Thursday, October 30, 2008

A little ranting anyone?

If I hear one more mother tell me how being a mom is the most fulfilling, amazing, rewarding and, my personal fav, the most fun EVER I will scream LIAR 3 inches from her face. This probably sounds more than a little bitchy and God knows I love my son more than life but come on people. Tuesday I had my share of mothers memorializing motherhood. Motherhood is all consuming, exhausting, frustrating and comical. Yes, it can be amazing in those rare moments of perfection when everything is right in the world and you're getting a cuddle, a laugh or they're asleep (another personal fav). Daily life though is less than perfect. It's fishing the contents of the bathroom trash out of the toilet. It's watching countless hours of mindnumbing tv. It's frantically racing through the kitchen as Fabrizio randomly points and says "that" and it's a race against an inevitable meltdown to figure out what the hell "that" means. Rewarding? Maybe in 30 years when he's making a killing as a nuero surgeon (fingers crossed) and I'll actually have time to reflect on everything I was able to accomplish with him. Fulfilling? Not unless you're refering to time and then yes it's filling all of it. I don't even get to go to the bathroom without screaming and pounding on the door or better yet, opening the door and trying to pull me off the toilet. Yeah, that's fun. The most fun I've ever had? I'm pretty sure that was when I lived in europe after college, or college itself (crazy times, crazy times). Now that was a blast!

I prefer to think of motherhood as straight comedy. Take nothing to seriously and definately don't build it into the meaning of your life. If you have to go around telling practical strangers how fulfilling motherhood is than you've got some issues to work out. So do women who go around saying how wonderful there husbands are. Honestly, unless you tell me otherwise I'm already assuming you enjoy your life. Afterall it's the life you chose.

Monday, October 27, 2008

If there really is a God then why?

Cellulite, grey hair, wrinkles AND zits...what the hell? I'm 34. Not 54 or 14....Why? Why? Why? So what if at least 1,000 of my daily calories come from hot caffeinated beverages and sugar with artificial coloring. And I know that being a parent rivals the stress of manning a nuclear sub but come on!! At least I can thank God for forgiving clothes, makeup and my fabulous hairstylist.

Thursday, October 23, 2008

Career and Life Planning...say what?

Last week I decided to sign up for a course in, yes you guessed it, Career and Life Planning. It was a total impulse decision. I had gone onto campus to take my french midterm, which I bombed. C'est la vie. I'll take the class next semester, in person. Anyway, I was standing in the elevator feeling totally defeated when I saw an ad for this course that was just starting up. It was kismet! I have what I've affectionately coined CADD or career attention deficit disorder. For those of you that have known me long enough know exactly what I'm saying. Every few months I'm passionately onto something new. Many of these are revolving but none are committed too. Back on topic,last night was the first class and 25 minutes into it (including my tardiness of 15 minutes) I was starting...no, SERIOUSLY questioning my decision making skills. There were 3 others in the class when I arrived. One opened mouthed guy in the front row with his backpack still on and I'm pretty sure not playing with a full deck. One recent immigrant who from her recent phone conversation is from Vietnam. And me. That 3rd person high tailed it out of there when the professor (and I use this term loosely) went to check on his car. She was later replaced by Shawntee, who was thankfully later than me and the only other one with any amount of comprehension. Not surprisingly I spent the entire class formulating an exit plan and my contempt for this pint sized "professor". God, he was boring. He spent at least 5 minutes telling us how to staple the handouts. I know we were an eclectic if not challenged looking group far from Ivy league status but stapling? I think we'll manage. Everything was being spelled out and we weren't getting much past the handouts and the fucking stapling. Seriously dude, move on. One grueling hour later I'm ready to pull out my hair and I'm screaming internally "GET TO IT MAN" Honestly, did he lose on the straw pull? Is it possible he thinks we're aliens? How the hell did he get a job and is he actually trying to counsel us on office management and hr jobs? Yeah, I've got my sights a little higher (admittedly, probably a bit to high).

