mothers on the verge

I had a glorious day yesterday. Six fabulous women, who all had their kidlets in our 30s, chatting away about how our lives have morphed into something different for a magazine issue due out in the Spring. The rabbit showed up in the afternoon with the other children, was mesmerized by the make-up and hair people who turned her fly-aways into two glorious "piggy tails." She couldn't stop touching them or looking at herself in the mirror. Even The Prince got away from his job in time for us to be photographed as family. And someone put this amazing elixir into my hair turning it into Rapunzel ringlets. Best? Not one of the women turned out to be a (s)mother. It was so inspiring and also a little sad, making me realize how important it is for us all to have communities of other women to talk to that "GET" us. But then I realized that's what we're doing into our blogs. (a collective, "oh, that's so nice.") And now back to our regularly schedul

A (s)mother "volunteered" me for the bake sale at the rabbit's pre-school tomorrow. What am I allegedly making? Oatmeal Raisin Cookies. Right. Last time I cracked open the oatmeal I fantasized I was making wholesome breakfasts in the morning. So how did I deal with this? I scratched out the oatmeal. And wrote in chocolate chip and ginger. MAKE ME STOP. What else happened today? Allegedly the most depressing day of the year (something to do with winter darkness, lack of light, nothing to look forward to, hmmm.....) also brought: 1. a full-on fit by the rabbit in a cafe screaming "I am so HUNGRY mama! as I carried her out like a sack of potatoes for spitting water through her straw like a pea shooter at me and better -- the childless woman in a stylish suit already glaring at my breeding self. 2. someone warning me that my email address was bouncing back -- where I worked TWO years ago. (is my life so boring people can't remember what I am doing?) 3. Discovering wr

I think the (s)mothers are on to me. At The Rabbit's nursery school the other day I felt the evil eye gaze in my direction from no less than three (s)mothers. Have they discovered I am a mole? The Rabbit has joined ballet classes. Please. How could I resist the opportunity to dress her in pink ballet slippers and a pink leotard? She prances about the house now, tip toeing around pretending she is doing an arabesque. It's too too much. Many (s)mothers sat with me last week as we watched our creatures gallop across a dance floor, more linebakers than floating flowers, but so proud of their movements. I turned to one (s)mother and said, "Doesn't this remind you of taking ballet when you were little?" She said, "Actually I wore black." To which her (s)mother compadre added, "Yes, isn't that more traditional?" Sneers all around. Ballet class No. 2 is tomorrow. I'm thinking pink hair pins, pink nail polish, and pink coat for the walk over. An

Let's do something here on Mothers that is utterly predictable and practical -- and yet I think we'll all appreciate! Ok, I'LL appreciate. There are many of us who have grown to love our bodies. Some of us mothers have even lost the last pounds of our previous pregnancy. (I view you all with some awe.) But then there are some of us who have pounds that decided they were staying permanently affixed to us like some sort of sympathy reaction once the real baby left our carcass. So, what I want is all you mothers out there to share share SHARE your secrets. What has worked, not worked, made your crazy, made you want to lock your family out of the house and dive into coffee ice cream. And I'll start. Here goes. I am officially 5 pounds (and three years) away from the last bits. I have exercised, done pilates (which flattened the stomach amazingly well, but I think just transferred the squish to my back), stopped eating more than crumbs, stopped eating sugar -- well, at least

The Prince is rallying hard for Baby Due. And I can't deny that I have had some thoughts about another baby. But, and here is where I am risking calls of "selfish...." I am having these overwhelming feelings of sadness about going through another baby stage again after feeling like I am trying to (still) get back on my feet. As a writer, and one who works for myself, my time to create has only just widened up since the Rabbit started nursery school this year. (She turned 3 just a few weeks ago! Amazing.....)Not that I sit here like a dilettante all day....believe me, we don't pay our bills if I don't work. And that's fine with me. I love working, love having something of my own, love earning money. But lately I have come to realize that my expectations are too high -- I still provide about 6-7 hours of Rabbit care a day until The Prince comes home, plus earn about 73 percent of what he earns (nothing like fitting into that "women earn 73 cents for every d