Entries Tagged 'Reality check' ↓

I have lines on my face.

And so does just about every woman in her thirties and far far far beyond.

But humor me while I quickly consider this fact. And you probably will since I’m going to bet that many readers have been at this moment, pouting deep within the indulgence of his or her own ego, realizing that her face is simply not what it was.

In those very early, hardly adult years, I think a lot of us kind of kid ourselves. Not me. I won’t get lines. I’ll be one of those Jane Seymour types that never ages. Lines happen to everyone else. Like my mom. Or, ok, if I do get lines, it will be a long, long, very long time from now. Like when I’m as old as Rose from “Titanic”, and they will look beautiful, regal and well earned after the amazing life I’ve led. And then with a dramatic sigh, I will die peacefully in my sleep with memories of steamy love affairs with Leonardo DiCaprio comforting my way to the pearly gates. Lines show up then. Not now…

Not true.

The other day I was flying about my house trying to get my kids out the door to a game. Did they have their shoes, where are their snacks, stop hitting your brother, get in the car, STOP hitting your brother, where is my cell, SIT DOWN, stop hitting your brother, here is your water, are you strapped in, ok.

And I shut the car door.

Well, there I was staring back in the window’s reflection. I’m not sure what it is about a car window’s reflection – but I saw it all. Or at least more than I usually do. Deep, annoyed grooves, pressed lips, sagging parentheses around my mouth, horizontal zigzags across my forehead and two harsh vertical divots between my eyes which I believe are called the “elevens” (thank you Dr. 90210 for naming the ugly).

So much for Jane Seymour.

Now I know this is nothing unique and hardly deserves any sympathy. I am 37. Time goes by, your face changes, suck it up. I’m not even all that woeful and wishing I was a pretty little 23 year old thing. Because I’m just not. I’m a 37 year old mature, regular, typical mom thing. And that’s totally fine.

But seeing that reflection was certainly one more lesson in vanity and the useless time wasted on vanity, a lesson on time gone by and of course my own mortality.

I watch my children grow and run and change around me everyday. My six year old’s ankles have suddenly shown themselves under the cuffs of his pants legs. His new, adult teeth are boldly making their place in his mouth. I find him standing with his hands in his pockets, or lying on the carpet with his hands behind his head – glimpses of the relaxed adult he will be. And my three year old is going to school too and even reading. And finding the bathroom when he needs to go on his own. And finally taking turns. They are morphing before my very eyes, becoming something completely new over the course of days, months and years.

Why do I assume that time stands still for me? That I remain unchanged and unaffected? I honestly shouldn’t. Because I don’t.

This post isn’t supposed to be another wistful feel sorry for myself blather. I mean it. I don’t think I look particularly awful or anything. And I am certainly not hoping to score some free botox for a nice little review on my site. (Although I’m betting it happens on blogs elsewhere.)

I’m really ok about it (…I post here as convincingly as possible…). I’m just making a note of it. I have lines on my face. I am not who I was. I age.

(Bleh.)

Now to make sure any new arrivals become laugh lines instead of any other kind. It’s something to work on at least. That and to someday be as beautiful, as at peace and as satisfied with my life as Rose’s character was in Titanic. I’d toss everything of value in the ocean too if I could have that.

So until then, onward.

(Just promise not to tell my husband about those Leonardo DiCaprio affairs. A lady must have her secrets…)

So I bought some Diet Coke yesterday. I’m not a huge Coke drinker really but I’ve recently been having the urge to “rest my eyes” at traffic lights on the way to picking up my kid from school. Not good. So I’m thinking an afternoon pick me up once in awhile might just be a good idea.

(Sidebar: I get really… er… hot flash-ish, heart racy and all freakified if I drink too much caffeine. Unfortunately coffee is just a bad idea. Think “Tweek” from South Park. So one Diet Coke has got me covered for a loooong while. Just to clarify.)

But I have this strange aversion to buying drinks that have no purpose. Who needs to get all hooked on the extra sugar and caffeine and aspartame and preservatives and crap for all that extra money. (“Extra money” being the key phrase here. Really? I’m usually just too cheap to shell out for the fun stuff.)

So we mostly drink milk and water around these parts. (Oh and wine. And beer. Both of which have a purpose, but I digress.)

But now and again, I buy some Diet Coke as a treat. (Way to live the life, right?) Oh and it’s purpose? To keep my engines revved so I actually move my car forward when the light turns green rather than take a little afternoon snooze right there in the middle of an intersection.

(… You know what? I should probably just get unsweetened ice tea. I’m betting its cheaper and better for me. Again I digress.)

So I wheely wheeled my kid crammed grocery cart over to the drink section the other day and saw row upon row of Cokes on sale. Which one was the one I wanted? Ummm, the caffeine one with cancer causing sugar substitutes. Yeah that one.

Wait. What’s this? A Diet Coke with pretty blue swirlies on it? What does it mean?

“Diet Coke Plus” it read. “Diet Coke with Vitamins and Minerals.”

Wha…? You mean the Coke peeps are trying to make me think that drinking Coke is good for me? They think that dropping some vitamin B6, B12, some niacin, and zinc in with my phenylalanine and aspartame is really helping a mother out? Or are they thinking that maybe I’ll buy it now because it has a little added value since I can’t get my act together to take a daily vitamin?

Well, it worked. I bought it over the simple red and silver can. Oooh blue swirlies that look all healthy-ish. It can’t hurt, right?

I don’t know. There is something amiss in all of this. I can’t help but feel a little duped. I’ve seen it more and more often these days while I wheely-wheel around my Publix. Crappy products with no real dietary value are suddenly showing up with extra vitamins and minerals. And 5 grams of fiber. And added protein and calcium.

