Oh the holidays...the joy of the season, all being merry and bright, etc. Who are we kidding? The holiday season could be a working moms worst nightmare. Why do we feel compelled to do everything our mother's (who didn't have jobs) did each holiday? And why do we feel inadequate if we don't? There are the holiday cards, the baking, the shopping, the decorating...etc. While I love the idea of Christmas and all that comes with it, I can't help but feel each year like I am working at light speed to meet a deadline, and when it comes...will I actually feel that all that prep that went into it was worthwhile?
Little O is quite into Christmas this year...by that I mean that she has been pulling ornaments off the tree and handing them to me on a fairly regular basis, in addition to throwing temper tantrums because I won't give her any more cookies. Then there is the gift giving situation...I have a pile of wrapped gifts (NOT under the tree, are you kidding????) that she has noticed and desperately wants to help me open. But despite all those things...I am feeling quite into the season. I have the house decorated, the cookies baked, the cards mailed out and the presents (mostly) purchased and wrapped...and it's only the 16th! Now...if only those last few gifts would show up on my porch. I need to get a package to Reno and haven't even received the gifts yet...how do you think that will work out?! 'Tis the season... Enjoy every moment because before you know it, it will be December 26 and it will all be over until next year. And who else but working mothers can appreciate the multi-tasking test that Christmas provides? A special shout-out to my Mom friend who spent an hour in line with me at Kohl's at 6:00am in the morning the day after Thanksgiving (before we both went to work)! Merry Christmas to all!!
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Friday, November 23, 2007
Sassy Hair
Once upon a time I may have been fairly cool...well, at least I thought that I was cool. But let's face it, after childbirth and all the things that go along with that, baby spit, etc all over me on a fairly regular basis, and lack of sleep which results in the inability to care what I look like, I can't say that cool is the word I would use to describe myself. I don't feel cool at all any more...I occasionally wear things that once upon a time I would not leave the house in, I haven't worn something other than "work" clothes or "play" clothes in quite some time, and I can honestly say I have had lipstick on probably three or four times in the last five years!
How did this happen? And how come it is so hard to actually care that much about it? Mostly it comes down to time and priorities. But let's face it...moms tend to put themselves last on the list as they work to take care of their husbands, children, homes, pets, employers, etc. It is hard to squeeze in "me" time. And when you have "me" time, don't you tend to spend it doing something productive or sleeping???? Despite all of this, I have found the quick cure for "uncoolness"...
A few weeks ago I went to my stylist for a trim...but I have to confess, on the way to the salon all I could think was that I hated what I was wearing and I was desperately hoping no one would really notice me at the salon. I always feel intimidated in there anyway...all the stylists are trendy and perfectly made up; I feel like I have to plan what I will wear and how I will look. As usual I had no time for any of that, but on the way to the salon I worked up some courage. I sat in the chair and said to Enes,
"We need to do some serious cutting today."
She just looked at me..."Really????"
"Yup...what do you think would look the best on me?"
The next thing I knew, I had a brand new hairstyle...a real style, an updated style, a cool style. I had a moment of panic thinking I wouldn't know what to do with it, but I have to report...four weeks later and I am loving my new, sassy, do.
The lesson here is this...we all deserve the chance to reinvent ourselves once in a while, the opportunity to do something that raises our confidence and reminds us that we are in control of our destiny. It doesn't have to be dramatic or life changing. Sometimes the little things can have the biggest impact.
How did this happen? And how come it is so hard to actually care that much about it? Mostly it comes down to time and priorities. But let's face it...moms tend to put themselves last on the list as they work to take care of their husbands, children, homes, pets, employers, etc. It is hard to squeeze in "me" time. And when you have "me" time, don't you tend to spend it doing something productive or sleeping???? Despite all of this, I have found the quick cure for "uncoolness"...
A few weeks ago I went to my stylist for a trim...but I have to confess, on the way to the salon all I could think was that I hated what I was wearing and I was desperately hoping no one would really notice me at the salon. I always feel intimidated in there anyway...all the stylists are trendy and perfectly made up; I feel like I have to plan what I will wear and how I will look. As usual I had no time for any of that, but on the way to the salon I worked up some courage. I sat in the chair and said to Enes,
"We need to do some serious cutting today."
