A Mom's Life

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...

Lately all sorts of relationship articles have been popping up in my news feed. Like the terrible one about how you should have sex with your husband every day. Good for you, honey. Moving on. I read one this week that has really made me think. I suggest you take a look at it. It's in the Atlantic and it's called Masters of Love by Emily Esfahani Smith. Smith's article discusses the science of marital happiness. You should really read it because my "Cliff's Notes" will miss a bunch of important stuff. In the article, Smith writes about research done by psychologists at the Gottman Institute. By researching interactions between couples in a Love Lab, these experts concluded that there are Masters of relationships and Disasters. Those who are Masters are really good at keeping two elements central in their relationship: kindness and generosity. Sure, you say, that seems so obvious. Well, not to me. I took a scan of this article and it clicked with me. Then I ...

I didn't take any drugs during either of my kids' deliveries, I swear. However, I must have been on drugs at some point in the hospital because I think I signed very important paperwork and I just don't recall when. It's a little scary and disconcerting, honestly, because I don't remember reading the fine print, or signing my name, but I clearly signed myself up for something- for life- and frankly, I'm not very happy about it. It was such a foolish thing to do but it must have been the post labor hormones and is definitely one of those parts of labor (like the burning and the delirium) that oddly, I can't recall. Yes, it must have been in the hospital that I signed myself up to be the "default parent." Like a responsible new parent, I gave their names for their social security numbers and birth certificates. I watched the video and signed that I understood shaking a baby can kill it, and signed that I understood how to properly install a car se...