The Coffee Table

My husband moved out on his own when he was 18 and knew it all. He took with him clothing, a pillow case and pillow, and perhaps a few other random possessions. A coffee table was passed down to him.

When we first moved in together, I began the pain of redecorating a man's house aka what all awesome girlfriends accomplish. Of course, what this means is I got rid of the trash, broken items, tacky items, items with holes, items with, well... no real comfort, style, appeal...basically his things. It is not my fault that his things fell into this category. It's just factual...ask any girlfriend.

Please understand, I am not a pack rat, I purge my house every season. I do not like clutter, I do not like junk, and most of all, I do not like disorganization. So I had been purging my things for some time. My mom can attest to this, during my childhood, she never had to tell me to clean my room. So again, also not my fault that the majority of items to purge were, well...his.

There was one item that stuck out like a sore thumb...the coffee table. The coffee table was heavy, solid wood, scratched, old, and large in a room of other large items. I knew I'd never get rid of it, this was an untouchable item.

Over the years, we had a child, moved to another rental house, bought a house, and married. The coffee table came with us each step of the way, heavy, hard to move (not that I lifted it...), good for storage, hard on your toes, if you accidentally knocked into it in the dark, sleep deprived to nurse a crying baby. Just saying.

Several years ago, I had the coffee table restored. I knew I would need to decorate around it, and I needed it in it's prime. Oh, and my husband would like it too. It's return to prime time, gave me an idea. I pictured a couch, several versions in my head, the perfect compliment to the restored table. I searched for 3 years. I'd be a decorator's nightmare. Then, as if Jupiter had aligned with Mars, and peace was guiding the planets, love steered me right to my couch, on Facebook, for sale: must go.

Our living room is now not only almost completed, but we now use it--you don't have to sit on the floor.

The other day, I was working, laptop on the coffee table, I looked out the window. I saw calm on a suburban street. I picked up my tea glancing at the coffee table, then out the window. It hit me, only this time my toes were not injured, there was no crying baby, he's 8.

The coffee table now sitting in a living room, a room in a house we own, a room that we hardly used before. We own a house with a room we hardly used. I looked around me. This is my life, this is what we've accomplished...and the coffee table has been there each step of the way.

Party of Perfect, Table for Zero

For awhile, I have been trying to get myself to remember how I did this working mom gig previously. This weekend I read an article about the working mom's work life balance lie. It wasn't an in-depth research article, with NYU study citations and books written by Harvard grads in the footnotes. It was written by a working mom about...(shockingly)... her own life.

Reality is you are not going to work 15 hour days, work out, clean the house, fold the laundry, make a 5 course dinner, make out with your husband, check homework, and put your kid(s) to bed every day and then wax your legs, pluck your brows, and polish your nails...without help and a little downgrade on the expectations you have for yourself. This last part may be the hardest part of all. AND it doesn't mean you have to gain weight, have unruly brows, or be a Kardashian.

I can't look to the past for how to do it now. In the past, my step daughter lived with us. She was old enough for 1-2 hours of unexpected child care, to sweep a floor, run a vacuum, and occasionally start dinner. In the past, a bad week was 45-50 hours, not 60-70. In the past, my husbands shifts were just that shifts: he didn't need relief to come to leave his floor, he just needed the clock to read a certain time. In the past, Gabriel didn't have homework, he went to bed earlier, he didn't have sports. In the past, I could eat a cupcake without much thought.

I can't look at a mistake as a sign that irresponsible immature Janine has surfaced. Sometimes, life happens. I mixed up a soccer schedule when Gabriel's practice day changed. I forgot to confirm plans with friends I haven't seen in awhile, and then never met them. It took me 2 weeks to reschedule an eye appointment the doctor's office had to move.

I have been beating myself up for the last 6 months: every time I don't get on the treadmill, every time laundry isn't done, every time I leave the dishes in the sink/dishwasher, every time (fill in the blank), every time I don't call someone I have been meaning to, or make dinner plans with our friends, every time I go to sleep instead of doing any of the above. But most of all I have been beating myself up for time lost. Gabriel is 8 and soon he will be 17 and he won't want to watch a movie with me and he won't want to show me his awesome new kung fu move against the pillow...10 times. I need to enjoy more and worry less.

So I have started looking at things in the present:

Never in my life have I had the desire to make a 5 course meal in any regularity. Case and point, today I asked my 8 year old if he knew where the cheese grater was. Why do I think I suddenly need to this now?

Today, I watched my blackberry buzz off the kitchen table. It was 11am, I was off, Gabriel was putting a game in the Wii. I picked up the buzzing "find Janine device", I looked at it. 45 emails. I put it down and I played Pac Man Party with my 8 year old. I was off.

Gabriel took a bath, he rarely does this, he is a shower kid. He yelled mom, come see my great water bending move. When half the water in the tub ended up on my floor, I didn't yell or sigh, I didn't get a towel, I laughed. and then we laughed.

I made a work out schedule again, not in-depth, but realistic. It will kick my butt for awhile, but than my butt will look awesome in the jeans I have been eying at Lucky.

and you see, the thing is, I feel better already. AND I am taking Friday off.

Dirty Mondays

The Spring before Gabriel turned 3 we bought our first house. It was love at first site, my now husband and I met in the middle of the house, each of us only having seen half and said "this one". Our Realtor brought us our keys and champagne a few seemingly long weeks later.

It was extremely important to me that Gabriel grew up in a house we owned, a house that was our home. Of course, with buying a house comes extra expenses. We had to adjust: a larger monthly payment, water/sewer, the water heater breaking turning our T shaped hallway into a swimming pool.

Money was tight, our expenses had increased, but our salaries had stayed the same. Christmas was around the corner. Pre-school wasn't far away.

I saw it on TV...the advertisement/informational show regarding the research around it got me hook, line, and sinker. I watched the entire 30 minute special. It was a blue and green Little Tikes kitchen. Finally, one that wasn't pink. I found it on-line. It was $150. Plus tax. Plus shipping.

I had not spent that much on one item for Gabriel yet. I debated this in my head. What else would be under the tree if I bought this? What if he never played with it? I wanted that kitchen. He was always playing in the real kitchen. We could put it in the real kitchen, we all spend a lot of time in there. It was perfect. I could pick it up at Little Tikes, I worked near the HQ.

My now husband, being versed in these things, stayed up and put the kitchen together the night before. I did my share...I put the stickers on and put the empty box in the garage.

A sleepy 3 year old Gabriel, woke on Christmas morning and sat on the couch staring at his gifts. Then he saw it. He walked right over to it and started cooking. He loved it! We had to remind him he had other gifts to open...a ton of them at that. Spoiled like his mom, my mom would say.

Fast forward, 5 years. The kitchen, now Gabriel's restaurant, Dirty Mondays, is still in our kitchen. The microwave is covered with stickers. There is a praying lamb by the phone, just in case Gabriel will say if you inquire.

Just yesterday, I ate at Dirty Mondays. They have excellent service and you get a birthday hat, even if it's not your birthday. My bacon was crispy and the eggs were amazing. The menu varies, but you can often get a large meal for only $5. Sometimes dessert is pricey. Sometimes they run out of chicken. Service is always with a smile, especially when you tickle the chef/waiter.

Every now and then the restaurant closes. No reason is ever given. That's when pizza girl comes in handy. Gabriel laughs at pizza girl. Pizza girl is a hick sounding, gum chewing mommy who doesn't pronounce any of her words correctly. "No one wants shoe topping, mom!" Gabriel will laugh. "Who's this ma you keep talkin' about?" I will reply. "I am pizza girl, now you wanna make an order, ya know I have under my nails to clean." "Health code, health code", Gabriel will scream! "Dirty Mondays is open"!

It's still the best $150 plus tax I ever spent.

Saying Goodbye

Before I left for a work trip I went to see my grandpa. My mom said I may not have another chance, and as it happened, mom's are normally right. Go ahead, read that again, I may not have it in print too often.

As I drove to the exit I have gotten off so many times during my life, I had to take a deep breath. How do you say good bye? Does he know it's good bye? Does he realize why so many people are coming to see him all at once? I thought of a million things to say, none of them seemed right. Final conversations are only ever good in movies and books, after multiple re-writes and edits.

How do you say good bye when it really is good bye? I am the oldest of 26 grandchildren. I was the fixer growing up and now probably the one that sounds so old to at least 10 cousins. I can't fix this. You can't fix lung cancer. When I explained things to my son, he said well don't they have a shot for that?

I walked into the house I had walked into so many times, as a child, sometimes multiple times a day. We used to ride our bikes here. I think I played in that front yard more than my own. The first time I looked at the pictures around the funeral home, I noticed a lot of joy and a lot of kids. My very large family could make some rabbit colonies look small. How many kids have been in and out of that house?

No pink jelly shoes today. Grandpa would be in the hospital bed in his room. There were pictures from an aunt's wedding at the funeral home. I was around 8. I was dancing with my grandpa. No dancing today. I stood by the bed. I was afraid I'd pull one of the tubes. I tried not to move. Grandpa looked so small, so weak. At 33 years old, I wanted my mommy to tell me what to do.

There was so much I wanted to say. I wanted to sit on the bed, but I was too afraid the movement would hurt him. We talked, he seemed tired. I thought I should let him rest. He asked about work, about my trip. He talked about my son and when he had come to visit. He offered some advice. I said yes. He knew there was more, but he didn't push it. He's known me a long time... fixers don't like to be fixed.