Along side their usual 30 grams of sugar and high fructose corn syrup and trans fat and aspartame and glunk, gook and more bad for you stuff.

It rings a bit sinister I’m afraid.

I mean, SURE, I’d like 5 grams of fiber in my serving of cookies. If I was planning on buying that crap anyway, I may as well have some added something to it. You know, to take away the guilt of buying those dreaded (…nom, nom, nom…MORE…) cookies in the first place.

But if folks think that they can somehow live a MORE healthy lifestyle with these added nutrients dropped in and amongst the regular crap… well… yikes.

There has been a lot more recent priority placed on healthy lifestyles in this country. Which is great. And I am hoping folks are going to make better choices about what they eat and how much they eat. But I just wish these companies would do more to put an overall more healthy product out that we want to buy – rather than keep the same old same old, except for dropping in a vitamin or two, swishing it around and calling it a day.

I know, I know. I still bought the Diet Coke. I still fell for the whole “oooh vitamins in a healthier looking can” thing. (Sidebar: There is a reason for this. And it all traces back to my myers-briggs results which happen to show that I am in the group of people who tend to fall for product placement and advertising more than any other group so its NOT my fault.) I mean, I am not the perfect eater. And my kids need to eat more (ANY) veggies. And we eat fast food sometimes and boxed mac and cheese is part of the rotation and I’ll have a Diet Coke every so often. Sue me.

It’s just. Dude. I know my Diet Coke Plus won’t make me a healthier person. But does everyone else know that? And will we as a collective group just settle for these “healthier” changes? Or will we push food companies further and start expecting them to take out the bad while putting in the good? And maybe expect them to make a more healthy product for real.

And will WE take more responsibility (rather than rely on a Diet Coke for our vatamin B12) and buy more fresh foods and substitute water for sugar drinks and eat green leafy things and cut back on scary stuff that eats our brains? Or will we buy that box of Cheeze-its because it’s got more fiber now and call that dinner?

I’m just saying.

…I can’t believe I wrote a post about a can of Coke.

…which is sitting in front of me.

…and so I’m totally blaming the caffeine swimming in and amongst my “plus” vitamins for this post’s total random factor and multiple sidebars. For real.

(Disclaimer: I had two VERY large Diet Cokes the other day while waiting for my crappy Hard Rock lunch before the TMBG concert. Which now, in retrospect, might explain my tweeked out fan freak out post. Because, yes, I can keep a caffeine tweek for a full 24 hour period. You’re so jealous, right?)

(Another disclaimer: No the Coke people did not ask me to review Diet Coke Plus nor did I get anything free for writing about it. Other than an annoying, pounding sensation…)

….I think I have a headache.

*Setting down the Diet Coke Plus and walking away.*

Confidence is such a tricky thing. For anyone. I don’t care how many fancy degrees you do or don’t have under your belt, how hard you rock your job or how many awards you’ve earned as mother of the year. Confidence never comes automatically with any of it.

I am struggling to find a little of it myself these days. I privately brim and bubble with so much self doubt. It feels a little pathetic, and lonely, and then just feeds back into the cycle, so I feel worse and silly and not worth the trouble.

How did I get to this point? Why can’t I find my own private brand of “awesome” and feed off of that all day?

I have been out of an office place for almost seven years. And I am starting to re-fire my engines and consider going back (into something, anything) later this year. I don’t feel ready, I don’t know what I am doing, my professional skills feel entirely too atrophied, any competitive edge I thought I had seems long LONG gone.

Something happens when you stay home with your children. Something happens when you bring home your newborn and have to lower your expectations of productivity to a snails pace. Maybe you’ll get a shower in during the day or a bit of food. Maybe. You don’t prioritize your needs and then you don’t expect to owe yourself much. I think I kind of just got used to never quite being 100% so great at anything ever since. Or I assumed I wasn’t. It’s just not about me anymore.

(Ugh. Patheticness. Am already annoying myself with this post.)

Ok, its not as if I shouldn’t feel proud of some of the things I have accomplished. My children are amazing. And I am grateful for that. And to make a general statement that staying home with your kids makes you weak, well, come on. We KNOW that’s not true.

It’s just you have to dig way down deep to reclaim that piece of awesome I had reinforced on a regular basis beforehand.

Because you know that having children just adds a heap load more reasons to doubt myself. A heap load. When it comes to something so dear to your heart, when you have two children’s futures resting in your hands, when its on you to make sure they turn out ok… well, it’s hard to feel like any kind of rock star parent. There is a LOT to mess up, my friends. A lot.

Plus raising children 24/7 with no job review, or cute clothes, or pat on the back from any sort of boss, or flashy benefits assuring that you are SO worth that fancy “mom” title. Well. I usually have no idea if I am even in the ballpark of doing an ok-ish job as a mom.

So I have to dig deep.

Shovel, sling dirt, Yoo hoo, where’s my awesome? Shovel, sling dirt, it’s gotta be down here. Shovel, sling dirt, I think. Shovel, sling dirt, somewhere.

Somewhere, somehow, that old “who gives a crap what they think” will resurface, that swagger, that special something that I used to have.

Meh. Yeah. I don’t know.

And I know its not just me. I know lots of parents feel this way. Or every day folk stuck in jobs that they don’t love but are lucky to have. Or anyone stuck in any kind of rut or wishing for something more or wondering where the old “me” went and if they ever had it in the first place.

I am going to have to muster up a sizeable amount of “I’ve got nothing to lose” if I want to get back out there and work again. I have to find my value, my real worth and then – *eeps* – actually flaunt it. I have to convince someone, anyone that I am worth paying a chunk of money to and that I am so super-fabulous-awesome even though I’ve only worked part time here and there and really the only productive thing I’ve done over the past seven years is write. But how productive is that when it’s amounted to the equivalent of a few grocery trips and tanks of gas? No disrespect, glad to have that much, but how the hell do I, little ol’ me, translate as anything worthy?

