Why does it all have to end?

The motivation to write this blog came earlier today while I was running on the treadmill.  Whenever I use the treadmill (which is often these days as I am usually fitting a run in between conference calls or in the 30-minutes of overlapping naptime), I turn on every possible electronic device I have in an attempt to distract from the fact that I am killing myself and not actually going anywhere.  For those of you that have run on a treadmill, you can understand this need to distract.  Anyway, today there happened to be a cheer and dance competition on ESPN.  It ended being a great motivator (I ran my butt off and didn’t even realize it since I was so focused on the tv) but it was also a really awesome reminder of the many, many years I spent dancing and cheering.

As I was watching the teams today, I was affected in a couple of ways.  First, I actually got adrenaline rushes thinking about all of the times that I competed or performed in front of an audience or judges.  And, second, I got emotional thinking about all of the amazing memories that I had with each of the teams that I was part of.  It really hit me hard when the teams were done performing and the camera panned to the team crying and hugging, proud of what they had just accomplished (cue, tear).

Some people enjoy the art of performance, while others dread it.  I am definitely the former.  For me, there is nothing more thrilling than getting up in front of an audience and performing.  I love everything from the pre-performance jitters to the rush that comes when a routine is completed flawlessly.  I love the dramatic makeup and dressing up in a costume.  I love catching a judges eye during a performance and feeling the pride when they give you a little nod and a smile to say “good job”.  I love the acting that comes along with performing and all of the changing facial expressions (if you have ever seen the range of facial expressions that my kids have, you could guess who now gets to be the audience to my “performances”).  And, for all those cheerleaders out there, I LOVE SPIRIT FINGERS.  How can anyone not smile at even just the thought of spirit fingers?  (Jazz hands are ok too, but they are no spirit fingers.)

But seriously, to be competitive and to be part of something physical is such a great experience.  A team forces people to bond and work together.  Watching those dance teams today hug and cry together brought me back in time (circa 1992-2000).  When, for at least the few minutes that you were performing, you forgot about drama and fights or jealousy and competitiveness and you just did your best to work together.  And, when the team thrived or failed, at least it was as a team.  You were never on your own.  You were part of something. 

Sadly, it has been a long time since I have performed anything that didn’t involve a power point presentation and since I have been a part of a team that wasn’t paid to work together.  And, until this morning, I didn’t realize how much I miss it.  I did some combination of dancing, cheering, and gymnastics from the age of about three to the age of twenty-one, when I graduated from college.  So, I have to wonder, why does it have to end?  Why is it that when we grow up and go in to the adult world, when we need the confidence and pride of a good performance and the support and camaraderie of a team more than any other time in our lives, the opportunity is no longer there?  I recognize that a 33-year old mom of 2 might look pretty ridiculous in a cheerleading uniform with lollipop pants, but maybe I secretly wish it were possible (and maybe Steve does too, just sayin’).  Maybe I wish that there was still a reason to toilet paper houses the night before Thanksgiving, or to wear a track suit on the day of big games, or to do toe-touches and hurkies  for every free-throw, or to wear hooker-like eyeliner (aka “stage makeup”) and sanda-soles.  Unfortunately, I can wish all I want, those days are over.  But I will thank God and all of the awesome people that I have come to know over the years for every single memory that I have.

So, as I move on to the next phase in my life where it is now my job to bring my own children to their practices, competitions, and games, I am excited but sad.  And slightly worried about becoming the next mom on Dance Moms (if you haven't watched it yet, you must).  But, I guess the answer to my question really is it ends so it can begin all over again…for someone elseJ  Here’s to hoping that my kids have the same great experiences that I did!

Until next time…

I don’t normally have a p.s., but I do want to say thank you to my Holy Cross and Matignon girls and especially my Scalzi family. I know that over the years, I probably put you all through a lot, so thank you for putting up with me and for allowing me to look back at some pretty rough years of my life and have such great memories.  Love you all.  XOXOXO

On the fence...

Before I even kick off the blog, I want to start by saying that I wrote this a week ago.  Ironically, this week has been one of those "fell off the fence" kinds of weeks, so this could not have come at a more perfect time...

