A Mom's Life

My mother-in-law is coming to spend the week with us in just a few days. To prepare for her visit I've completely rearranged 1/3 of the furniture in the entire house, scrubbed the kitchen cabinets twice, cleaned the dust bunnies from behind the couch and eaten a pack of tums. What is the secret power of the mother-in-law (or M.I.L)? I am a lucky wife with a mother-in-law without a daughter. Actually, she has spent much of her adult life in a house with three men. For that reason, I sympathize with her. She deserves so much credit for surviving in a world of jock straps, Playboy magazines under mattresses and being called "crazy" for exhibiting moodiness and other emotions. I suppose those years of manly inundation entitle her to now be the Queen Bee. And in the colony I am the smallest, weakest, least important worker bee. I can buzz, buzz around frantically doing my job and the bigger bees buzz right over me on their way to gain the approval from the Queen. In this situa

I've always been proud of my youthful appearance. When I first moved to Cooperstown (age 22) I was enraged that a gym employee told me since I was under 16 I couldn't be in the locker room without my mom. I chuckle to myself when college girls size me up on the treadmill as their competition for the muscle head grunting in the corner. Just last week a student at the college asked me for my dorm swipe card as I went for a quick lunchtime stroll. And, the best of all: I'm still carded at the liquor store. I turn 30 this year and I'm not upset about it. No bizzar -o mid-life crisis for me when I'll decide to stop wearing underwear, sport super tight tops and stay out drinking after work trying to make out with desperate co-workers. I'm positive my 30s will be much better than my 20s. No more painful realizations that health insurance isn't a guarantee. No more owning a car without collision insurance and getting in an accident. Good bye first college lo

I have a reoccuring dream and I've been having it for years. No, I'm not naked trying to remember my locker combination while all the popular kids look and laugh. I'm married to my ex-boyfriend, the last guy I dated before Andy. Like most dreams, I'm not sure how it starts but sometimes we have an apartment, complete with wedding photos on the walls or sometimes I'm just walking somewhere with him or it is simply brought to my attention that I'm married to him. Poof! There I am, in this dream-which-feels-like-reality, married to this guy, let's call him Newman, to protect his identity. Within moments in this dream I start to figure out that I used to date Andy and that he is really the one I want to be with. It is a feeling of total desperation and intense desire. Again, the scenario varies, but I'm often trying to call his cell phone, find his house or send him an email to tell him how much I love him and need to be with him. I'm then angry

Women are wonderful at time management and I've been told I'm tenacious about time-on-task and follow-through. Parenthood has really put a damper on my ability to follow a rigid schedule that enables me to do everything. When morning sickness showed up at week 5, I hung up my a.m. workout sneakers. Those shoes continue to collect dust although I'm proud to say they are dusted off once a week for 30 minutes. Just getting to the gym for that short amount of time has been a major accomplishment in a world full of parent-guilt. Guilt. A feeling traditionally reserved for Catholics has been spreading into the female parent population for the past fifty years and has become increasingly prevalent over the last decade. Lucky me to be raised Catholic, born a woman and now gifted with parenthood. I had a .01% chance of escaping the guilt-disease. I have "attacks" or "flare ups" when I decide to do something for myself. In addition to going to the gym once week, f