Groan. WOW. I don’t like not being confident. I don’t like how I sound. I feel all kinds of icky when I’m feeling sorry for myself. And then I assume if I annoy myself this much, I must be annoying to everyone else so I back off. Don’t mind me. I’m the frumpy mommy mess, talking to myself in a corner. Move along. Nothing to see here.

I SO scream “hire me!” don’t I?

So yeah. Confidence is a tricky thing. Fleeting, here and there, evaporating, condensing, dropping back in, and gone again.

I think its rebuilt on the little achievements and the possibility of doing more the next time. I think its about taking chances and promising yourself that any risk is worth the reward. Its about reminding yourself about what you’ve done before and your ability to do that bigger and better the next time.

My parenting abilities, my writing skills, my job worthiness, my value as a friend, my position as a valuable, contributing member of society.

I’m working on it. I’m digging for it. Deep. Shovel, sling dirt, I remember leaving it down here, somewhere.

I’m currently watching news coverage about the President’s arrival in Tampa. On the day after his State of the Union Address, he is here to announce a new rail system between this city and Orlando. It will create jobs, it will expand the area, it will help traffic, it is entirely needed and very exciting.

Of course, I’m excited simply because he’s in town. I wish I had been able to call in sick from my stay at home mom duties to stand in line and possibly get a ticket into the town hall meeting hosted by the University of Tampa.

But TV coverage will do. It’s all good.

This morning, I took my three year old to open hours at a local indoor petri dish bounce play place. He was excited and I was excited for him to toss himself wildly about until he crumpled into a nap-ready pile that I could carry out of there.

But as I was wrangling shoes, signing in and dealing with my 3yo, I heard this conversation between two of the women working there – one in her 40s and one college aged.

Woman #1: I can’t believe he’s coming here. He’s just going to make traffic a living nightmare downtown.

College-aged Woman: I know. I can’t believe anyone wants to go and even see him. I am going no where near campus today.

Woman #1: I wouldn’t. Plus it could be dangerous. Someone could try and take a shot at him.

College-aged Woman: I know and Biden is with him too…

Woman #1: Well, that would be two for the price of one then wouldn’t it?

Laughing… or maybe it was cackling.

College-aged Woman: Yeah, I wish! …*snort*… I totally hate that man.

While this conversation was happening, my three year old had finally been de-shoed and, as his friend had ran by, I found myself on my feet and chasing him into the room filled with inflatables.

But I felt like I had been slapped in the face.

HATE.

Seething, angry, from the soul… hate.

It’s everywhere.

Before I even had the chance to sit down and write this post, I was watching news coverage of the presidential motorcade speeding through Tampa. And protesters, in all of their tea bagging glory, were booing and giving our President the finger.

HATE.

To say that I am discouraged by our country… to say that I am exhausted by our financial slump… to say that I am disillusioned by politics… to say that I haven’t felt very hopeful recently… well. Yeah. But I’m nothing unique. My frustrations are about par for our county’s course these days.

But I am so sick to death of the negativity. I am so tired of certain political pundits, organized groups and news sources gleefully green-lighting hateful discourse. I am so tired of destructive, spiteful words. I am fed up with a party whose sole purpose is to simply stop any and all bipartisan efforts to fix what we have ALL played a part in dismantling one way or another.

Enough.

I didn’t like Bush in office. Shocking, I know. And sure, I may have been a little seethy towards him. I may have disagreed with pretty much everything that came out of his mouth. And I may have said my piece about that too. But I sat myself down to listen every time he had something to say. I wanted there to be something for me to go on, to be hopeful about. I WANT to like our leadership and SEE positive steps forward, no matter whose party is at the helm. I knew we had to work with what we had.

I see so little listening. I see too many minds made up. I see very few attempts at kind of trying to work it out, you know, for the sake of our country.

And there is certainly no doubt in my mind that all of this frustration and loss we’ve experienced as a nation has fueled a very dangerous vein of anger. Its coursing along and gaining speed rapidly as one person whispers to another that its ok to hate a party you don’t agree with, its ok to hate a president you didn’t vote for, its ok to hate something you aren’t familiar with, its ok to hate something that doesn’t exactly fall in line with your super special beliefs.

All of this frustration, loss and anger should be directed into constructive channels, ones that force us all up off our asses and MAKE us take some responsibility for our neighborhoods, our communities, our towns, cities and ultimately our country.

We’ve only been with this administration for one year. And there are a lot of agenda items trying to go down – because they must go down – at once. It’s not going to be served up to us on a silver platter in a matter of 12 months. Especially while we sit on our couches, snap nasty retorts at our televisions and do nothing positive to fix any part of it.

Get over yourselves.

Don’t point fingers.

STOP HATING.

DO something. Anything.

Take care of one another.

Move forward. Up and out.

It’s on all of us.

Enough already.

Damn.

I took my two boys to the zoo this weekend. And usually this is a seemingly uneventful outing. We had a great time. The weather was perfect, balmy animal viewing weather and I even considered posting some of the fun monkey pictures I took when I got home.

But those monkey pictures aren’t really what deserves attention on this blog. Another experience stands out as something I feel should rather be posted about that day.

And it wasn’t a good experience.

I saw hate happen – and it was directed at children.

Let me back up and explain what went down. My three year old had been begging we ride the carousel for the better part of an hour. In fact, I am surprised that any of those monkey pictures were in focus at all. While I took them, he hung, whined, tapped, bumped, pleaded and nudged me until I relented and headed towards the carousel. So there I was, fumbling for change to buy tokens when I heard it.

Laughter…”….Siamese twins!!!”