She just looked at me..."Really????"
"Yup...what do you think would look the best on me?"
The next thing I knew, I had a brand new hairstyle...a real style, an updated style, a cool style. I had a moment of panic thinking I wouldn't know what to do with it, but I have to report...four weeks later and I am loving my new, sassy, do.
The lesson here is this...we all deserve the chance to reinvent ourselves once in a while, the opportunity to do something that raises our confidence and reminds us that we are in control of our destiny. It doesn't have to be dramatic or life changing. Sometimes the little things can have the biggest impact.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Mom Inventions
There are some pretty great ideas that have been turned into every day conveniences...the drive-through pharmacy, pay-at-the-pump gas stations, on-line grocery shopping. I am convinced that these ideas were created by busy moms for busy moms. No one understands the fun of peek-a-boo while you pump gas better than another mother! And the wonder of one less load and unload from the car seat is not lost on any mother (or her thankful back) either.
So, today I am putting a big shout out to all of the "idea" people who continue to come up with these great ideas. I recently purchased a new Honda-CRV and I am convinced that, too, was designed with a Mom in mind...lots of places for storage, a trunk with a deck lid that allows the stroller and the groceries to fit nicely, the "mom" rear view to see what is happening in the back seat...I love this car! The bun warmers are nice, too ;) ... Keep those ideas coming Moms!
So, today I am putting a big shout out to all of the "idea" people who continue to come up with these great ideas. I recently purchased a new Honda-CRV and I am convinced that, too, was designed with a Mom in mind...lots of places for storage, a trunk with a deck lid that allows the stroller and the groceries to fit nicely, the "mom" rear view to see what is happening in the back seat...I love this car! The bun warmers are nice, too ;) ... Keep those ideas coming Moms!
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Invisible
The following was sent to me by my sister-in-law and I had to pass it on. I don't know Nicole Johnson, but I think she is very wise indeed...hope you agree. Thanks Nicole, wherever you are!
The Invisible Woman
By Nicole Johnson
It started to happen gradually. One day I was walking my son Jake to school. I was holding his hand and we were about to cross the street when the crossing guard said to him, "Who is that with you, youngfella?" "Nobody," he shrugged. "Nobody?" The crossing guard and I laughed. My son is only 5, but as we crossed the street I thought, "Oh my goodness, nobody?"
I would walk into a room and no one would notice. I would say something to my family - like "Turn the TV down, please" - and nothing would happen. Nobody would get up, or even make a move for the remote. I would stand there for a minute, and then I would say again, a little louder, "Would someone turn the TV down?" Nothing.
Just the other night my husband and I were out at a party. We'd been there for about three hours and I was ready to leave. I noticed he was talking to a friend from work. So I walked over, and when there was a break in the conversation, I whispered, "I'm ready to go when you are." He just kept right on talking.
That's when I started to put all the pieces together. I don't think he can see me. I don't think anyone can see me. I'm invisible. It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, "Can't you see I'm on the phone?" Obviously not! No one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all. I'm invisible.
Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this? Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, "What time is it?" I'm a satellite guide to answer, "What number is the Disney Channel?" I'm a car to order, "Right around 5:30, please."
I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and yes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude -but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She's going, she's going, she's gone!
One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down at my out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a banana clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter in it. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, "I brought you this." It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription: "To Charlotte, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees."
In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work:
* No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names.
* These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished.
* They made great sacrifices and expected no credit.
* The passion of their building was fuelled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.
A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, "Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it." And the workman replied, "Because God sees."
I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, "I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become."
At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.
When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, "My mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table." That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, "You're gonna love it there."
As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.
The Invisible Woman
By Nicole Johnson
It started to happen gradually. One day I was walking my son Jake to school. I was holding his hand and we were about to cross the street when the crossing guard said to him, "Who is that with you, youngfella?" "Nobody," he shrugged. "Nobody?" The crossing guard and I laughed. My son is only 5, but as we crossed the street I thought, "Oh my goodness, nobody?"