When I left, two little girls knocked on the door, they wanted their gumballs and grandma delivered. That would have been grandpa's job not too long ago. No, these are chocolate covered ants. Your grandma really likes them. Here eat one. Grandpa, that's gross. Oh, you don't think you can eat it because your teeth don't come out? I can eat it, Grandpa, I will. Give it to me.

So many people came. I guess when you have 11 kids and live in the same house for decades, you know a few people. As I walk around and look at the pictures, I see Grandpa had a good life. Dramatic at times, sorrowful at others, but also joyous, happy, and loving.

There is only one time I remember Grandpa ever being angry with me. I was not only the spoiled oldest, but I was the daughter of his oldest child. That's good for as many chocolate covered grapes and red shell pistachios you can eat in your pink jelly shoes.

Let the Memory Live Again

We all have them. No matter how much you try to escape, run, or hide, they don't go away. Some make us smile, some make us cry, some make us wistful and some just make us wince. No, I am not talking about Mothers, I am talking about memories.

The other day, my Dad brought over a box of books. The Disney series with read along record. Of course, there were more, but the Disney series made me pause--take the needle off the record. I have so many memories of these books. I had no idea my Dad still had them. I am now hoping to find a record player (hey, I still have Thriller on vinyl, back off, it's a good purchase...like you don't have your 8 track tapes...).

The nostalgia that books from my childhood could instantly cause, got me thinking. What other memories do I have that are instantly brought back...just a few from the last few days...

• The Florescent Light over my Kitchen Counter: Tati (my Dad's Father), who would watch tv and have a snack over the counter, with a florescent counter light on. Perhaps he only did this when my brother and I were visiting, so he could watch us in the other room, but I remember it none-the-less.
  
• Waffle Irons: Nana (my Mom's Grandma) used to make the best waffles using an old waffle iron. Coincidentally a waffle iron was one of the first things I asked for when I had my first apartment. I still have the one my Grandma (Nana's daughter) bought me.
• Matilda: a good friend from college and all our fun times together, I wish we still lived down the hall from one another many times each day. There are so many other things that cause me to think of her as well (Friends, Marlboro Lights, The Go-Gos, Dawson Creek, the list goes on and on)

Of course, there are numerous memories that we all have that will instantly bring a smile to our face, make us laugh, or make us pick up the phone (ok, now-a-days text) a good friend. But there are many that will make us sad or make us angry.

• I can't pass a certain rapid station on the West Side without remembering a student I read to in my early 20s. I often wonder where that little 2nd grader is today. I wonder what the me of today would have said to her drunk mother on the rapid had I been there instead of the 22 year old me.
• After a bad break up, it was a few years before I could return to my college without sadness or a sickening memory. Now, this seems ludicrous to me.

It occurs to me as I type this, that memories are both wonderful and dangerous. They are what makes us who we are and what can tear us apart.

IF we let them...This reminds me of a religion lesson in school regarding freewill. Freewill was how good and evil was explained, how we can love a God, who isn't always nice. Plagues anyone? I can let memories cause me to smile or I can let them cause me to cry. The choice is mine. What I chose will determine not only my mood for that minute, hour, day, but how I move forward or how I stay stagnant.

Staying still is boring...I chose to move forward.

Do Your Pearls Ever Get in the Way of Your Corporate Ladder Climb?

While traveling last week for work, I went to dinner with a colleague from our Manhattan office. Over dinner, we spoke about how we ended up in Human Resources, our field, our industry. We both remained very politically correct, after all we aren't friends, just co-workers. HR co-workers at that. After we both had a glass of wine with our dinner, we looked at one another as if thinking I'd like one more, but what if they don't...My colleague, senior to me, asked the waiter for one more glass of wine, and I, of course, was happy to do the same. No one should drink alone (except George Thorogood).

We continued our conversation and after awhile, my colleague said, is it hard, what you do? I was a little confused thinking our jobs are not that different. Being a good HR professional, she read my confusion and said: In front of me, I see a 1950s housewife battling with a take charge corporate climber in a fitted suit. The only similarity is a strand of pearls.

In this corner wearing an A line skirt, lovely pearls, and fitted sweater we have 1950s Janine holding a baked apple pie...In this corner, wait... how does she climb that ladder with those 4 inch heels on...I think her arm is stuck in the strand of pearls...she's not going to make it...no, no wait she's using the strand of pearls as a lasso to pull herself up. Ladies and gentleman, an amazing show of talent! What's that in her hand? An apple pie?

The first thing that struck me regarding this statement is I have described myself in a very similar way--I am very self aware -- even if I sometimes ignore this awareness.

How do I do this? I have asked myself that question numerous times over the last several weeks. I know I did it, but it seemed more streamlined then. Not as difficult. It's like I am out of shape and practice.

You call this dinner? Traffic, traffic, traffic. This is the Office of Weed Control, have you noticed your backyard? What's for breakfast? Tuck in your shirt for school. Can you review the RFP? Check written for field trip, buzz of Blackberry. Picture package picked out. Executive 0ffer letter drafted. Termination, exit interview. Follow up with employee, Blackberry buzz...breathe...and again...

This week I mixed up my son's soccer practice days. Granted they changed these days the same week I was traveling, but I would have never made that mishap before.

I am not as far in organizing the stewardship binders for my son's school as I would like.

I really wish dinners were planned better. This is a huge heartbreak.

I can drink coffee and 5pm and still sleep at night.

I haven"t been on my treadmill for awhile, but it's okay because my caloric intake is low due to lack of time to eat.

Is it hard?

Yes.

I am still adjusting, still trying to earn that platinum medal for pole vaulting in 4 inch heels while baking an apple pie as a child yells mom in the background and someone else says do you have a minute?

Would I change it?

No.

The 1950s Me and the Corporate Climber Me are friends. They have a lot of work to do, that 1970s me is constantly doing something nuts.

I Gave Him Life But He Gave Me Life Too

This week I have been reflecting on motherhood. I have thought about everything from finding out I was pregnant, to the hospital trip, the never ending labor and delivery (arrived at hospital at 11pm on August 17th, Gabriel graced us with his presence at 7:01pm on August 18th).

When I found out I was pregnant, I had no concrete life plan. I had a plan and then one day I decided that plan wasn't what I wanted, but I didn't know what I wanted. So, I did the only logical thing one can do ---I just stopped making decisions. Around me, my friends were continuing careers they had been in for a few years, returning to school to start a new career or further the one they had, starting to get married, moving to new cities and new states. Life was happening around me.

Then, as EPT told me, life was growing inside me. I was nervous, but I was not afraid. I was stressed, but I wasn't losing sleep. I repeated over and over again "I am going to be a mom." I'd look thoughtfully in the mirror as I said this, as if somehow the mirror would show me what that meant. Hey, it shows who is the fairest of them all! I did the only logical thing one can do --- I started making decisions -- my child needed me to. I may have been failing at my own life, but I was not going to fail his. I never have failed him and I never will.

Gabriel is the reason I became not only the person I had stopped being, but better than she ever was. Do I have days where I am exhausted? Hello, it's Wednesday and I have already worked 4o hours. Am I ever unsure that what I decided Gabriel could or could not do was the right decision? Of course. Do I suddenly cry at Hallmark commercials and shake my head at teenagers? Yes, but really some of those commercials are sad and have you seen how teens act today? The bottom line is, I am a great mom, who is raising a great son. Time is happening around me and I am treasuring every second.

I brought my son into the world (ok, so there was some help from my doctor) but my son showed me the world.

The Seasons of My Life, Thoughts Provoked by Stevie Nicks

Years ago I watched a movie with Gwenyth Paltrow: Sliding Doors. The movie follows her life when she makes the train and when she doesn't. SPOILER ALERT: even though it's years old: when she makes the train she discovers cheating. When she doesn't, she still discovers cheating, it just takes a bit longer. The ending to side A and side B is the same. It gets you thinking: is final jeopardy already decided?

Having attended (subjected to, survived) 12 years of Catholic school this movie stuck with me. We were taught free will. Without it, how do you explain good vs evil, yin and yang, the Browns and the Steelers, the Yankees vs the Free World...

I have always been one to believe (yes, I do believe in some things, Virginia), that the person I am today is a result of my life experiences. (You take the good, you take the bad and there you have the fact of life...) The child within me has risen above...but what if none of these things occurred? Would I still be me?

Sailing through the changing ocean tides:

Visiting my baby brother in the hospital looking at a room of babies through a window seeing which one he was. I still remember sitting in the corner of a gray plaid couch when he came home so I could hold him (the corner so the arm could assist me in supporting his new born head, I later fed him spaghetti). To this day, I treat him like a child and a friend. He's my blood, he's my baby brother. He now prefers steak.

My parents divorce. I grew up. I looked out. I learned. I learned more than either of my parents would probably be comfortable in me sharing. Time makes you bolder, children get older.

Empathy. The first time you serve in a soup kitchen, the first time you help a child to read (and then later see that child on the rapid with a parent who is too drunk to listen), the first time you help at a school and learn that the breakfast you are feeding him/her is the first meal they have had since lunch at school yesterday.

Motherhood: the first time you hold your baby in your arms and know that you are a mother. That no matter what, you are a mother. The first time you run every light on a main road in an effort to get your unconscious child to the ER just a little quicker. The memory of that day still makes me cry, it was the worst day of my life. I am a mother.

