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Eat, Pray, Love, Part Deux

I have a friend who is studying up on her ancient history and taking the Praxis to go from being a teaching assistant to a teacher.  Another friend is getting her Masters, meanwhile working nearly full-time as a writer.  One has decided to continue her love of being a personal chef, but to also go back to college to study counseling. 

Half my book club runs marathons.  One girlfriend is purging her bookshelves and decided it is okay to get rid of her language studies books from when she learned Italian and Russian.  An old college friend left her gig as an editor and is working on her nursing degree.

I'm sitting here writing a blog in my jammies. 

I will accept that a number of these life-changing decisions may have been financial--tough economy, new career with a paycheck and all that.  But I know these women.  These are women of passion and purpose.  Girls who love being a mom, but are jumping at the chance to do something for themselves, too.

Is it our age?  For the most part, the group I've mentioned is hovering all around the 40 mark. 

Is it our kids?  Many of our kids are in full-time school--or at least we who are moms are thisclose to having entire days to ourselves. We've got years and years of things we want to do stored up and waiting. 

Is it our mindset?  We were all raised of a generation who were told we could "have it all!"  Some of us have, some of us have chosen to do it in stages, and some of us just flat realized that having it all may not be all that it was cut out to be.

In six months, I turn 40.  In two years, my youngest will be in kindergarten and oldest in 4th grade.  Before children, I had a busy career, my own PR company, and the knowledge that people actually paid for my opinion. 

And after children?  Well, I mentioned the jammie thing.  My opinion is free to anyone who will listen, which often does not include my children, although kids and marriage have definitely taught me that I don't HAVE to give my opinion just because I have one.  And the thing I built a 10-year career on--public relations--is a whole different animal now that newspapers, magazines and television have given way to Twitter, blogs and YouTube.

The good news is that like my friends, I see this time of life as a great opportunity to start a new chapter.  If any of those girls just needed money, these college-educated women with years of work experience wouldn't be going back to college.  They'd just run on over to the Gap and get a part-time gig while the kids are in school.

Here's what I think.  In your 20s you try something new because you have nothing to lose but an aging Volkswagen Jetta with a perpetual oil leak and a one-bedroom apartment that you share with a cranky roommate who keeps eating your Ben & Jerry's. 

But now, in my 40s (er--late 30s!) I can try things because I have everything to gain.  I have the soft cushion of a husband and children who adore me and rely on me, the knowledge that everything isn't as big a deal as I thought it might be, and 20 or so years of life experience to teach me that even though I'm still not sure what I want to be when I grow up, it's actually a beautiful thing. 

With apologies to Elizabeth Gilbert, I've got the whole Eat, Pray, Love thing figured out, and I didn't need a passport.  Although I wouldn't mind the book deal. 

I have no problem with the eating, although Italy certainly has perhaps a stronger lure than Carraba's.  Like Anne Lamott, I pray often--"Help me, help me, help me" and "Thank you, thank you, thank you."  Some days I have more love than I can stand, which is why I can truly now appreciate those few days all by myself.  And all of thoses things, like Gilbert, may lead me to a new phase of my life and perhaps fulfilling a few of those dreams or degrees I have been thinking about for a while.

I have a great life, and whether I want to train for a marathon, go back to college and study graphic design, or even take the recommendation of my fabulous friend Julie and get back on roller skates to work on being a derby queen--I can do it.  My accomplished, type-A, overachiever girlfriends, my husband and my kids will be cheering me on, and I know that I can do anything I set my mind to.

Tomorrow I may hit the skate center.  But it just so happens that today, I set my mind to not getting out of my jammies.  All day long.  And you're jealous, aren't you? 

Executive Vice-President of Conflict Resolution and Stain Removal

I'd love to think that this isn't a Mommy Blog.  It just sounds so much like a demeaning term coined by marketing gurus eating donuts in a beige conference room in Minneapolis. 

But I'm going to face facts:  I am a mommy.  This is a blog.  I do wear capri pants, organize fundraisers and have been known to say "Quit touching each other!"

So, in the act of humoring poor WordMom--who also thinks that driving an 11-year-old Volvo is light years cooler than driving a minivan--let's just think of this blog more as a newsletter for our industry.  A communication piece, as they call it out there in the supposed 'real world.' 

In the spirit of a typical office communication piece, I'm going to spread rah-rah news about how great our jobs are.  The good news is--you aren't getting laid off anytime soon!  Job security is yours!

One might say, "Hmm, WordMom.  Your celebration of being a mother seems to coincidentally fall on the day prior to the children returning to school."  And one might be right.  But really, that has nothing to do with my joy.  Really.

Yes, I'm looking forward to reclaiming my house.  To actual hours on end of barren carpets, with no trains or Legos scattered on the floor.  To meeting my girlfriends for lunch.  To running errands and going to the grocery without children in tow.  To actually write this blog more than once every three weeks.  To....well, you get the idea. Those things will indeed have me and a host of other moms doing a seemingly-spontaneous-but-suspiciously-choreographed dance in the aisles at Target.  But that isn't why I'm writing today.

