to yoga class.

Someone mentioned the term "ego-driven advanced students" in Yoga Journal this month. I recoiled at the phrase, because I know that type. Maybe I even was that type. Yoga class was 'supposed' to be a certain way. The teacher was 'supposed' to challenge me in certain ways. There was 'supposed' to be just the right energy or I was displeased.

But the truth is that for me...now, yoga class is always just the right place. The unrest that ego-driven advanced students feel in a class that does not satisfy them is really an inner imbalance. When the student is ready, the teacher appears...there is something to be learned for every student in every class.

Today in yoga class, as I gently stretched and cenetered, inahled and exhaled, I realized a couple of things -- as i always do in that environment.

The missing piece that I was feeling -- it isn't there anymore. Because I was able to see today that what I was mistaking as a void to be filled is really just a space that needs to be there. The absence of perfect balance is what keeps my core engaged and always striving to find harmony, keeping me rooted and reaching higher. If I felt truly complete, I would run the risk of becoming complacent.

What I have been feeling...growing pains. Nothing a yoga class can't fix.

NO THANK YOU BABY

2009-03-18T16:56:00.002-04:00

CONFESSION #142: I don't want any more babies.

I saw a really cute baby yesterday. Like, Gerber cute. Like, Boo cute. Like, Puss-n-Boots from Shrek cute. (or for the 20-something set, like, Justin Timberlake cute). (For my mother, Davey Jones cute.) (For my kids, Jonas Brothers... --- okay, I am getting carried away. You get the idea.)

My uterus didn't cramp. I didn't even ask to hold it. (yes, IT).

My reaction was actually to feel phantom pain -- the anus-ripping agony of childbirth came to mind. The bone-aching fatigue of having a newborn came to mind. The stabbing jabs in my cervix, remincient of the late stages of pregnancy, came to mind.

I might have even puked in my mouth a little.

I think it's safe to say we're done.

2009-03-18T07:19:00.003-04:00

CONFESSION #141: Blogging is taking a backseat.

I am currently on a small blogging hiatus as I figure out what the hell I want to be when I grow up. Right now I am busting ass at like 5 different mini-careers and with my Middle headed to kindergarten next year and only Baby at home starting in Sept, it feels like about that time to hunker down and focus.

Of course, as I talked last night with the Mr about all of this, he reminded me of my unique MindfulMama magic where I ask the question out loud and then the phone rings and life solves it all for me. The universe is a glorious thing like that for those who believe in, as hubby says, "rainbows and unicorns."

So here I am, quietly waiting for the phone to ring and tell me what to do. Admiring the rainbows and unicorns.

I WANT.

2009-03-11T13:16:00.005-04:00

CONFESSION #140: I don't want any more than what I have.

I used to want to morph this blog into some kind of revenue-machine; a part-time job if you will. I don't anymore. Because in order to do so, as i understand it, you have to stage giveaways and sell ad space and speak using lingo like "freebies" and have designated days for topics. In essence, you generally have to make the blog about keeping everyone else coming back, which I don't care if people do. Because I am grumpy like that.

And I don't want to work so hard for what it is I really want in all of this, which is simply a place to unload. So I am just going to come here and type.

That said, I would like the following list of things, which are decidedly more than what I have right now: (in other words, I lied about my confession...it won't be the first time and definitely won't be the last)

* peace and quiet
* a shorter to-do list
* a longer fuse
* perky boobs
* a scale that reads "135" when I step on it
* 3 more hours to my day, after the kids go to bed
* patience
* help finding the joy I once felt around my kids

And to find a twinkie hidden somewhere in this house, alongside a real Coke. Preferably ice cold.

GROW UP

2009-03-09T07:08:00.003-04:00

CONFESSION #139: I am sinking under the weight of being an adult.

Grammy is 89 years old and had surgery a couple weeks ago to fix a small hole in her intestine. A tumor was removed and it was malignant, and she will meet with a surgeon and an oncologist within the coming weeks and she will tell them she does not want to pursue chemotherapy.

I am not sure how much longer Grammy will live, but most likely, she will die in the next calendar year.

