Best of both worlds?

I recently booked a freelance writing job with a local university. I didn't even go after the work, I was referred by an old work acquaintance, so it was even more of a surprise that after nearly a year, something finally worked out. The job is only temporary, writing a series of articles for a publication. It should last about 5 weeks of 10-15 hours per week. I am very excited for this opportunity, and I think it would be awesome to do this kind of work for good. The pay is good, the hours are flexible, and its something I really enjoy.

Today I conducted my first interview and my day felt like the best possible mix of being a mom and being a writer. I dropped Big A off at preschool in the morning and met a friend for a playdate with Little A. We picked Big A up from school, came home and had lunch and the girls went up for a nap/quiet time. I prepared for my interview and my mother in law came over for kid duty so I could conduct the interview. Driving off dressed in real people clothes with a purpose, I felt great. It felt good to get a break from mommyhood and use my brain for a while. It was also a step outside my comfort zone since I interviewed a doctor -- and a chief of surgery at that. I was a bit intimidated, but he turned out to be so nice and smart and I felt like I got great information for my article.

I drove home and stopped at the grocery store for a few things, then home to make dinner and finish off my night. I'll use the next couple naptimes/nighttimes to write the article.

Of course, this works because I have wonderful grandparents who are retired and willing to help me with babysitting. But if this type of work took off, I could always pay a babysitter if I had to. I can see the downsides being that it takes away your free time and can get a little overwhelming at times if you took on too much. But at a steady pace, I think it would be the perfect job for a mom. I guess we'll see what happens after the 5 weeks are up. For now I'm enjoying wearing another hat and stepping gingerly over the fence again.

When mommy has a tantrum

I've debated over sharing this episode on the blog, but in the spirit of telling it like it is and let's be honest, getting a laugh, I've decided - why not?

So it was Tuesday, dance class day. Big A was relaxing on the couch while Little A napped. I started prepping her for what was to come. "Almost time for dance class!" I said brightly. "No, I'm too tired," she whined back. "No you're not, you'll be fine!" (still brightly). Patented Big A picklepuss face. "I'm.too.tired." She dug her heels in. But so did I.

"Okay fine," I said in a moment of (perceived) mommy-brilliance. "If you're too tired for dance, I guess you need a nap." Not the "n" word. Anything but that. "No, I don't WANT a nap," she screamed. Little A was stirring on the monitor. "Let's go up and get changed," I said. "NO, I'm not going," she screamed. "Fine then you're taking a nap." We continued this argument as we went upstairs and she FINALLY agreed to go to dance class. I got out her leotard and told her to come put in on.

Stomp. Attitude. Stomp. Picklepuss face. Stomp. She stomped her foot into the leotard and something in me snapped. "That's it!" I screamed. "You will NEVER dance again. Your dance career is OVER!!" I ripped the leotard off and left the room, slamming the door behind me. I was so mad I was shaking. I got Little A and took her downstairs. Big A was crying.

We got downstairs and sat on the couch. "Abby crying?" Little A asked. "Yup." I said. I started to cool down. The mintues ticked by. I'm 34 and she's 4, I thought to myself. I paid for these lessons. She's not getting her way. She's going to dance.

I ran back upstairs and swung her door open. "Get dressed, we're going to dance." She stared at me and did what I said. Smart girl.

We got to the Y, she took her dance class. She came skipping out to show me her rainbow sticker. "Mom, I got the pink rainbow, just like I wanted!" she screamed. We left the Y.

"Mom?" she said.

"Yes?"

"Can I keep taking dance classes forever?"

Cue me slamming my head into the steering wheel. "Sure honey, no problem."

(And let me also say that replaying myself screaming "You'll never dance again" is pretty much worth this whole stressful episode. Sometimes you just have to laugh at yourself.)

Fall in pictures

I really love the change of seasons. The excitement in the air, the new clothes, the new activities, the new routines. And fall especially feels like a new beginning, the chance to start fresh. And let's not forget pumpkin -- pumpkin coffee, pumpkin pie, pumpkin pie with coffee...you get the idea. We've had a lot of fun so far this fall and are looking forward to more. Here are a few highlights of our past few weeks.

To celebrate the end of summer, we spent Labor Day weekend at the beach house. We had so many great beach times this summer, it was kind of bittersweet to know the summer was ending. We will be making some fall visits though, so at least we had that. We also got to celebrate my nephew's 1st birthday and Little A's 2nd birthday (again!) with a monkey-themed birthday bash. Lots of fun with the monkey theme!

After Labor Day, it was time for Big A to start preschool! We've had a couple of rough mornings, but she is starting to settle in and make some new friends. She is really enjoying all the crafts, stories and play time. I am really proud of her.

