If you stop by and grab a Starbucks with me (translation: you read my blog), please take a moment to leave a comment. Motivation is difficult for me to maintain, but knowing there are people reading my words may encourage me to keep going. Doesn't have to be anything profound or fancy...just let me know you're there. In return, I will do the same for you. And then we'll be one big, happy blog family.
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Operation Fabulous by 40
I turned 38 in November. Getting older never bothered me until this year. I was fine with 30 and even threw myself a big party. I wasn't married, didn't have a steady career path, rented a house with a friend...not exactly where I thought I would be at 30. But who cared? I was having fun. When I turned 35 I joked about getting old but it wasn't really an issue to me. At that point I was married, a mom, had a house, had a career. Life was good. And we were still planning on having Baby #2. I was in a great place. Birthdays #36 and #37 were a blur. Insignificant.
So why, at 38, did I suddenly have this weird anxiety about my age? Panic started to set in. Perhaps because I was now in my "late 30s"? Perhaps because the kids at school often gasp and say, "I didn't realize you were that old"? Maybe it's because I realize I will be 53 when my son graduates high school. Was the number 40 really that bad?
Or maybe, just maybe, I realize how quickly time is passing and I see doors closing - no, make that slamming shut - every day.
My entire life I have been a dreamer. There were always things I wanted to pursue -- not that I ever really DID any of them. I had a "Bucket List" of life goals. I always figured I had time. Some examples:
1. Journalist - Ok, I did that for a while but it didn't pay the bills too well. And I worked in Glen Burnie, Maryland...not exactly a news hotspot. It provided some interesting stories down the road but I knew I couldn't afford to work my way up to Katie Couric status. A $21,000 salary in the DC/Baltimore/Annapolis suburbs wasn't easy.
2. Travel - Heading to Savannah and Hilton Head Island were not exactly my ideas of "traveling". I was thinking more along the lines of London, Morocco, and New Zealand. As a kid, we were always going places but in the U.S. I wanted to do more. I wanted to see the world.
3. Marry Rich - Ha. Ha ha ha ha. Oh this one is so superficial. But honest. I envisioned marrying a handsome, affluent, preppy breadwinner. We would have an amazing house in someplace other than my homestate. He would be a professional, an athlete, a great dad, a romantic. I wouldn't have to work if I didn't want to. He would find me smart, sexy, and the perfect wife. (Oh God, I can't stop laughing...)
4. Write A Book - Isn't this on everyone's bucket list?
5. Perfect my Tennis Skills (aka Be in Amazing Physical Shape, as a result) - Back in high school, I was the tennis girl. I lived and breathed tennis. I was good, too. Not amazing, but good. I was offered a chance to walk-on at the University of Delaware with a good shot at making the team. I didn't do it. My knees were really messed up and required surgery (which I also never did). I didn't want to go to 6am practices. So I quit the sport I loved most. After college I came back to my hometown and started dating the local tennis pro. He was 16 years older, never been married, no kids. All we had in common was tennis. He got me to a playing level that was even better than I was in high school. I was one of the top women in the state. But just like everything else, I quit that too. I have since tried to get back to that level, but it hasn't happened. Maybe next year.
My life didn't turn out the way I expected. I am an English teacher, married to a history teacher. We travel to Maine every summer and take day trips to DC or Philly. The most "news" I ever cover is re-posting a status on Facebook from the Today Show. My tennis skills have dropped from a 4.5 rating to an embarrassing 3.5 level. I have written a few chapters of a few books....but they never get anywhere. And lastly, I am FAR from being rich.
I am not complaining at all. Trust me. Life is good. Very good. But as I get closer to the big 4-0, I see that my goals have to change. And it is a wake-up call to realize that half of your life has passed already. The goals you had when you were 24 are not the goals you can realistically have now. Even if I wanted to pursue a journalism career, it wouldn't happen the way I wanted. Oh sure, I could work for a newspaper making $25,000. Realistic? Nope. I could go back and get my Master's in journalism but who would hire a 40-year-old woman when they could hire a 22-year-old hot shot? Door #1: CLOSED.
Rich hubby? That door closed on February 24, 2007. And I am ok with that. Do I occasionally dream about winning the $600 million PowerBall? Absolutely. But my hubby is who I was meant to marry. He is smart and professional and handsome and preppy. He's a great dad and an athlete. We live a good life.