Imagine a fence.  On one side of the fence are the women that have made the decision to stay at home and raise their children.  On the other side of the fence are the women that have made the decision to focus on their career.  Making such a clear-cut decision allows a woman to focus their energy on one thing and be great at it.  I am not saying that these decisions are “easy” and don’t have their own set of challenges, just that they are well-defined.  But what about those of us that want to be both a full-time mom and a successful career woman.  We don’t belong on either side of the fence.  What about those of us who choose to live “on the fence”?  

The moment I had children they became my number one priority and focus.  But, that didn’t change the fact that my career is a huge part of who I am.  I have always done really well at my job, even during times of complete chaos in my personal life.  There was a time when I was a complete mess and my success at work was something (one of the only things, actually) that I continued to do well at and that made me feel good about myself.  Because of that, and because I am so proud of what I do, my job means a lot to me.  Don’t get me wrong, if my life was a scale and my career was on one end and motherhood was on the other, I would always prefer that the scale tip in the favor of motherhood.  No doubt.  But that doesn’t mean I am ready to give up my career altogether.

Usually the decisions that we make in life don’t impact our other decisions so directly.  But being a parent and achieving success in your career is like trying to be a professional athlete in two different sports.  The relationship is inverse.  Every bit of energy and focus that you give to one is energy that is taken from the other.  Only a very few people can be completely successful in both areas.  And, unfortunately, I am not the Michael Jordan of motherhood.  If I need to focus on my kids, I am not usually stellar in my job.  If I need to focus on my job, my poor kids usually have a much less patient mom.  

So, I have been asking myself “how do I balance on the fence?”  I have thought a lot about this and I have come to the conclusion that the concept of total balance between work and family is pure crap.  I apologize to every self-help author that has focused on this, but I don’t think that such balance can exist.  We can’t be it all.  We constantly have to make decisions that put us on one side of the fence or the other, although what side we are on may change from minute-to-minute.  And the fact that there are books, seminars, and the like out there telling me that this balance can exist just makes me feel so much worse and annoys me.  So, I am here to tell all of you out there don’t feel like you are failing in any way just because you can’t seem to achieve balance!  I think that true balance is achieved when we are at peace with the decisions that we have made.  So, for those of you who have made or will make the decision to be both a mom and a career woman, go ahead and live on the fence.  I can promise you that you will fall on you’re a^&…often.  But just get up, dust yourself off, and hop back on!

Until next time…

Middle of the night fight

So, it’s about midnight now and I was lounging on the couch with Steve (who is right now sound asleep) and felt this compulsion to get up and write this blog, which I have been thinking about for a few days.  Having just survived a few rough nights in this house (i.e., a couple of kids that have been waking up for various reasons), I just wanted to briefly discuss the “middle of the night fight”.    I believe that this is a phenomenon that most couples can relate to, with or without kids.  However, I think that the addition of kids alters the dynamic of the fight quite a bit.  Prior to kids, these arguments are probably the result of the preceding cocktails consumed and usually do not follow sleep of any kind.  And it is these two points that make the two situations incomparable.  The fight that I am referring to is the argument between two individuals who have been awoken out of a sound sleep in the dead-middle of the night and who are unable to return to sleep (at least one of them anyway) at their own will.  This fight is totally irrational, given the states of minds of the individuals involved, and usually involves a lot of senseless and sarcastic insults and accusations.  However, what makes this fight unusual is what happens the next morning…

Let me provide you a hypothetical example, just so you can wrap your head around this.  It is approximately 2 o’clock in the morning.  You and your significant other have been in bed/asleep since approximately 11 o’clock, following a solid 14 hours of kids, work, dinner, kids, and exercise (in no particular order).  You are dreaming of being on a beach with a margarita and your husband (or maybe someone else, but that would be another blog altogether) when all of a sudden you hear the noise that every parent dreads.  This noise can be a variety of things (baby screaming, toddler yelling, baby screaming and toddler yelling), so for this “hypothetical” example let’s say it is the sweet sounds of a toddler yelling. You wait it out for a while, hoping that this yelling stops and that the yeller falls back to sleep.  But you know you can’t wait too long because you can’t risk one kid waking up the other…it’s game over.  So, you look over at your partner, your other half, the one who contributed in the making of this wonderful little creature.  You are hoping that, given the fact that you got up the night before (and most likely the one before that and the one before that…), he will volunteer to get up and let you sleep.  But, alas, he is snoring and hasn’t even heard the yelling.  So, you get up and try to resolve the situation on your own.  Fast forward to 4 o’clock in the morning.  You are still awake with this toddler and it appears that he/she just wants to chat and watch episodes of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. You are exhausted and out of ideas.  You also know that you have to get up for work the next morning and you’re dreading that alarm clock.  It is usually in that moment that you hear it, the noise that all wives dread…Your husband. Still. Snoring.  It is in that moment that you realize that he is at fault for everything that has ever gone wrong in your life.  It is in that moment that you snap and all ability to be and feel rational is gone.