I would walk into a room and no one would notice. I would say something to my family - like "Turn the TV down, please" - and nothing would happen. Nobody would get up, or even make a move for the remote. I would stand there for a minute, and then I would say again, a little louder, "Would someone turn the TV down?" Nothing.
Just the other night my husband and I were out at a party. We'd been there for about three hours and I was ready to leave. I noticed he was talking to a friend from work. So I walked over, and when there was a break in the conversation, I whispered, "I'm ready to go when you are." He just kept right on talking.
That's when I started to put all the pieces together. I don't think he can see me. I don't think anyone can see me. I'm invisible. It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, "Can't you see I'm on the phone?" Obviously not! No one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all. I'm invisible.
Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this? Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, "What time is it?" I'm a satellite guide to answer, "What number is the Disney Channel?" I'm a car to order, "Right around 5:30, please."
I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and yes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude -but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She's going, she's going, she's gone!
One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down at my out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a banana clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter in it. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, "I brought you this." It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription: "To Charlotte, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees."
In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work:
* No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names.
* These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished.
* They made great sacrifices and expected no credit.
* The passion of their building was fuelled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.
A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, "Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it." And the workman replied, "Because God sees."
I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, "I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become."
At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.
When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, "My mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table." That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, "You're gonna love it there."
As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.
Monday, October 8, 2007
Picture Perfect
I took little O today to have her eighteen-month photos taken... I had been looking forward to it...she has quite the little personality and I was sure that these photos were going to be great. We had the outfit, her hair was sweetly curly with her bangs clipped back, the timing was perfect (not too early or close to nap or snack time). Unfortunately, little O did not see the beauty in my precision planning. She cried...not just a little, a lot...essentially the entire shoot. All of the antics the two of us could come up with did not change her attitude. And, at one point (while I was lying on the floor and she was sitting on my stomach and I was questioning what the h*&l I was doing going along with this) I started to ask myself "why are we doing this?".
What is picture perfect? The photographer was doing nothing more than trying to get little O to give me the perfect picture...a vision of my eighteen-month old's sweet smile. But the truth is that what I am really after is some way to freeze this point in time, to capture her personality at this age so that I won't forget all the nuances that make eighteen-months so great. The photographer seemed to think he may have caught some great shots (probably of me looking like an idiot trying to get little O to smile). Part of me hopes he captured those frowns and pouts, because they are a part of her. But I do long for a great snap of that beautiful, silly, sweet smile, too. Of course, as I buckled her into the car seat and asked for kisses, she leaned right into me and gave me a big smack on the lips, smiled sweetly and asked for a cookie and Elmo (yes, the photographer hands out cookies, too). Next time I might have to try the bribery first...you know we'll be going back (soon) to try and capture that grin...
What is picture perfect? The photographer was doing nothing more than trying to get little O to give me the perfect picture...a vision of my eighteen-month old's sweet smile. But the truth is that what I am really after is some way to freeze this point in time, to capture her personality at this age so that I won't forget all the nuances that make eighteen-months so great. The photographer seemed to think he may have caught some great shots (probably of me looking like an idiot trying to get little O to smile). Part of me hopes he captured those frowns and pouts, because they are a part of her. But I do long for a great snap of that beautiful, silly, sweet smile, too. Of course, as I buckled her into the car seat and asked for kisses, she leaned right into me and gave me a big smack on the lips, smiled sweetly and asked for a cookie and Elmo (yes, the photographer hands out cookies, too). Next time I might have to try the bribery first...you know we'll be going back (soon) to try and capture that grin...
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Priorities
Guilt...is feeling a constant nagging guilt just all a part of motherhood? I try to maintain this work/life balance I have heard so much about...work four days a week and spend an extra day at home with my daughter. Sounds like the best of both worlds, right?! Most of the time it IS the best...but then there are those days (or weeks, as this one seems to be) when "balance" seems like an act at the circus and I seem to have lost my ticket.