I looked over and there was a pack of about 5 or 6 high school aged kids walking by, pointing.

“No, no, not Siamese, CHINESE!!!!! CHINESE TWINS, dude. LOOK!!!!”

Laughter. “Where!?”

“OVER THERE! LOOOK!!!!!”

The tallest guy in the pack stopped in his tracks and pointed. The rest kept walking but still – laughter, laughter, laughter, pointing…

I turned to see where they were pointing. And there, between the token machine and the carousel were two girls of Asian decent, sisters, obviously twins. Their ages were somewhere between my sons – so maybe four or five years old. They were both wearing beautiful matching red dresses, and were waiting in line for the ride.

“CHING CHONG CHONGCHINGCHONG CHONG CHING!!!! Holy shit, dude. Chinese twins!!!”

So much laughing.

“Oh my God, dude!!! Check that OUT!”

And then they were out of earshot, almost around the other side of the carousel. Still, I couldn’t help myself and said out loud.

“Are you KIDDING ME?!?!!?”

No one looked at me. No one looked at them. No one seemed to notice. Ignoring? Not hearing? Not caring?

And while I hissed “…. just disgusting, I can NOT believe what I just heard…” I glanced over at the girls. They stood in line. And their mother, whom I had not noticed before, stood there too with her stroller. All three were silent, waiting.

They didn’t act like they had heard anything.

But you know, and I know, that they heard EVERYTHING.

“What Mommy? Whats wrong?”

Had my kids heard anything? They must have. Do I point out what they said was wrong?

But after my six year old asked the question and saw my attention on them, they both turned back to their token recovery mission. They stood hovering at the bottom of the machine, willing their gold coins to drop out at any moment.

Maybe they didn’t hear anything. Or maybe they didn’t understand. Should I explain this to them? Should I have chased after those kids and yelled at them? Wait, could I really do that with my kids who were locked in token grabbing position? Would it make a difference? What do I do??

“Mom. The tokens?”

“Oh yeah.”

I fed the dollar bills into the machine and stole another glance over at the family. The mother looked tired. The girls looked unperturbed.

Should I say something to her?

No. I mean, what if she didn’t hear it, I wouldn’t want to bring attention to it.

Who am I kidding. She heard it. She heard a bunch of punks point out to the world that her two beautiful girls are “Siamese…. no CHINESE!” and then frigging “ching chonged” at them.

It made me sick to my stomach. But I did nothing. Except get tokens and stand in line behind another family who now separated us from both girls and their mother.

I saw her later on that afternoon. The two girls were running at full steam up the hill towards the giraffes. And their mother was a small distance behind them, pushing her stroller. The same tired look on her face, the same resigned sense about her. I tried to make eye contact, I wanted to smile and just send some vibe of kindness her way. But she didn’t look at me. She didn’t look at anyone. Just plodded on.

And I couldn’t help but think that because I didn’t really do anything, I was part of it all. Whose to say I didn’t think what those kids said WAS funny. From where she stands behind her stroller, whose to say the whole damn park didn’t secretly laugh along too. Her girls were singled out because of their race and their “twin-ness”. Whose to say she doesn’t walk around assuming the whole world is against her and her daughters unless someone stands up and says or does otherwise.

Or. Maybe she knows those were just some punk ass kids who are pathetically ignorant and has heard stupidity before and won’t let it get to her and her tired look is just from being tired after a day with her girls at the zoo.

I’d like to think that’s how she feels. It would make me feel better to think that’s how she feels. But really? My bets are that’s not really how she feels.

“Mom, elephants!”

My kids pulled at my hands and I walked away. Safe in my own majority, never having had to consider an issue like this with my children before and possibly never having  to again.

And that, my friends, is no comfort at all.

So. The other day my innocent little  Morningside Mom blog got hacked. It didn’t last long because I freaked out, switched on the Internet bat-call and the wonderful Shannon Entin came through for me once again.

She (thanks be to all that is good on the internets) fixed it.

And as someone who writes, but is woefully unskilled in web techie stuff – Shannon’s skills are so beyond just simply appreciated. I mean she may as well have been standing in front of my laptop, posed in tights and with cape flying in the wind out behind her, one foot propped on whichever toy lay closest. She is smarter than a speeding bullet and rescues non techies in a single bound. My hero. For reals.

Thankfully it wasn’t a hard core hack. Just someone hacking me because they just could.

(Bastards. I hope karma gets you good and you have a complete zit explosion before school next week and you totally get your ass grounded somehow.)

Lesson of the day? Keep your updates updated, change your passwords, keep your passwords (duh, but seriously) and back up your work.

Anyway, so the whole hacking business was timely. Why? Because I’ve been in kind of a strange place with online stuff recently. I think maybe it started last December when I saw some online ugliness rear its head. And then there was lots of chatter about moms being online so much. If we “digital moms” are getting so much done online, what kind of mothers could we be anyway?

(…because mothers can’t possibly multi-task THAT well. Because mothers wouldn’t work on weekends and late into evenings to get something done just because she loves it. Because mothers shouldn’t be doing JACK except stare at their kids playing, eating and pooping all day. Because any stay at home mom who might just happen to have some multi-dimensionality, some other interests, some drive and push in her life along side her love for her children COULDN’T POSSIBLY be a good mother.

I hate that crap. WITH A PASSION.)

So while those conversations were happening online and on cable news networks, it was only natural that I started evaluating how much time I spend blogging. It’s a lot of time.

However. I will staunchly defend myself on this. Like most of the amazing “digital moms” I know, I can assure you that my kids “tricycle riding, playground playing, snuggle and a book reading, homework sitting, ass wiping, coming home from school tripping, feeding, feeding and feeding” time is not compromised. I do those things and I do them well.

