The Mamahood

The $25 BlogHer/HomeGoods Challenge

BlogHer and HomeGoods helped kickstart my Christmas shopping this year—I snagged a $25 gift certificate from them, and the challenge to find something great for someone on my list this year.

The problem was obvious as soon as I set foot in the store—narrowing down the amazing options to the perfect ones for my daughters' teachers. Would it be the totally cute Tazo tea sets (marked down significantly from their Starbucks prices)? Or the sweet and smart little picture frames, which would be perfect for my daughters' regular sitter (especially with an updated picture of the girls)? Or frankly—would it be both, as I could get one Tazo tea set and a frame and still have a little money leftover for something for me?

That's exactly what I bought. And I already earmarked a few things I'd like to come back for—the charming striped nesting bowl sets, the cute throw pillows, a bright red Fu dog—once my kitchen reno is done. They'll be perfect for feathering my nest, without breaking my bank.

Want to take the challenge for yourself? HomeGoods is giving away $25 gift cards (and one $100 gift card) to use to clear through a lot of your holiday shopping in one quick trip. Give it a try!

Why Working and Blogging and Mommying Don't Mix

If you're a regular reader of my blog, you know I'm not a regular writer on my blog. Which is unfortunate, because I started this blog with the best of intentions—multiple posts a week with witty insights, fabulous advice, etc., etc., I was going to share with the masses.

But then reality set in. I realized that I didn't have all that many tips to share (because, you know, I'm kind of flying by the seat of my pants here). And most of the time, I was too tired to have insights...or at least, witty ones. Because most of the time, my "free" time comes at about 1 a.m., and if the options are to pack lunches so my kids can eat or blog about the latest in my life, my kids win out. Every. Single. Time. (Sorry!)

I'm a bad blogger because, despite the fact that I'm practically chained to my computer, I do have a rich real life. I have two fabulous daughters. A husband that I love. Lots and lots (and lots and LOTS) of challenging work to keep me busy (and dreams of finally living a big dream from my childhood and writing a novel). A core crew of fabulous girlfriends who I plan to drink wine and laugh with until I go senile (and probably even past then). Family far and wide who I don't see often enough. Oh, and a kitchen remodel to survive.

It's all a bit too much, at the moment, even for someone who likes her life busy. There are days where I fantasize about ditching it all and moving out to a deserted isle in the Caribbean...at least for a week or two. But mostly, I just trudge through in triage mode, taking care of my life one crisis at a time.

I'm hoping to get better about chronicling a bit more of my life (if only because my poor daughters don't have baby books, so I can at least, someday, print this bugger out and give them the high and lowlights). But for the moment, I'll have to be content to just go out and live it.

 

Not Home, Alone

So today was my daughter's first day of school, apparently, a wondrous day filled with two (TWO!) recesses (as she told me three different times) and a chocolate kiss from her new teacher (who is apparently bribing her way into the kids' good graces with candy). And I was not there to see it.

She was thrilled to have pizza dinner at our beloved babysitter's (almost as thrilled about that as the two (TWO!) recesses), while I got to have a whole grown-up day of conferences and meetings and presentations and brainstorming until my brain was ready to storm off in a huff.

And then, after a heavenly Mexican dinner in the middle of Memphis, it was back to the hotel at 7-ish, with a whole evening with nothing much to do. I probably should have slept (I could  sleep from now until Christmas, and not catch up on my rest), taken a relaxing bath, worked out. I opted to...lay in bed and catch up on some of my online to-dos. I finally restored the password to my ETrade account and unearthed an old IRA I haven't seen in several years. I paid my auto insurance (two weeks early!). I updated my blogs (Suburban Omnivore was even more overdue than this site was). And I even managed to pick up my daughter's wand and tie for her Hermione costume.

And I survived.

Missing Out

Only a few months into motherhood, I quit my full-time gig and became a full-time freelancer. It was the best decision I've ever made: Because of that, for the past five-plus years, I've not only been pulling down a pretty darned good income (thank you, wonderful friends and clients), but I've also been able to squeeze in every single school event, party, and milestone.

But in two weeks, thanks to a big business trip for a new client, I'll be missing a biggie: the first day of first grade.

I know I shouldn't be too torn up about it. It isn't kindergarten or college. My husband will be there to take the pictures and beam proudly as he walks her over to school—and he's missed out on plenty of other events over the past five years, so it's only fair that he gets a few just for himself. I'll be able to hear all about her first day and her new teacher that evening on the phone. (Should really get a webcam for my husband's computer, now that I think of it.) 

But I have such mommy guilt over it that I haven't been able to tell my daughter yet that I'm missing her big day. I keep holding out hope that the trip will get postponed (even though travel reqs seem to be going out as we speak). I know, in the grand scheme of things, my daughter will never remember that Mommy was in Memphis for her first day of first grade. But Mommy always will.

Marriage Boot Camp

I think every married couple should be forced to go to a wedding every few months. Not so they can prop up the wedding-industrial complex with multiple purchases of pricey china or brush up on their Macarena skills (no one should be forced into that fate). But I always find myself, in the midst of watching the couple tie the knot, taking a long, hard look at my mate and my relationship—and realizing that I'm taking so much for granted.

I am a lucky woman. I have been married for nearly 11 years to my best friend—a fabulous man. He's sweet, he's smart, he has wide-ranging interests. He's a self-taught guitarist and chef, an amazing dad, a triathlete. And a mild-mannered copy editor by day. And he's mine.

But too often, I focus on the little things that drive me crazy. The constant mentions of the "vortex" that he claims sucks keys, t-shirts and other items in (though eventually, apparently, the vortex spits them back to me). The laid-back attitude which often leads to lateness. And the giant stack of magazines and videos piled up in our basement. 