At my house (this is no longer a hypothetical), this is about the time that I yell at Steve for not waking up.  I usually go on a tirade about how ridiculous it is that he never wakes up when the girls make noise in the middle of the night.  Sometimes, I go on about how my job is just as important as his job and how I wish he would respect the fact that I have to work too.  Other times, I just get emotional and cry about how I want a partner in this parenting thing and not someone who will sleep through the crying.  Most of the time Steve has absolutely no idea what is going on, given the fact he has just been woken up, but once in a while he will get angry too and we argue.  WHAT JUST HAPPENED???

For Steve and me, this always ends the same way.  We fight, the fight ends, one or both of us get the kid(s) back to sleep, we get back to bed ourselves, and we wake up the next morning and ACT AS IF NOTHING HAPPENED.  This is the phenomenon of the middle of the night fight.  We never talk about it and we never hold grudges about it.  To be honest, I am not even sure that we remember it half of the time.  But, unlike most of our arguments (we are both grudge-holders), we just let it go.  No judgment.

Some of you might think this sounds a little unhealthy.  To each his own, I guess.  I personally think that this sounds like survival.  Hell, to me this is survival.  As a parent, I give so much to my children and I am not referring to material things.  I give my love, my mental and physical energy, my time, my patience, and (against my will) my sleep.  Sometimes you need to release the frustration that comes from all of this giving up.  For me those times usually come in the middle of the night when I am exhausted and frustrated and super, SUPER sick of mickey mouse.  

So my advice to all of you parents out there that have or will experience a middle of the night fight is just try to start the next morning with a clean slate.  Give yourselves a break!  To those of you that do not experience these fights, please send me your name and number because my kids are coming to stay with you and your extremely positive (and, let's face it, a little annoying) dipositionJ

Until next time…

Puke and poop…I had to laugh

This past weekend we were hit with the stomach bug.  In fact, I am still cleaning up the remainder of it.  Sophia managed to escape it, but Mia was not so lucky.  At one point we were playing in Mia’s room and, I swear, she turned green.  I knew right away that she was about to throw up.  And, she did.  Alot.  More than a lot, actually, a ton. Lucky for me, I had just picked her up and got throw up all over me and my lululemon sweater.  YAY.  So, despite the fact that she was hysterical I threw her in the tub and ran to grab a towel.  Somehow Sophia (definitely the daredevil) climbed in to the tub with all of her clothes on.  Don’t judge!  I am normally very cautious about the tub.  But, I was literally gone for 5 seconds (those of you that know how small my house is can attest how close Mia’s room is to the bathroom) and kind of had a lot going on in that moment.  Anyway, now I have one kid in the tub absolutely hysterical (she doesn’t like dirt or anything “dirty”, so throw up set her over the edge) and one kid in the tub completely clothed (and loving life).  So I yanked Soph’s clothes off, threw them in my growing laundry pile, and kneeled down on the floor to get them cleaned up.  All of a sudden Sophia starts giggling uncontrollably and I see little “brown floaters” popping up on her side of the tub.  Well, you can imagine how much this freaked Mia out.  The poor thing started to hyperventilate!  So, I pulled them both out, drained and cleaned the tub, and threw them back in.  All the while, I was still covered in throw up myself.

So why would I choose to share this gross story with you, you ask?  Because I thought it was important to demonstrate how funny life is.  Through this whole thing I couldn’t help but laugh.  I mean I was literally covered in puke and poop and I just couldn’t win.  No matter what I did I was going to have at least one unhappy little girl to deal with.  Not to mention I ran the risk of one getting the other sick and the fact that the tub is always tricky because there are so many safety issues to consider.  It could have been a very stressful situation.  But, for whatever reason, it wasn’t.  It was very, very funny. 

