Sunday, November 29, 2009
4 year old
i want to run like a four year old. remember the wonder of being 4? not knowing, or caring, what day it was? Not knowing where or why you were running? just running. now, i always know my destination. for better or worse, i know where i am going and how long it will take to get there. i know why i am running and what i am running from. it is different on different days. sometimes i am running from a holiday meal and the fat it will bring, sometimes i am running from life and the pain it will bring. sometimes, instead of running from, it is running towards things. towards giggles and kids being silly. towards a smile on my face that only a good sweat can bring, and towards a pride i have in knowing what my body can still do. i guess running as a 38 year old can be as much fun as running as a four year old, just a little heavier on the mind and soles of my feet.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
suburbs
sometimes I think i am old enough to know better. I shouldn't make the same mistakes at 38 as i did at 28. Like, I know skinny jeans are not for me. Truly, are they for anyone? And if I know that, shouldn't i in turn, know that I am too old to do tequila shots one night and expect to get up with any grace at all the next morning?
At what age does immaturity turn into senility? When does bad judgement turn from innocent mistake to losing ones mind? At 28 sleeping with the wrong guy is expected. At 38 it is a made for t.v show with the word "cougar" in the title. I think a lot of us are in a grey area here. I feel like I am in my 20's but my actions should reflect 30's. My thoughts feel age appropriate (except for the crush on Zach Efron), yet my memory serves me as a 70 year old. Yes, I have called the kids by the dogs name but, you know what, my friends still know who I mean!
I never wanted 40 to be the new 30. I wanted to know when I could let it all go and wear a mu mu around town. maybe even slippers. but I have been becoming startlingly aware that behavior has nothing to do with age, experience or wisdom, it has to do with fear. Fear of what everyone may think, or say, or do. Fear of what you see in the mirror, fear of what your kids may repeat to strangers, or worse yet, your friends.
The only time I am not afraid is if i am running, or under water in the ocean off of Hawaii. How sad is that? I am a grown woman and any sort of interactive life scares me to death. Maybe senility would be a blessing, I wouldn't realize I was afraid and i could just be free to wear mu mu's and slippers everyday, not just Halloween.
Forget the age of enlightenment, I am going straight to the age of "i don't give a fuck" and when I get there, I may arrive in skinny jeans. Even if I am a wee bit senile, you can bet my smile will be one of inner peace and mockery, for I will realize that i am not 1/2 as insane as life in the suburbs.
At what age does immaturity turn into senility? When does bad judgement turn from innocent mistake to losing ones mind? At 28 sleeping with the wrong guy is expected. At 38 it is a made for t.v show with the word "cougar" in the title. I think a lot of us are in a grey area here. I feel like I am in my 20's but my actions should reflect 30's. My thoughts feel age appropriate (except for the crush on Zach Efron), yet my memory serves me as a 70 year old. Yes, I have called the kids by the dogs name but, you know what, my friends still know who I mean!
I never wanted 40 to be the new 30. I wanted to know when I could let it all go and wear a mu mu around town. maybe even slippers. but I have been becoming startlingly aware that behavior has nothing to do with age, experience or wisdom, it has to do with fear. Fear of what everyone may think, or say, or do. Fear of what you see in the mirror, fear of what your kids may repeat to strangers, or worse yet, your friends.
The only time I am not afraid is if i am running, or under water in the ocean off of Hawaii. How sad is that? I am a grown woman and any sort of interactive life scares me to death. Maybe senility would be a blessing, I wouldn't realize I was afraid and i could just be free to wear mu mu's and slippers everyday, not just Halloween.
Forget the age of enlightenment, I am going straight to the age of "i don't give a fuck" and when I get there, I may arrive in skinny jeans. Even if I am a wee bit senile, you can bet my smile will be one of inner peace and mockery, for I will realize that i am not 1/2 as insane as life in the suburbs.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
comfort of strangers
Have you ever noticed that becoming a mother, and known to everyone, makes you drawn to becoming a no one and finding comfort in strangers?
I started writing these little blips to keep me sane. I would write with no abandon because no one was looking (kind of like wearing a bikini at 40.) I found some of them funny and so did a few other people. Well, I think I have gotten off track. I wrote something for some friends a few weeks ago and now I have lost the private excitement of strangers. The accolades from people I know I find condescending, the comments from anonymous readers I find inspiring.
It is something that happened with motherhood. I used to turn to my friends for help and clarity but, the minute #1 was born, all of the sudden my friends weren't good enough, or at least I certainly wasn't going to look stupid in front of them and ask for help. So where do we all end up? Chat rooms, websites, the self help isle at Barnes and Noble?! I for one, am tired of it. A good, 17 year old girl cry, between friends just doesn't seem to work as well when you are 38. I am not sure if my best motherhood friend even knows how much I want to run away from this job. But, I do know that Carrie L. from Des Moines, Iowa does. What is wrong with me? Why do I feel the need to hide my weakest points from my strongest friends?