Tennis? The last time I picked up a racket was a month ago when I went out to hit with Sissy. Before that, it was when I was coaching the local high school team a year ago. Competitively speaking, I would not dare step onto a court now because it would be pure embarrassment. I'm 30 lbs heavier than I should be (I have no tennis skirts that even fit), my knees are likely to give out at any moment, and my body probably couldn't twist into the tennis positions it was used to oh so many years ago. And if I did make it through a match, I probably wouldn't be able to walk for a week afterwards.
There's still time to travel, yes, but realistically who has the money or time? Two college tuitions loom in the future, mortgage payments to make, and work tends to get in the way. Those exotic locales may not be visited until I hit 65. And even then it is doubtful.
All of these thoughts have been going through my head for the past few months. I can hear doors closing all around me. Don't get me wrong: I am extremely grateful and blessed. My life is good. But different.
If I were to talk to a shrink, they would probably tell me that the reason I am depressed about 40 is because we have decided that we are done having kids. Hubby is adamant that we are good with two. I am 99% ok with it. I can't get to 100% because that means another chapter has officially ended. But it has. And that realization is smacking me in the face.
So now I am trying to embrace my fourth decade and focus on ME. I decided that I have two years and, instead of falling into a pit of despair, I am going to make myself fabulous. The goal is to be more fabulous at 40 than I was at 25. (I was going to say 20, but at 20 I was still in college. Life wasn't real then.)
As I get older, I feel myself changing into a woman who is letting herself go. I've gained weight, but who cares? I am not on the market anymore. Hubby loves me. But I'm falling into the "mommy jeans" category. Not that I actually wear Mommy Jeans, but my mentality is there. Yoga pants on the weekends, very little make-up, no fun dates or nights out. I am all MOM. I am conservative, careful, dull, lifeless.
I see all of these amazing women in their 40s, 50s, and 60s. I envy them but I never really thought I could be one of them.
Until Operation Fabulous by 40 took hold.
I think I see myself going downhill and it scares me. I want to grab myself by the ankles and pull myself back to the summit. And when I get to that summit, I want to be able to stand up there and shout, "I AM FABULOUS!"
The basic premise of this mantra is: to look and feel better/healthier/stronger/more confident than I ever have in my life. I want to be a HOT 40-year-old. A healthy 40-year-old. I want to be noticed, not dismissed as a "middle-aged woman".
Major Hurdle #1 is happening on June 25. Stay tuned....
So why, at 38, did I suddenly have this weird anxiety about my age? Panic started to set in. Perhaps because I was now in my "late 30s"? Perhaps because the kids at school often gasp and say, "I didn't realize you were that old"? Maybe it's because I realize I will be 53 when my son graduates high school. Was the number 40 really that bad?
Or maybe, just maybe, I realize how quickly time is passing and I see doors closing - no, make that slamming shut - every day.
My entire life I have been a dreamer. There were always things I wanted to pursue -- not that I ever really DID any of them. I had a "Bucket List" of life goals. I always figured I had time. Some examples:
1. Journalist - Ok, I did that for a while but it didn't pay the bills too well. And I worked in Glen Burnie, Maryland...not exactly a news hotspot. It provided some interesting stories down the road but I knew I couldn't afford to work my way up to Katie Couric status. A $21,000 salary in the DC/Baltimore/Annapolis suburbs wasn't easy.
2. Travel - Heading to Savannah and Hilton Head Island were not exactly my ideas of "traveling". I was thinking more along the lines of London, Morocco, and New Zealand. As a kid, we were always going places but in the U.S. I wanted to do more. I wanted to see the world.
3. Marry Rich - Ha. Ha ha ha ha. Oh this one is so superficial. But honest. I envisioned marrying a handsome, affluent, preppy breadwinner. We would have an amazing house in someplace other than my homestate. He would be a professional, an athlete, a great dad, a romantic. I wouldn't have to work if I didn't want to. He would find me smart, sexy, and the perfect wife. (Oh God, I can't stop laughing...)