Anger at the world. The first time (of many) you read The Diary of Anne Frank. The first time you see a man pick up a prostitute in a pressed/ironed shirt driving an A6 with a Solon High School sticker in the window. The racial slurs out of the mouths of kids.

Saying I do. Forever. (sentences start ending with: for the rest of my life), For better, for worse. Til Death (read that again, til DEATH). Building your life around the needs and wants of another? Maybe for the Hope Diamond? UGH. Disney doesn't teach you how hard this can be after the fairy tale dress gets put away.

The first time you lose a job when you have something to lose. The landslide can take you down.

College, Alpha Xi Delta: ...but without bitterness, or defeat, you must encounter misfortune and with humility meet success. So I will.

This Thing Called Work, What a Time Sucker!

It's been almost a month since my return to full time work. Possibly because of all the hours I have been working, it seems much longer. However, due to all the unknowns, it seems much shorter.

I still don't have "the process" down. Part of me feels like I need to cut myself some slack--returning to full time work after being home over a year and working part time for 8 months is an adjustment. It would be an adjustment on its own, let alone when you have a child, a home, and a dog, who just learned the hard way squirrels are not black with a white stripe. The other part of me feels like a month is long enough and I should have this down (have I ever mentioned I have high self standards?).

So readers, perhaps your insight and suggestions can help me return to my previously perfect in every way self.

Still working on:
1. I have yet to clean my entire house at once. I know this is possible. I vaguely remember a life in which I did this and worked full time.

2. I haven't managed to fit in consistent workouts. I am starting to feel sluggish (and fat). I know I will feel better once my workout routine is in check, I just haven't gotten the system down yet.

3. I really prefer to make a weekly dinner menu, shop for said weekly menu, and prep things the night before. This saves so much time and guarantees a decent home cooked meal each night. While this may have been easier to accomplish during the winter months (hello crock pot season), I need to make this adjustment now before my son returns to school.

4. My bad long commute self is doing decently with my miles spent in a car, but I could probably use a little more work on not using words like "moron", "idiot", "seriously", and "wtf" while driving. At least not as often...it's not like I can't use my horn. Right?

Glimmers of sparkly shinning perfection are there though...seriously, break out your sunglasses people!

Got it:
1. I really need to keep my bed time consistent, I need my sleep and I don't wake up easily. My mom told me once that when I was a baby, she used to have to wake me up to eat. I am not shocked.

2. I am all around better when I have time for myself. Some days it's just 20 minutes, other days it's an hour. The point is I need it and everyone around me needs me to have it too.

3. I can drink coffee at 4:00pm and still go to sleep at night.

4. I can only do so much and sometimes things have to wait until the next day. Please return to breathing, I really have realized this. I swear I am not even looking at my blackberry.

5. Breathe. Absorb. Listen. Think. There's something to be said about being a sponge. Now if I could just figure out how to use one more consistently.

This Little Light of Mine

Last week, as I was busily working away at the table, my husband informed me I had an aura. He added, going back to work suits you well. I don't know that he saw angelic lights surrounding me while seraphims and cherubims sang, but I do know I was extremely happy. The sick part is, it was after 10 at night, I had been working from home for several hours after working at an office all day, but I was happy. Maybe it wasn't an aura he saw, maybe it was just the light of the end of the tunnel. Ya know the one, we've been waiting on for the better part of two years.

Those of you, who have read this blog before, know I was working part time, barely returned to full time and was once again laid off. I wasn't very happy with several aspects of that job, so while the end result didn't exactly bring tears to my eyes, its disappearance made finances tighter than they had been.

Then as if all the stars and planets simultaneously aligned in the House of Janine ( I believe that's the 10th house--Capricorn), I had 2 straight weeks of nothing but multiple interviews. My measly weekly unemployment payments could not cover the interview gas expense. Everything started happening at once, everyone was moving rapidly knowing that I was actively interviewing. Then, I found it.

It was like sliding on a pair of jeans and having your butt look awesome even though you didn't do squats that week and had a chocolate milkshake (yes, with whip cream, why would you even wonder).

The excitement, the opportunity, the satisfaction is probably why, even now as my blackberry vibrates, I don't mind stopping to see what is needed. It's much easier to give something all you have, when you want to as opposed to have to. I guess the same could be said for relationships.

Perhaps, what my husband actually saw was happiness, me without stress all around, me back in my element. While I know my first few paychecks will pay out larger bills than normal, I also know that I can pay my bills again. That I can eventually take Gabriel on excursions, go shopping once more, work on the house again, eventually take a real vacation. Will everything happen as rapidly as I would like? Probably not, I lack this thing called patience. But it will happen, the light is starting to shine once more.

On my way to work this morning I saw a license plate that read "i magine". I think I will.

Seriously, My Dad Can Cook and Sew

I didn't grow up in a two parent household, but I grew up with two parents. I wasn't the only child in my grade school to have divorced parents, but it wasn't until I was older that I realized some kids only had one parent. Normally, that one parent was the mom. Dads often seem to get a bad reputation in the world of parenting. This never made sense to me because I had a dad, a very present and loving dad.

There is a commercial, where the stressed dad tries to make a hotdog in the microwave because his wife isn't there and he isn't sure what to do. The hotdog is inedible. I hate this commercial and I find it insulting to mankind. My dad didn't buy microwave dinners and take us to a fast food place to eat. My dad cooked for us and we helped. Some of my best soups are ones he taught me to make. Just like my dad, I have a hard time telling others how to make these soups because a pinch of this and a dash of this, doesn't help someone who wants measurements. My brother has a special green bean recipe he created when he was 8 with my dad. My dad tried to teach me how to bake, but somethings are just not teachable in my world. If you want a cake, don't come to me.

My dad didn't look at a vacuum cleaner in a confused state of mind or at a sponge wondering what it did. He knew what these things did, even if he didn't like to use them. This is probably why we had chores!

I only know one person who can sew by hand as well as my father, and that's my husband. They can both have 5 buttons on a shirt while I'm still on the first button. The two of them probably have more in common than either would like to admit. For example, neither has really taught me to sew. Guess they will just have to keep doing it for me.

My dad and I have always been close. As I have gotten older, we have had our battles, we are both stubborn people who are always right. But despite or perhaps because of this, I will always be daddy's little girl. He taught me to pay attention to my surroundings, to not be afraid no matter where I was, to walk with my head held high. He taught me that I could be anything I wanted to be if I tried, no matter what anyone else said. My dad taught me feminism. He showed me a different part of life, the part where people don't always have everything they need, let alone everything they want. He taught me to care for others and as a result I developed an empathy for people that sometimes causes me to be very "save the world".

I never understood the fathers and the mothers who leave. I never understood the fathers and mothers that can't or don't. Yes, people I said "and mothers". Look around today and you will find that many children, who have only one parent, only have a father. Perhaps, the marketing departments of the world need to catch up on that.

Was my dad perfect? Of course, not. Does he have his faults? Of course. Like most adults I don't look at my parents with rose colored glasses, but their mistakes and their mishaps have helped shape me as a person. I had a good example as to what a man should be and shouldn't be. Perhaps, my dad wishes that he didn't teach me a lot of the shouldn'ts, but without those, I wouldn't have been able to step out into the world as a woman and take care of myself.

Now as a parent myself, I get to see my father be a grandpa. I am glad my son has the time he has with my dad. I sometimes get frustrated and wish he would do more of what I ask, but in the end I turned out pretty near perfect (stop laughing)...the time my son spends with my dad will only serve to make him a more well rounded individual. Some lessons are priceless. I wouldn't be the person I am today without the dad I have, with all his positives and negatives.

I Can Afford Laundry Soap

I spent the better part of the last week trying to figure out exactly how I was going to survive with no income for 2 weeks. It wasn't that I would starve, but I would need gas to get to work, there is only one roll of toilet paper left, and I am out of laundry soap. It appeared that my first 2 weeks back to work would be the hardest financially in the last 2 years. Today, I went to do what I thought was my last unemployment filing, only to find the system won't accept my return to work date of tomorrow until next week. I will receive unemployment pay this week for the last time. A huge weight was lifted off my shoulder. I could buy laundry soap, toilet paper, and have gas money.

The fact that being able to buy laundry soap could alleviate so much stress made me reflect on the last few years.

It hasn't at all been easy. It's been hard and stressful. There's been bouts of depression, periods of anger, there's been a lot of blame, there's been a lot of screaming. There's been late fees and collection calls, there's been tears. There's been feelings of despair and hopelessness, there's been a lot of sleeping. There's been mac n cheese dinners made without milk or butter, depending on which one we were out of. There's been small grocery lists and no mall purchases.

It hasn't been continuously awful. There's been at home movie nights and library trips. There's been bike rides and camping in the living room. There's been cooking together as a family, there's been hugs, there's been laughter. There's been glimmers of hope, there's been zero balances and pay offs. There's been a rebuilding on very personal levels.

We didn't lose our house, like so many did. We didn't have to pull our son from his school like others did. Our heat worked all winter, our lights always came on. I am typing this with an internet connection that never ceased. We were lucky to have family that could help out when things were really hard or with an unexpected cost that severely set us back. We had friends that invited us out and then wouldn't let us pay.

