To help me adjust to motherhood, I made up a saying that is a declaration, a meditation, and an affirmation; something that just helps me to get by.  It is “there’s enough room here for everybody.”  What I mean is that there’s enough room here (in my family, in my house, in my community, among my friends) for everyone to have a little space, have their needs met, get a little love and happiness.  There’s enough.  We’re all welcome here.

That’s me being happy and open, ready for the possibilities of what lies ahead.  You know, “the hills are alive” and all that jazz (sts).

Then there are also days when I really hope that we don’t run into each other at the grocery store.  I’m grumpy, short-tempered and the kids are in the way…you know that feeling?  In fact, I’ll even admit it, I (accidentally) knocked BigBoy over in the store today.  It was a big boo-hoo scene.  Suck it up kid, was the extent of my sympathy (sorry it just goes that way sometimes).  We go to an unconventional grocery store with smaller aisles and I really ask that the boys (I try to keep BabyD in the seat) to pay attention to the cart and other people in the aisle.  They need to stay out of others’ way and watch where I’m steering.  They can’t just wander (or run) around the aisles aimlessly.  Because kids like that are annoying and I’m sorry because those may be your kids.  (Don’t hate me for asking the question, but you do know that behavior is annoying, right?  Especially in small markets or areas with limited spaces or crowds or…I better shut up now. )

But here I am correcting BigBoy, holding BabyD because he’s about to have a meltdown and unloading the grocery cart all at the same time.  I hate these days.  I’m in a mood.  I never feel less sexy than going grocery shopping in my mom uniform.  You know what I’m talking about, right?  Mom uniform:  capris, non-belly flab revealing t-shirt and matching flip flops, which is of course the dressier version of yoga pants and a two-day old tank top.

I promise you these are not my capri pants. But it's how they make me feel.

There is nothing redeeming about capris.  Your legs are either too chubby for shorts (or you’re demented enough to think so) or it’s too cold for exposing your legs, but all your junky jeans really need to get washed.  I try to cute-up my capris with a cool t-shirt and matching flip flops.  And you know what Grammy taught me, “A lady never leaves her house without lipstick and earrings.”  I put in a good minimal effort.  But the simple truth is who looks good wearing these?

I think the simple fact of the matter is that these capris to blame.  They made me grumpy.  It’s their fault.  So if sexy is an attitude and a feeling then my carpis make me feel so not sexy, frumpy, generic, like a mom who has lost herself and I don’t give a shit.  And then f-off thankyouverymuch.

Excuse me.  I think I need to go change out of these capris and back into not just another jen.  Cheers.

For more rage against capris, here were some good ones:

FLAM’s Fashion Fail: Capri Pants

Mom Uniform Not for Me

Capri Alternatives, or That Girl That I Hate

Red alert! It’s another anti-capri sortie

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The Tuesday prior to our trip, my Dad had his first doctor visit in probably 25 years Welcome to Medicare physical exam.  My Dad didn’t even get to ask the doctor the list of questions that my sweet Mom had made up for him.  His blood pressure was so high the nurse practitioner thought he was about to explode.  He had to go to the hospital right away.  A bit strange to my Dad, for sure, since he’s been feeling that way for such a long time.  While my parents were here for Christmas, we expressed our concern for his inability to climb the stairs in our house without being out of breath.  He is just 65.  My brother and I knew something was up.  You couldn’t go through our childhood with that many sodas (Dr. Pepper at 10-2-4 comes to mind), cookies and Miracle Whip sandwiches.  My Dad is old school, grew up in Texas, and even if he ever had health insurance, he probably wouldn’t have gone to the doctors anyway.  Yes, my parents are two in the 37 million Americans without health insurance because they can’t afford it and never worked for companies very long that had coverage.

