You See Him, Right?

Mothers, join my new movement
#askdaddyhesrightthere
Re: glasses of water, butt wiping, cutting food into specific shapes, tying shoelaces, administering bandaids, seconds, refills, toothpaste extraction, story telling, story listening, snack packing, sunscreening, crust removal, itchy tags, correct spelling of creepy yet popular YouTubers, goggle adjustments, toy disputes, tucking, re-tucking, and anything else that any adult in the house besides me is perfectly capable of.

The Revolution Starts Now

Party Up

I hate birthday parties that aren’t mine. Just like I don’t like looking at pictures of other people’s kids and I don’t like the listening half of most conversations, I mostly prefer when things are All About Me. My husband, on the other hand avoids being the center of attention at all costs. He made me swear on all that was holy that I wouldn’t throw him a surprise party for his 40th (editor’s note: I do enjoy parties thrown by me for other people, even though they’re not technically my party).  I was understandably disappointed to not get to spend the better part of the spring and early summer planning a Whole Big Thing, and Amazon is no doubt extremely confused by all the HILARIOUS 40th birthday swag that I ended up deleting from my cart, but hey. I aim to please.

Anyhoo, so now my 40th is knocking down the door, and my husband, after being threatened I mean gently reminded for the last 8-37 months that I expect to THROW DOWN on my birthday, wants to know what I’d like to do. And sonofabitch, I don’t know. At this point, there are like 3 non-blood relatives that I don’t hate, and most of the stuff I want I have already secretly bought for myself, sooo….

Option 1:

Da Club. This sounds super fun but I’m sure by 7:00 on the night of the festivities I’m going to want sweats and Uggs and Netflix and what should I say is the reason we can’t go?

Option 2:

Party at my moms house. Pros: There will be cake, lots of it, and probably for free.

Cons: Have you ever seen My Big Fat Greek Wedding? Imagine it with Jews, only not funny.

Option 3:

We go away for the night somewhere, just the 2 of us. This sounds lovely. My only concern is Cake. Will there be cake? If so, who will make it? If it’s just the 2 of us, I might only get a slice. Can I have another, secondary cake at a later date?

Obviously this is a huge decision. I mean, I’ve been 29 for a good long time now, and I’m fairly certain that most people are totally expecting me to turn 30 this year, or maybe even 29, so I feel like I need to herald the coming of the Big 4-0 with some kind of me-centric celebration.

The thing is, I’m not really Me without the kids. I miss them when they’re not around, and I want them to celebrate with me. A huge part of the reason that I still look forward to birthdays instead of trying to deny them is because I have maintained that I am 29 for the last 11 years. Just kidding. It’s because those crazy ass kids make me proud of my life. I really feel like my life began when I became a mom. To celebrate my birthday without the kids there with me just feels kind of inauthentic. Also, they wholeheartedly share my enthusiasm for cake, thereby validating my obsession.

I know this is not a very popular 2018 stance, and all you Modern Gals are rolling your eyes and shaking your heads and cueing up some empowering Beyoncé song to cleanse your mental palettes.

Good thing IDGAF. I’m 40, bitch.

That’s a Terrible Idea…When Do We Start?

I am the friend your mother warned you about. I’m the one who hatches the plan and convinces everyone that they won’t get caught. My tombstone will someday read “Seemed Like a Good Idea At The Time”.

And it did.

Many of my brilliant ideas involve competitions of some sort, or maybe cake. There’s really no predicting which way my winds are going to blow. If I’m being honest, I base a lot of my decisions on the potential for glitter. I’ve done 4 triathlons, mostly because I was intrigued by the idea of writing my number on my arm in grease paint.

Perhaps someone tried to get real with me and suggested that I’m somehow incapable of doing something. It will then  Be. On. Shortly after my twins were born, I set a PR in a half marathon, primarily because at my 6 week post-op, my OB-GYN told me I’d never be the same.