I'd be lying if I said shopping wasn't something that I was looking forward to, I really would love to walk into the mall and walk out with bags of clothes. I'd like to get highlights and a pedicure, two things that 2 years ago I did without a second thought. But things change. I have changed. I am looking forward even more to being able to pay my bills without a hardship, to my credit card once again having a zero balance, to building up a savings account that will allow me to sleep better at night. To buying laundry soap.

Words from Gabriel

The funny thing about kids is you spend the first 18 months waiting for them to talk and walk. Then they do...

Mom, I can't believe I was fired. I was the most senior person on Sector 23. They fired me for no reason, no reason, can you believe it? They are gonna need me for Sector 24 because it's very dangerous. Mom, you'll need to market me to new prospects.

When someone asks what ridiculous means I just show them a picture of YOU!

I am old enough to ride my bike around the block by myself. I know you don't want to admit it, but really I am almost 8 years old, and well...*shakes head*, you are just going to have to deal with it.

I wish I had those kids' parents because they don't have to wear helmets when they ride their bikes. You are so unfair. Like the meanest mom EVER.

(*I cleaned Dirty Mondays for you, here is my bill.*) I am not paying, I didn't ask you to clean and I closed Dirty Mondays down.

You are so ignorant. (*Can you tell me what that means?*). Yes, you can't learn, which is true because you just had to ask.

I love you more in your face, HA! 1 to 0.

On a scale up to 200 for being nice to me, you have a 166. Arlo (*the dog*) is beating you. You should change.

It's not that I am not hungry. It's just that the meatball tunnel in my stomach is full, but the Cheetos tunnel is empty.

(*Gabriel, you need to pick up dog poop in the back yard*) Why do I have to do everything around here? I mean, what exactly do you do?

I am going to go to 'Ale for college, mom. (*Do you mean Yale?*). Whatever, it's in Connecticut.

Dad's rule is that even if it's inappropriate, we are still going to watch it.

You can say don't tell mom, but she will just find out anyway.

Updated LinkedIn but Not My Resume

When I was a kid, my uncle bought me a set of books. One of the books was about a mom and daughter running errands on the mom's day off. They had breakfast, went to the post office, the grocery store, the bank, the park for lunch. I don't know why this book stayed in my memory, I couldn't tell you a thing about the others.

In the illustrations, the mom is wearing a suit with heels. This is a far cry from my errands outfit normally consisting of a t-shirt, cargo pants/shorts, a ball cap with pony tail sticking out, and my ever present aviators. I wear a ball cap and aviators so often that if I lived in LA or NYC, paparazzi would probably follow me thinking I was someone famous. I've gone to the bank twice this week and it's only Wednesday. Normally, the grocery store is before or after the bank, dependent on if I have to go to the post office or not. I have a bad habit of not knowing I don't have stamps until I actually need one. I blame on-line bill pay. Unlike the mom in the book, I try to accomplish most of my errands while my son is in school. Once he is home, it's snack time, homework, play time, dinner, clean up, bed time routine. If someone was stalking me, they'd catch on to my schedule very easily. Note to potential stalkers: I can lock and load, you've been warned.

I've never been a fly by the seat of my pants (or skirt) type of woman. This doesn't mean I am not fun, but it means I like a certain amount of consistency and order. I like a schedule, but can stray from it and adapt. I will dance in the rain, but my rain boots will dry out in the garage, on the rubber mat, placed by the door, for this purpose. My toothbrush is always in my carry-on luggage, along with my phone charger, and contacts supplies. A psychologist would probably set out a list of reasons for this Type A anal retentive nature stemming from my childhood, some of it may make sense, until you meet my brother and realize we are polar opposites.

I think my drive and motivation force me to be this way in order to run a house, deal with stress, raise a child, and work, it makes me feel like I have some type of control in a world where we can control so little. All week I have been happily and excitedly prepping to return to work full time. I've been going through my office boxes, making calls, figuring out day care, doing errands, cleaning, devising a new work out schedule, you get the idea...but...I haven't worked full time in about 2 years...

In the back of my head, there's this little worry of what if I can't do it anymore? What if I don't remember how to work 50 plus hours a week and still be a mother? What if I don't remember how to be a mother and still do my job well? What if I can't keep my house clean anymore? How will I fit in my workouts? Can I even still put make-up on?

Then it hits me, I could hire a cleaning person if needed, Gabriel is capable of doing more chores than he was when I worked before, the puppy isn't a puppy anymore, Bob Evans Friday nights were always fun, being so close to Beachwood Place will help me keep my workouts so I can shop. I start to feel better. I still don't know what half the stuff in this make-up bag is though.

I start to realize I can do this, I will do this, I will do it all and rock at it. I may not sleep a lot. I may need a trip to Sephora and Bare Essentials to remember how I put this stuff called eyeshadow on. I am Wonder Woman (back off Linda Carter). Aah another motivation for keeping my workouts---I see a Wonder Woman Halloween costume in my future. I always wanted those boots.

I am not updating my resume again, just LinkedIn and I did that on Friday before my workout after the post office.

That's a First Grade Wrap! Scene.

With the end of the school year approaching, books, projects, and yes pet beetles are coming home every day in my son's backpack. I have updated his school scrapbook with various things throughout the year, but the end of the school year brings many additions at once. Last night, I worked on adding these additions to the now overflowing scrapbook. I started flipping through, back to the beginning...

I looked at his pre-school art work. There is a difference between his 3 year old and 4 year old projects. I can tell by looking at them which year they were--although I did mark the backs too. I smiled as I remembered things about pre-school. I can do it, Mommy, he would say when he started using scissors. He'd proudly put his school drawing on the fridge, he would sometimes get upset when they were gone. I had to explain to him that the fridge can't possibly hold everything he does. That's why we send some to family, I told him. That's why mommy has a big scrap book, I thought. Our first trick-or-treat once he started school was full of much older kids yelling across the street, Hey, Gabriel, Hi Gabriel, or walking by us with hi-fives for Gabriel, and girls, older girls, smiling. I was flabbergasted.

Kindergarten seems much more grown up, making of books, the addition of actually writing his own name legibly, a full day of school. I remembered his first day of school, I remembered trying to find tie shoes for his small feet. I remember trying to explain to his teacher that he wouldn't tie his shoes by the deadline because he just got them. We started reading a lot more, I never colored and played with play doh so often. Mom, (no longer Mommy) I worked so hard today at school, I need a drink and the remote for cartoons. Mom, you just don't know how hard it is with all this work we do each day. There are so many different lessons. Together we picked out what projects would get mailed and to whom. He started understanding things only stayed on the fridge for a few weeks or months, depending. I remember when he graduated from Kindergarten, he was so proud as he held up his paper certificate.

The first day of 1st grade I cried, much to everyone's dismay, as I didn't cry for Kindergarten. I think it was the uniform, seeing your little baby in chino pants, polo shirt, a belt, and dress shoes with a backpack as big as him, well anyone with half a heart would cry too. He is now reading the 2nd Harry Potter book on his own, whizzing through his math flashcards, he gets upset on days he can't take speed tests at school, he argues logically--- much to my dismay. I am certain my mom prayed for this to happen. I find myself explaining things to him probably more than I should. Last week, he informed me he really was old enough to ride his bike around the block alone, and that, well, I'd have to just accept it. I know you don't want to, mom, but it's true, he said. He put his own speed tests on the fridge. I designated a spot for them. At the grocery store last week, a woman approached me and said, excuse me, you are Gabriel's mom, right? I said yes. She said he's just the most adorable sweetest kid.

You see the thing about parenthood is that it doesn't come with a syllabus. You get a generic form of what to expect from books, you get advice from friends, who have been there done that, you get a list of school supplies each Fall. You are left to figure the rest out on your own. I know I have made mistakes, I have lost my temper when I shouldn't have, I have sometimes not put my foot down because I was too tired for the crabbiness that would follow. But I know I have done a lot of things right too. I know because my son is happy, healthy, and smart.

...and now he's going to be in 2nd grade. When did that happen??

Some Gave All

During a break from a grad class years ago, I walked into the bathroom to find a classmate in a black suit crying over the sink. The black suit didn't necessarily mean anything, most of us came from work. It was the tears. I asked her what was wrong, could I help? She confided in me that her cousin had been killed in service and she had come from calling hours. Her cousin, it turned out, was a Marine. At this time my cousin was serving in Afghanistan, a Marine as well. Suddenly, that seemed very real. Her cousin's funeral, along with many others from his unit, would be picketed by anti-war protesters. I don't always agree with politics, or policies, or wars, but I always support our military men and women, who allow us to continue to benefit from the freedoms we take for granted, like freedom of speech. Somehow, I can't help but think there is a special place in hell for those who protest a funeral. Even though they have freedom of speech, there is such a thing as decency, respect, and empathy.

Years later, I was on a flight to Atlanta for work. When we landed, the pilot announced there would be a slight delay as the plane had carried home a fallen soldier, and he would depart the flight first. There was complete silence. I looked out my window and I watched the coffin being removed and I felt my heart grow heavy. Then I saw, who I can only assume was his wife and parents waiting. I saw the woman, who I assume was his mother, fall to the ground as the man next to her (his father?) held on to her. The tears streamed down my face just like they are as I type this. The Atlanta heat didn't seem too bad that day.