To make a long story short, Dad had three stints placed in his heart and one artery is completely collapsed.  While I was assured that this is no big deal, practically out-patient surgery (“even President Clinton had this done and look, he’s fine”), I was still a bit shaken up.  I mean, it’s MY Dad.  We’ve had a bumpy road of father and daughter, not the traditional hero worship/Daddy’s little girl affair.  The past has been forgiven and I’ve let go of it, now we’re at a great place of mutual love and respect for each other.  I want this time to endure and build memories from.

Fast forward to the Village Inn (similar to Denny’s) in Apache Junction, AZ.  Mom, Dad, BabyD and I are having breakfast together.  Seeing Dad eat pancakes, eggs and greasy sausages had my heart sink a little.  Let’s not even talk about the cheeseburger and fries consumed the night before.  Killing time before the memorial service we tour my college campus and my old apartment building.  My dorm isn’t even there anymore (it’s been torn down and replaced with fresh, new residential living) and my apartment building is now gated.  Conversations with my parents about old boyfriends, roommates, and drama have me feeling heavy and that this past life in Arizona is so far removed from who I am today.  This jen has come a long way, baby.

I am touched by the turnout at Steve’s memorial, even with the torrential and odd downpour.  This service is for a man that while I was growing up often scared the shit out of me when he yelled at us kids.  As an adult, he was the guy that would flip you the bird, shove his middle finger in your face and say, “Want to see where the scorpion stung me?”  He was a Vietnam Veteran, a father to a dear and lifelong friend, a husband to one of the nicest ladies, and my Dad’s old golf buddy and farkle adversary.  We shared some great time with him and his family while we were young.  Steve died after a year-long battle with cancer.  I looked over to my Dad during the service who was bouncing Baby on his lap.  I see that he has tears welling up in his eyes.  He says to me before the 21 gun salute, “we’re going out front.”  I get it Dad; things are a bit too intense right now for you.  They are for me too.

So fast forward to this week, I feel like the Universe has really been speaking to me.  I’ve been all emotionally clogged, didn’t write all week, and feeling ponderous.  I know that the blahs have been with me too long and I need to move on.  What do I need to learn, see or hear here?

Well, Sicko was ready for me to pick up at the library to view and Oprah (the one time I turned the TV on during the day) did an episode on Food Inc. and Michael Pollen, the author of The Omnivore’s Dilemma, was a guest.  The messages from both the movie and television show that I watched really altered my thinking and made a big impact on me.  The first prevailing message was “pay now or pay later.”  You can spend more grocery money and brain power (i.e., conscious thought or in common sense terms “paying attention”) on the food you put in your body and how you care for your life on the front end or you can pay more money and emotional turmoil on the backend when you’re sick, need medication and treatment, and still have to suffer through the medical and insurance systems.  Nutrition, exercise and mindful thinking or health costs, disease and insurance nightmares later?  Don’t care well for yourself on the front end of your life then you’ll suffer on the backend.  How much more plainly should I put it?  Wherever you go, there you are, right?

The second prevailing message is we are a “Me” nation, not a “We” nation.  We’re vastly concerned about how much national health care is going to cost us individually.  We need to be praising the possibility of our parents and children being well cared for.  We need to be affirming our health and the goodness that it is to take care of others (those we know and those we don’t).  Instead, we’re putting our energy on fussing and fighting about it.  That disturbs and saddens me.  We have the opportunity to raise the bar on our humanity. I pray that we make the leap of faith and institute a national healthcare program. If we did then we would save lots of families from worrying about how to pay for their new medications (just like my Mom & Dad).  It’s pretty simple for me at this altitude.

I want to help my Dad through this time; let him know that he can make changes that will extend his life.  I want to create more memories with my Mom & Dad and my family.  I refuse to believe the saying that you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.  It’s never too late to care – as a father, a daughter, friend or a nation.  Because the Beatles always speak the truth to me, I’ll close with a song.  Cheers!

Try to see it my way,
Do I have to keep on talking till I can’t go on?
While you see it your way,
Run the risk of knowing that our love may soon be gone.
We can work it out,
We can work it out.

