Entries Tagged 'Identity crisis' ↓

Folks, here’s the truth. I really need to get better at this blogging thing. And I absolutely don’t mean that in a “Wah, I suck, I’m needy, I need attention, someone tell me I’m a good blogger before my whining makes you jump off your roof” kind of way.

I don’t mean it like that. Ew.

But I have to be honest here. Blogging is -fer real - something I just need to get better at. Sure, sure, I confidently spout off here about all sorts of horse pucky, sounding like I really know what I am talking about. But… actually… blogging has me a wee bit flummoxed. (Oooh now *that’s* a fun word.) And I am going to “out” myself about this right here, right now.

First of all, I take forever to post. Huge groan. I so annoy myself over this. Usually the first draft of my post writes itself, for the most part. Which is why I love to blog, because it just comes rushing out - typing diarrhea – and *yay* you all get to read it.

So writing really isn’t the problem.

It’s my self imposed over-editing which is to blame. GAH.

Its the obsessing, the going back and forth over one word, it’s the “let me just see how this reads ONE more time” thing. While I may have whipped out the initial post in 10 minutes, the editing can sometimes take hours.

This will not do.

I am a mother. I have kids to shuttle around. I have fights to break up. Homework to help with. And really reeeally fun trips to the grocery store with two miserable, grocery hating children. I even have a husband who kinda likes to talk to me at night. I was almost late to kindergarten pick-up once because I could not finally just press publish and rip myself away. Tinker, tinker, tinker.

Enough already! Grow some ovaries and publish the flipping post already, SHEESH!!!!

So, yup, I need to get faster about my posting.

And if I post faster, maybe I could think to post more often! Because my next issue is that I just don’t post enough. I really could and should write more. But when I DO write, I think too much, go on for too long, edit forever (see above) and – gasp – completely exhaust and highly annoy myself.

And when I think too much, go on and on and wind up with posts that are far too long, what does that tell me?

Am I… am I… not… editing enough?!??

OH NO! Not more editing, for the love of all that’s good in the blogosphere. NO. MORE. EDITING.

Can we talk about my blog layout itself? I am so clueless (“how clueless are you?” …you yell from your PC). I am so clueless, that I actually don’t really understand such things as “Adsense” or “self-hosting”. I mean, what the hell is a trackback? I don’t know how to Digg anyone. I am signed up for technorati but what does it exactly mean?

Seriously. The bloggy techie stuff? (Shrug my shoulders.) Whatever. I got NO idea.

I write, I stick a picture or video in now and then, maybe I can copy or paste some fancy html code I found somewhere. But that’s about all I got.

All potential for slick blogging with cool branding seems lost. Or at least far far out of my reach.

I’m hopeless. Far from cool. Not very legit as a blogger I think.

But ah-ha. Here lies the crux of the problem. (Crux. What does that even MEAN and how the hell do you spell it? …Hopefully my editing will take care of that. Snort.)

Fast, good, frequent posting seems all about confidence.

I mean, to just write your mind and then - all cool and relaxed - press publish without one thought… well, you need to feel really solid about yourself as a blogger. And that, my friends, takes time. And practice. And the careful careful art of remaining true to who you are when you post. Bloggers must be: what you read is what you get.

My theory (oh, soooo scientific aren’t we) is that if we bloggers are true to ourselves, feel confident that our posts are, in fact, of value, and know we have amazing blogger buddies out there who have our backs – we should find that confidence to press publish. Just like that. Just like this…

A few days ago, I turned 35 and for some reason it seems to be a bit of a milestone.  35. 5 years from 30, 5 years from 40. When I turned 30, I hardly noticed. I was deep in the trenches of tending to a newborn.  A “milk making, diaper changing, ever baby holding, never sleeping” machine. I hardly noticed it was summer, let alone that I had turned 30. It seems that since I have had children, my aging, my progress forward, my evolution in any way has kind of come to a screeching halt. And that’s been ok actually. I have been able to pretend I am still 29, the age I was when T. was born. I have almost let myself believe that everything is just at a stand-still, waiting for me to come back into the game when the coast is clear and the baby gates are down.

But here we have it – I have turned 35, and I am not so sure the game is exactly waiting around. Age is happening to me, whether I like it or not. Weight has redistributed itself – things around the back have seemed to have sucked through my body and deposited themselves on the front. Except for the top portion of my front, which actually WAS sucked away -thanks to my two boys- and I’m left with gaping, “been there done that”, A cups. I’ve got some white hairs, sun damage has become more apparent, I’ve got a bunion for cripes sakes, and I can’t focus up close when I read quite as well as I used to.