4. Write A Book - Isn't this on everyone's bucket list?
5. Perfect my Tennis Skills (aka Be in Amazing Physical Shape, as a result) - Back in high school, I was the tennis girl. I lived and breathed tennis. I was good, too. Not amazing, but good. I was offered a chance to walk-on at the University of Delaware with a good shot at making the team. I didn't do it. My knees were really messed up and required surgery (which I also never did). I didn't want to go to 6am practices. So I quit the sport I loved most. After college I came back to my hometown and started dating the local tennis pro. He was 16 years older, never been married, no kids. All we had in common was tennis. He got me to a playing level that was even better than I was in high school. I was one of the top women in the state. But just like everything else, I quit that too. I have since tried to get back to that level, but it hasn't happened. Maybe next year.
My life didn't turn out the way I expected. I am an English teacher, married to a history teacher. We travel to Maine every summer and take day trips to DC or Philly. The most "news" I ever cover is re-posting a status on Facebook from the Today Show. My tennis skills have dropped from a 4.5 rating to an embarrassing 3.5 level. I have written a few chapters of a few books....but they never get anywhere. And lastly, I am FAR from being rich.
I am not complaining at all. Trust me. Life is good. Very good. But as I get closer to the big 4-0, I see that my goals have to change. And it is a wake-up call to realize that half of your life has passed already. The goals you had when you were 24 are not the goals you can realistically have now. Even if I wanted to pursue a journalism career, it wouldn't happen the way I wanted. Oh sure, I could work for a newspaper making $25,000. Realistic? Nope. I could go back and get my Master's in journalism but who would hire a 40-year-old woman when they could hire a 22-year-old hot shot? Door #1: CLOSED.
Rich hubby? That door closed on February 24, 2007. And I am ok with that. Do I occasionally dream about winning the $600 million PowerBall? Absolutely. But my hubby is who I was meant to marry. He is smart and professional and handsome and preppy. He's a great dad and an athlete. We live a good life.
Tennis? The last time I picked up a racket was a month ago when I went out to hit with Sissy. Before that, it was when I was coaching the local high school team a year ago. Competitively speaking, I would not dare step onto a court now because it would be pure embarrassment. I'm 30 lbs heavier than I should be (I have no tennis skirts that even fit), my knees are likely to give out at any moment, and my body probably couldn't twist into the tennis positions it was used to oh so many years ago. And if I did make it through a match, I probably wouldn't be able to walk for a week afterwards.
There's still time to travel, yes, but realistically who has the money or time? Two college tuitions loom in the future, mortgage payments to make, and work tends to get in the way. Those exotic locales may not be visited until I hit 65. And even then it is doubtful.
All of these thoughts have been going through my head for the past few months. I can hear doors closing all around me. Don't get me wrong: I am extremely grateful and blessed. My life is good. But different.
If I were to talk to a shrink, they would probably tell me that the reason I am depressed about 40 is because we have decided that we are done having kids. Hubby is adamant that we are good with two. I am 99% ok with it. I can't get to 100% because that means another chapter has officially ended. But it has. And that realization is smacking me in the face.
So now I am trying to embrace my fourth decade and focus on ME. I decided that I have two years and, instead of falling into a pit of despair, I am going to make myself fabulous. The goal is to be more fabulous at 40 than I was at 25. (I was going to say 20, but at 20 I was still in college. Life wasn't real then.)
As I get older, I feel myself changing into a woman who is letting herself go. I've gained weight, but who cares? I am not on the market anymore. Hubby loves me. But I'm falling into the "mommy jeans" category. Not that I actually wear Mommy Jeans, but my mentality is there. Yoga pants on the weekends, very little make-up, no fun dates or nights out. I am all MOM. I am conservative, careful, dull, lifeless.
I see all of these amazing women in their 40s, 50s, and 60s. I envy them but I never really thought I could be one of them.
Until Operation Fabulous by 40 took hold.
I think I see myself going downhill and it scares me. I want to grab myself by the ankles and pull myself back to the summit. And when I get to that summit, I want to be able to stand up there and shout, "I AM FABULOUS!"
The basic premise of this mantra is: to look and feel better/healthier/stronger/more confident than I ever have in my life. I want to be a HOT 40-year-old. A healthy 40-year-old. I want to be noticed, not dismissed as a "middle-aged woman".