Last Friday about 4pm I finally owned up to the fact that I couldn't possibly stay at home on Monday with little O and still get a particular project completed on time. So, I grudgingly got permission to bring little O to school an extra day this week so that I could work an extra day. The guilt began with that initial phone call and continued at home when my husband questioned why I needed to go in...no one else gives up their day off, what about what little O needs, etc., etc., etc. I then spent the day at work Monday feeling rotten that I wasn't at home with little O playing with her and giving her my undivided attention.
That was Monday... Tuesday and Wednesday night my husband came home from work with a pile of file folders, letting me know that he was swamped at work and would need to work most of the evening (Tuesday that meant no dinner either). Ironically, I managed to fix dinner, give little O her bath, get her to bed, clean the kitchen, do two loads of laundry, and THEN took a look at the work I had brought home. Seems we are both swamped, right? What I find most interesting is that it didn't occur to me to bring some guilt trip down upon my husband's shoulders because he hasn't spent time with little O this week (Thursday night he golfs in his league)...but the knee-jerk reaction when I am busy with work is that I am not giving little O the attention she deserves.
So, I have to ask myself, who is really responsible for the guilt trip I find myself burdened with? Once again, it seems that I am my own worst enemy. Sure, my husband's comments are not exactly supportive in a way that I would like, but the only person who suffers or feels that they have to rationalize their choices is me. In a final twist on the whole story...the meeting for the project I spent the day working on Monday got cancelled on Tuesday. Is it Friday yet?
Last Friday about 4pm I finally owned up to the fact that I couldn't possibly stay at home on Monday with little O and still get a particular project completed on time. So, I grudgingly got permission to bring little O to school an extra day this week so that I could work an extra day. The guilt began with that initial phone call and continued at home when my husband questioned why I needed to go in...no one else gives up their day off, what about what little O needs, etc., etc., etc. I then spent the day at work Monday feeling rotten that I wasn't at home with little O playing with her and giving her my undivided attention.
That was Monday... Tuesday and Wednesday night my husband came home from work with a pile of file folders, letting me know that he was swamped at work and would need to work most of the evening (Tuesday that meant no dinner either). Ironically, I managed to fix dinner, give little O her bath, get her to bed, clean the kitchen, do two loads of laundry, and THEN took a look at the work I had brought home. Seems we are both swamped, right? What I find most interesting is that it didn't occur to me to bring some guilt trip down upon my husband's shoulders because he hasn't spent time with little O this week (Thursday night he golfs in his league)...but the knee-jerk reaction when I am busy with work is that I am not giving little O the attention she deserves.
So, I have to ask myself, who is really responsible for the guilt trip I find myself burdened with? Once again, it seems that I am my own worst enemy. Sure, my husband's comments are not exactly supportive in a way that I would like, but the only person who suffers or feels that they have to rationalize their choices is me. In a final twist on the whole story...the meeting for the project I spent the day working on Monday got cancelled on Tuesday. Is it Friday yet?
Monday, August 20, 2007
The Journey
One year ago today the daughter of a friend suffered a spinal cord stroke...I didn't even know what that meant the first time I heard about it, and neither did my friend I suspect. The journey that their family has taken over the course of the past year has been amazing...from the early days when there was so much uncertainty, to the long days that turned into months in the hospital, to the joyous homecoming and continued months of therapy. Each day is a victory in itself, and progress is a blessing not to be taken lightly.
One year later this twelve-year old girl remains in a wheelchair, but gets stronger every day. She is quite the inspiration...always fighting, always looking forward, and I suspect that a lot of the drive she displays is in large part due to her upbringing. If ever there was an inspirational family, this one is it. This family is the strongest unit I've ever witnessed...they work together, always for the good of all, with all actions based in love. I guess every family should function this way, right? I think they are inspiring because they don't take each other for granted... Perhaps that is the silver lining in the difficulties they have been through...they have learned the lesson of living each day to its fullest and they have taken it to heart.
I hope that my daughter never has to experience the trials that this little girl has been through...but I also hope that I can take the lessons of her family and apply them to my own. In that way, too, the journey of my friend's daughter is inspiring to others...