But that just started feeding into another issue I’ve been questioning. One most bloggers I know struggle with regularly. I suddenly started feeling that for ALL the work I pour into writing online and for almost nothing in return financially while being questioned about my capabilities as a parent for blogging in the first place…

(Note the daggers shooting out of my eyes for questioning my mommy skillz. Don’t even.)

All the work and time and effort I do put into writing online for not a ton in return other than the pure satisfaction of writing…

Well.

Is it really worth my time?

Is all of this worth anything?

Ok, I feel like I must sound so crazily unappreciative. I know blogging has brought me adventures and friendships and experiences I would never EVER have had otherwise. There would be no way any of it would have happened without this blog.

So maybe this whole post is just a whiney waste of my reader’s time.

But.

Still. I can’t help but question all of this sometimes.

And when my blog suddenly got hacked, all of it, all of this, seemed suddenly so vulnerable. One day, one decent hacker, and *POOF* all this is gone, all that hard work down the drain.

This online stuff is just in a computer after all. It’s not an organic, living, breathing thing. Its just vague internetty beeps, codes, whatever. One wrong delete button gets pushed or some system crashes somewhere and… its nothing.

Ok, I’m being dramatic. I know I am. If its backed up well enough, I should be ok. (I can hear tech-inclined folks telling me its so. And probably giving me a very eye-rolling “oh please” look when I question the real-ness of the internets.)

And you know what else is real, organic, living and breathing? The fabulous friendships and connections I’ve made. THOSE are very real.

And something else which is extraordinarily valuable, very real and wholly alive is, well, my sanity.

Because while I do all that mothering stuff well (and enjoy doing it very much), there are days when I don’t see another adult until late in the evening, when the kids are fast asleep. I am not simply an ass wiping entity. I need to think. And use grown up language about grown up topics. And blogging offers me this. If nothing else, my sanity is handed over to me daily, like carefully prescribed doses of xanax in its own little while paper cup. Be a good mom, take your meds, nice job, back to your corner in your bathrobe where you rock and hum to yourself while parenting your children. Good girl.

Ok. Again with the dramatics.

I’m just trying to make my point.

I bust my ass online everyday but… when I shut my laptop… I can’t help but have the feeling that some hologram-like world around me has suddenly disintegrated and I am left standing alone in my kitchen again. The friendships are wonderful and important (I love you guys!) – but they aren’t right here, right now, for laughs and drinks and hugs, now, IRL. The experiences are fabulous, but they are fleeting and don’t pay the mortgage.

My sanity is priceless however. So hologram world it is. Bring it on.

Ugh.

But before I leave this post on that really pathetic note, I need to take some responsibility here.

The Internet and all of this blogging is only what you make of it. I’m writing all the time, but do I bust my hump to sell myself? Or my writing abilities? Am I all over SEO and Google ranking? Um. Not so much. I’m really sucky PR for myself. There are plenty of online moms who are making much more out of their blogging experience. Why? Because they have their own back. And I need to do that more. Put myself out there. Get more outside gigs. Not just sit here at home, sigh a lot, and wait for it all to drop in my lap.

Yep. So that’s that. All that has been rattling around in my brain about blogging, its hackability, vulnerability and my general purpose outside of parenting.

Back to real life. Or my hologram life. Which one? Or are they the same….

(Oh. Nice, hitchcocky ending.)

I mean Oscar Wilde probably had it right about life imitating art rather than vice versa.

Back to life then. Because it is my life after all.

Just because this post is no longer “stickied” to the top of my page does not mean Haiti no longer needs our help.

Please consider donating today.

Thank you!

…………………………………………………………………………

I was making a beef stew in my crock pot this afternoon when my three year old tried to put some of his Gogurt in it. It landed on the floor and on his pants. He should have been napping in his bed but a nap wasn’t in the cards today. So, he decided to try and put Gogurt in my stew instead. And that made me crazy because he was a mess and did he need another bath and the kitchen was a mess and I just wanted to have my stew in the crock pot so it would be done for dinner before I left to go get my six year old from school. And as I type this, my Gogurt stained child is whining about being hungry AGAIN. What is he going to have, he’s asking me while staring down the pantry. Here are two crackers, now go play on the porch and stop hassling me.

Its the kind of every day stuff many of us deal with all the time.

And it is a blessing.

The stew in my crock pot, the warm beds, the clean clothes, the baths, the snacks, the gas in my car, the car that I drive, the solid roof over my son’s classroom, the still ground beneath us, and all of our lives.

I’m swearing about Gogurt and crackers but, I promise you, I know better.

Please donate to the Red Cross to assist the people in Haiti. $1, $5, whatever you can do.

Text “Haiti” to 90999 to donate $10.00. 100% of your donation passes through Red Cross for Haiti relief. Your cell carrier keeps nothing.

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Thank you.

Last night, I read a message from a husband telling his wife’s friends that she has had a stroke. Anissa Mayhew was in the ICU and we had no further information.

A stroke. A mother, a blogger, a friend, my age, infatuated with Edward Cullen and looking forward to a Disney Cruise planned for tomorrow, had a stroke and is now unresponsive.

I don’t claim to be Anissa’s BFF. By no means. And I won’t get all freaky and make this tragedy all my own. But my heart has broken regardless. If you know Anissa even in passing, or from reading her blog, you will understand this. Anissa’s reach extends far beyond her immediate friends or family in Atlanta. And I am having a very hard time expressing all that she has done for everyone else… Really, just go and read about her. I know I just won’t do her one stick of justice.