Major Hurdle #1 is happening on June 25. Stay tuned....
What Does Your Playlist Say About You?
I think you can learn a lot about a person by looking at their iTunes playlist.
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| Today's Soundtrack |
I Can Cry if I Want To
Now that I am a mom, I find myself extremely emotional when it comes to news reports about kids. And by emotional I mean sobbing uncontrollably as I look at pictures of the Oklahoma tornado aftermath. You can only imagine how I was when I heard about Sandy Hook Elementary. (Let's just say, I had to pull over during rush hour traffic because I thought I was going to puke.)
I have always been an emotional person, especially when I feel like I did something wrong. One sour word or unkind look from someone and I was done. The tears would form, the panic would set in. What did I do? What can I do to make it better? Why are they mad at me?
I was, for lack of a better term, thin-skinned.
Nowadays there is a lot less drama in my life (thank God). This allows me to focus on other things. And the things that make me cry now are usually news reports about children. Kids being killed, molested, kidnapped. I can't handle it. I cry.
As my mother likes to say, a shrink would probably blame my emotional instability on my parents because they "blame everything on the parents". In this case, I think it is true.
I grew up in a very non-affectionate, non-emotional household. I have never seen my parents cry. Ever. In 38 years, I have never seen a tear from either one. Not when their parents passed away, not when my cousin was almost killed in a car accident, not when my brother was shipped off to Iraq three times, not when my kids were born. Never. Needless to say, the words "I love you" were not common in our home. My parents will say "love you" to my kids (only because my kids say it first)...and when they do, part of me recoils in awkwardness. It is so odd to hear those words come out of their mouths. Now, as a mom, I want to make sure I don't do the same thing. I tell my kids I love them every day. I will even stop what we are doing and make them look at me so I can say, "Hey. Guess what? I love you."
My daughter is a tough nut. She does not show her feelings. Try getting a hug or a kiss out of her. Impossible. She will fall down and then stand up with blood on her knees - no tears. I can yell at her until I am blue in the face...no tears. My son, on the other hand, will come up to me while he is playing Power Rangers and kiss me for no reason. If I look at him disapprovingly, he falls apart. I hear that is a girl/boy thing, especially with their mamas. But I am hoping I can get Sissy to show a little more emotion than just her PMS-like anger. I do not want her to be as cold as her grandparents.
Hubby and I got pregnant unexpectedly after a month of dating. Oops. But it happens. Seven years later we are still together and have built a happy little family. When my parents found out that I was going to have their first grandchild, they cut me off for 6 months. No phone calls, no emails, no contact at all. I was essentially disowned for 6 months. It made me angry. And much more thick-skinned. And determined to never be like that with my own children. I can understand being shocked, being upset, being disappointed. However, to walk out of your daughter's life during a time like that is unacceptable. They almost missed out on seeing their granddaughter grow up. Even after all was said and done, we have never discussed what happened. That would involve emotions.
Those 6 months changed me forever. No longer did I feel obligated to make sure I never disappointed anyone, especially my parents. I choose who to show my emotions to...my kids. They've seen me cry. They've seen me laugh hysterically. They've seen me angry. True, I am tougher than I used to be (I would cry, on average, 4-5 times a week) but I am also not afraid to let my kids see tears stream down my face as I watch the news. And when they ask, I tell them why I am sad.
It is true that we learn a lot from our parents, including how not to act.
I have always been an emotional person, especially when I feel like I did something wrong. One sour word or unkind look from someone and I was done. The tears would form, the panic would set in. What did I do? What can I do to make it better? Why are they mad at me?
I was, for lack of a better term, thin-skinned.
Nowadays there is a lot less drama in my life (thank God). This allows me to focus on other things. And the things that make me cry now are usually news reports about children. Kids being killed, molested, kidnapped. I can't handle it. I cry.
As my mother likes to say, a shrink would probably blame my emotional instability on my parents because they "blame everything on the parents". In this case, I think it is true.