One year later this twelve-year old girl remains in a wheelchair, but gets stronger every day. She is quite the inspiration...always fighting, always looking forward, and I suspect that a lot of the drive she displays is in large part due to her upbringing. If ever there was an inspirational family, this one is it. This family is the strongest unit I've ever witnessed...they work together, always for the good of all, with all actions based in love. I guess every family should function this way, right? I think they are inspiring because they don't take each other for granted... Perhaps that is the silver lining in the difficulties they have been through...they have learned the lesson of living each day to its fullest and they have taken it to heart.
I hope that my daughter never has to experience the trials that this little girl has been through...but I also hope that I can take the lessons of her family and apply them to my own. In that way, too, the journey of my friend's daughter is inspiring to others...
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Chaos...
Seems like chaos reins around here...granted, I am under no delusion that our house is unique or special. We all seem to have so much going on...work, home, family, friends, community, church, etc., etc., etc. How did we all get so busy? Most of the time I think we are our own worst enemies...we make commitments to everything and then wonder why we never have time to just sit back and relax and be thankful for the good things in our lives. So today I am thankful...for a lazy Saturday, with NO extra commitments. It is raining, so our planned trip to the zoo has been canceled. Maybe that isn't such a bad thing after all... Granted nature has forced this departure from our usual busy schedule, but I guess that is a message in and of itself. I plan to take it for what it is worth and try to find some time to curl up with a glass of wine and a magazine... Happy Saturday!
Sunday, August 5, 2007
Thankful...
Do you ever have those moments that slow you down and make you truly thankful for the good things in your life? I have a close friend whose first child, a daughter, was stillborn one year ago. It was so hard to believe at the time...we had just celebrated the upcoming birth with an all-girl baby shower complete with family, friends, and pink ruffles galore. But at eight months, the baby's heartbeat was suddenly gone...she had gotten tangled in the ambilical cord and died. I can't imagine going through the pain of childbirth, knowing that at the end you will kiss your child hello and goodbye at the same time rather than taking her home and beginning your life together as a family.
I think of baby Anna often...especially when I watch little O do something new for the first time. The girls would have grown up together...they would have been just four months apart in age. I think a lot about all the things that my friend has missed out on over the last year because of her loss. And when there are those moments when little O is making me crazy with all of her climbing or tantrums over little things, and suddenly I remember that Anna could be doing those things but isn't. And I am grateful for the things that little O does to make me crazy...I know that my friend would trade me in a minute to deal with all things toddler.
Perhaps the most difficult part of this, for me, has been the change in my relationship with my friend. While she carries the pain of Anna's loss, I bear the guilt of being the one with the beautiful, healthy baby. We talk about little O...to NOT talk about her would be even more obvious than talking about her non-stop. It is hard to find the balance. Thankfully, we have known each other for many years and the closeness of our friendship has allowed us to discuss the situation openly. I feel her loss and she feels my guilt.
So kiss your children goodnight and be thankful for all the things that they are...be thankful they just are.
I think of baby Anna often...especially when I watch little O do something new for the first time. The girls would have grown up together...they would have been just four months apart in age. I think a lot about all the things that my friend has missed out on over the last year because of her loss. And when there are those moments when little O is making me crazy with all of her climbing or tantrums over little things, and suddenly I remember that Anna could be doing those things but isn't. And I am grateful for the things that little O does to make me crazy...I know that my friend would trade me in a minute to deal with all things toddler.
Perhaps the most difficult part of this, for me, has been the change in my relationship with my friend. While she carries the pain of Anna's loss, I bear the guilt of being the one with the beautiful, healthy baby. We talk about little O...to NOT talk about her would be even more obvious than talking about her non-stop. It is hard to find the balance. Thankfully, we have known each other for many years and the closeness of our friendship has allowed us to discuss the situation openly. I feel her loss and she feels my guilt.
So kiss your children goodnight and be thankful for all the things that they are...be thankful they just are.