I am okay with this. But I will miss her.

Yesterday, my younger sister and I made the 2+ hour drive for a visit, just as we have done a couple times recently. We decided that we will do this every six weeks or so from now on. We will make puzzles with her at her "old lady home" and take her out for lunch (when did I become the one who picks up the tab?! Nothing in my life so far has made me feel like such a grown-up).

My mom said it's funny that we decided to visit every six weeks, because when we were small, that was the exact parameter Grammy and Grampa used regarding their visits to see me and my sisters.

And such is life, right? Grammy has become the grandchild, my mother has become the teenager, and I have become the grown-up.

So in addition to the responsibilities of my home life with my husband and children, I have to schedule visits to Maine so that she doesn't feel like I have forgotten her, and I have to navigate the emotional instability and self-involvement of my mother so that she knows in her chaotic middle-aged mind that I still love her.

Some days it just seems like an awful lot.

Other days it feels like I have absolutely no right to complain.

And today it just feels like giant lump, sort of like the ones that you get in your throat when something is challenging your emotional balance.... except this one is physical. It's a lump in my soul.

2009-03-06T15:00:00.001-05:00

CONFESSION #138: My mother is insane.

That is all.

HEY BLUE; YOU GOOD DOG YOU

2009-03-04T13:18:00.003-05:00

The following is an old bog entry I wrote about 2 years ago...just digging it out from the archives and dusting it off for the day:

Last night I was putting my girls to bed, and we laid in the dark snuggly and warm, and my 6 year old broke out into a quiet song she learned in music at school..."Heyyyyy Blue...you good dog you."

If ever I was searching for a sign that we are on the right path, and maybe -- just maybe -- I actually was...she gave it to me in that sweet refrain. It took my breath away for a moment and it took me a second to register the words and tune that came from the other side of the bed.

I have been nostalgic lately for my old guitar-playing/folksinging days. In fact, I have been practicing my music for the first time in a long time and my husband even commented the other day "Oh M -- it's so good to hear you singing. It's like everything is right in the world again. "
When I met my husband, I was opening for his band in a small smoky bar called Brewmasters. I was traveling with a group of older male solo musicians, grabbing a stage wherever we could and performing open-mic style.

I don't know where any of those guys live -- I never did. We didn't have phone numbers -- and half the time they went by a stage name of some kind so I wouldn't know how to reach them if I tried. There is a quiet desperation therein.

Sonny Boy Jorgensen -- whose real name was not even remotely close to Sonny Boy Jorgensen -- used to sing a song " I had a dog and his name was Blue, betcha $5 he's a good dog too. Heyyyyy Blue, You good dog you." I can hear him singing it, watching his face, even as I write the words.

I never knew it was a real song -- now I can see it's a folk song as old as the hills. For me, that song will always belong to Sonny Boy.

My daughter singing it in bed was the first time i had heard that song in over 10 years, since playing in smoky Southern Rhode Island bars with Sonny Boy and the others. It was like a little hello from the old days and it instantly brought tears to my eyes. I needed that connection, and Ruby gave it to me.

And it inspires me to keep singing. And to learn this new song -- Old Blue.

I'M A MOG. HALF MAN, HALF DOG. I'M MY OWN BEST FRIEND. ~Spaceballs

2009-03-02T12:49:00.003-05:00

CONFESSION #136: I wouldn't want to hang out with me.

I have a lot of friends who love to hang out with me. I know this because they are very generous with their affection, knowing that I am a true Scorpio, and they humor me by stroking my ego. So they tell me exactly what they like about me and I eat it up like a piece of pie.

They like me because I drink too much and tell funny stories and call them on their bullcrap and say it like it is. They like me because I can be profound one minute and ri-freaking-diculous the next. They like me because I can laugh at myself as easily as I can cry with them.

Recently, a neighbor invited me over for an impromptu dinner party -- she was looking for me to be the entertainment since she'd invited over someone she claimed was just like me. We went, and she was right. Their dinner guest was just. like. me.

I couldn't STAND her.