A few months later, I was traveling to DC and there was an Army man behind me (he was young and hot, I noticed, don't judge). When we landed, the pilot made an announcement and the young man seemed very embarrassed. He was on his way out for his first deployment. However, everyone around him had words of encouragement and thanks. People gave him magazines to read, offered him prayers, words of encouragement, thank yous. I saw two people give him money, which he tried to refuse and they insisted he use it for his lunch or a cup of coffee at the airport. I was proud of those around me, I had an increased hope for humanity. I hope he made it home safely.

I have worked part time at a well known mall store that specializes in personalization for a few years. I started when my husband went to nursing school as a way to add to our income after the loss of his. Years later, I am still there, I want to be. People always think of it as the wedding store, or the baptism store. What people don't realize is it's very much a death store. People suffer a loss, and they come in and tell you a story. Last year, a couple came in to get a flag box engraved. Their son, a Marine, had died in service. They didn't know he wanted the Marine sword until his girlfriend made mention of it post death. Apparently, these swords are special order and take months to make. The company who does them is owned by a former Marine. When the owner found out the circumstances of this order, his staff worked overtime for days so this fallen soldier could be buried with his Marine sword. As I was listening to this story, it occurred to me, that this show of gratitude, of thanks, was making this soldiers' parents smile as they prepared to bury their son... and people say mall jobs are not important...

I had a great holiday weekend, and I was happy for the warm weather and time with my family. I never lost sight of why we celebrate this holiday, what it means. I thought of my friends who have deployed husbands, of my family members, who gave their lives in past wars, who served and came home. I thought of that woman's cousin, of the soldier brought home to Atlanta, of the soldier deploying, of the couple who buried their son. My son asked me this morning what holiday today was. I told him, it's the holiday of heroes, the holiday to celebrate those who have maintained our freedoms, kept us safe. It's the holiday to be thankful.

On This Day, in a Year That Shall Not be Disclosed

Like most little girls, I was precious, sweet, smart, and a little, shall we say, opinionated. Hmm, reminds me of a little boy I know...My mom really never had to tell me to clean my room or do my homework. I just did. Like most teen age girls, I battled my mom occasionally on rules, and there was one incident that resulted in me being grounded for a month w/o driving privileges. For the most part, I didn't really become a hard, stress causing, heart attack causing potential until college. Then, I really made up for a pretty well behaved childhood.

I think most mothers and daughters have their rocky years. I do not know if my mom and I have more or less than normal. I do know she is the best mom anyone could have, even if I didn't always know it.

When I was young, my mom worked 2nd shift as a RN in ICU, and often picked up every OT shift offered. I was about 13 when she switched to the Same Day Surgery Unit, and 1st shift hours. My mom often says she wishes she had those hours when we were younger. I don't feel I missed out on anything, but I am sure she has mom guilt about time spent. She shouldn't, she raised two outstanding (well, pretty good) kids.

Needless to say, I remember my mom coming home at midnight only to leave again at 5am for another shift. I remember Kelly (our babysitter for at least a decade) just heating up our dinners. It wasn't until I was much older, that I realized my mom cooked those meals in the early morning hours, so Kelly just had to heat them up. I am pretty sure my mom cried when Kelly found a "real" job.

I guess when you have two small children and you want to give them the best, your work ethic takes over, so your checking account can do what you need it to. My brother and I were spoiled, although at the time I don't think we knew it. I don't remember wanting for anything: I had the "in" shoes, the "in" back pack, the "in" headbands, we went clothes shopping every summer, and I don't remember "Santa" disappointing. Actually, to show you just how good "Santa" was to us, I know I didn't get a Cheer Bear Care Bear because "Santa" couldn't find one. I remember this to this day, because in all honesty, it's probably the only thing I wanted that I didn't get. My mom remembered it too, because several years ago I received an over sized Cheer Bear Care Bear.

I became fully appreciative and fully aware of my mom's sacrifices when I became a mother. I had always known what a good mom I had, but I didn't realize what an exceptionally outstanding mom I had until Gabriel was born. I remember having so much pain after my c-section (I prefer pain to the nausea prescribed pain pills cause me) that I told my mom I was afraid I wouldn't be able to move quick enough, if say, the house caught on fire. My mom just folded the baby clothes she had washed for me and said: "yes, you will because that's what a mother does. You won't think about the pain if you have to protect your baby." I realized for the 2nd time in a week that I was her baby. The first time I found myself doing laundry at 2am, I wanted to call her and say guess what I am doing? I knew she had done the same.

When I applied to graduate school the essay topic was simple: Why Do You Want To Attend This Program? My response started: Each generation wants to do better for the next, each parent wants to provide more than they had. Let me tell you about my mother.

Happy Birthday, Mom! I love you.

Confessions

In true blog etiquette, I have decided to make a few confessions...so here goes...my very important confessions.

1. I have never watched American Idol, nor do I ever plan to. Yes, I know who Kelly Clarkson, Carrie Underwood, and Jennifer Hudson are. Did I see them perform on the show? No. Can I name anyone else from the show? No. Do I care about any of this? No.

2. Sometimes when I blast the stereo, I feel bad for some of my music selections since there are two young kids that live next to me...and maybe they shouldn't hear Sublime...Eminem, Jay Z...

3. I only know who Snookie and Pauly D are from reading People and US Weekly. While channel surfing, I stopped on the Jersey Shore show, and after 20 seconds, quickly changed it as I couldn't believe this is what television has become...or that people actually live this way.

4. I normally wash my hair every 3-4 days because it is very thick and curly, washing it more often dries out my scalp and my hair. So if I ever tell you I can't do something because I have to wash my hair, I am lying.

5. Real Housewives? Puhlease! I understand this is quit an entertaining train wreck. But I refuse to watch because the name of the show is misleading. Are any of these women actually taking care of their own kids? Scrubbing floors? Cooking dinner? Do they even do community work or serve on the PTA? The show should be called (with maybe a few exceptions) Trophy Wives Gone Bad.

6. Even though I have a dog, I can't stand barking. It drives me insane. That being said, I talk to my dog all the time and yes he understands me. Really, he does. Why are you making that face?

7. At first, I thought the Teem Mom show on MTV could be a good thing, open up some dialogue between parents and kids that otherwise may not have happened; let kids see how hard this thing called child rearing really is. However, it seems that instead it has managed to bring to light a very troubling epidemic: girls with such low self esteem and self worth that they purposely try to get pregnant to have a chance to land a spot on a MTV show. Makes me miss the days when MTV just had videos.

8. I brush my teeth for entirely too long, but I just can't stop. If I don't brush for at least 2 minutes, I feel like my teeth are dirty. However, I rarely floss. Oops. I also still have nightmares that a bridge that was put in when I was in 9th grade (I didn't have my two front bottom adult teeth) is going to come out. I make the dentist check it at every cleaning.

9. I don't watch The Biggest Loser anymore because I cried at least once during every episode.

10. I love the E-Trade commercial where the baby is in timeout for riding the dog. I sometimes rewind it and watch it a few times.

Will the Defendant Please Rise

I have made no attempts at hiding my immature and lost early adulthood. I've made no attempts to be deceitful regarding bad decisions I previously made, or irresponsible behavior. I often site examples from my early 20s when talking a friend through a bad time or trying to remind someone that things can and normally do work out--if you learn from your mistakes and try your best. Those of you who went to college with me, probably remember some examples. Some of you probably think you were privy to most of my downfall, but let me tell you, you only saw the tip of the iceberg. It was far, far worse.

I've clawed my way back up from my rock bottom only to find myself falling again. Only this time, it was out of my hands. So why do I feel like I constantly have to defend myself? It's hard enough to have to keep standing up when you are broken, bruised, and battered from falling. It's even harder when you have to defend yourself while standing up.

Yesterday, I was informed that perhaps my two lay offs were my own fault. Maybe something I did caused my particular lay offs. I had no idea I had the kind of power necessary to cause law firms nationwide to cancel summer programs. Or the power to cause a company, which never adjusted to the economic downturn, to hit a downfall when many were rebounding. I wish I had known about this power, maybe I could have used it to find a job already?

Now had this conversation taken place 10 years ago, 8 years ago, I would say absolutely would it have been my fault. Of course 10 or 8 years ago, I wouldn't have said that, but you understand my point. You see, back then I was known to not show up at things, to be irresponsible. It really hurt that as hard as I have worked and as far as I have come in the last 10 years, I still needed to defend myself.

Am I always perfect now? Of course not. Who can say they are? I am, however, a far better person than I was 10 years ago, 5 years ago, even 2 years ago. I could get better at housekeeping. I did it much better after my first lay off. I think because I wasn't having as hard of a time then. Vacuuming didn't make me think about the carpet I wanted to replace, dusting didn't make me think about the furniture I don't have, or the walls I wanted to paint. I was sure at any moment I'd go back to work and I didn't want my house to be dirty. Maybe because I had all these little organization projects I could finally get done.

Do I lose my temper? I am not proud to say, but yes, sometimes I do. Especially now when I am operating on such a short fuse. Stress causes fights. Money causes fight. Stress over money causes household wars. If you think most marriages fail due to a cheating spouse, think again. Most marriages fail due to financial stress.

Do I have days that my bed seems to have magnetic powers as I fight depression? Of course, I am unemployed, I am broke, and I often feel alone. There are only so many times you can say no to Bob Evans before you just don't want to think about bacon anymore (and really I think about bacon all the time, so this is pretty serious).

Am I irresponsible? No. If anything I could stand to have a little more fun. To not constantly be thinking in outline form, to stop thinking about point B before I have finished with point A, to not clean up at parties that aren't at my house, to say no when people ask for help or favors.

