Thank you and then some!!

First of all, I would love to thank you for your words of encouragement in my new endeavor. The writing group was very interesting, and I plan on going back next month. This was the Women’s Group, an offshoot of the main group. That one meets every week, and I am going to check it out. What do I have to lose? You know, since pride is overrated and all. .

But seriously, thank you for all your support. I went into blogging as a way to keep my stay-at-home-mom mind sharp, and maybe, just maybe take a baby step or two towards actually doing something with writing. I also hoped it would be a way for me to process my experiences in motherhood. I never expected to connect with people that are so warm, encouraging, and supportive. Thank you, thank you, thank you!!

So I am going to continue on this path of blogging and going to writing groups and see what happens. If nothing more, I feel like it helps me to be more, well, me. It’s kind of hard to explain. Although I feel staying home with my Babes is the right choice for me, I didn’t expect to feel so alone, which is kind of ironic because I am never alone. Not even when I go to the bathroom. I kind of feel sad that being a SAHM-y doesn’t fulfill my every need, and therefore, I feel guilty I want to do a little something on the side that’s all mine. Why is that?? Why should I feel guilty about taking time to do something that makes me feel alive and creative and fills my tank up so I having something to give my Babes? Seriously, why?

Writing has always given me a chance to get in touch with what was going on with me (even when I was a wee girl of seven years of age writing my deep thoughts in my teddy bear diary, complete with lock and key) . And even though I have to fight the urge to plant my ass in front of the TV after a hard day’s and night’s and day’s and night’s (well, you get the picture) work, I know that that will only make me feel depressed. And I rather not go down that road again. Ever. (Note to self, don’t forget to blog about the time you sat on the couch and cried almost every day for four months). Maybe that seventeen year old girl was on to something when she filled out “author” on her What Do I Want To Do When I Grow Up form given to her by her high school counselor. Well, either that or my next plan may be to pursue a career in the funeral home businesses since my aptitude test said I would be an excellent funeral home director. (No joke, my results actually said I would be a good funeral home director. Ironically, I worked for a secretary at a pet crematorium for a short time in college. Anyway . . .)

Thanks, Friends, for being so awesome!!

(And seriously, I’d love to hear why moms feel guilty filling up their tanks. And more importantly, what should one do to do to overcome those feelings).

Pride Is Overrated Anyway, Right?

First of all, thank you so much for all your comments on my last entry. I have a hard time articulating how nice it feels to have those words of encouragement and enlightenment! Thank you, thank you, thank you!

So today I am officially stepping out of my box. Aunt Becky has been a huge inspiration to me since she is dedicating 2010 to Bringing Aunt Becky Back. I have decided to try and figure out what The Next Step is in my life, too. Today I am checking out a local writing group. I am really nervous because it’s a small step in a big, different direction. Before I was Mommy, I was Teacher. I thought I would love that job, but come to find out, I didn’t. I am working up the courage to talk about it, and I will soon, but let’s just leave it at “Not-a-Good-Fit.” So I am testing out other waters in other venues. I remember in high school, I had to fill out a form about my future, and one of the questions was “What do you want to do for a living?” My answer was “Author.” And then life happened, and I became an English teacher. I am thinking that maybe there is something to that gut response. We’ll see.

So I have to bring something I’ve written. I am bringing a chapter of a book that I wrote that was never published. I am also bringing some of my blog entries with your comments on it. So if this group thinks I suck, your comments will remind me that someone doesn’t think that I suck. Kind of like my security blanket. Besides, what do I have to lose anyway, pride? It’s overrated.

Tasmanian Devil vs. Mama Bear

I tried to think of clever and entertaining ways to evict these ramblings from my mind and make room for new tenants, but I couldn’t. The thing is that I’m too upset and the situation is too fresh for any witty repartee. (And no, not The Situation, although his punk ass would be way easier to handle).