To commemorate September 11th, our neighborhood lights luminaries in front of each house. We took a family walk to look at the lights and were joined by lots of our neighbors. It was really nice to see the community coming together and even though the girls didn't really understand, I think they liked being a part of something like that.

On September 14, Jay and I celebrated our 8th wedding anniversary. We enjoyed a delicious gourmet dinner and reminisced about the years gone by (we've actually been together for 15...omg) and toasted to more to come.

And finally, we made our first visit to the apple orchard. Our visit coincided with apple week at Big A's school so it was perfect timing. The girls were very excited. We went with some good friends and had a nice time picking apples, playing on the playground and eating lunch. I'm sure we will be back for pumpkins.

Big A and I made apple crisp and applesauce from our pickings and decided to institute cooking Sundays in our house. We'll see how long this lasts. She wants to make pumpkin pie this week which could be bad for my waistline. I'm learning just as much as she is in this adventure.

Happy Fall everyone!

Guilty

One of the biggest misconceptions I had as a working mom, was that we owned the market on motherly guilt. After all, working moms are the ones "missing out" on so much of their kids' days. SAHMs were right there, what would they have to feel guilty about? Ha! I think I've felt more guilt as a SAHM than I ever did as a working mom.

Take today. Big A threw the world's biggest tantrum about going to school. I felt guilty. After all, I had debated for weeks about whether to sign her up for 3 or 5 day preschool (WHY do they even offer a choice??). I initially went with 3, then switched to 5 after rationalizing that the transition to full-day kindergarten would be easier, AND most of all, that the transition to daycare if/when I went back to work would be easier this way. I stand by my decision, but I definitely wondered today whether I was doing the right thing. Was I torturing my poor defenseless baby by forcing her to go to big bad school? Just yesterday I was telling her how proud I was of her for being such a great "student" and now this. How did things change so fast?

At the end of the day (the long, mostly sucky day), things turned out fine and she said she likes school again. But then we had dance class and she complained about that too. I felt guilty again - was I overscheduling her and forcing her to do things she didn't want to do? I've followed the "rule" about just one activity at a time and she loves to dance, but yet here I was feeling guilty again.

Then there was back to school day, where I realized I had failed as a parent yet again because my 4 year old has never used a computer. In this day and age, this makes her already eons behind. J and I checked out the literature on "Computer Tots" class. $45/month for a weekly computer class? Was Bill Gates teaching the class? We decided we'd make an effort to teach her at home. But once again I was feeling inadequate.

But now I wonder, are our expectations too high for our kids these days? Why do we expect a TODDLER who has only been speaking in sentences and using the toilet for a matter of months to know how to use a computer, speak Spanish, play soccer, dance a recital and be an Olympic-caliber swimmer?? Please don't get me started on swimming, since I'm pretty sure Big A is the only 4 year old in the state who can't swim yet. Sigh.

Even on a daily basis I feel guilty for not always being present with my kids. Yes, sometimes I just want to veg out on the computer and not play Barbies. So sue me. I know logically that its good for kids to play independently and yada yada. But I still feel guilty. I also feel guilty that my house is not spotless, and that I somehow find time to watch The Real Housewives and Bachelor Pad. Shouldn't I have better things to do? Frankly, I'm too busy feeling guilty to know what to do first. Guess I should go practice piano with my 2 year old so she's not behind too.

I remember

As the 10th anniversary of 9/11 is here, I have mixed emotions. Part of me feels like I don't have the right to express my sorrow, because I did not lose anyone personally. Part of me feels extreme sadness for all those did. And part of me tries to make sense of the whole thing, and wonders how to explain it to my kids.

On September 11, 2001, I was working in the heart of Washington, DC at a boutique public relations firm. We had lots of tvs around, and we started to hear murmurs about a plane crash in New York City. More tvs and news websites were pulled up and we began to slowly understand the magnitude of what was happening. We gathered into a conference room and watched history unfold in real time. It was like nothing I had ever experienced before.

As time went on, there were murmurs about leaving the office. Everyone was scared and didn't know how they would get home. Some were afraid that the metro would be another terrorist target. We debated a cab, but in the end, a friend and I boarded the metro. It was a scary ride, and when we emerged my friend asked if I wanted to go shopping. I brushed her off, not sure if she understood the full seriousness of the situation. Then I went home to huddle around the tv. I know I cried a lot over the next weeks as the damage was assessed.

And then, as it does, life went on. I attended my sister in law's bachelorette party a few weeks later, and remember the crowd in the bar stopping to sing the national anthem spontaneously. I remember that J and I chose to not attend their second wedding in England a month later because we feared air travel. It was a very uncertain time.