Think of what you’re saying.
You can get it wrong and still you think that it’s all right.
Think of what I’m saying,
We can work it out and get it straight, or say good night.

We can work it out,
We can work it out.

Life is very short, and there’s no time
For fussing and fighting, my friend.
I have always thought that it’s a crime,
So I will ask you once again.

Try to see it my way,
Only time will tell if I am right or I am wrong.
While you see it your way
There’s a chance that we might fall apart before too long.

We can work it out,
We can work it out.

Life is very short, and there’s no time
For fussing and fighting, my friend.
I have always thought that it’s a crime,
So I will ask you once again.

Try to see it my way,
Only time will tell if I am right or I am wrong.
While you see it your way
There’s a chance that we might fall apart before too long.

We can work it out,
We can work it out.

I want to give thanks to my girlfriends, Bryn & Tiffany, for the additional support and encouragement this past week.  Also thanks to Mama Kat.  While this isn’t a Whrrl story, it did help motivate me to write it out.  Cheers girls!

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Ok look, it may simply be that any house guest that stays with us for 18 days I’d feel the same way about.  But this is Husband’s Mother and she comes from Toronto so I know she wants to stay and enjoy the boys for as long as she can.  I’m perfectly clear now (as if I wasn’t before) that she’s not here to spend time with me.  It is all about her son and grandkids.  I’m ancillary to the whole process.  However and strangely enough, I’m the one that’s home with her the most.  I guess I do have fantasies about us doing girly things together like shopping, laughing over lunch, or enjoying each other’s company, but I really need to reset my expectations.  Much, much lower.  We share so few interests.  Well, ok, except Husband and the kids, but that’s already been established.

I make great efforts at being a good daughter-in-law.  To prepare for her visit I get distilled water for her sleeping machine, I fill the cupboards with snacks, plan meals taking into consideration all the things she doesn’t like, put the beautiful flowers outside as not to aggravate her allergies, I wash all the sheets in detergent for sensitive skin.  I prepare every dinner and breakfast on the weekends.  I even ask her to plan and cook a dinner one or two days a week.  I invite her to my social events.  I go shopping with her at the big lady store and help her pick out clothes (that she usually buys).  I ask for parenting advice and honestly seek her input.  However, a thank you for dinner every once in a while would be nice.  Patting me on the back and saying that I’m doing a good job with the house, the kids, or my husband would be great too.  I feel like she makes zero effort toward our relationship or saying anything nice to me.  It’s like we just exist here together and my house is getting smaller with all the crap lying around.  God knows I’m not picking up after her too.  But I do try to contain it a bit.

After inviting her to three social events and her continually declining I asked why.  She said she just wanted to be “with her family.”  “But I’m your family too,” sounding more desperate than I wanted.  “Yeah, but I’m with you all day,” she replied.  Okay.  I get it.  And I need to let go that when she asks for family pictures before she leaves that I’m not included that either.

She’s an awesome Grandma.  She brings lots and lots of toys for the kids.  She eagerly puts them to bed, changes diapers, dresses them in the morning, reads them books and plays games.  I love that.  I really do.  I’m so glad that my kids will really know their Grammie & Grampie well.  They are also very generous when it comes to their gifts.  My FIL slept in our bed while we were away in Palm Springs over night (post coming!).  And ewww…yes, I was freaked out that he voluntarily slept there without an invitation or sheet change.  (But I’m working on getting over it!)  Anyway, for Christmas he decided to get us a new bed, a really nice one.  Very generous and so-not on my Christmas list.  But yes, thankful nonetheless.  Our old bed was (tainted now that he slept there) and lumpy.  And it was awesome that they were okay with Husband & I getting out of town for 24 hours.

I feel guilty in all my complaining.  Really, it could be worse.  I know that.

Truthfully I’m tired, frustrated and want to let these hurt feelings go.  I want to reorganize the house and claim it back!  I should have done more writing and yoga while she was here.  That would have helped.  I should have said the serenity prayer more.  That may have also helped.  I wish I didn’t sweat the small stuff with her here.  (Thanks Maria for the advice, you’re right.  I do need to shut up and get over it!)

