There’s something about this year that has me thinking back to High School. Probably because it’s my 20th year reunion and I’m starting to contemplate whether I’m supposed be doing what I thought I was going to do back in 1986. Back then, I was going to be on Broadway in a major musical, win a Tony and the rest would be history. Fast forward 20 years and the only Broadway I’ve seen lately is the one I crossed today while walking to get to my car in midtown. Funny about high school aspirations…it seems like the people with no fear always pursue their dreams and the ones like me, the conservative types wait it out while secretly singing songs in their car, the shower and anywhere else no one is actually going to hear you. I guess I’ll never know what would have happened if I pursued that Broadway dream. My life still turned out pretty great anyway and I can always sing to my kids (when they tell me not to stop singing) and at our local synagogue. It may not be Broadway, but for me, it’s close enough!
So I did what I normally do every June and I joined another weight loss center. This time, it’s L.A. Weight Loss. I’ve already mastered Weight Watchers, Atkins and the Zone, so now it’s their turn. Here’s the problem. These people monitor you like hawks. Weigh in on Tuesday, come back again Thursday…oops you’re up two pounds…not so good. Come back again Monday. Drink 58 gallons of water. Run to the bathroom every other minute. Get on the scale for kicks, still no weight loss. I’m starving. Wondering when we’re headed out for dinner and hoping I’ll be able to eat more than a chicken leg and half a baked potato. Meanwhile, my kids wanted to go to the fun Japanese hibachi place but the butter they use for cooking would probably screw up my fat allotment for the week. Dieting is not fun. Small butts are nice, but chocolate is better.
So this isn’t a confession as much as it is an observation of something that was so hysterical that it should have been on episode of “Curb Your Enthusiasm.” I was attending a funeral – okay – that’s not the funny part – of my husband’s grandmother (she wasn’t technically his grandma but that’s a whole other story). Anyway, his half brother, who made the funeral arrangements is a pretty frugal guy. He keeps his eye on the bottom line and makes sure that he doesn’t spend a penny over any asking price. And so, Minnie’s funeral was a no frills affair. As we prepared to drive to the cemetary plot, I was a bit confused when I didn’t see a hearse in front of us. Just the undertaker driving a minivan. Suddenly, the unthinkable happened. The grave diggers came over to the van, opened the trunk and Voila! Minnie’s casket was inside. Get it? Minnie’s final ride was in a minivan!!! His brother didn’t want to spring for a hearse so Minnie was transported to the cemetary in a Dodge Caravan. When I pinched my husband to share that observation, he almost keeled over laughing. Sure it may sound like I was poking fun at a sad time, but if you knew Minnie, who lived to the ripe old age of 95, she had the most sarcastic sense of humor and probably would have made that joke up before I caught the punchline! Rest in peace Minnie. Your final ride and your humor will never be forgotten!
What is it about the summer and the state of my butt? Is it that I don’t pay attention to the fact that it’s growing all winter and then suddenly, it’s June 1st and I stroll past a store window and bam! There it is…big, round and in need of a gym visit. Every year it’s the same thing. My butt is huge, I should go on a diet. And so, I join Weight Watchers for about two weeks, lose about three pounds, gain it back and start wearing bigger sizes to hide my protruding posterior. Yesterday, as I walked to my office from the train station I actually fantasized about which bodies in front of me I’d like to swap with. Hmmm, she has nice legs, that one is really toned…at least I’m thinner than that lady. Will this body jealousy ever end? I’ve always hated my legs and think about lipo but would never do it. I also remember losing a ton of weight after my daughter was born and although I was sick all the time, I looked damn good in my cute little size four outfits. Now I’m hearing that Splenda, my favorite new sweetner of all time, causes bloating, gas, and all other wonderful things that enhance the look of my bubble butt. I hope I’m not alone in my quest for a smaller tush – I’m not vain – I just want to enjoy wearing some cute outfits this summer without my thighs rubbing together and without having to see the knee fat on my legs that hasn’t gone away since I was 12 years old. Okay – I obviously have some body issues…but who doesn’t. How does your butt look these days? Care to share? Then respond when you can!