Side note: A few weeks ago I was watching that show on E about female WWE wrestlers and I kind of mentioned that maybe I’m not too old to get in the ring. I didn’t even finish the sentence before my mom screamed “No!” It stung probably more than it should have.

I might come home with a puppy, or a Masters Degree. Maybe I’ll feel instantaneously compelled to book a trip, or train with a weapon, or renovate a large area of my home. Hair can turn colors. All things are possible, and therefore my husband lives in fear. He once accused me of “finnagling” twins.

See, ideas are kind of my thing. I get the ideas, and then the ideas get me. They consume my vision and I can’t let go until they become reality. I’m sure there are people who could teach me to harness this power for good instead of evil, but so far…

For me though, the problem is not the ideas; it’s when I don’t have them. The ideas focus me, they give me an outlet for all my nervous energy, my anxiety, my negative thoughts.

I’ll spend 3 or 4 months training for a race, or planning a party, or gestating a child. Whatever. Something to keep my mind occupied.

It’s not like I’m not busy enough as it is – the opposite, actually. I usually feel pretty overwhelmed by my everyday responsibilities and routines.  I just feel like my little side hustles (or “Shennanigans”, as my husband refers to them) reminds me of who I really am.

Me. The Me that I keep tucked away in a small little compartment within my soul, away from Mommy, Babe, Mrs. M, and all the other Me’s that all the other Them’s need me to be. When I get one of my Ideas, I feel Me spark just a little bit. Like someone just lit my pilot light.

And just the thought of Me, covered in glitter, wearing those awesome high socks, dominating a roller derby, handing out free samples of gluten-free cake, with a new tattoo, while documenting it all for my doctoral dissertation, reminds me that I’m still there, whenever I need Me.

Efficiency

Yesterday my son discovered that he can brush his teeth while pooping. He was so proud of himself, Master of Innovation, that I almost stopped myself from screaming. I mean, I screamed and all, but I  hesitated. That counts.  The good news is, I don’t have to replace his toothbrush or anything, because he used mine.

I’m going to just go ahead and take the “L” on this one, since the kids are most definitely picking up on my insane compulsion to multi-task. Most days I feel like everything would be a cake walk if there were just 3 of me. Me 1 can go to work, and do a damn fine, super focused job of it, at that. Me 2 would Mom it up hard core- I’m talking PTO, Pinterest, Bento boxes for lunch, cute little outfits for the frigging Elf on the Shelf, you name it. Pass me my apron.

Me 3 would be a whole different story. Me 3 would be the “Me” Me. You know what I’m getting at here, girls. This Me would buy clothes for fashion purposes. She would workout during daylight hours and still have time for crazy shit like “coffee” and “lunch”. Her roots would be an absolute mystery. If this bitch was tired, she’d take a nap. A NAP I TELL YOU!!!

The problem with being the sole proprietor of my particular operation, is that I never really feel like I’m giving any one thing my 100% best. When I’m at work, I’m thinking about the kids. When I take a day off to do something special with the kids, I have anxiety about the shitstorm I’ll be coming back to the next day at work. On the odd chance I socialize, I’m dreaming of putting on my sweatpants and crawling into bed. When I’m in bed, I tell my husband we really should go out more.

I once heard Cyndi Lauper call it the Struggle of the Juggle. My, how the mighty have fallen.

I blame Mary Tyler Moore. And Woodstock. Gloria Steinem can kiss my ass.  I’m ready to go kick it old school, pearls and pies and picket fences. I’m ready to give good old -fashioned wifey boredom a try.

But, we are living in the age of the Girl Boss, and it just so happens that I have a little girl. And damned if I don’t want her to be a Boss. So off I go, up at dawn, kicking ass and taking names and showing her how it’s done, just like my mom did for me. (By the way, I’m exhausted and I miss my old face from 10 years ago.)

These 3 kids though…these kids and that man and that home and those precious moments when we’re all together and I am absolutely slammed with gratitude so hard I can barely breathe…

I’ll just buy a new toothbrush.

 

#motherhood #girlboss #family #kids #twins #workingmom