I honestly did try the path of acceptance but found it really rocky and my feet are sore. I tried the path of avoidance and hid out in my room more.  That was nice.  I tried having a better sense of humor but all I could hear was my evil, dark angel on my shoulder saying things that I shouldn’t say out loud (it still helped me get through though).

Well, the one thing that I know I can control is how long she’ll be visiting next time.  I think 14 days is more than enough.   We will never do 18 days again while I’m a SAHM.  Who’s laughing now?  Me.  And yes, it’s my dark angel laugh.  I’m going to go pour a large of glass of wine.  To hell with it.  I don’t care that it’s 2:00.  I’m celebrating.  I learned my lesson.

P.S. Thank you to LOL Dogs for the image.  They are always good for a few laughs.

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First stop, BevMo.  You know today was the last day of the 5 cent sale.  Gotta stock pile while you can.  Yes, we walked over to TJ Maxx to return that ridiculous blouse.  (What ever was I thinking?)  And we were all laughs, the boys were running, the sun was shining down…la la la.  They had a snack to keep the good mood going on our Monday routine.  On to the grocery store we go.

We were fine going in.  But I did something stupid.  To be nice, I gave the boys a chocolate donut.  Ok, I got a bite too.  But that was really dumb of me looking back.  Typically, I swing by the bakery section for a sugar cookie, but they weren’t into it and saw the chocolate donuts with sprinkles.  I was suckered in for the moment.  I. Will. Never. Do. That. Again.

I won’t go into the total gory details.  Let’s just cut to the chase.  BabyD has a complete meltdown in the dairy section.  Screaming so loudly.  He wants down.  Because he’s a total Californian, he also thinks he can walk around the grocery store bare footed.  I think that’s gross.  So no.  He doesn’t like that.  He won’t sit down in the cart.  He won’t walk with shoes.  More screaming.  I hold. I bribe. I pat his back.  I give him a time out against the yogurts.  Nothing works.  Just 3 more items to go.  He weighs 35 pounds and I cannot (and will not) carry him and push the cart while BigBoy is on the end.  I can’t steer for god’s sakes.  Still screaming and I can’t tell if I purchased the pork chops on sale or not.  Shit.

Do I just leave this full basket right here and yank my kids out of the store?  Only 2 more items to go.  Can’t we pull it together and get out of here calmly?  A lady approaches offering anything in her cart to make the screaming stop.  Another lady nods with sympathy.  BabyD is still screeching down the cracker isle.  An old lady humphs, gives me the stink eye, and puts her fingers in her ears as I walk by.  Really. I’m not kidding. [read the title of this post]

I actually get him calmed down enough to help me unload the cart. Somewhat.  Still a mild level of sobbing.  I’m forced to pick him up, sorta steer (just barely missed the big woman in the electric cart).  Let’s just get out of here!!!  People were staring.  I get to the car, unload, get in, and pull out of the parking lot and scream.  A few times.  Now BigBoy’s crying because I’ve scared him.  I apologize and I think he really gets it.  He’s tired of BabyD crying too.

I need to rearrange when I do the grocery shopping.  I can’t do it with two.  Forget it.  Yes, I’m an idiot and gave him the donut.  Yes, it was close to his nap time.  But the last two times we were at the grocery store were challenging too.  I’ve got to make a change to save myself.  This was TOO MUCH.

Nap time then wasn’t long enough and there was another round of melt downs later in the day.  Somehow, I got through it and eventually got past my anger and frustration.  5:30 couldn’t come fast enough.  Here’s the funny part.  BigBoy at dinner said that it would all be better if BabyD was a big brother too.  Husband and I had to laugh.  What else are you going to do after a day like today?  Cheers, I’m having three glasses tonight.

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Honestly, I do it so I’ll clean my house.  And I ask people on the evite not to judge me if they find cheerios in the carpet, because they probably will.  I’m only surface cleaning and those little suckers get really stuck in there!  So I do the best cleaning job I can do in three hours (and let me tell you, my house really can really use it!).