KRAMER vs. KRAMER

2009-02-28T07:15:00.005-05:00

CONFESSION #135: Sometimes I fantasize about being a divorcee.

And I know that the reality is that I would lose my house, most of my time with my kids and half of my furniture. I also know that I would have to work a helluva lot harder and longer than I do now, if that's even possible. And I know that I would be lonely.

My kids, I know I know, would be scarred emotionally and would suffer. This is the main reason that I stay put. Well, that and the fact that I really do love my husband.

But sometimes....I wonder what it would be like to cook for me, shop for me, worry only about me and my well being. I wonder what I would do without the oppressive elements of a marriage. Without this need to please, to nurture, to be empathetic. Without the worry of saying the wrong thing, feeling the wrong way, pushing the wrong button.

Some days, not every day, but some days -- my marriage is a dance on eggshells and I have grown tired of worrying about the missteps.

GRIEVING FOR A FALLEN HERO

2009-02-24T08:33:00.002-05:00

CONFESSION #134: I deal with all of my grief in writing.

I am reprinting, with permission from myself, the column that I wrote in our hometown newspaper this week. I wrote this in response to a 22-year old solider from these parts, who died in Iraq after only 6 weeks in the military.

A Heavy Heart for All Mothers
By Amanda Roberge

Over the past week or so, I have been asked repeatedly for more juice, a later bedtime and what’s for dinner.

But the question that came most frequently, in whispered tones pulled aside by acquaintances at parties, grocery stores and Girl Scout meetings, is whether Jonathan Roberge was my husband’s brother, nephew or some other perhaps more distant relative.

The answer is no – that all we share with the family of Leominster’s fallen soldier is a last name and therefore probably some heritage many generations back. But as a mother, I am devastated by his loss all the same.

This morning, I stood along West Street and watched the soldier’s motorcade pass by. I was mourning for his family, who might never look at an unseasonably sunny February day the same way again. I was broken, too, for this country’s parents, for whom this scene has been re-enacted too many times in too many towns and cities for too many of our kids.

Defeated. For my own foolish sense of optimism and for believing that we can protect our babies forever, keeping them from leaving us before we are ready to let them go, as though that day would ever really come.

My 7 year old asked me recently if she could ride her bike alone to her friend’s house. I said no, I was too scared.

What are you scared of, mom? She wanted to know. I stammered and stuttered and changed the subject.

I couldn’t find the words to tell her, mostly out of deference to her innocence and trusting spirit. What am I sacred of, honey? I could tell you a thousand lies but there is one brutal truth at the bottom of it: I am scared that my babies will die.

As much as we pretend that we are scared of all the other things that dance around it, the one thing parents have in common is this desperate and paralyzing fear of burying our children.

And so they can’t have hard candy. And so they can’t go out in the yard unsupervised. And so they have to wear their seatbelts and helmets and lifejackets. All because I am scared they will die.

And when it happens, even though it never ever should, it burns and stings and knocks the wind out of all of us – scraping at that open wound that loving a child creates.

With the heaviest of hearts, I brought my troop of children down to watch Jonathan Roberge’s return to Leominster.

I stood there with a lump in my throat and a knot in my stomach, noticing only that every other woman there had the same agonized look on her face. We were all mourning the loss of another woman’s baby.

I watched with Kleenex clutched in one hand, using the other to grab hold of my baby so she didn’t run into the street. Sunglasses covering my eyes. Tethered only by the comfort of the way my child’s coat felt so solid in my hand.

THE TIME-TRAVELER

2009-02-22T08:41:00.003-05:00

CONFESSION #133: If I could travel time,I would return to 1983 and have a little talk with myself at age 8.

(this post inspired by a certain secret from today's entry at PostSecret)

I would whisper...