On September 11, 2006, we found out we were pregnant with Big A. I remember thinking that a very good thing was happening on a very bad day.

And today, 10 years later, I watched the news coverage of the memorials and Big A climbed on my lap and asked what I was watching. I explained in very basic terms that we were remembering when some very bad people hurt a lot of people in our country. She looked at the tv, at the grim faces of some soldiers. "Are those the bad people, Mommy?" she asked. "No, I told her. They are just sad today."

That's all she needs to know for now. Each year, she will learn more about that day, and I will tell her about my own memories. I can only pray that she never has to experience something like that in her lifetime.

Taco Tuesday and other food fights

Big A threw a taco across the dining room table.

Yes, you read that right. It was Tuesday and out of original meal ideas, I resorted to "Taco Tuesday." This has actually been a rare family-pleasing meal in our house but this particular Tuesday, Big A was not in the mood for Mexican. "This is disgusting," she yelled. "I"m not eating dinner." With that, she got sent to her room. I called her back down and after some back and forth she conceded to eating a taco...until she discovered that I had put *MEAT* into said taco. That's when she picked it up and whirled it across the table. The taco seemed to slide in slow motion, lettuce and meat trailing out behind it.

I didn't know what to do. Part of me wanted to laughed, part of me wanted to smack her and part of me wanted to just run away to a land where I didn't have to force feed little people three times a day. I sent her back to her room until J came home. I was spent. How do you really follow up a flying taco?

As a person to whom cooking does not come easy, it is especially frustrating to hear I don't like that, that's disgusting, and I'm not eating that night after night. Its enough to make me want to throw up my hands, toss a bag of cookies onto the table and call it a day.

Tonight I made a very basic dinner -- baked chicken, microwave steamed veggies and cous cous. It actually went over quite well and both girls particularly loved the cous cous, one of my personal favorites. "I should make this more often," I thought naively. Until I looked across the table...which I could barely see for the tiny little cous cous seeds littering the entire thing. Did you know that cous cous crumbles into a sticky paste when you try to wipe it up with a damp cloth? Yup, it does. I'll never make that again. And off goes yet another food I can feed the kids.

I know many people are of the "The kids will just eat what we eat and learn to eat a variety of food" school of thought. And this admittedly sounds good in theory. But when your normal pre-kids food was a sandwich or a Lean Cuisine, that school pretty much goes out the window. So I'm left with trying to wrack my brain each week. What can I make that's not disgusting? Yes, that is my low standard. It also can't be spicy. Or have any cheese other than the "mac" variety. It can't be fried more than once a week. It can't have mushrooms. Or tomatoes. It can't be mashed potatoes. It can't be red meat. It can't be in the form of a sandwich. It can't be of a pasta variety other than spaghetti or rotini (and that gets moans too). So yeah. We end up with a lot kid food. Spaghetti. Mac n' cheese. Ham slices. Fruit. Chicken and fish nuggets (just can't tell them its fish), cucumbers with ranch dressing. Yes, I know, it sounds real appetizing around here, doesn't it?

Add to this the fact that I have to go through this rigamarole three times a day and there you have one of my least favorite parts of being a parent. When I think back to the thousands of meals my mom prepared during my childhood, I can only say one thing: I now understand why old people never cook. They're damn tired of it.

Frumpy

I was getting ready to leave the house for a hair appointment tonight when J said, "You're wearing that?"

I looked down. Black sweat pants. A blue t-shirt. Flip flops. "Um, yeah," I said.

"Are you getting a haircut or going to karate class?" he followed up with. Hardee har har.

As I left the house, still wearing my sweats, I realized I had reached a new low. Who goes to a hair salon in sweats? Well...me. To my credit, I had been wearing a suit earlier in the day (interview #546) and had come home to a rainy afternoon with the kids. Comfort ruled. But the fact that my momiform has pretty much taken over my life is pretty sad. Folks, I've hit fashion bottom.

Not only was I wearing sweats but I was using a coupon to get my hair cut. Luckily, I hit it off with the stylist and she looked beyond my clothes to give me a smooth, shiny new 'do. Looking in the mirror after my haircut and some good Kardashian gossip (food for the soul), I resolved that its time to put a little more effort into myself. I bought the miracle hair product she recommended and scheduled my next appointment then and there. Then I came home to bathtime and bedtime. The girls looked at me with wonder. Big A patted my hair all through bedtime. "Is it going to be this soft tomorrow, Mommy?" she asked. "I hope so," I answered. "I'm going to try."

Yup, I'm going to try.