Am I immature? A few days ago I would have answered this with a no. However, in the last 72 hours I hit a breaking point, which caused me to do and say some very immature things and they weren't exactly said in a nice even tone topped with sugar. Maybe that is not immaturity, maybe it's just breaking. But it seems like breaking causes immaturity.

Every day I spend hours looking for jobs and applying for jobs. Looking for a job, is a job in itself. I schedule all interviews I am offered, even if they are far away locations (hello, Streetsboro and Highland Heights). I go through the process with everything because something is better than nothing, even if that something is 40 minutes away, gas prices are over $4, and I have a SUV. I had an interview Monday, I have another interview Friday, one on Monday, and one on Tuesday. Plus, I am waiting to hear back from 2 places regarding the next interview. I have a lot in the works, the lengthy processes are just not on the side of my checking account. For someone to say I am doing nothing, irks me.

Today, I am going to follow my normal look for jobs routine, but then I am going to do some housework. I am going to start by cleaning the window pains. I am not going to think about the carpet I'd like to replace or the walls I'd like to paint while I clean. That serves no purpose but to further my depression. I will instead think of a sunny day with a high of 80 and the fact that there is bacon in my freezer. I am not going to think about the doubters, I don't have time to waste on people who don't believe in me. I have bedding to wash.

From Lost to Found

I knew I was a mom, when mother nature informed me with a late cycle. I was late. I was never late. A million thoughts went through my head. We weren't trying, but we obviously weren't doing so great at preventing.

A few days later, while walking in the drug store, I casually walked down the aisle, where the pregnancy tests would be. I shouted behind me, I need a pregnancy test. M said nothing. We drove home, the sun was shining, I looked out the window. I knew it would be positive.

At home we unloaded our purchases and then I went to take the test. It was positive. I shouted from the bathroom to M, who was rooms away: I'm pregnant. In hindsight, I could have at least entered the room he was in. Maybe even taken the test and then handed him one of those "you are going to be a dad cards". I think Hallmark makes them.

You become a mother the minute you know you are expecting. I talked to G (even before I knew he'd be G) all the time in my head. I followed What to Expect When You are Expecting like it was my job. I asked a ton of questions at doctor's appointments. I refused medicine when sick, caffeine when thirsty. I refused the epidural, until a c-section left me no choice but anesthesia.

From the minute I held G (which wasn't immediate due to the c-section--I was actually the 5th person to hold him counting my doctor, a nurse, M, and M's best friend), I wanted nothing but the best for him. His birth turned a lost 25 year old girl into a grown 25 year old woman, who would find her purpose and path in life because her son needed her to. G gave me purpose, he gave me willpower, he gave me hope and desire to figure it all out.

I want G to have all the opportunities and all the advantages I had, I want him to have better. Let's be honest, this is a hard adventure to undertake. I will not give up, not even now. I won't be a lost 33 year old. I lost my job, not my pride (as the song says), not my willpower, not my hope, not my desire. Not my motherhood. I get out of bed everyday because G needs me. I get out of bed everyday because the suit in me likes making waffles just as much as drawing up policies.

I can't even begin to write about the sacrifices my mom made for both my brother and I. I can't even begin to say how she has shaped me as not only a woman, but as a mother. I can only hope that some day when Gabriel starts dating, marries, and has kids that he will look back and think the same regarding me. It doesn't matter what else I accomplish in my life, as long as I do right by him.

If you can survive here

I was speaking with a headhunter today regarding a possible position in a very interesting atmosphere. I use the word interesting for lack of a better word and also to save confidentiality as the replacement is confidential. She said: "what I like about your resume" and I interrupted and said "is that I have worked at many law firms and like the saying goes--if you can survive a law firm, you can work anywhere." She laughed and said exactly, and you have worked at more than one firm. You are obviously strong." No, the job is not at a firm.

We had spoken for about 20 minutes prior to this revelation and I had a good feel for what she was thinking (call it the recruiting intuition). She was direct, to the point, and very business like. Plus, she called me at 9pm. I liked her.

However, the conversation and what she said got me thinking. If you can survive working in a firm (and several in my case), you can work anywhere. You are obviously very strong.

While I do feel I could probably work in any environment in which I found myself, I don't necessarily want to. Just like, I can (some days better than others) deal with the bad hand life sometimes deals me, but I don't really want to. While I know that life is not always easy, and that it has its challenges, I can't help but wonder does it ever end? Is there such a thing as normal? With everything that has happened in my last 2 years, I am beginning to doubt such a thing as normal exists. Perhaps, this is my normal?

If this is my normal, what lesson am I supposed to learn? What more am I supposed to give? Accomplish? Realize? To be honest, the lesson of life is taking its tole on me. The circles under my eyes are becoming ingrained into my otherwise very nice skin. My already thin patience is becoming anorexic.

I am trying very hard to meet success with humility, to encounter misfortune without bitterness or defeat. But it is very hard. Some days I feel like all my strength is gone and all I want to do is go back to bed. I've been at war with the "higher being" for some time now. I am not sure such a being exists. I have been questioning this in a very agnostic way. It's hypocritical in some ways--my son attends a religious school and attends church most Sundays. I still have icons in my house and every now and then I find myself praying.

I am a very stubborn person. I am not ready to cave. Lately, I have been wondering, if perhaps, life is waiting for me to cave before it turns around.

Define Defining

Everyone has a story. Magazines will run contests: tell us about what you have overcome. Radio stations will have contests: tell us who your hero is and will send him/her on a spa vacation.

The truth is every one of us has been there, done that, or knows someone who has. We have all had our moments of depression, hair pulling anxiety, never ending tears, feelings of hopelessness. So maybe we all haven't had a cocaine addiction, or had to live on the streets, or been in an abusive relationship, but we all have something. We all have that thing or things that have defined our lives, defined who we have become, or who we are trying to be, or maybe just who we were.

I don't know one person who has never lost a loved one, who has never had a broken heart, who hasn't struggled financially at one time or another. I can't think of a single person who seems to have a cake walk life. Everyone has something. That one thing you take for granted could be the exact same thing someone else is losing sleep over.

The other day, I was thinking about what I would write if asked about my defining moment, my victory over an obstacle, my moment of hair pulling anxiety and never ending tears. While in deep thought regarding this, it occurred to me that I could not write about just one thing. My story would be multiple events, a rolling history of me, if you will. Some may call this simply: life.

Isn't that what life is after all? Isn't it a series of ups and downs, joys and sorrows, sunshine and rain, yin and yang, Optimus vs. Megatron? A journey.

Gobble, Gobble; No, No; Well Maybe

In an effort to be healthier, G and I decided to try some turkey bacon. You see, if you ask the child what mommy loves more than bacon, he will respond "pretty much just me". He's kinda right.

We purchased two different brands of turkey bacon and quickly went to work. We pan cooked it, we broiled it, and we baked it. This was new territory for both of us, so we followed the cooking instructions.

The fact that I could bake it did not sit well with me, you are not supossed to bake bacon...although I will say it was the easiest way. I did not like the pan cooking method. The lack of shrivel made me feel like I wasn't cooking it correctly. It didn't shrivel up with a ton of grease oozing out showing its crispy fattiness, and extra yumminess. There was not a greasy sizzle saying "pay attention to me", it was more a heat sizzle that said "whatever, I'm bored".

The dog didn't even come into the kitchen when we were cooking.

I fixed a small plate for each of us making sure to put some of each cooking type on each plate. G is a very finicky eater at times, so I was slightly worried about the money I just wasted on this healthier choice. I brought him his plate and tried my share in a different room, so I wouldn't influence his taste buds.

I did not care for this gobble gobble bacon. I felt like I was eating thinly sliced cooked ham, not turkey, and definitely not bacon. My taste buds said "whatever, I'm bored". I did what any 5 year old would do, I gave mine to the dog.

G, on the other wing, asked for a second plate. I guess I will continue to purchase this gobble bacon as G will eat it, and I want him to eat healthy. However, I will not be eating it again. I like my bacon with all the fat and all the grease. I like the sizzle.

Stuff, Stuff, and the postcard

I am one of those annoyingly organized people who not only Spring cleans, but also Summer cleans, Fall cleans, and Winter cleans. My holiday decorations are stored in plastic totes with a color scheme matching the holiday (pastel pinks and purple hold Easter, red and green hold Christmas, etc. etc.). No one gets more excited than me when I get a postcard in the mail asking for donations to be put out--hello, an excuse to purge my house! Woohoo! *happy dance*. Those of you who have been camping with me no the happy dance in all it's glory (and sometimes after several beers...).

One of these postcards came last week and I put it on the fridge, so I'd remember the day. Yes, I sickingly had things already purged in anticipation of the next postcard. But then I got to thinking...

How is it that every time one of these postcards come, I have things to donate? How did I accumulate so many items that I don't need or use? Of course, clothes fade, children outgrow them along with shoes, parts become missing for toys, or just lose the interest of the child. But what about the rest? Do we really need 33 coffee mugs when we only use the same 5 over and over? How do I have body lotions from Bath and Body works that are not even made anymore? Where the heck did all these tupperware and rubbermaid containers come from? Well, some may actually be my mom's and just never made it back over there....enough with the excuses!