The other true indication that my life is really not stopped in place waiting for my return is the fact that my children are growing up. Nothing demonstrates the passing of time more clearly than children growing before your very eyes. 5 years have gone by since I have become a mother and turned 30, and my growing children (just add water, the Chia Child that grows…. Cha-cha-cha-cha- chia!!!) have made sure I don’t live in denial about that fact.

So yup, as so many do, I have grumped my way into 35, responding with a groan when someone wishes me well. Clearly, I am feeling sorry for myself. But, ugh though. This self pity crap is really annoying, and you know I am not the only one who does it. Why can’t we accept this inevitable aging process and the milestones that come with it?  

So to change it up, and slap some sense into myself, I think this might be a good time to take stock. I think to make myself feel better and actually celebrate this mark of 35 years, I need to list all that is good about this age.  So read along as I try really reeeeeally hard to make myself feel better and remark on what a fabulous half full glass 35 actually is.

·         I can finally just relax into my own body. It is what it is. The genes are laid down, the babies have been born and left it as so. I should be good to it, appreciate it, throw pride to the wind and wear that bikini after all, accepting that what I got is what I got.

·         By now, I have to know something. I have to have enough life experience that I can safely feel some confidence about having a clue about how the world goes ‘round. And if someone asks for it, my advice could maybe possibly hold some water.

·         Being carded at 35 is a compliment. It really is. That 18 year old kid asking for my I.D. truly makes my day. 35 probably doesn’t look as old as I think it does.

·         In my twenties, I was in a frenzy of getting engaged, planning a wedding, being married, and then trying and succeeding at having babies before my child-bearing years were over. And now, (throw some confetti in the air) I’ve done it! I got that covered. Now it’s time to figure out the next steps without that crazy pressure over my head.

·         Years ago, before children, I hated to be alone. It seemed pointless and lonely and too quiet. Now, I cherish some time alone. To remember the old me, think my own thoughts, make my own choices. Granted, I still don’t want to fly solo for too too long, mind you, but the time alone I do get, I savor and cherish.

·         At 35, all radio stations are my musical oyster. The soft rock station plays songs I actually know (honestly, it’s not THAT bad). The oldies station plays my favorite tunes from high school. I still know top 40. I still jam out to R&B (I don’t care how ridiculous this white suburbia mom probably looks). Classic rock rocks, even if it doesn’t seem THAT classic. And when I am running up to the store without the kids, I’ll even blast the alternative rock station and swear I still do “get it”.

·         White hairs on blond women can be written off as “highlights”. At least I’D like to think so.

·         I don’t care what “What Not to Wear” says, at 35, I still feel like I can buy fun t-shirts in the Jr. Section and get away with it.

·         Laugh lines just mean you’ve been happy. And when you smile, well those laugh lines just make you look happier.

·         As I raise two children, at least I know that one day, I have left this world with something really really good. That alone kind of negates any said bitching and moaning about my age.

·         35 is ONLY 35.

Now for those of you smug folks who are 5, 10, 20 years my senior and are currently rolling their eyes at my pathetic little mid-life crisis (which I am constructively trying to reconcile with a harmless little blog post, mind you), just remember you were 35 too once. We all go through milestones and experience them in our own particular self-indulgent way.

Ok then. Now that I have accepted that I am the ripe, wise and proud age of 35, maybe I can stand my ground and really show how I have gotten a clue in future years. Each year forward, I want to try very hard not to dwell (“try” being the key word) on the “getting old” bit. Really, enough already, it’s just annoying. I need to get over it and keep taking stock and celebrating those achievements – big or small. And more to the point, I need to get fired up about what I still have yet to tackle, discover, celebrate and enjoy. My boys are growing up and a bit more independent – let’s get on with it, there is so much to do!

And finally, my dearest friend also reminded me that the day we are born isn’t meant for bemoaning our white hairs and droopy body parts. Remember, we were born this day. We have come into the world, done some cool stuff, made our world better in whatever large or small way and people have loved us for it. Our friends want to cheer us on and we should accept that love, light some birthday candles and get on with the party. So, happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me. May I get plastered you baaa…d girl, happy birthday to me. Cheers!

A crazy kind of fortune fell into my lap a little while ago. I won an all expenses paid trip to this year’s BlogHer conference in San Francisco. I know. It’s absolutely unbelievable. I was completely caught off guard. And I have been sitting on this news for fear the other shoe might drop. I mean, this is just too good to be true! But no shoe has dropped, babysitting has been lined up, the ladies at BlogHer came through, conference registration is done, plane tickets are bought and a very dear friend in SF is having me stay with her. So finally… FINALLY… I would like to take this opportunity to scream my gratitude and pure jubilation from the rooftops. Ok, so bear with me, here it goes…

WAAAHHHOOOOOOOO!!!!!! I’M GOING TO BLOGHER!!! YIPPI-KI-YAY!!!! SLAP MY ASS AND CALL ME SALLY! I AM GOING TO BLOGHER!!!!!! AHHHAHAHHAAHHHHAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!