Things might get worse before they get better, but here's the thing: You may feel like an outcast in your own family, but guess what? Your mom is right -- your sisters will, indeed, be your best friends one day. Try to be good to them now. You will someday have tons of friends, so don't worry when those nasty girls exclude you. High school will be tough. You will eat your lunch in the bathroom for a few years, get teased mercilessly for a few years, you will suffer a serious loss that will make you question your own worth. But there will come a day when you get to experience a deep love with a man of unquestionable character, so don't hang on too tightly to the boys that fill the void created by the one you lose. You will abuse your own body through drug use and eating disorders and by giving yourself away to people who don't deserve that gift. These things will make you stronger, so just get through it alive. You will be one of the lucky few who will be happy, contented and fulfilled...as soon as you cross through the threshold of adulthood. Try to make it there with grace.

2009-02-19T19:52:00.001-05:00

Let the record show that squeaky wheels, do -- indeed -- get the grease.

;-)

2009-02-19T07:33:00.002-05:00

CONFESSION #132: I am trying to not care about the comments.

I haven't had a comment on this blog in two full weeks. And while I would like to think of myself as the kind of person who just likes to write, no matter who is reading and no matter what they have to say about it, I am here to admit that I fall indecorously short of that mark.

Some people interpret comments on a blog as the watermark of popularity. I don't. Because I know how many people come to this blog each day and I know for the most part who they are. So I know that I actually have more people reading than ever before -- even when there were a dozen or more comments for each entry.

What I do is consider comments sort of like the admission price. You get to come here several times a week and read my innermost thoughts. Every once in a while, you say something back to me. And this is what makes a blog different that a website, a journal, a diary, a speech. The feedback is what keeps me going, and right now I am seriously having problems summoning that motivation.

And so forgive me if I can't find anything to say. And I will forgive you too. But it might be awhile before I come back...which is the blogging version of "I am taking my toys and going home."

I know. Real mature.

THE CHATTY WAITRESS

2009-02-16T13:54:00.004-05:00

CONFESSION #131: I am easily irritated by waitresses.

Especially when the Mr. and I went out to dinner together on Valentine's Day, realizing that it was the first date we'd been on in over a year. (pathetic, I know)

So when the waitresses came to our table about every 3.7 seconds to announce that she was... removing a plate/polishing a fork/nursing a hangover ha ha ha...I wanted to scream.

Perhaps she didn't realize that we have 3 children and haven't had an uniterrupted conversation in 7 years.

We certainly didn't get one on Saturday. And then my husband, having had about 3 too many martinis, gave her a 35% tip. Bah.

THE UNLIKEABLE CHILD

2009-02-13T13:27:00.004-05:00

CONFESSION #130: I was not a well-liked child.

I mean to say that adults didn't like me, and only now -- at 33 years old -- has this occurred to me.

I was a smart, pretty child with no filter and a very loud voice. A wise-ass, in more contemporary terminology. And while this earns me oodles of friends now, it didn't work so well at age 4, or age 8 or age 12.

I know this type of child now and I don't like her either. Sometimes I hear the curt tone of my voice when talking to a child of this description, and with a pang I realize that adults talked to me with those same clipped tones my entire childhood. Some adults, more than others, were a complete clash with my personality and others were more tolerant. But what I remember most is the eyes rolling, the short answers, the hushed tones as I walked away.

Other than my own mom, I can't think of a single grown-up from my childhood that I would say liked me. Or even took a small liking to me.

Is it wrong that acknowledging this is more fascinating than tragic? Apparently, even as a kid I didn't care what other people thought of me.

2009-02-12T14:24:00.000-05:00

Still here....just quiet, reflecting, thinking...

I AM FROM

2009-02-09T10:47:00.002-05:00

AN exercise in writing I stole from here...

******************************************************************

I am from sugar cereal and from Pabst Blue Ribbon, from long winters without much heat.

I am from the flowery wallpaper with the bright borders, peeling at the edge.

I am from the salt water and the smooth sand, from creeks with tadpoles, from tall grass.

I am from playing guitars, and crooked teeth, from Sally and Doris and Hope.

I am from functional alcoholics, from the we-can-write-it-better-than-we-can-say-its.

From We'll get there when we get there and You are as strong as any boy.

I am from believing in whatever god you choose and marrying whoever you love.

I'm from the chilly depths of Maine, from lobsters and chocolate cakes with Grammy's peanut butter frosting.

