A Mom's Life

Andy is a man of many caves. He has the office at our house. It's a dark and creepy place, a labyrinth. The light from the almost hidden window casts mysterious shadows on stacks of paper, boxes- large and small- and cords. Lots and lots of cords. The door to this cave always stays shut. I'm afraid to go in. I'm afraid to look in. Andy disappears in the cave, from time to time. I've considered tying a rope around his waist, and providing him with a headlamp and a bottle of water before he goes in. I don't know what goes on in that cave and I don't want to know. Andy's next cave is the garage. When we moved in, it was a lovely, large, 2-bay with a loft above. Now, it is a vortex. The Great UpState Garbage Patch. One must certainly bring their spelunking gear with them when entering our garage. Good hiking boots are a necessity. Also, bring a headlamp, a walking stick, and maybe some mace. I'm pretty sure things that don't have legs move in our gara...

When I was little, relatives from Arkansas used to visit us for a week. Within just a few days of their arrival, my usual Yankee tongue would turn into an odd twang, as words became an an odd mix of Southern drawl and rhotic severity. My family used to poke fun at me for something I don't think I consciously intended to do. I was a little chameleon, soaking up all around me. I think, too, I knew back then that, "When in Rome, do as the Romans." Even if I was actually in Massachusetts, doing as the Southerners. To survive we must adapt. I realize, with respect to communication, this is what I have done. I'm me in all situations, and most people, whether at work, home, or socially, would agree that I'm loud, like attention, am (sorta?) funny, outgoing, and bossy. They'd tell you I step to the beat of a slightly off-beat drummer but that I usually mean well, I like helping people, and I enjoy communicating. (They will also tell you other bad things, but they c...

It's been weeks since my last post and I'd like to blame my new gig for that. The New Year has started off with a bang at work, leaving me with little time to write, and frankly, little time to think about writing. Unless, it's a memo, or email, or proposal, in which case I seem to be writing a lot. As I figure out how to balance going back to work full-time while still doing all the things at home that still need to be done, please allow me time to find my humor and wit. It will return. In the meantime, here's a glimpse into my world during this amazing month we call January. Gray I wake up to gray. All day it is gray, gray, gray. Gray, please go away. Cold I wake up to cold. All day it is cold, cold, cold. Cold,please go away Snowmageddon Two feet! Three feet! Snow! Close down the subways, go home! Oops, just a dusting. Running Jillian Michaels on YouTube while Caro dresses. Just not the same thing. Mistakes It's true. I can't lie....

I first met met her the last year of college. My college roommate introduced me to her. It was spring and I was feeling anxious about the uncertain future. I was also feeling crappy about how my vegetarian (aka cheese and bread)diet and college lethargy allowed me to gained 20 pounds in 4 years. It was a spring morning and we met on the track. At first, I didn't like her at all. I kind of hated her, really. She made me mad. She made me tired. She made me doubt myself. She even made me feel embarrassed. Why did my college roommate want to introduce her to me? Why would she be so mean, I wondered. It wasn't until months, and years, later, as our relationship developed, deepened, and flourished, that I began to thank my roommate for this gift. Over time, we have fallen in love. It's a love story really, one that, I hope, will stand the test of time. It's love that has grown through pain, through change, through time and age and space and reality. It's a love story c...

Can you believe that not everybody likes my blog? I think it's funny and I usually get a good chuckle when I write a post. It's always a shock when someone doesn't seem to like my blown-out-of-proportion, dramatic, passionate, and sarcastic virtual musings. I try not to take it personally, but my blog is very personal so it puts me between a rock and a hard place if someone thinks what I wrote sucks. Or, maybe they don't think it sucks, but they disagree with my point of view. (What a shame.) Here's an example, recently someone in my life read my last post and was very confused about why I would write a whole post outlining how awful it is to be a parent and then end with a statement about how I love my children more than anything else in the whole wide world. I should mention that this person is a DINK. No, I didn't call them a bad name. This person really is a DINK- Dual Income. No Kids. Not all DINKS want to be DINKS but some do. I think it's great tha...

What type of parent are you? Take this quiz to find out. (We promise it's as fun, and as accurate, as BuzzFeed.) It's 5:30 am on a Monday morning. You are: a)running on the treadmill while your youngest plays with Barbies. She's talking to you, you can't hear her over the thudding but you nod and say, "Yep, uh, yep" every few minutes. This is the only time of day you have "to yourself". b)Asleep. You were up until 3 watching a SyFy movie and checking email so you are beat. c)Up packing lunches for the kids and writing personalized, hand-written notes to tuck into their lunch packs. Ok. So, moving on. It's now 6:45. Where are you and what are you up to? a)you have fed the kids and the pets, made the beds, and are now standing over your third grader saying, "Brush your teeth. Brush your teeth. Brush your teeth. Brush your teeth" while your four year old clutches to your leg. b)in the bathroom. What am I doing in there? I'll n...

Thanksgiving is the day of the year that reminds me how inadequate I really am. During the days leading up to the holiday, other people are rushing around making meal plans and buying groceries. I am doing whatever it is I do on any other day-which is not meal planning or grocery shopping. Growing up, I'd watch the women of the family organize and orchestrate every holiday. They planned the meals, braved the insanity of food buying, set the table, and started prepping the food days in advance. The meal itself took less than a half an hour, of which they took part in maybe 15 minutes because they were busy adding last minute items to the table followed by clearing plates and getting coffee and dessert ready. They basically shoved their food down before concluding the day by washing and drying the dishes. There are two reasons why I was witness to this process and not a participant. The first is because I was not invited in. My mom and grandma just wanted to get the job done. It...