Phew! Hee hee, I am really going to BlogHer!

But here’s the thing. Really, the emotion that is truly filling my heart right now is gratitude. You have to understand that this trip – a trip on my own, no kids, all for me and for my brain and my new found LOVE of blogging – means more to me than one could ever imagine. You see, I have been home with my children for 5 years now. Of course, I adore them. And, although we have hardly two pennies to rub together, I feel like the richest woman in the world that we have been able to afford to have me home. But my brain is mush, folks. Honestly. I am quite sure its shrunk from misuse, the stench of ghastly diapers and too much Noggin. I have been feeling like I would never find the old me.

But then I timidly started blogging. And it was like a tidal wave of brain cells rushed back over me. I CAN think; a truly “Scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz” moment, indeed.

And then I won this contest.

As you can imagine, this opportunity was absolutely unattainable before. Like so many families these days, we have nothing extra for anything as extravagant as a trip across the country for a blogging conference. Cha, RIGHT! And little ol’ me, just trying to keep up with diapers and light saber fights and smashed strawberries in the carpet… little ol’ me who pecks away at her 8 year old computer whenever a child is napping… little ol’ me who peers out into the world through her computer monitor because I just don’t get out so often…. I… *I*… get to go to BlogHer. I am humbled and beyond grateful.

The other part of this is how smoothly it has all worked out. First of all, the ladies at BlogHer rock. No doubt. Who am I? Some lowly Ragu contest winner. They sure don’t have to rush around on account of me. But they did! Thank you so much. And then my family, not quite entirely “getting” this blogging thing in the first place, well they all shuffled themselves and made it work so my kids would be looked after. Even the flight times and dates I was looking for were found without a problem. And my friend in San Fransisco is welcoming me with open arms, even though we haven’t seen each other in 10 years. To quote Natalie Merchant, it’s as if “Fate smiled at Destiny” – I am meant to be there.

Now, stop laughing, because I believe in this mystical mumbo jumbo crap. I do. I truly think the blogging thing is supposed to be happening in my life right now. So I am going to follow it and see just where it leads.

And I am so frigging PSYCHED about it!

So again, to the wonderful goddesses at BlogHer, thank you. A million times over. This is a big life changing thing for silly ol’ “weary mom whose only been blogging for 4 months” me. I don’t think you could have happened upon a more grateful winner. I am going to soak in every single second. And then, I’m going to come back here, to my 8 year old computer, and do the absolute best I can by this little blog.

“All the goddesses will come up to their ripped screen door and say ‘What do you want, dear?’ ‘I want inside.’”

-Ani Difranco

Its no shocker and hardly news to report that having children changes you. The topic of life after children could be tackled from a thousand different angles – the changes we experience emotionally, or physically, the extreme limits we are pushed to and the kind of immeasureable joy they bring us. That stuff alters us – permanently. But I need to talk about another type of change I am expereincing since becoming a mother and it has left me at quite a loss. Staying home with my children over the past five years has morphed me from a fairly confident capable working woman into a quivering girly-mom completely clueless as to how I would ever make it in the big, bad, working world again. Yeah, not good at all. This is a 35 year old identity crisis of epic proportions.

I’ve mentioned it before. I am a proud graduate of a very cool women’s institution called Mount Holyoke College. It is undeniably unique – it loads up college aged women with confidence, strength, smarts, and ability and then pushes them out into the world scrappy, ready and willing to take anything on. That was me in 1997. For the following 8 years, I worked in undergraduate college admissions.  And I was pretty good at what I did. I think.

But then I had T. I pushed my suits to the back of my closet and adopted breast feeding t-shirts and draw string pants. I think my backbone got tucked at the back of that closet too.

So my job title became: Mother. My office was my home. No co-workers chatting about their weekends (Weekend? Monday, Saturday, whatever… it’s really just groundhog day again). No boss telling me they are lucky to have me. A three month old baby awake all night was hardly a positive indicator that I was succeeding at my job. Now 5 years later, my boys and I are in a routine, I am the captain of this ship and I think I have it under control.

By the way, please note: this is not a bitch-fest post about being a stay at home mother either. I love being with my kids. I feel like I pulled some sort of golden ticket that has baaaarely allowed us to finagle a way so that I can stay home with my boys. Thousands of women would give anything to do the same. This is not about that. This about LEAVING that.

So back to my point. As T. starts kindergarten in the fall, the economy goes further into the crapper, and the shoe-string budget that we depend on has unraveled to more of a thread, I can’t help but start to plan on going back to work at some point soon.