I grew up in a very non-affectionate, non-emotional household. I have never seen my parents cry. Ever. In 38 years, I have never seen a tear from either one. Not when their parents passed away, not when my cousin was almost killed in a car accident, not when my brother was shipped off to Iraq three times, not when my kids were born. Never. Needless to say, the words "I love you" were not common in our home. My parents will say "love you" to my kids (only because my kids say it first)...and when they do, part of me recoils in awkwardness. It is so odd to hear those words come out of their mouths. Now, as a mom, I want to make sure I don't do the same thing. I tell my kids I love them every day. I will even stop what we are doing and make them look at me so I can say, "Hey. Guess what? I love you."
My daughter is a tough nut. She does not show her feelings. Try getting a hug or a kiss out of her. Impossible. She will fall down and then stand up with blood on her knees - no tears. I can yell at her until I am blue in the face...no tears. My son, on the other hand, will come up to me while he is playing Power Rangers and kiss me for no reason. If I look at him disapprovingly, he falls apart. I hear that is a girl/boy thing, especially with their mamas. But I am hoping I can get Sissy to show a little more emotion than just her PMS-like anger. I do not want her to be as cold as her grandparents.
Hubby and I got pregnant unexpectedly after a month of dating. Oops. But it happens. Seven years later we are still together and have built a happy little family. When my parents found out that I was going to have their first grandchild, they cut me off for 6 months. No phone calls, no emails, no contact at all. I was essentially disowned for 6 months. It made me angry. And much more thick-skinned. And determined to never be like that with my own children. I can understand being shocked, being upset, being disappointed. However, to walk out of your daughter's life during a time like that is unacceptable. They almost missed out on seeing their granddaughter grow up. Even after all was said and done, we have never discussed what happened. That would involve emotions.
Those 6 months changed me forever. No longer did I feel obligated to make sure I never disappointed anyone, especially my parents. I choose who to show my emotions to...my kids. They've seen me cry. They've seen me laugh hysterically. They've seen me angry. True, I am tougher than I used to be (I would cry, on average, 4-5 times a week) but I am also not afraid to let my kids see tears stream down my face as I watch the news. And when they ask, I tell them why I am sad.
It is true that we learn a lot from our parents, including how not to act.
Monday, May 20, 2013
Faking It Like I'm Making It
It's Monday. I'm at work. Hubby is at work. Little Man is at my parents' (like every Monday) and Sissy is at school.
It was a hell of a time getting out the door this morning. Hubby takes Little Man to my mom and dad's house, which is on the other side of town. He then has to come back past our house to go to work. Doesn't make sense, but Little Man enjoys the one-on-one time with Grandmom and Grampy. So we do it.
That leaves me with the Drama Princess. At 6 years old, she has become quite the pain in the ass. She doesn't want to get up in the mornings, then she doesn't like what we picked out for her to wear. Combing her rat's nest is torture for both of us.
The final meltdown right before we walk out the door? Footwear. The socks feel funny. I don't like the knots in the toes. My shoes are too tight/big/small/ugly. This usually turns into a full-out tantrum complete with tears, screaming, and name-calling. And she isn't all that nice, either.
Tuesdays through Fridays I can walk away and leave the drama to my hubby. After all, I work 35 minutes from home and he is the one to drop the kids off. I have to go, right? Not on Mondays.
Luckily, Sissy was somewhat ok today with only a minimal meltdown. I think she was excited because she is Student of the Week and gets to be treated like the princess she thinks she is for a whole 5 days. I counted my lucky stars and we headed to the car. I checked off my list of items that I normally forget: cell phone? Check. Quarters for tolls? Check. Sunglasses? Check. Laptop and cord? Check and check. Feeling pretty damn proud of myself, I pulled out of the driveway and headed to the highway.
That's when I heard the DING.
Almost empty gas tank....the gas tank that Hubby SAID he would fill up last night.
I have no cash with me and no debit or credit cards.
And we're already 15 minutes behind schedule.
Thus is my life. Totally unorganized, chaotic, crazy, and ill-prepared. I don't know how we make it sometimes. Sadly, this is a normal Monday. And Mondays are usually the days when the depression and anger set in. Why am forced to be a working mom? Why can't I stay home like all of the other mothers who I see casually dropping kids off at school before heading to the gym? Why couldn't I have a more flexible job? Why do I spend 8 hours a day taking care of OTHER people's children?
How did my life get so out of control? This is NOT what I envisioned.
So I fake it.