I'm just counting my blessings, and it just so happens that two of them are flaked out on the couch here in the den watching "Tutenstein" on Discovery Kids and telling me why I need the InStyler.  Because regular flat irons squish and burn your hair.  Granted, we may have watched too much Discovery Kids lately.  Did I mention today's the last day of summer vacation?  We're burning brain cells and ordering Pillow Pets as fast as we possibly can.

It has been a great summer.  It has reminded me, alternately and often, why I love and hate--strike that bad language--I mean, don't like my job.  But mostly why I love it.

Being a mom is the hardest job in the world.  The hours stink.  There's no paycheck.  Your clients are ungrateful.  And to top it off, you don't even get a decent work wardrobe.  Can I get an Amen?

Being a mom is the best job in the world.  The hours aren't long enough.  You get paid in sticky kisses and pockets full of rocks that are surely precious gems worth millions. The clients say adorable things.  And to top it off, you don't have to wear 3-inch heels.  Can I get an Amen?

As for the 'real world'--well, we moms know more about that than any marketing gurus in Minneapolis.  And we know the real power of the Mommy Blog.  It works because we don't talk in politically correct corporate-speak, but just tell it like it is. 

Today, it is just great.  Now tomorrow--well, you know vinegar removes a lot of household stains.

In the Costco, But not of the Costco

Today, I almost bought a 24-pack of Activia yogurt.

As a result, I discovered several things about myself.  First, I am very self-conscious and prideful. I could not buy Activia yogurt because I really want people to believe that I am in my early 30s.  And surely, people in their early 30s don't need special enzymes to aid digestion.  They survive on buffalo wings and bloomin' onions.

Sidenote:  This is the same reason I refuse to buy a mini-van.  I am hanging on to my youth by my fingernails, and a mini-van--even sans children--does not help that cause.  I have no idea what my 12-year-old Volvo says (other than, "It's boxy and safe" or We only want one car payment") but I cling to the premise that it is somewhat cooler than being a mini-van mom.  Because even when you don't have the kids with you...you're still driving a mini-van.  Shout out to all my mini-van mom friends.  You know I love you.

Anyway.  Now that we've established my superficiality (lest anyone have questioned it before), back to the yogurt saga and The Lessons I've Learned.

Secondly, I should never take my kids anywhere with me where something might be purchased.  Which is why I was even considering the yogurt inthe first place--God bless the Costco taste testers.  This is also how I ended up with a vat of mango-peach salsa.  Who knew that the 7-year-old who will only eat chicken nuggets and cheese quesadillas would just love mango-peach salsa?  It's healthy!  He will eat it!  Must buy it!

Anyone with children knows that this should be rule number one in that parenting handbook that no one ever gives you.  Either leave the kids at home or your wallet at home and just make things easier.  Because when you ask your kids what they want to do today and the 3-year-old says, "Let's go to Target!  They have toys and popcorn!" you know you are in serious trouble.

Thirdly, I am thisclose to being a lemming. I would love to think I am above the fray, but sadly, I am not.  I had the urge to go out and buy an extra freezer for the garage so I would have somewhere to stash the "just add juice!" smoothies and Cheesecake Factory cheesecakes and black bean burgers.  And of course, the 24-pack of Activia yogurt.  Not only do I suddenly have to have things I would never normally buy, I must have them in mass quantities.

Ugh.  I feel so....American.  So completely indulgent and spoiled.  I am so blessed and thankful for everything that we have, and the freedoms we are privileged to have here in the States.  But do I really need the freedom to buy cases of frozen mozzarella sticks and Fruit Loops?  Is that one of the freedoms our troops are fighting for?  Cause really, that's a little sad.

I'm not completely ready to move to the wilderness and live like my Granny did back in the day.  I like that my chicken comes in nuggets at the drive-thru and I don't have to go wring their little necks.  It was bad enough that the 7-year-old saw the rotisserie spit today at Costco and felt sorry for our feathered friends.  He's already a borderline vegetarian; The principle is there, yet the lure of Chick-fil-A always brings him back from the brink.

But it does give me pause.  For fear of being sacrilegious, can I be "IN the Costco, but not OF the Costco?"  Can I buy my Tide at Target because it is cheaper there without falling prey to the urge to cruise the clearance endcaps and drop a Benjamin just walking through the doors?

I guess what I'm saying is, Can I have it both ways?  I don't want to give up the perks of my mass consumption, but I don't really want to feel the pull of it dragging me down, either. 

Kind of like how I don't want to be a mini-van mom, but we sometimes rent one to go on vacation because it is just so darn convenient.  I guess that makes me "IN the mini-van but not OF the mini-van."

And one day, if you see me loading up my mini-van with Activia yogurt, cases of black bean burgers and vats of mango-peach salsa at the Costco, please, just do me a favor.  Hold your laughter til I drive away.  