There’s a person who I’m forced to co-exist with, and I do not like it. At all. This person’s energy is like a freakish cyclone, not in a physical way, but in a manipulative, pushy kind of way. I would describe this overwhelming and domineering person to the Tasmanian Devil. I’m not usually a sheep that follows the herd, but in the person’s presence, I’ve been known to exhibit some uncharacteristic behavior, such as putting my credit card number on sketchy websites or committing to social events that were not in the best interest in my family. All because I allowed myself to get swept up in the Taz’s flurry of energy. I started to notice this was getting out of control when Taz was getting all self-entitled and ownership-y with my babes. MY BABES!! My Mommy Alarm System started sounding off, subtly at first and then LOUD, RED FLASHING ALARMS AND LIGHTS. Taz met its match when it messed with Mama Bear. Then I started to say no. Often, but not in a confrontational way (because I knew it would be wasted breath, and I just wanted some space without a discussion). I redefined my personal boundaries and honored my gut feelings. However, recently, I started to let this person back in because I thought my shiny, new, boundaries were not only strong enough, but were clearly communicated. My hope was we could move forward in a healthier direction. So I give an inch, and Taz wants the whole damn mile. Or 10. Or whatever. That’s when it occurred to me that Taz might have a hard time hearing with all that spinning and destruction.
So to put it bluntly, I’m pissed. I’m pissed that Taz can’t or won’t understand personal space and comfort zones. I’m pissed that a Mama Bear doing her job looks like The Bitch. I’m even more pissed that I care how I am perceived.

So there, People, Mama Bear is angry. So angry, it’s blocking my creative juices from flowing. ROAR! Now excuse me while I either harmoniously work out with my Wii Sports Active Trainer or defy her by indulging my anger in some Ben and Jerry’s Marzipan Mission ice cream.

Please, People, offer me some words of enlightenment on how you deal with your own personal Tasmanian Devil!

That Awkward Age

So there a slew of things I probably should talk about it, but don’t feel like it right now. I don’t want to talk about how Thomas has an ENT appointment for his slew of ear infections and persistent fluid in his ears. I don’t want to talk about the clique that is forming in Marie’s 3 year old preschool class. I don’t want to talk about my conflicting feelings about whether or not to have a third child. And I don’t want to talk about my internal struggle of being a good mom and making sure my non-mommy needs are being fulfilled.

No, what I want to talk about is that “awkward” age. You know, the one where you are in your 30’s and still using acne medicine, yet have discovered your need for a good under eye cream for all those fine lines. I canNOT believe that I am STILL going to the dermatologist for acne (I still see the same doctor or one of his kids who practice in the same office) and need prescription acne medicine. However, this is the first time I have ever needed a good moisturizer for dry skin and an under eye cream for all those fine lines. What is up with that?! I was feeling all down about it . . . until last week when I was at JoAnn Fabrics. I went there after the gym so I was all sweaty with scant traces of makeup. I was waiting in line to pay for my stuff, and two teenage boys were standing behind me complaining about how crabby the old ladies are who work there (which is true because they are about 108 years old and ALWAYS crabby). So here’s a summary of our conversation:

Teenage Boy 1: Wow! That lady was crabby!

Me: Yes, they are always crabby!

Teenage Boy 1: I am going to give her shit about being crabby.

Teenage Boy 2: No, you’re not.

Me: I’m sure your Mom didn’t raise you to be rude.

Teenage Boy 2: You need to be extra nice to her so she doesn’t have a reason to be rude to you.

Me: (Take my baby boy themed scrapbook paper out of my bag) Now, your Mom raised you right.

Teenage Boy 1: Wow! You don’t look like you are old enough to be a mom.

Me: I have two little ones at home.

Teenage Boy 2: What school do they go to?

Me: One is only 10 months old, and the other goes to preschool.

Teenage Boy 2: You have a long way to go.

Me: I used to teach Junior High. I know what is coming down the pipeline for me.

Teenage Boy 1: Where did you used to teach?

Me: (I state the name of the school)

Teenage Boy 1: Wow! I go to a high school in that same district.

And then it got weird. I felt like a little Mrs. Robinson-ish. Teenage Boy 1 wanted to continue the conversation and discuss why I was using my own bags and not opting for plastic, but I was kind of tuning out. I was happy to think, that to these two teenagers, I didn’t look like a mom that was at that “awkward” age of requiring both acne medicine and under eye cream for fine lines. (Did I mention that I was all post-workout gross?!) After the initial good feeling of being mistaken for a young(er) girl, I felt bad about why it should matter that I look young. I like getting older because that means I am getting wiser. And then I thought that it doesn’t hurt to be young -looking AND wise, now does it? I’ll ride that train as long as I can.

Now, some of you may think that this story is a fabrication because what teenagers hang out at JoAnn Fabrics? (Smart ones that think I look younger than I am, that’s who)! However, as strange as the story it, it is all completely true, (and yet totally random).

Anything random that made you feel good about yourself happen lately and like to share? I’d love to hear it!