I also have come to accept that I love entertaining.  And quite frankly, if I didn’t have HHH, I probably wouldn’t see these awesome women as much.  And I need them!  The women that show up for these, well some are close friends, some are friends that I wish I were closer to, and others are women that I just met.  I figure us Moms have got to stick together.  We need laughter, support, and group of gals that just get it.  So if I can create an environment where that happens (and it does) then I’m all smiles.  I love doing the hostess thing, making sure that everyone has a full glass and something to eat.  I love introducing people to each other and watch the afternoon unfold.

Typically about two glasses in, I stop and listen to the mania.  I laugh.  The kids are playing , the moms are having a good time.  All is well.  Am I always full of grace and ease at these things?  Hell No.  But I always see HHH as an opportunity to practice that.  Some kids drive me crazy, some kids are too loud, and some kids break things.  And sometimes there are even Mommies that are a little awkward too.  I feel like I’m inside my own personal, social randori and my job is to relax, keep my sense of humor, and make sure the afternoon is flowing well.  That’s fun for me and it’s also a great learning experience too.  Cause yes, sometimes I want to freak out on the kid who is jumping on my coffee table.

The thing that I most appreciate is the women that show up.  It’s always the right group and it’s never the exact same people either.  Most people are at ease here.  It’s okay to come late, it’s okay to bring a friend, it’s okay to bring some food and more wine and it’s also okay if you don’t.  When we’re here we look out for each other’s kids and give hugs when someone stumbles.  We offer advice, support, alternative thinking, and love to each other when needed.  Hanging out at HHH, I feel like there is a Sisterhood or a Motherhood that just feels good.  I hope that’s a feeling that everyone gets when they come.  And they too can relax in the mania.  Because isn’t that a large part of what Motherhood is?

Cheers friends and let me know when you’re in my hood.  I’d love to fill your glass.

P.S.  A big shout out to Anne Taintor who always makes me laugh.  I’m a big fan!

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Oh no. Not you? Who’d it be? Certainly not me!

Yes, it’s true. I’ve become THAT woman.  You know the one. The woman you talk about with your closest girlfriend (who I call my “sistafriends”), where you can throw around the dirt and it’s safe – the conversation doesn’t leave the kitchen counter (or wine bar).  Not that YOU do that.  But THAT woman where you say, “poor thing, the kids have taken over” or “Wow. There’s too much crap in her house” or maybe even, “She’s losing it.”  I felt bad for THAT woman and wondered if she had given up or was just too overwhelmed?  C’mon, how hard is it to stay home with the kids?  I mean really, people.

Well, here I am.  I’ve become Her.  I used to say those things, but now I don’t.  I GET IT.  It’s hard to keep it all together – the groceries, the cleaning (what little I do of it…always pressing up against my line of what I can tolerate vs. getting away with), the constant flow of laundry (oh the laundry!), doing the dishes, making lunch, fixing dinners, wiping noses, changing diapers, applying band aids, picking up, picking up, picking up, not to mention the numerous interruptions when I’m actually trying to do something that doesn’t directly involve the kids (you know, like the bills, responding to an email, looking for a job, trying to blog, returning calls, scheduling a playdate, etc.).

How was I ever a full time working mom of two plus a husband?  I still cooked, picked up, read books, returned person emails, called friends.  But the truth of the matter is that a) I had a house cleaner and b) I didn’t spend anytime with the kids and in fact, BigBoy didn’t like me very much.  That wasn’t good.  So yes, there is a good payoff, but does it have to be my sanity?

So here I am.  My house looks like the toy box vomited.  Everywhere.  In the living room, kitchen, dining room, my office/playroom and on the stairs.  You’ll find toys in the master bedroom, hallway, guest room, boys’ bathroom, and all over their floor and in ever nook and cranny of their rooms.  Stepping on a piece of plastic at anytime (particularly at night) can send me on a fiery rage instantly, but no, I keep my cool.  But it’s pushing me close to the edge.  It’s certainly driving me to drink more (but not like Sally) and little tokey now and again, which certainly has been a hot topic around the Bloghersphere.  But we’ll address those issues at a later time.