An update…I did finally read the Mommy Wars and it was pretty good. I particularly enjoyed the stories by the moms who worked…okay of course I loved those essays. As for the ones who stayed at home, they certainly made me think, but I wouldn’t take their advice if you paid me a million dollars. You can always write a book when your kids are in college one of those moms wrote. That’s nice and what if you got hit by a truck tomorrow. That wonderful novel you were sitting on would be toast, just like you. You can’t put off for tomorrow what you can do today. Your kids won’t be scarred for life because you pursued your passion while they were growing up. Wake up women, we don’t have to be martyrs just because we’re moms. Spend fun time with your kids, help them with their homework and be there when they need you…which incidentally is not all the time. It’s all about balance – for those who have found it in their lives, then kudos to you!
I don’t know how these crazy blogs work and reach a gazillion people, but I’m going to give it a shot. Right about now I’m going to throw my two cents in about the Mommy Wars, mothers who give working moms a bad name and the guilt factor. First up…Mommy Wars -haven’t read it yet, looking forward to it but doubt there’s anything new to find out. Working moms can’t stand stay at home moms and vice versa. There’s jealousy and guilt on both sides of the fence, we all act like we’re back in high school and that too will never change. Secondly, working moms who give working moms a bad name…Lisa Belkin. Columnist for the New York Times who claims to be a working mom but manages to bash every working mom in her wake every time she writes a column. I read something recently that she wrote about the designer Dana Buchman and how she focused on her thriving career rather than her daughter who was learning disabled and I thought to myself, if I were Dana Buchman right now, I’d find out where Lisa Belkin lives and give her a piece of my mind. I’m tired of writers who claim that are working and know what it’s like to juggle diapers and deadlines also say it can’t be done and we should go back to being housewives. Sorry, ain’t gonna happen. We can too strike a balance as long as we re-write the rules and figure out what’s important in our lives. If you have a passion – pursue it. Check the guilt at the curb and go after your dreams – you’ll be a better mom and a better person for it.
It’s been quite a while since my last post…with the holiday season, job stress and kid demands, I haven’t had a chance to blog. So here I am. Back again and so far, it looks like no one is reading this blog because no one has commented or…like me, they may be reading it but are to busy to respond. I can’t tell you how many times I read something and say to myself, I should really email that person and then I have to clean up some cat poop that went awry and the thought totally falls out of my head. So here I am hoping that I can jumpstart the rolemommy confessions blog with my busy mommy compatriots. When your kids says something funny…send it my way. Or if you’ve got a doozy of a confession to make or to comment on…give me a shout out. Otherwise, I’ll just stay on the lookout for some great stories.
Whenever my kids get sick, I always figure they’re resilient enough to bounce back so I wait a few extra days until I take them to the doctor (unless of course they have a raging fever or have fallen from a tree). But with this cockamamie avian bird flu going around (okay we’re not in Asia or Turkey or anything but you know how parents get nutty), I’ve been monitoring my son’s coughing patterns every morning and it started to get me concerned. So after 2 weeks of coughing like an old man, I finally made the decision to take him to the doctor today. Of course, today was the day he woke up perfectly fine so when I took him to the doctor’s office, he was happy go-lucky and the doc thought I must have been nuts for taking him in considering there were kids hanging from the rafters lining up in droves for flu shots. Going to the pediatrician is like having a car or a plumbing problem. The moment you call in the mechanic or the plumber, nothing is wrong and you look like an idiot. I may have looked dumb today, but at least my son had a clean bill of health.
The PTA President tried to coerce me into getting my daughter to join Girl Scouts. As thoughts of my child selling chocolate mint cookies swirled in my head, Madame President informed me that we’d have to host the entire brood at our house at least one Saturday a month…the one day my family actually gets out and does fun things together. To complicate matters, the bratty kid whose mom doesn’t talk to me anymore because my daughter blurted out that I thought she was a tyrant, was going to be in the group too. Considering I dropped out of Brownies when I was six and I don’t want to have a confrontation with that mom who hates me, it looks like we’re going to have to take a pass.