In the constant rush and clamor of our crazy life with two kids, two careers, two cats and one wild dog, we often fail to set aside time as a couple, to laugh and have fun, to go on actual dates. It's a real fault in our marriage.

But at a wedding, I recommit myself to accentuating the positive, to trying harder to make our marriage stronger. To realizing I'm not exactly Miss Perfect myself. And as I slow dance with my husband (I've long since given up even asking him to Macarena), I fall in love with him, just as he is, all over again.

Momcation Fail

I love being a wife and mother. Almost all of the time. Even when it involves settling arguments and cleaning spills, crayon on the wall and worse. But once in a while, a girl needs a break, if only to recharge, sleep in, drink wine and maybe clean out the basement.

I had golden dreams of just such a time this past weekend (the first time in at least two years I've been given such an opportunity. TWO. YEARS. ). I had brunch plans with a friend. Thoughts of a luxurious morning in bed. Maybe a stop at my favorite ice cream place.

And then, right as my husband was about to leave with the girls, he comes home to find my oldest sobbing, with a 102 degree temperature, on my lap. And me, about to sob right along with her.

My husband did try to give me something akin to it. I did get to sleep in. I did get some time off (to visit the farmer's market, and weed our gardens). But it's not the same.

Fortunately, we're planning to try again in a few weeks. Until then, I'll limp along, dreaming of the momcation that could have been.

Check My New Blog...

Because, you know, I have nothing else better to do, I decided to start up a new blog in addition to this one (and Daily Lounge). Head on over to Suburban Omnivore to find out what I'm cooking (and why) in my quest to feed my family a healthier, more locally based diet. You might even find out how I got my daughters to beg for kale!

A Summer Romance, Part Deux

Last summer, my then-five-year-old became betrothed to a wonderful young man (the son of one of my best friends)—much to our amusement.

We figured it was a summer romance, which would fade away as they both headed to different schools, with other gorgeous little kindergarteners.

We were dead wrong.

My daughter's fiance endured mocking from his friends at school when he announced his engagement. ("I don't understand why it's bad to want to marry her," he told his mother forlornly.) My daughter told me that she liked some of the boys in her school, but "I promised H. I would marry him, so I'm going to."

And now they're back, blissfully, at summer camp together. Only now, my daughter calls him "Snuggleboy," and they kiss "only on the cheek, because on the lips is yucchy," and only when the camp counselors aren't looking.

Proof positive that one should never underestimate the power of love—even among mere babes.

Lessons From a High-School Reunion

I wasn't sure I wanted to go to my high school reunion. As my angst-filled journals can attest, high school was not a high point in my life—as it wouldn't be for any overly sensitive girl who hadn't yet embraced her inner geek, who tried desperately but never felt like she fit in. So why would I revisit it? I found myself asking that very same question as I pulled into the parking lot, hands shaking, with an overwhelming urge to turn the car around.

But in the end, I'm glad that I didn't run screaming. Because now that I've survived both high school and the 20-year reunion, I've lived to tell you what I learned.

1. You will second guess your decision to drink like a college student at a high school reunion. I figured a gin and tonic was the perfect way to calm my nerves—but quickly found myself testing my tolerance in ways I haven't since I won a drinking contest in an Aruban nightclub. Better advice? A (doctor-prescribed) valium—especially if you have a long car ride with small children ahead of you the following day.

2. You won't need to fret about the 20 pounds you gained in the 20 years since high school. There were a few people who somehow managed to keep the sleek physiques they had in high school, but the majority of my former classmates (myself included) would have a hard time fitting into their prom dresses or acid-washed jeans.

3. You may find closure. If you have unresolved issues with particular high school classmates, you may discover that seeing them in person makes those issues suddenly melt away.

4. Someone will definitely surprise you. It may be that the kid you thought wouldn't amount to anything is suddenly super successful with a fabulous life. It may be that the person who ruled the school became a loser after graduation. Or you may have a great conversation with someone who didn't give you the time of day in high school, but could become your best friend down the line. But you won't know if you don't go. 

5. You'll be amazed how many people found their mates at high school. Or at least, I was amazed how many, given the size of my school.

6. You'll discover that, for the most part, everyone turned out okay in the end. Granted, the nonattendees could all be homeless and/or living in their parents' basements. But the people who came were all doing well: We had teachers, an architect, an author, a college administrator, a doctor and a seemingly unending supply of nurses in attendance—and a lot of people with happy marriages and happy kids. (Or at least, that's what they were telling us!) 

Happy 20 year, class of 1990—I'm glad I went.

Milestones

The day after tomorrow, my oldest is a first grader, and her first year of elementary school is over. The week after that, she'll turn 6—and she'll be officially through the first 1/3 of her childhood. To me, it's blown by in an instant. I can still distinctly remember how she fluttered in my arms like a little bird when I held her for the first time, five years ago next month.

That's the hardest part of being a parent. As you're cheering your child on through milestones both well celebrated (the end of a school year) and silently, invisibly achieved (my youngest's newfound ability to pronounce those always tough ls and fs), every accomplishment they make is another step away from you.

And though I'm working hard every day to ensure my girls grow up to be confident, well-adjusted, independent adults, selfishly, I wish that I could slow or stop time, and keep them forever as they are now—my sweet, boisterous almost-six-year-old with the loose tooth, who's completely confident in her abilities to conquer anything, and my mischievous, giggly three-year-old who's always on the go (even when she's supposed to be asleep). 

I"m going to miss this particular moment in time, dearly, when it's gone. But I'm excited to see what's next for these two.