So, I’m far from her BFF but I know her. We’ve met a few times and I consider her a friend. We shared a stroller at the March of Dimes walk this year. (By the way, she organized that group. Local Tampa bloggers came together – see pic here – to walk for Maddie because she organized it. It’s just how she rolls.) Our kids have played together. She promised me vodka at the Type A Moms conference. When my friend’s baby passed away, I found myself immediately typing an email to her. HELP. What do I do? She told me to BE THERE for her, don’t back away. Did you know that she went to 9 funerals for children this year? She has seen loss, she knows it well, SHE has been the rock that so many people have depended on. She told me she hated being considered some expert on the subject, who would? But she sure as shit knows how to love her friends. And she gave me advice about how to love better during tragedy and pain. She gives and gives and gives.

So now she is experiencing a horrible tragedy. Her brain bled. And she hasn’t woken up.

Did you know she happened to be on a segment on the Today Show this morning? It was about spanking children. Do you know how she suggested we punish our children? Have them sit on the floor, face each other and hug for ten minutes. I laughed hard.

And then the tweet I cracked up at yesterday and had to retweet:

RT @AnissaMayhew Don’t tell anyone, but I made $326K from blogging last year but I blew it on bacon and the Jonas Bro fan club.

If you’ve heard about all the recent drama regarding bloggers deserving to be paid, I assume you are laughing and loving it just as much as I did.

So anyway. Not long after that tweet  (hours?) she collapsed. And is now laying in an ICU. Unresponsive.

Life has plodded on today despite this news, as it always seems to.

But then I was driving home from my 3yo’s school today and Ani came on my MP3 player. Not surprisingly, I couldn’t help but think of her.

buildings and bridges
are made to bend in the wind
to withstand the
world,
that’s what it takes
all that steel and stone
is no match for
the air, my friend
what doesn’t bend breaks
what doesn’t bend
breaks

She  knows how to bend, to make room for it all, she has withstood so much. She bends and moves and works against it and surives it all with laughter and love and the purest kind of charity.

we are made to bleed
and scab and heal and bleed again
and
turn every scar into a joke
we are made to fight
and fuck and talk and
fight again
and sit around and laugh until we choke

Anissa is a really funny woman. Really funny. Wit and humor weaves its way through every post, every conversation, every experience. She turns every scar into a joke. And those in pain around her find that they can breathe again when they laugh.

Whether she likes it or not, she has become an example to so many. She is familiar with death. She knows a parent’s purest kind of fear. So many have looked to her. What do we do? How do we do it?

So Anissa, now its you. Our hearts are gripped with fear but we don’t have you to ask what we should do. But I know your example has already put the wheels of charity and support in motion. If there is one small bit of gratitude I have right now, it would be that I am comforted knowing you are getting all the love you’ve given back right now. Karma is your bitch, she owes you BIIIIIG. The love is coming – for you, for your family, for the community you’ve created, and have left waiting for your return.

Wake up Anissa, fight back again. So you can turn this scar into one more joke. You, of all people, can do this.

For any and all information regarding Anissa, please visit the Aiming Low website where her family is posting updates. Also, please be careful about the information you share and be sure it only comes directly from Aiming Low. Finally, please respect their privacy at this very difficult time. Thank you.

I had no idea. But I guess I shouldn’t blame myself for being so naive. It seems that many parents don’t have any idea either. We generally assume that the drugs we need to worry about our children abusing are such party favorites as alcohol, ecstasy, pot, cocaine or even heroin. I never thought a popular drug of choice these days was dextromethorphan – a key component in cough medicine.

A few weeks ago, I was contacted by a firm representing the CHPA (Consumer Healthcare Products Association) and asked to attend a two day event in Washington DC covering the Five Moms. (Three of the Five Moms are pictured to the right.)

This Monday, I arrived at the lovely, historic Hotel Lombardy curious about what the next two days would bring me. While I settled down in my room over-looking Pennsylvania Avenue, I reviewed the materials that were left for me.

The Problem

A study from the Partnership for a Drug Free America has shown that about one in ten teens (roughly 2.4 million kids) ages 12-17  have reported to have intentionally abused over the counter cough medicine. And about 28% of teens know someone who has abused it. But only 4% of parents believe their children would actually abuse cough medicine. The Partnership for Drug Free America also reports that “41 percent of teens mistakenly believe that abuse of medicines is less dangerous than abuse of illegal street drugs.” And when teens do abuse dextromethorphan, it has been found that they take 20 – 50 times the recommended dosage which equates to consuming multiple bottles of cough medicine at one time.

The Five Moms

On behalf of StopMedicineAbuse.org, five dynamic mothers have currently become the faces of cough medicine abuse. And this week they arrived in Washington DC with the CHPA to meet with Congress people on Capitol Hill to lobby for their support. They had three goals:

1. Urge the importance of parental education about cough medicine abuse by promoting the StopMedicineAbuse.org site. The Five Moms believe education about the abuse of this common place medication will do more to curb it’s use rather than simply restricting purchase since these medications are found in every home. As one of the Five Moms noted during our meetings on Capitol Hill, “You can’t protect your family from something you don’t know about.”
2. Gain support for the dextromethorphan Abuse Prevention Act of 2009 (s. 1383) which would amend the Controlled Substances Act and prevent the sale of cough medicine (or any products with dextromethorphan) to those under 18 years of age.
3. Gain support for the dextromethorphan Distribution Act of 2009 (H.R. 1259) which if enacted would limit who may purchase bulk amounts of raw dextromethorphan. There are no current limits at this time.

During our time in DC, I got to know four of these mothers (the fifth wasn’t able to come due to an illness in the family) and was truly touched by their stories. Misty Fetko shares a powerful and upsetting story about her son Carl who passed away due to a lethal mix and overdose of drugs including dextromethorphan.  Blaise Brooks, a strong mother, speaker and mentor, educates her community about over the counter medication abuse. Hilda Morales-Roybal took on this cause after becoming informed about the abuse of over the counter medication in her own community. And finally Cristy Crandell currently has a son serving a 13 year prison sentence for crimes he committed while under the influence of dextromethorphan. Each amazing, each examples, each changing lives in their communities and now each delivering their message to Capitol Hill.