I recycle, my garage and shed are filled with empty yankee candle and pickle jars that now hold screws, nuts, bolts, and other items, I re-use foil and sandwich bags for heaven's sake! But yet, I have 33 coffee mugs. My husband doesn't even say anything anymore when Winter comes and blankets mysteriously disappear from our house. He knows I have given them to some man sleeping on a downtown bench, or the guy who sleeps in his car in the metroparks. But yet, I still have a closet full of nothing but blankets? Let's not talk about my shoes...

Maybe it's time to simplify. Does anyone need coffee mugs?

White Flag of Surrender

In my head, I had all these ideas as to where my life would be at this point in time (damn type A, planner, list maker in me). Life has thrown more curve balls at me in the last 2 years than Koufax threw in his career. I was never a very good hitter, my timing is normally off. It appears my timing is now off in life too.

When I went back to work after being home a year, it wasn't the ideal location or the ideal pay, but I was happy to be working again. The job duties/responsibilities were ideal for the career path I wanted. Perhaps, my husband didn't need to pick up so many shifts and we could take our son to Kalahari (he's been asking to go for 2 years). Of course, I promptly came up with a new financial plan to include my salary once again and started daydreaming about finally finishing some of the cosmetic changes I've been waiting to do in the house.

When I was once again laid off (my first full time paycheck was my severance check), I was hopeful that I wouldn't be home another year again, the market had really changed, I had earned a new certification. My first week home, I fielded at least 3 calls a day regarding my resume. Of course, some where headhunters without actual jobs, but you can never have too many people helping you in your job search. I was very positive. (OK so I missed the little rugrats too).

Sometimes it's hard to be positive. I've only been home 3 weeks, but I feel like it's been at least 3 months. My car needs some pricey repairs, the mail man still brings me bills, and I still need to pay them, the phone calls regarding my resume have died down. I am still looking at ugly wallpaper in two rooms. Unemployment will be a very, very small amount per week (my monthly payout won't even cover my son's school tuition), and I have yet to actually receive any of it.

I can deal with all kinds of stress: car accidents, broken arms, bloody noses, my mother, my dog thinking squirrels are trying to take over our yard, but I am not good with financial stress. I do not like it when things are not at a zero balance. You hear people who grew up in the Great Depression talk about what they still do to this day because of their experience. I paid off major debt once in my life, it was a life learning experience of frugal living and smart choices. I vowed to never have that issue again. To be faced with the possibility of doing that again, when the cause was out of my hands, makes me wonder if drinking at 9am is acceptable.

People always say: work hard-- it will pay off; if you want something go after it; all things happen for a reason. What people never say is that sometimes it doesn't matter how hard you work -- shit happens; that going after something doesn't always mean you will get it; and that often reasons and off timing don't turn out alright in the end for a long time.

I am no longer sure how much positive thinking I have left in me. I wonder if I can return my MBA, I don't seem to be using it and it wasn't cheap.

Don't Forget to Live

I never gave my parents any real trouble until I was in my 20s. Then I really made up for being such a perfect child. I am sure my parents had daily heart attacks for at least 3 years as I had an early midlife crisis (hey, I always do everything ahead of schedule).

For the first time in my life, I was lost. I was almost done with a degree in an area I no longer wanted to follow. I found my classes boring, the assignments were not challenging, my brain was not being exercised. I stopped attending classes. I existed, but I wasn't living. I pushed friends away, I slept all the time. I became a shell of the person I really was. I had never had such confusion before, I had always had a plan, a schedule, an idea. Now I knew nothing.

As the saying goes, you have to hit rock bottom before you can climb to the top. I hit rock bottom, in a non Charlie Sheen way. Perhaps, the Charlie way would have been more fun, but I have never seen the point in substance abuse, needles are not my favorite thing, and I like my skin and nose exactly as they are (I have a little bump in my nose, my mom has it too. It's really not even that noticeable. A lady once argued with me that I must have broken it once. No, sorry to disappoint you, nose guru).

The climb back up, took a little longer than the fall, due to a slight diversion called a horrible break up that left me shell shocked. However, the diversion ended up being the best thing that ever happened to me. I learned that year who I was again, who I wanted to be, how strong I was, who my real friends were. Just like Jay Z, I was back, but I was back stronger and more full of life than I ever had been.

I learned not to stress over the things you can't control, I learned to deal with issues one step at a time, I learned I can't control everything, I learned I didn't want to, I learned not knowing the answer is ok.

I learned that sometimes you can be so busy planning life, that you forget to live life.

I resolve to stop planning all my tomorrows and just enjoy my todays. Tomorrow will always be there, tomorrow.

Wait, you can run out of ketchup?

When I met the man who would become my husband (lucky guy), he was raising two children. I didn't even have a fish. I had pretty much changed apartments when my lease ended each year, moving condiments along with furniture, clothes, and art work. He had lived in the same house for almost a decade. As our relationship progressed, I eventually moved in with him (ok, it was only after 3 months).

My trips to the grocery store, prior to moving in with him, had pretty much amounted to an average of $50 a week. I ordered out on Friday nights. During our first month living together, I went to get the ketchup from the fridge. Where was the ketchup? Surely, there was ketchup in this fridge? I just used it last week. I moved leftover containers around, moved milk and pop bottles. No ketchup. I moved the salad bowl. No ketchup. M, I said, where is the ketchup? M replied one of the kids probably finished it, and there would be a new one in the pantry. Wait. What? Finished the ketchup? The huge bottle of ketchup was gone? How was this possible?

Fast forward, 8 years. I ran to the grocery store the other day just to pick up the basics we were out of. $45.18 the cashier said. $45.18 for a quick basic grocery store run. I went home and put the groceries away. I had to move the extra bottles of ketchup and salad dressing in the pantry, so I had more room for chicken and beef broth (Swanson, only, I have standards). Not only did I laugh at the extra bottles of condiments in the pantry, but when did chicken and beef broth become staples in my pantry? Probably about the same time I learned you can run out of ketchup.

Can You Be Struck By Lightning Twice?

The other day a friend and I were having a conversation about choosing to be happy. She thought about a friend of hers, who really has a hard life, beyond what any of us can imagine. But yet, this friend is always smiling, upbeat, happy. She makes a choice to be happy.

Today, when I woke up later than I wanted to, had to fight with my 7 year old about getting up (my name is now Meanie Mommy), and barely had time to wash my hair (it needed it in that cancel a date because I need to wash my hair way), I chose to be happy. When my windshield wipers wouldn't shut off, I thought: well, as annoying as this is, it's better to have ones that won't shut off than ones that won't come on. When I was stuck in traffic for 20 minutes for unknown reasons, I turned up the radio and had a dance party (the guy in the Audi next to me laughed). When I got to work and didn't even know where to start, I thought well at least I will be busy. When I realized I forgot my lunch, I remembered I had a can of soup in my desk. Happy. Happy. Joy. Joy.

When my bosses asked me to come into a conference room and told me my job was being eliminated along with 35 others, I smiled and said this must be hard for you. I could tell there was something going on all morning. The higher level boss said: I fought so hard to get you on board full time, I didn't want this. Your performance was superior, I am so sorry. My direct boss looked like she may be sick. I felt bad for them. I had to sit through this once, they had to do it 35 times. I know they didn't see it coming either (not to be a HR professional here, but had they seen it coming, they'd have never converted me to their payroll. I am now a liability on their unemployment costs).

Somehow over the course of 6 months, I managed to have enough stuff in my office to fill 3 boxes. I loaded my car in 2 trips. I smiled the entire time. I said hi to people in the hallway, congratulated one person on their recent wedding, wished people good luck. The wipers wiped the entire way home, the sun was shining.

I chose to be happy. I've been through this before, not even 2 years ago. I didn't see it coming this time, but I was far more prepared. I hated my long commute and I did leave my lunch at home. I wasn't much in the mood for soup anyway.

Cinderella Should've Poked Cupid with Her Glass Slipper

I haven't celebrated Valentine's Day in probably 8 or 9 years. I truthfully don't remember how this lack of celebration occurred. My guess is, it started as a way to save money and was just never introduced back into the gift buying holidays. If it wasn't for the fact that my son had to do Valentine cards for school or that jewelry commercials suddenly appeared again, I wouldn't have known this day was approaching.

I find the holiday annoying. Here is why:

1. that necklace, the one that will show just how much you love me... 50 other women will get it too, probably with the same little bear and in the same red box.
   
2. the flowers, eventually they will die, and guess who will get the joy of watering them, picking up dead leaves, cutting the stems again to salvage what is still alive, and then eventually tossing them all out and washing the vase...
3. the candy/chocolates, the kids will eat them, the dog will find them when the kids leave them out, all the good ones will be gone, and if I do get to eat them I will later have caloric intake regret.
4. for the love of God, what if I just want to go out to eat and all you celebratory people are taking forever at all the tables you booked months ago to stare at each other and drink a glass of wine? Puke.
5. the proposals. I hate holiday proposals. The only thing I hate more than holiday proposals is hearing about holiday proposals.
   
6. why does there have to be a day dedicated to "love" and "intimacy", shouldn't every day be dedicated to such things in a relationship? Or is it just easier to pay for a dinner and roses one night a year than do something every day to show caring, respect, thoughtfulness? I rather have 10 days of the laundry loads actually being changed, be able to watch tv in my house, and have the bathrooms cleaned, than one night at a restaurant with a bunch of other couples, and a high cost menu because of the date on the calendar.

To Cheat or Not to Cheat?