I guess I am doing a pretty good job because when I mention that my life is nuts I've had people say, "Really? You always look so calm and put-together." Ha. Ha, ha, and more ha. Thank you Mr. Paxil and Ms. Xanax.
About 7 years ago, I would've been in the fetal position 6 days a week. I would blow off work. I would cry. I would rage. I would drink. I would sleep non-stop. Obviously, I can't do that anymore. On the rare days that I have time to really think about Life, I feel that bitterness seeping back in. I allow it to consume me.
So I keep on faking it. And every morning I fear that I can't fake it anymore. Will today be the day? Will today be the day that I can't handle my life anymore?Will today be the day that I lose my mind and drive to Maine without a word to anyone? Will today be the day that I can't get out of bed?
Going through the motions is a great way to keep moving, to not let Life grab ahold and drown you. But the days that are the scariest are the days when I can let down the facade and just "be". You would think that I would revere those sacred nothing days...weekends, summers, minor holidays...but no.
As much as I resent working and dislike my job, the most dangerous days are the ones when I don't have to "fake it". As long as people are watching, I can make it. Or at least pretend to.
It was a hell of a time getting out the door this morning. Hubby takes Little Man to my mom and dad's house, which is on the other side of town. He then has to come back past our house to go to work. Doesn't make sense, but Little Man enjoys the one-on-one time with Grandmom and Grampy. So we do it.
That leaves me with the Drama Princess. At 6 years old, she has become quite the pain in the ass. She doesn't want to get up in the mornings, then she doesn't like what we picked out for her to wear. Combing her rat's nest is torture for both of us.
The final meltdown right before we walk out the door? Footwear. The socks feel funny. I don't like the knots in the toes. My shoes are too tight/big/small/ugly. This usually turns into a full-out tantrum complete with tears, screaming, and name-calling. And she isn't all that nice, either.
Tuesdays through Fridays I can walk away and leave the drama to my hubby. After all, I work 35 minutes from home and he is the one to drop the kids off. I have to go, right? Not on Mondays.
Luckily, Sissy was somewhat ok today with only a minimal meltdown. I think she was excited because she is Student of the Week and gets to be treated like the princess she thinks she is for a whole 5 days. I counted my lucky stars and we headed to the car. I checked off my list of items that I normally forget: cell phone? Check. Quarters for tolls? Check. Sunglasses? Check. Laptop and cord? Check and check. Feeling pretty damn proud of myself, I pulled out of the driveway and headed to the highway.
That's when I heard the DING.
Almost empty gas tank....the gas tank that Hubby SAID he would fill up last night.
I have no cash with me and no debit or credit cards.
And we're already 15 minutes behind schedule.
Thus is my life. Totally unorganized, chaotic, crazy, and ill-prepared. I don't know how we make it sometimes. Sadly, this is a normal Monday. And Mondays are usually the days when the depression and anger set in. Why am forced to be a working mom? Why can't I stay home like all of the other mothers who I see casually dropping kids off at school before heading to the gym? Why couldn't I have a more flexible job? Why do I spend 8 hours a day taking care of OTHER people's children?
How did my life get so out of control? This is NOT what I envisioned.
So I fake it.
I guess I am doing a pretty good job because when I mention that my life is nuts I've had people say, "Really? You always look so calm and put-together." Ha. Ha, ha, and more ha. Thank you Mr. Paxil and Ms. Xanax.
About 7 years ago, I would've been in the fetal position 6 days a week. I would blow off work. I would cry. I would rage. I would drink. I would sleep non-stop. Obviously, I can't do that anymore. On the rare days that I have time to really think about Life, I feel that bitterness seeping back in. I allow it to consume me.
So I keep on faking it. And every morning I fear that I can't fake it anymore. Will today be the day? Will today be the day that I can't handle my life anymore?Will today be the day that I lose my mind and drive to Maine without a word to anyone? Will today be the day that I can't get out of bed?
Going through the motions is a great way to keep moving, to not let Life grab ahold and drown you. But the days that are the scariest are the days when I can let down the facade and just "be". You would think that I would revere those sacred nothing days...weekends, summers, minor holidays...but no.
As much as I resent working and dislike my job, the most dangerous days are the ones when I don't have to "fake it". As long as people are watching, I can make it. Or at least pretend to.
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