Dr. Drew

And so now you’re probably wondering how Dr. Drew fit in to all of this. Well, the night before we all went to Capitol Hill, we sat down to a lovely dinner with the Five Moms, the CHPA, the PR firm who organized all of our comings and goings, and we bloggers: Jenn, Janice and myself. While chatting with the mothers and considering our menus, an announcement was made that we would have another guest. Dr. Drew Pinsky was able to come to DC also to support this entire initiative and he would be joining us for dinner in a few minutes as well as coming to Capitol Hill with us the following day. After a few blogger (ahem) gasps (to put it subtly), Dr. Drew arrived soon there after and ate a delicious meal with us.

(And in case you’ve been living under a rock, here is where you might find Dr. Drew.)

Let me add a quick sidebar here to share something about Dr. Drew. He sat down at our table and graciously, patiently, wonderfully took question after question about addiction, abuse and even discussed our own personal stories. He didn’t have to do that. But he did. He truly cares about the work he is doing and obviously goes above and beyond to help others on a daily basis. I would like to extend a very heartfelt thank you to Dr. Drew for a fascinating dinner discussion.

CHPA

I have mentioned the CHPA before but should do so again now. Who are they? The Consumer Healthcare Products Association is a non for profit group representing the makers of over the counter medications. And yes, they brought me to this event because they wanted their message heard here. But during my brief time with the CHPA folks, I was impressed by and truly connected with this very committed group of people. And then we were lucky enough to have Alan, a CHPA representative and our valiant leader on the Hill, as part of our group too. With two children of his own and a clear dedication to this message, he fearlessly guided us through our day with humor and tact.

Moms Storm Capitol Hill

On Tuesday morning, the Five Moms, the bloggers, the CHPA folks, and PR peeps piled into cabs and found ourselves on Capitol Hill. Where was was Dr. Drew? He and Misty had already been up taping 39 segments for local television that morning to support this cause and we would meet up with them later. Check one of the segments out here:

However for the rest of us, our first stop that morning was the Rayburn building, home to Representative offices located directly across from the Capitol building. As we filed out of the cab, we stared up at this building’s grandeur considering what our day had in store for us. But we only took a moment and then continued up the steps. There was work to be done.

We met a lot of people that day. A lot. We criss-crossed Capitol Hill, tromped up and down the steps into and out of both the Rayburn Building and the Hart Building (where most Senator offices are located). While our fancy shoes silently tortured us with every step we hardly noticed because we were lucky enough to have appointments with:

Sen. Pat Roberts (R-KS)
Sen. Chuck Grassley (R-IA)
Sen. Barbara Boxer (D-CA)
Rep. Tom McClintock (R-CA)
Rep. Ciro Rodriguez (D-TX)
Rep. Emanuel Cleaver (D-MO)
Rep. Fred Upton (R-MI)
Sen. Sherrod Brown (D-OH)

We didn’t meet every congress person. In fact, my group usually met with Legislative Assistants. But Dr. Drew and Misty, along with the President and CEO of the Partnership for a Drug Free America, arrived in time for our face to face meetings with both Rep. Fred Upton and Sen. Chuck Grassley.

Every office was welcoming and wholeheartedly interested in the Five Mom’s message. They listened, they gave us time, and they promised further consideration. And as Hilda Morales-Roybal so correctly put forward to each member of her audience: “we are simply asking for you to support common sense”.

Common sense. Yep, that is exactly it. So it would seem these bills are obvious shoe-ins, something every member of congress could get behind – wouldn’t you think? Not so fast. I came to realize that while open to the Five Moms’ message, even the most straight forward, bi-partisan issues won’t be immediately resolved without some behind the scenes work. Call it horse-trading, call it prioritizing, call it plain old politics but these bills have run into a couple brick walls in the Senate. I know, I don’t get it either, but they have.

What Can You Do?

First of all, every parent should educate themselves. Go to StopMedicineAbuse.org to learn more about the risks, the facts, how dextromethorphan is abused and what signs to look for.

Secondly (and probably MOST importantly) you need to discuss this drug and its risks with your teens. Don’t find yourself assuming your sweet innocent child would never do this. Don’t find yourself dealing with a future overdose just like Misty Fetko did.

Thirdly, read medicine labels, look for the educational icon (see at right) and keep careful tabs on what you have in your medicine cabinets. If you see this icon on a medicine label, you should be aware that it has the potential to be abused and may contain dextromethorphan.

Finally, email or write your Representatives and Senators about this issue. Because you know what? They asked me to tell you that. In fact, Senator Grassley had statistics right at his fingertips about how many letters or emails his office receives and how many they respond to. And then after our meeting, his assistant came up to the bloggers and urged us to tell our readers the same. WRITE YOUR REPRESENTATIVES AND SENATORS. Because they are listening and they will support what you feel strongly about. No really, they will.

My Afterglow

And so, readers of mine, I will wrap up this lengthy post to say that I was officially blown away by my Capitol Hill experience. You see, I got to experience first hand the influence that moms have on their communities and country at large. And it has left me awed and inspired. Because I often flashback a few years to when my children were very young, when I thought I had no affect on very much any longer apart from raising my boys. I was simply a mom not doing too much of consequence apart from wiping bums, washing bottles and watching Ellen from time to time. No no. Actually, we have a voice. An important one. One that is heard on Capitol Hill – whether it be in face to face meetings or via letters and blog posts. We can make an important difference if we get busy, get talking, get writing and get organizing. Don’t forget what we have the potential to accomplish. Thanks to my time with the Five Moms, I know I never will.