So, I thought I'd name off a few possible job options.

art historian (my need to feel intelligent)
college professor (hey, if he can swing it)
UN interpreter (not likely but very cool)
writer (why not)
anthropologist (just an interest)
herbalist (and no not the sticky kind)
work with children in need (war victims, disabled, starving, etc)
ambassador (extremely unlikely, considering the college years -you know what I mean Stacey, oh yeah)
folk singer (weird grownup fantasy)


I know I'm totally delusional.

At least I learned one thing from this 1st class. That is, if I haven't figured out what I want to be when I grow up by now, then a short bald man isn't going to be much help. Am I going back for class #2? Highly unlikely.

Oh, was that too vague...how about, NOT ON MY LIFE!!

Tuesday, October 7, 2008

There's room for do-overs

A few weeks ago I signed up for a french course through the local community college. Obviously, I didn't think that I had enough going on and am some sort of gluten for punishment. French happens to be on a list of things I'd like to accomplish in this lifetime and I guess the idea of stimulating my brain was...well, dumb. I am days away from a midterm that covers up to chapter 14 and I am well, at chapter 6. My lagging became painfully obvious when last Tuesday I went over to my friend Julie's house to get help on a quiz. Julie who spent a few months in France learning the language. Julie who I consider a practical linguist. Well that quiz went terribly wrong and I ended up with 12 out of 20 or 60%. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the grading curve that comes to a D-. I am screwed!! Three things I forgot when I signed up for this class:
1. I'm crazy competitive with myself. So needless to say I'm a little pissed at ME.
2. I'm easily distracted and a tad lazy.
and most importantly...
3. I'm terrible at languages.

Merde.

Wednesday, October 1, 2008

Ego is for those without kids!!

Humility, grace, and intellect are a good qualities to have but hard to keep as a parent. Case in point, last Monday Fabrizio and I were at a park that had a tire swing -fiendish invention! I was in one of those "aren't I a cute mom" moods, wearing white full legged pants, a low cut tank, and a long navy cardigan. Very in the moment, who wouldn't feel great?! Anyway, with Fabrizio in my left arm and the tire chain in my right I tried to perch my butt on its rubbery surface and fell. Yup. Fell. Whoop. Flat on ass. Baby safe. Ass fractured. At least that's what it felt like when the pain jolted straight to my throbbing head. Only 2 thoughts were running through my mind in the split second that followed: 1. don't let Fabrizio know you're hurt and 2. FUCK!!!! After about 5 minutes of pain induced laughing I made a less than graceful recovery, brushed off the sand, adjusted clothes (ignoring the new scuffs on white pants)and kept playing like the awesome mom that I am. Awesome mom that is until totally hot dad and his equally gorgeous spawn appear. Of course, I'm not phased by him as I have even hotter (shout out) hubbie at home but the nerd in me comes out and I'm flustered by all people beautiful women included. This is when humility really goes out the window. The usual parental banter occurs - blah, blah, blah...hot dad "how old is your son?" me "21 months, and yours?" hot dad "15 months"...now this is when I get verbal diarrhea...me "yeah, he's (Fabrizio) short" hot dad "that's OK" me "yeah, I know"...and I walk away. Seriously, what the...? What's wrong with me? Why am I apologizing for Fabrizios height? Obviously Fabrizio took offense to my comment and proceeded to have a royal fit. I'm feeling like I just won the prize for worst mom in the world. As I bend over to pick him up he gets his revenge. He grabs my tank top and pulled it down to expose my Calvin Klein bra - oh, yeah - ALL OF IT! Naturally hot dad gets front row tickets to my show. White to lobster in .5 seconds. Must leave park! By the time I get in the car I'm sweating (early onset menopause?), butt throbbing, head throbbing, humiliated and feeling like a bad mom. I look up to the review mirror to make nice with Fabrizio only to notice a streak of dirt that runs fully across my right cheek. It must of happened when I fell off the swing. Holy shit, I can't make this stuff up. At this point all I can do is laugh. Poor Fabrizio is just looking at me totally confused. While his dirty sweaty mom is practically bent over the steering wheel in hysterics. Yeah, if hot dad was watching he must have thought I was nuts. I think we'll cross that playground off the list.