"You're the Mom"
In a moment where I questioned why I seemed to be the only one who could hear little O cry on a weekend morning, Little O's Dad said to me "because you're the mom". At the time it seemed like a convenient excuse to sleep in while I got her up, changed her diaper, took her downstairs and gave her breakfast, etc. But in all truthfulness, there is a certain grain of truth to his statement. The reality is that I love taking care of little O...I want to be the one she wants when she gets up in the morning, or falls and scrapes her knees, or is hungry for a snack. I love putting her in the tub before getting her ready for bed and watching her splash and play. Sometimes I even feel guilty about all the things I witness her do for the first time because I am the primary caregiver and spend the most time with her (next to her teachers at the learning center, that is). At the same time, those are the moments that I treasure and that make being a mom the best thing in the world. So, while some mornings I long to turn my bionic hearing off so that I can pretend not to hear her when she gets up, most of the time I try to remind myself that it is all part of being "the mom".
Monday, July 30, 2007
The Dream...
Some days I wonder how I ended up in this life...in fact, all I seem to do lately is ask myself questions about my life decisions. Married for a second time, first-time mom to a beautiful one-year old girl, working for the same company since college...
How did I get here? The really funny thing is that while I wonder how I got here, I don't remember where it was I THOUGHT that I would be. I don't remember ever imagining an exotic life...traveling the world with some exciting job, no commitments, just myself to please. That never was the dream, but I don't actually know what I thought the dream was. I have the handsome husband, beautiful daughter, successful career, with a house on the corner, picket fence and two dogs in the yard. So what I really wonder is why do I feel some days like everything is wrong? While some days all I need is little O to wrap her arms around my neck to feel special, most days I feel like something is amiss. Maybe it is because I am so consumed in getting through every day and keeping everything going that I don't have time to dream? Maybe THAT is how I lost the dream?
How did I get here? The really funny thing is that while I wonder how I got here, I don't remember where it was I THOUGHT that I would be. I don't remember ever imagining an exotic life...traveling the world with some exciting job, no commitments, just myself to please. That never was the dream, but I don't actually know what I thought the dream was. I have the handsome husband, beautiful daughter, successful career, with a house on the corner, picket fence and two dogs in the yard. So what I really wonder is why do I feel some days like everything is wrong? While some days all I need is little O to wrap her arms around my neck to feel special, most days I feel like something is amiss. Maybe it is because I am so consumed in getting through every day and keeping everything going that I don't have time to dream? Maybe THAT is how I lost the dream?
Bigger words than "no"!
Ever feel like the only word in your vocabulary is "no"? Okay...occasionally it gets altered to "please don't touch" or "get down", but it is all a variation of no. Between little O who is just 16 mos and the two dogs, somedays that seems to be the only word I know. The conflict I am currently having over this is due to the fact that as a working mom, I am home only on weekends and Mondays...working four tens the remainder of the week. I always envisioned my weekends and Mondays at home to be these carefree days of play and fun with my daughter...instead, it turns into a constant battle of trying to do the chores around the house, chase a toddler, and yell at the two dogs who spend all of their time looking for things to pee on in order to let me know how much they enjoy having a little sister. I actually long for Tuesday mornings some weeks...work is like a vacation for me, where I can focus on something other than my family, feel productive, and use bigger words than "no". Is it just me who feels like work is sometimes a refuge?
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Super Moms Unite
Hmmmm.... been thinking about setting up a blog for quite some time and am finally doing it. Reason? Well, if nothing else happens, at least I can feel comfortable "talking" out my troubles to no one and everyone...even if I should talk them out with the people who need to hear them. This could be good practice, right?!
Do all working moms feel like they have to be supermom????? It never seems to be enough... take care of little o, husband, be a good employee, make sure the house is (sort of) clean, groceries in the pantry, tp in the bathroom, etc. Do you ever feel like if you make one little slip, the whole thing will fall apart?
So, for all of the working moms out there, trying to be "super"...I hope this is a place that you can find some peace, and maybe even some humor over all of the things we do daily to try and keep it all working...
Do all working moms feel like they have to be supermom????? It never seems to be enough... take care of little o, husband, be a good employee, make sure the house is (sort of) clean, groceries in the pantry, tp in the bathroom, etc. Do you ever feel like if you make one little slip, the whole thing will fall apart?
So, for all of the working moms out there, trying to be "super"...I hope this is a place that you can find some peace, and maybe even some humor over all of the things we do daily to try and keep it all working...
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