Disclosure note: While my trip and hotel expenses were covered by the CHPA, the opinions expressed in this post are entirely my own. This is an extremely important initiative and I was proud to be there to offer my support.

If you’re a mother, busy with kids and work and married and have very little time for making new friends, you might have a good idea of what I am talking about when I refer to “Mom Dating”. And this weekend, as I was moving out one of my dearest friends and neighbors down the street – entirely too aware of the enormous void she would leave in my life – I knew it was time for me to get back in the game. I need to wipe the grape jelly off my kids faces, put something not so wrinkled on, buck up and start “Mom Dating” again.

As an overly eager college grad years ago, finding new friends was never hard to do. School and then work handed over heaps of new friends to sort through and bond with. But as I became (er… I guess it’s categorized as) a “grown-up”, those school and work friends and I have all dispersed, married and created lives of our own. Sure we call, we facebook, we skype. But we don’t have each other right here. For the spontaneous “bring the kids over for movie night, don’t forget the wine” kind of thing. For the “can you watch my kids so I can have the minimum number of eyes on my parts during my annual” times. For even the “if you let me borrow a stick of butter, I’ll share this raw cookie dough with you” moments.

So, to fill this particular empty void in our lives, we “grown ups” have to on-purpose, fully on the prowl, get out and start Mom Dating. It’s actually no different than regular dating except that it’s done on playgrounds and there is no fretting over how long you hold each other afterwards.

Ugh, but I cringe at the idea. Why? Like real dating, there are always some hurdles we must leap before finding “the one”. Like real dating, we have to put ourselves out there and risk rejection. Certainly trial and error has to be a part of the process but, when it comes to Mom Dating, I know what I am up against.

Finding Moms

When I’m scoping for moms, I keep my eyes open all the time for thirty something-ish mothers that kind of seem a little bit like me, trailing a pack of kids who seem no more or less wild than my own. I often find them in bookstores, grocery stores, Target. But really the best places to troll for moms are: playgrounds (it is the ultimate common ground), school or playgroup (your kids know each other, you see each other regularly, its kind of perfect), kid’s extracurriculars (didn’t you know Little League and karate were really all about YOU?), and libraries. One time I totally exchanged digits with a very cool mom at the library. Before she moved away (grumble grumble, Florida can be so transient sometimes) we were even kind of BFFs for awhile.

Giving the Right Impression

So now you’ve spotted a mom. But before she might allow her children to be anywhere near yours, you really need to give the right impression.  Firstly, always have your kids with you. A hassle (I know) but really, like the chick magnet cute dog my husband had in college, its the perfect ice breaker and establishes you as a 100%, genuine mom – just like her. You want to immediately portray that “Hi there! I’m a normal, regular mom too. See all of my screaming monsters that I’m trying reeeally hard not to yell too much at so I don’t scare to you off?”

Don’t Come on Too Strong

So I can usually break the ice and get this far ok. I’ll have my kids with me (check) and am usually not afraid to say something to another mom (er… check.) But, I’m warning you, be very careful at this very initial stage of friendship. When you first talk to another mom, (please, whatever you do) don’t come on too strong. While I’m not afraid to say hi, I am often too quick to try to relate, get comfortable and then (*cringe*) overshare. And that probably comes off kind of stalkerish and weird when I’m all “Hey, howya doin’, I sooo have cramps today, don’t they suck? I think my kid just pooped his pants, I gave him too many raisins, do raisins make your kids poop too much? My name is Caroline by the way, here’s my blogger business card, wanna email me?…” Shocking, isn’t it, when they don’t respond and then quickly shoo their kids away. Don’t come on too strong, ladies. Eeeeasy does it.

Find Something (Anything) Other than Kids in Common

This is the tough part. You’ve found that you’re both past the initial niceties and have launched into the next level of chat about where your children go to school, where you live, what your partners do. But then the real stuff starts to creep in, as it should. And the real stuff is what makes your friendship something… well, real. Where you’re from, how you raise your kids, what kind of values you have and then (*red lights flashing* warning, warning) in come your politics, religion, status stuff (if you even care) and the rest of it. This is about when you’ll learn whether the other mom is a just a ” ‘Hi, how are you?’ when you pass in Target” kind of mom, or a “regular playdates and lets friend each other on facebook” kind of mom, or a for real “pour your heart out late night over bottles of wine, BFF” kind of mom.

Please take note however. You don’t have to have absolutely everything in common. My dear friend who I just packed out of her house was not of the same political “persuasion” as me. And that’s a big one. While we had a couple rocky conversations, our friendship truly superseded that and it was, to the core, at the BFF level. Diversity and difference can make a friendship go round if you’re honest and accepting of one another.

You’re Friends but What About the Rest of the Family?

And now for one final and very important hurdle. While you and this mom chat regularly and truly seem to be connecting – do your children? Do THEY have anything in common with each other? And even if they do, what about your husbands or partners? Can your significant others hang out and enjoy each other’s company on a regular basis too? Because THAT’S the golden ticket friendship right there. If your family and your new friend’s family connect and enjoy watching the game on Sunday over a couple beers and a few burgers on the grill, hold on and don’t let go. That is a rare and important treasure to be sure.

So. Here I go. If you are a mom that happened to get my blogger business card (*smacking head* why can’t I just write my number on a Publix receipt with a crayon like every other mom), please know I mean no harm. I swear, I’m not a weird stalker chick. I’m just a regular mom who is sick of herding cats kids all day, looking for other moms who get it.

Maybe I need to put an ad in the paper. Maybe there is an online mom dating service. Maybe there is speed mom dating up at the local neighborhood clubhouse. If I can, I’ll try it – because taking the risk and finding a one of a kind kindered spirit is always ALWAYS worth the hassles of Mom Dating. Wish me luck.