I know people excuse the mess by saying, “what do you expect with two kids under five?”  Well quite frankly I expect a bit more organization and a little less chaos.  Thankyouverymuch. Oh I don’t mind a little mess.  You should see my desk or the linen closet.  But c’mon all over the house?  How many times a day do I have to pick up this shit?

And might I say, comparatively, we don’t have that much stuff.  I limit the toys to one toy box for Big Boy, one for BabyD, and one downstairs in the office/playroom.  Anymore than that is too much.  But it’s like Pandora’s box, once it’s opened, it goes everywhere!!!  Yes, I make sure the boys pick up right before Husband gets home, so he’s not freaked out when he walks in the door.  Really, I just want him to take the kids outside and play (read: away from me) so I can cook, have a glass of wine, and relax a bit, rather than him having to pick up after us.

Is it just a case of keeping calm and carrying on?  How do I untangle my sanity being related to all this crap on the floor?  I need a system or I will be driven to more substance use or the loony bin.  I did a good job this weekend going through Big Boy’s toy box eliminating the little pieces of crap, toys he doesn’t play with, and basically the toys that I hate.  I did receive good feedback like “hey Mom, I found my little man that I’ve been missing!”  But I still have the downstairs to do.  It’s like cleaning the toilets, someone has to do it.  It’s gonna be me.  I hate it.

Then I probably need to do this every six months.  And train them (and myself) to pick up before going to bed.  Nothing makes my day start out with a groan like walking downstairs and seeing the living room floor covered with toys.  Ugh jen, get a grip on yourself, woman!

Also, do you think it bad of me to ask guests to the boys’ birthday parties not to bring gifts of toys?  Will this permanently dement my children?  Both of the boys’ birthdays come right after the holidays and the expense and consumption of the season never really sits right with me.  I’ll tackle that one later.

For now, let me just say thanks to my sistafriends Bryn and Lola who help me with this craziness and those friends I have yet to meet, JerseyGirl and Mrs. FussyPants (and the other funny women on the blogosphere).  Thank you for making me laugh through my path as a SAHM and being THAT woman.  She’s not so bad.  I’m learning to not suffer through my insanity and love every minute of it.  Cheers ladies!

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Being a Jennifer is a blessing and a curse. It’s also like a huge sea of strange family. When I meet another Jennifer I always ask her what her middle name is. Do you know how many other Jennifer Lynn’s I have met? At least a dozen over the years…it’s very strange. Sometimes, my doom sets in…is being a Jennifer like being a Seven of Nine? (And yes, it’s very revealing to admit that you watched Star Trek TNG) But I’m a Jen and we’re a whole other class unto ourselves. And that’s what this blog will be about – my life as a Jen…well, I’m not just another Jen.

I’m a mom, a wife, a sister, a daughter, a friend and a woman who works full time. So forgive me if I don’t write everyday. I’m also getting older, which is a weird trip. And I’m trying to defy my body’s gravity and stay sane, which I’m sure there will be plenty of posts about those topics too.

But before I end this first post I should acknowledge someone who is the source of my second motivation for this blog. There’s a woman that I’ve admired for years and something she said about a decade ago, really stuck with me all this time. A while back, I was working in the leadership development world and she was a participant in the women’s leadership program that I was a part of. She was maybe 26 at the time and during the program deeply solidified that as a writer, she had something important to say to the world and her voice was needed. All I could think of sitting in the back of the room was wow, how great it must be to have that feeling. Well, thank you Cheryl for your inspiration, because now I finally feel like I have something to say.

I hope you enjoy the posts and the occasional pictures. Drop me a line from time to time. Or as they say in the South, “y’all come back now ya hear!”

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