I am tired of pretending I am not neurotic at times with the kids, with myself. I am tired of trying to be everything to everybody and making all the moms like me. Yes, I am talking to you, lady in the boots that always reminds me of how much money you make. Oh, and you, to her left, the one that won't admit she has Botox but talks about how great her skin looks at 40. And no, I didn't forget you Mrs. Howard, the queen of the back handed compliment ( i am only brave enough to call her out by name because she doesn't know how to use a computer).
Yes, I want you all to like me, but maybe you should like me for who I am, not who I am pretending to be on any given day. Seriously, I think I am going back to writing for myself and saying what I need to say, not what you want me to say. So, if I offend you by name or social stereotype than send me a snarky email, anonymous please, I think I just like it better that way.
I started writing these little blips to keep me sane. I would write with no abandon because no one was looking (kind of like wearing a bikini at 40.) I found some of them funny and so did a few other people. Well, I think I have gotten off track. I wrote something for some friends a few weeks ago and now I have lost the private excitement of strangers. The accolades from people I know I find condescending, the comments from anonymous readers I find inspiring.
It is something that happened with motherhood. I used to turn to my friends for help and clarity but, the minute #1 was born, all of the sudden my friends weren't good enough, or at least I certainly wasn't going to look stupid in front of them and ask for help. So where do we all end up? Chat rooms, websites, the self help isle at Barnes and Noble?! I for one, am tired of it. A good, 17 year old girl cry, between friends just doesn't seem to work as well when you are 38. I am not sure if my best motherhood friend even knows how much I want to run away from this job. But, I do know that Carrie L. from Des Moines, Iowa does. What is wrong with me? Why do I feel the need to hide my weakest points from my strongest friends?
I am tired of pretending I am not neurotic at times with the kids, with myself. I am tired of trying to be everything to everybody and making all the moms like me. Yes, I am talking to you, lady in the boots that always reminds me of how much money you make. Oh, and you, to her left, the one that won't admit she has Botox but talks about how great her skin looks at 40. And no, I didn't forget you Mrs. Howard, the queen of the back handed compliment ( i am only brave enough to call her out by name because she doesn't know how to use a computer).
Yes, I want you all to like me, but maybe you should like me for who I am, not who I am pretending to be on any given day. Seriously, I think I am going back to writing for myself and saying what I need to say, not what you want me to say. So, if I offend you by name or social stereotype than send me a snarky email, anonymous please, I think I just like it better that way.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
good enough
Does it make me a slacker if I just want to be "good enough"? I don't want to be PTA president, I don't want to do fundraisers, I want to buy out of the boyscout work option and go climbing instead. I want my kids to be happy, healthy and well adjusted. Does that mean I have to be happy, healthy and well adjusted? I hope not. Happy, sure. Healthy? I try. Well adjusted? Not even in the ball park. Sometimes I am sure that I am the only one dreading another day of motherhood. I go running not just for my health but for an escape, I can pretend I am the world's best runner and no one will be any wiser. Try and pretend I'm the world's best mom and I am shut down before breakfast.
So here is my confession.... my boys don't bathe every day, sometimes they have toaster waffles for breakfast, they will go to school in dirty sweatshirts and don't care if the socks have been worn twice before. I make up excuses as to why I can't do PTA things, I can't say "no", really, I can't. I don't mind when I smell after a run and mocking others sometimes makes me feel better about myself.
Wow! I feel great, maybe that is what will make me the perfect mom.. deciding that "good enough" is really as good as it gets, and to me, that sounds like "perfect".
So here is my confession.... my boys don't bathe every day, sometimes they have toaster waffles for breakfast, they will go to school in dirty sweatshirts and don't care if the socks have been worn twice before. I make up excuses as to why I can't do PTA things, I can't say "no", really, I can't. I don't mind when I smell after a run and mocking others sometimes makes me feel better about myself.
Wow! I feel great, maybe that is what will make me the perfect mom.. deciding that "good enough" is really as good as it gets, and to me, that sounds like "perfect".
Sunday, September 27, 2009
inner thoughts
note to self, and others....
do not approach a wandering dog on a hot ass day to help it, regardless of collar and sweet disposition... it will bite you. (little fucker, it still hurts too.)
just because your dog is friendly off leash does not mean mine is while obeying the "on leash" laws...
a turkey in the bushes can sound EXACTLY like a mountain lion running to eat you, i can only assume the reverse is also true.
drinking margaritas the day before you are supposed to donate blood does not help your iron levels, even if the drinks were in a metal thermos.
being called a "loser" by an anonymous 5 year old hurts.
you are never the "cool parent" so please stop trying, it hurts me to look at you.
do not approach a wandering dog on a hot ass day to help it, regardless of collar and sweet disposition... it will bite you. (little fucker, it still hurts too.)
just because your dog is friendly off leash does not mean mine is while obeying the "on leash" laws...
a turkey in the bushes can sound EXACTLY like a mountain lion running to eat you, i can only assume the reverse is also true.
drinking margaritas the day before you are supposed to donate blood does not help your iron levels, even if the drinks were in a metal thermos.
being called a "loser" by an anonymous 5 year old hurts.
you are never the "cool parent" so please stop trying, it hurts me to look at you.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)