Note:  Full disclosure leads me to tell you that the Activia yogurt was actually really tasty.  And Costco isn't paying me to tell you that.

Sitting on Empty

Is anyone else tired of cooking these days?

I know that my husband is currently reading this, thinking, How can you be tired of something that you've never experienced?  And he is mostly right.  I do have J. Alexander's on the speed dial of my cell phone.  Call-ahead seating, you know.

I do cook.  But my cooking varies greatly, from a fabulous one-night-only-engagement-in-Vegas-kind-of-meal with lots of sparkle and flash and many sticks of butter; to the more usual bad-'70s-cover-band-kind-of-meal, where mac & cheese is orange and out of a box, served with a rotisserie chicken from the deli.  You can really do a lot with a rotisserie chicken, you know.

And then there's cereal.  God bless Mr. Kellogg.  What a wholesome, healthy (it comes with milk!) treat, any time of day. 

Currently, it is summer and thus, it is too hot to cook.  Our schedules are so erratic.  The children being home constantly have me so confused that I keep forgetting to go to the grocery store. 

And yet, the take-out menus are filed in alphabetical order and by type of cuisine.

Food Network has me simultaneously enthralled and overwhelmed.  I used to be excited to walk into Williams-Sonoma and buy a cake pan shaped like a pumpkin that I would use only once every two years, if I happen to remember that I own it.  Now, it's as if Williams-Sonoma has invaded my television, taunting me with all the things I could make, if only I cared enough to truly experience creme fraiche.

I now know things about food I might have gone my whole Southern-fried-and-slap-some-gravy-on-it life without knowing, if it weren't for Food Network or Top Chef.  What is an amuse bouche?  Why does anyone want foam on their food?  Why do adults seem so enthralled with making vegetable purees as side dishes?  Who knew there were so many varieties of asparagus?

Only in America do we sit down to watch 24-hours-a-day of celebrated, award-winning chefs creating gourmet dishes, and then get out the Stouffer's Lasagna with Meat Sauce that was on sale at Publix.  Paired nicely with a toasted pre-frozen garlic bread and a lovely bagged salad, you have a complete meal! 

And if you don't like that, well, there's your choice of 7 kinds of cereal in the pantry.

This is Just a Season

This weekend was spent with a little green Elmo potty parked in the playroom, a little boy running around in a t-shirt and white training pants and a cache of VeggieTales Easter gummies for rewards.  You can guess what we have been working on.  Finally.

And it went really well.  I've known he could do the whole potty thing for a while--however (and I don't have any idea where he gets this from), he was being stubborn and just choosing not to.  Ahem.

My husband said to me, "You know, today changes everything."  And it really does. 

The past year, a certain phrase has entered our discussions more and more often:  This is just a season.

The whole diaper-changing bit?  A season.  Just like nursing and getting up in the middle of the night were.  Passing my husband in the hallway, both of us tired and bleary-eyed, and realizing how long it has been since date night.  So much of the bad stuff we can look at in the rear-view mirror and say, Thank God--that was only for a season. 

Of course, some of the best stuff--the stuff you want to remember in slow-motion with a golden halo light and a John Mayer soundtrack--is only a season as well. 

The little guy's funny way of talking; the 7-year-old wanting to cuddle with me and tell me how much he loves me; their toddler chubby cheeks.  Those tiny Chiclet baby teeth--I mean, doesn't everything just change when they get those enormous teeth? 

Some days I pause to realize that this season may be the worst and the best at the same time.  Because in the blink of an eye, I can go from "Aargh!  Why does everyone want to be with me and sit on top of me all the time!?" to "Aw.  Why doesn't anyone ever want to be with me or sit with me?"  Independence comes at a price, doesn't it?

The bad and the good--we take it all in stride.  Some days with tears of frustration and anger, some with tears of joy, some with tears of regret. 

I can't say that I'll miss the diaper days.  That $25 a week and stinky mess won't be one of those golden-halo times.  But in those diaper days were some great moments--the ones where he actually smiled and giggled with me while I was changing his poop, as opposed to running away from me screaming "No diaper!" with toxic fumes trailing behind.

The days go by so slowly; the years rush by so fast.  Give us a couple of weeks and we'll have this little dude out of diapers.  Give us a couple of months and he'll be writing his name.  In two years, he'll be at elementary school with his big brother, and we'll be mourning the loss of his little Chiclet teeth, too.

It's just a season.  To them, it's a long day at home with mom when everyone else is at camp and there's no one to play with and I'm bored.  And yes, it's a long day home with bored kids--I won't pretend it isn't for the sake of a sappy blog.  But it's the only day just like today that we're going to get.

And today--well, today is punctuated with "Mommy, I did it!" excitedly yelled down the stairs (as if on cue) by a cherub-faced little boy.  Time to empty the little green Elmo potty and get that reward. 

I think this is one of those seasons I don't want to miss.