Like many woman, I had to search long and hard, through the river, through the woods, through rain, through snow, street after street, zip code after zip code to finally find him. The One. Not just any one, but THE one...and now...I am thinking of cheating.

My hair stylist is amazing, I love him. I wish he lived with me. It took me decades to find him. He knows me: my pension for the weekend pony tail, my hatred of straightening my hair too often, my desire to make my curly thick hair look thin and straight. He knows that I will often stretch every 12 weeks into every 15, he knows I do a weekly hair mask, he knows I am laid back, but yet not one for a change. He knows I didn't know how to use a blow dryer until high school. Seriously, Close your mouths, it's true.

For several months, I have been thinking about honey brown and red highlights for my thick main of dark brown, practically black hair. The same hair, that with the exception of added layers and length changes, has remained virtually the same since I was 14. I have thought about this so much, in fact, that lately I have really been convincing myself to go for it. Yes, me, the one who never does anything damaging, that prefers traditional dress, that will wear pearls with a dress, that owns the same shoes in multiple basic colors, that uses night cream at 33, is thinking about being daring with my hair.

But my very fabulous hair stylist works at a very pricey spa and doesn't color hair cheaply. So I am thinking about going elsewhere for this daring new look. The problem is, I only want to go elsewhere for color, not for my cuts. Inevitably, my stray will be found out like the husband who returns early from a business trip or the wife that shows up at the office late.

So, blog readers: do I talk to my wonder hair stylist about my cost fear or do I go someplace else and maybe make the most needed man in my life upset.

This is It

I sat in my car waiting for the kids to be dismissed from school. I was thinking of the million things I didn't yet accomplish for the day. I took a nap and that was a mistake, I lost out on valuable prep time for my return to full time work next week. I missed out on study time for my certification exam coming up. Why does dismissal get later and later I thought? I have so much to do. I have so much to do because I am going back to working full time.

Wait, I am going back to full time work. It was like I was just realizing this. I turned it over in my thoughts again. All of a sudden it was real, as if, for the first time I was now aware of it. I thought it again to myself. Then, it dawned on me, today is the 2nd last time I will be sitting in this parking lot waiting for the kids.

G and H came out first. They were deep in conversation about personalization of nouns. Last Friday, they were deep in conversation about Martin Luther King, Jr. I am gonna miss this, I thought. They are 6 months apart and in the same grade. They are like siblings.

T came out next and showed me his signed card saying he'd always wear his seat belt. The police department must have spoke to his class today. He was so proud.

On the way home, I reminded G he can only do the homework for that day, he can't work ahead. K, who looks like a pre-teen now, wait, she is a pre-teen..., said do you want me to make sure he doesn't work ahead on days I am here? No, I said, I will make sure grandpa knows and grandma too. OK she said. She's a mini adult, I thought.

We drove to grandma's. H was proudly saying she hasn't missed a day of school. T was saying he hasn't missed a full day. G was talking about dress down day on Friday. I looked over at K. I remember when she was born. It was 12 years ago Sunday. Where did those 12 years go, I thought? I looked in the rear view at G. He's 7. What will I miss?

Hi Ho Hi Ho It's Off To Work I Go

The last few months, I made no secret of my desire to return to full time work to the person who mattered most: my part time job boss. She made no promises, stated it was her wish and need, but if it happened it wouldn't be until March, but she couldn't guarantee, no promises, if we can budget it (you see the theme here). I wrapped my head around the fact that in March I would potentially have a full time offer. Since I have serious commitment issues (I passed out at my own wedding, my husband still brings this up)...I still job searched, but not heavily. I had a great interview with another company and was feeling good about things in general. Heck, 2011 was starting off very well and looked promising. (Cue the rainbows and butterflies now...).

Then last Friday, before I even had a full cup of my morning coffee (those who know me well, know the importance of this), I was offered a full time position to start asap. My first thought: it's not March. My second thought: I need study time. My third thought: I had a really great interview (cue the sirens... we have a commitment issue, someone call it in). My fourth thought: (which only came to my head when I looked at my boss, who was smiling and eagerly awaiting my response), I need this.

I function better with an overflowing plate of "to dos", I feel better about myself when I am taking care of myself (...and cue the sirens, Houston, we have a commitment issue...), I am a better person and a better mother when I feel complete. And the truth is... having a career completes me (ok so not as romantic as Tom Cruise in Jerry McGuire, but it's true).

So as of January 24, I will once again be working a full time job and life will return to "normal"...

...or will it. Stay tuned.

Coffee with My Early 20s Self

I often over hear young women talking at the mall, a restaurant, or at a bar about their lives: The ups and downs, the dating, the lack of dating, what they wish they had, how awful their parents are, if they could just _____ (fill in the blank with pretty much anything).

Truthfully, these conversations make me feel wise for my age (that's a nice way of saying old). I smile to myself thinking back to when I was their age, so often I want to say _____ (fill in the blank with some uncool parental advice).

If I could have coffee with the me of my early 20s (well, she'd probably order a Blue) I'd have a lot to say:

1. Don't lose sleep over not having it all figured out, that's impossible, and it will work out.
2. That the credit card debt racked up during and post college that keeps her up at night, will be paid off (she'll enjoy a great night out in celebration when the last payment is made).
3. One day her mom will be her friend (I may have to administer the Heimlich to keep her from choking when I mention this one).
4. To not only respect herself more, but to expect respect from others, she's worth it.
   
5. That she's stronger than she thinks and the years to come will show her just how resilient and strong she really is.
6. That the ER trip to the emergency room when she's 7 months pregnant, will result in everything being fine.
   
7. That her true friends will always be there for her and she'll see just how much as they become more like family.
   
8. That any man that makes her cry instead of holding her when she does is just a boy and not worth her time. (even if he looks good in faded jeans and is a great kisser, especially him).
   
9. To enjoy coming home to a silent apartment (some day she'll think about checking into a hotel for the same peace, and one weekend she will).
   
10. That true happiness really does come from within. (an occasional glass of wine helps).
11. That one day she'll not only use that crock pot, but wish she had another (and then a 3rd).
12. That a hot bubble bath with lavender salts, a good book, and a glass of wine will be a happy replacement to standing in line outside during the winter in a mini skirt to pay a cover charge.

Now about that bath...

1950s Housewife or Corporate Climber?

When I was young, I rarely played with dolls, and after two paid babysitting gigs I decided it wasn't for me. I remember my friend R sleeping over one night, and in the morning before we left for our excursion, she suggested we feed our Cabbage Patch Kids and dress them in new outfits. Really, I thought? Our friendship survived, but I never played Cabbage Patch Kids with her again.
When I was in college, I started thinking about a career and travel. I never thought about having kids. I thought about what city I'd move to, and how long it would take to get out of a cubicle and into an office. I figured after I was settled in my corner office with a water view, I'd adopt a child in need because I'd be too old to have my own.
At 25, I found out I was pregnant. I became tied to a demanding job and a demanding baby. Later, I was tied to a long commute, a demanding toddler, and graduate school. Then I was tied to a blackberry and an ever argumentative, very smart, adjusted pre-schooler. I wore every hat imaginable (and some really cute shoes). I thought nothing of working at 2am (or getting on the treadmill or doing laundry) and would never leave home without my blackberry. Have a mortgage to pay I would say.
Then on July 15, 2009, my job was eliminated. I became a stay at home mom by default. I cried for days. Who was I, if I didn't have a job?
I found out after months of struggle, who I was. I was the same person I had always been, my job didn't define me. I spent the entire year of Kindergarten with my son. It was the best year, I could help in the classroom, I became friends with other moms, the kids in my son's class knew who I was. I proudly became a soccer mom, a baseball mom, a classroom helper mom, my house was never cleaner, my yard never better.
A year later, I returned part time to a job that was much better suited for my career path. I kept looking for full time work, and the phrase "when I return to full time" became a constant.
I had the best of both worlds.
Last night, out of nowhere my son spiked a high fever, tears streamed down his face. He hurt, he was hot, he was cold. I was up with him a few times during the night. I went to work tired. I stared out of my office window and thought how much I should be home. I knew my son was in good hands with my husband (he's actually a nurse), but that's my job I thought. I am his mom I thought. Does he still have a fever? Has he had any food? Is he watching cartoons or sleeping?
I rushed home after work, ran to my son. Mom he said, will you hold my hand. Yes, I said, I will even feed you and get you new clothes.

Off to the Blogging World...

I always operate with a full plate, take on too much, run myself ragged...wear so many hats...so I thought why not add to that and start a blog? So many people have been telling me to do so, and normally I don't do as I am told, but it's a new year, right? So here is what you can expect...

1. Randomness...I have very random and sometimes deep random thoughts and I plan on sharing them. You've been warned.
   
2. Laughter...I have a child who is hysterical. I'm completely aware that most of you will read this only for the child stories.
   
3. Working mother stories and struggles...don't worry they will be random and full of laughter...at least half the time.
4. Miscellaneous...this is my version of the job description section that says "and other duties as needed or assigned".

And so it begins...

I have a lot to do today, laundry (what else is new), quick house clean up, workout, study for a certification exam I am taking at the end of the month. But here I sit typing my first blog and eating cottage cheese (small curd all the normal fat). In the back of my mind is a worry. A big worry... the donation items needed to be put out by 8am and I didn't get them out until 8:10...what if they already came. Well, fingers crossed...