From the three sisters who got to play rough with daddy but only until the first sister cried, from the shared room with the stifling humidity, from bartering for food, from the trio also known as Brains, Looks and Personality.

I am from vinyl albums with photos of bellbottoms and too-tight t-shirts, half the pictures missing with no knowledge of their whereabouts.

**************************************************************

Where are YOU from?

ON WRITING

2009-02-07T09:05:00.001-05:00

I have been reading some amazing books by some inspiring people, mostly by women who consider themselves writers, not authors or poets or journalists. Just writers.

And I am officially tired of reading all the poignant, wonderful things that women writers have to say. I want to say a few poignant, wonderful things myself.

Not that I haven’t learned a thing or two about being a writer. I learned that using an exclamation point reads like the author laughing at her own joke. I learned that you have to force yourself to sit at your keyboard, whether you feel inspired or not. And I learned that I am not the only one who feels that by sharing a story, I am giving it away somehow – it’s no longer mine and I no longer get to feel it. Somehow sharing it releases a bubble of pain or joy or whatever that story is to you, and sometimes that joy or pain can be a like a well-loved security blanket and it can be a little traumatizing to let go of.

But then I had to ask myself: What story is it that you are ready to tell? And the truth is that there aren’t any. I let little pieces of stories slip from time to time in the form of blogs and newspaper columns. But at my core, I long to tell a story that has more than 400 words.

Waiting for this story to come feels a little like inviting tragedy. Or maybe it’s already happened and I am too afraid to let it out.

DEJA VU AND OTHER GIFTS FROM THE GODDESS

2009-02-06T06:32:00.003-05:00

CONFESSION #129: I love deja vu.

I mean real scary honest-to-god deja vu where the entire moment you are in has been visualized long before.

And the reason I love deja vu is because I feel like it is confirmation from the universe that you are absolutely on the right path. That it created this moment for you long ago and you actually followed the exact right path to get there.

Even more than deja vu itself, I love when it happens when you are questioning your own future. Whether you've made the right choices.

And so yesterday I had a day of doubt. I had made the decision within the past couple months to abandon the idea of taking over my mother's business. This decision has been fraught with uncertainty and doubt, even though in my gut it feels right.

I stood in my kitchen and asked the universe for a sign -- What the hell am I supposed to do with my life? At that very moment, the phone rang and it was someone from NAEYC on the phone (National Assoc. for the Education of Young Children) asking me to do a Kids' Yoga demo at their upcoming dinner.

A-ha.

And then, later that evening, I confirmed with my husband that he was going to be okay with me forging my own career rather than falling into line with my mother's -- something that we had planned on and was the reason we had moved to this state. He supports me 100%, he said. And I came into my office with my nephew and I started to tickle him. My husband walked in and nearly fell over.

He'd had the strongest sense of deja vu, seeing me and my nephew playing next to my big yellow desk all covered with papers and art supplies.

Yes, we are definitely on the right path.

BREAKIN' THE LAW

2009-02-05T13:30:00.004-05:00

CONFESSION #128: I shoulda been born in the 50s.

Because then, when my kids were small, it would have been about 1975 and it would have been quite alright to leave them in a parked non-running car while I ran into a building to grab something/someone and then run right back out.

Seriously, man. This PC crap is gonna kill me. I had to pick up -- as a FAVOR -- a friend's sick kid from their kindergarten yesterday. I had 4 kids in my minivan already. I parked right in front of the school, about 15 feet away from the stairs that led directly into the school where the front office was located directly inside the door. Directly inside the office was the nurse's office where the sick little girl sat waiting for me.

There was not a car, or a person, for at least 100 feet. I saw no imminent danger in letting the kids stay buckled in while I grabbed the little girl. Getting four children unbuckled and re-buckled in 11-degree weather is no small feat, after all.

By the way the office lady, age bajillion, talked to me ,you would have thought I was letting them feast on dynamite and play with loaded guns while I ran into the school.

I was not meant to live in this age of over protectiveness and lack of respect for a woman's judgement. And bajillion-year -old school secretaries are not my favorite people.