Ugh though. I mean, do I HONESTLY think I have a clue as to how to function in the work force again? I feel completely out of touch with that sort of environment. Sure, I am the master at putting my child in the “cobra clutch” while changing a poopie diaper. I can smoothly talk through a time out and have the boys back to playing nicely in 5 minutes flat. I know what gets crayons off the walls (magic eraser), pencil off my frig (magic eraser) and marker off my table (magic eraser). I think I am doing ok as a mom.

But a job? That I commute to? With ONLY grown ups and in grown up clothes? Smart people who expect you to think fast and use a big girl, I mean, ADULT vocabulary? They would expect me to be witty, up to date and relevant when I might still have a sippy cup of rotting milk in my purse? They would expect me NOT to have brains for mush… I mean, mush for brains? For real, my friends, I am in big poopies. (Oh, that’s right. Grown-up words…) I mean I am in big bowel movements.

It has been a looooong time since I have felt like a confident, smart, able contributor to a working environment. 5 years! And hardly a whipper snapper any longer, I am on the verge of 35! My resume is sound asleep at the back of my computer in some dusty old file last used in 2004. I don’t know what I am doing. Ooooh and just you watch. I know office politics would take fast advantage of naive little me, they would chew me up and spit me out only to be cackled about over the water cooler. “Did you see that Caroline woman? What is SHE about? She doesn’t even own a blackberry! Yeah, she used a pen and paper to take notes at the meeting. Ew. And if she thinks she’s better than me because she’s ten years older than me, she can go back to mommy-land. Did you see what she was wearing? I SWEAR there were shoulder pads in that dress. Is that a purse or a diaper bag, by the way”. I am in way waaaaay big trouble.

And you know what’s even worse than not knowing how to work in the real world? I don’t even know WHAT it is that I want to do in the real world. A position in undergraduate college admissions is usually three jobs rolled into one: traveling saleswoman, around the clock resume reader and events planner. This sort of job doesn’t fly for any mom needing to work regular-ish hours so that she can pick up her kids from school or daycare. Plus they like fresh faced, smart looking, recent college grad types to represent an undergraduate college. Go get me my Geritol, I don’t fit that category any longer.

And what, pray tell me, is parent-friendly out there these days and actually pays well. WHAT? Because if I start over with a new career, does that mean I begin at the bottom? Will my starting salary match what I made in 1997 (which, at 23 years old, seemed like a million dollars at the time – snort - when gas was 99c a gallon). And during my first week of shuffling papers in my office cubicle, will some condescendingly brilliant corporate type tell me I have to work late because he is meeting his buddies to celebrate a friend’s 21st birthday? I’ll take a Diaper Genie full of poopie diapers ANY day over that sort of back to work crap. 

But, really, what has motherhood reduced me to? Where is that cool, confident Mount Holyoke grad? She seems far far gone. Parenting has morphed me into something quite different. My confidence seems at an all time low. I adore being a mother but - I admit it  – I am afraid of the working world. On top of my daily mommy tasks, how could I possibly handle deadlines and pressure and asking myself “is it good for the company”? You might as well move me to Bali because the working world seems just about as foreign a concept to me.

Actually, do you know what it is? Do you know what I am really truly afraid of?

How will I even care?

How will I not pine away my work day, counting down the hours, wishing I was with my kids again? How will I bring the same sort of work ethic I prided myself in – before I was a mother - to my current job when I know this silly work stuff means nothing – NOTHING – compared to playing Candyland with my child and watching him grow right before my eyes. Deadlines can bite it, get me home to my children.

So thats it. I just don’t think I will care. I just don’t think I can live with doing anything half-assed. I don’t want to try to look the part for some corporate gig when I am really a MOTHER, proudly toting her big, practical diaper bag, just doing what she loves best.

But there may not be a choice here. I need to buck up and figure out how to be both. Women do this alllll the time. They jump back in there, apply the multi-tasking skills they have since adopted as moms, get it done and get back home. Working moms probably DON’T care about “whats good for the company” as much as they care about whats good for their kids. As they should. Balance happens – somehow. Maybe not perfectly. Maybe not easily. But it does because it has to.

So where does this leave me? My always sought after “bottom-line” is needed right about now. Well. I think this simply boils down to a petulant identity crisis. I think I should hush up and give myself more credit. I think I will be good at whatever I do and still have the skillz to dodge office politics like a trained Olympiad. I think when it is time to start back to work, it’s simply a matter of jumping in and doing it. Wish me luck. Tell me I’m right and that I can do it. Tell me how you did it. Tell me you know the lyrics to “Let the River Run” from the movie Working Girl because that song is absolutely stuck in my head right now. ….”Come! The new Jerusalem!!!”