It made me think about a lot of the situations that stress me out “in the moment”.  Usually I do look back on them and laugh at the ridiculousness of it.  So why not just change my attitude and use laughter in that moment to get myself through the situation?  That is SO much better than stressing out.  Of course, this isn’t as easy as it sounds for some people (me).  Stressing tends to be my first reaction.  But, I will be conscious of it now and hopefully can at least remind myself to smile every now and again when one of these situations arises.  Smiles seem to grow in to laughter anyway.

As for the tub, both girls got clean and Mia got better (unfortunately she got mommy got sick, ugh).  Crisis averted.  My laughter was contagious and eventually Mia got over the poop.  I think she may need to learn, like me, to remind herself to loosen up and smile every now and again instead of stressing. And, Soph, well she is a nut and so far it looks like she will be one of those people that laughs…even when she shouldn’tJ 

Until next time…

Crushed goldfish and empty coffee cups

The title of today’s blog is not meant to be clever in anyway.  It is a literal description of what I see when I look in my car.  Well, that and some hardened munchkins, a few cases of bottled water,  some kids toys thrown on the floor, and the dust that has built up on the dashboard.  Every time I see these things, it feels like a little reminder that I can’t do it all.  And, in a strange way, it feels like I have failed.

I don’t mean for this to read so dramatically.  I just want to be as genuine as possible.  It really bothers me that I can’t do everything…perfectly.  I can’t seem to keep my house clean (picked up, yes, but clean, no), I don’t get my clothes tailored, I always forget to get my eyebrows waxed, if you look closely at the girls’ strollers and high chairs you will see the same crumbs that plague my car, my briefcase is very disorganized, and my computer keys stick because the key board is so dirty.  All of these things bother me but I can’t seem to change them no matter how good my intentions.  After all, I work at least 50 hours a week, I have a 1- and a 2-year old (and a 30-year old, if husbands count), a dog, and a house, and I do try to fit running and exercising somewhere in that mix.  It’s not like I have a ton of idle time.  But I look at other women that I know and they DO manage to balance all of these things. 

Take the women that I work with, for example.  They work the same amount of hours that I do, some more, and most have anywhere from two to four children.  However, their suits are tailored, their briefcases are organized, their computers look brand new, and most of them are incredibly health conscious and exercise on a regular basis.  Or take some of my mommy friends, for example.  Their houses are both clean and look professionally decorated, their strollers and high chairs look like they just rolled out of Babies ‘R Us for God’s sake, their Seven jeans are perfectly tailored, and their cars are “right off the lot” clean.  These women appear to have it all figured out.  So what’s the secret??   Why don’t I know it?? 

Some days I feel like that stereotypical working mom from the movies.  The one that goes to the big meeting with baby food on her suit lapel.  Or the one that sends her kids to daycare without shoes  Or the one that drives away with her briefcase and coffee on the roof of her car.   It looks comical in a movie, but it doesn’t feel that way in real life.  It is frustrating.  (Well, honestly, it is funny in hindsight...just not in the moment.)

Some of you might not get this.  Why would someone beat themselves up over a messy house or car or the like?  Sounds ridiculous!  I recognize that, logically, it is pretty silly.  But I want to be able to do it all and be it all.  And when I can’t, it bothers me.  I want to feel like I am doing better than “just getting by” at work and at home.  I would even settle for a clean car.  UGH.

Until next time…

Don't worry...maybe next time it will be a boy

When Mia was about a year and a half and Soph was a few months old, we went to my niece's first communion and my nephew's christening.  My sister-in-law combined the two since they were happening so close together.  As you can imagine, having a 1 year old and a small baby in church for such a long period of time had me more than a little stressed.  My focus was on keeping them contained and quiet.  There was some time between the end of the communion and the start of the christening so we were just hanging out trying to keep Mia entertained so she wouldn't lose it for the second half of the festivities.  I was so focused on my two munchkins that I hadn't even noticed that there were two little, old ladies (nuns, I think) sitting behind us.  At some point one of the ladies asked Steve if Sophia was a boy or a girl. 

Before I proceed, I just want to tell everyone how much this annoys me.  First, my kids are typically in very girly outfits.  This day was no different.  Sophia was wearing a purple, ruffle dress and had a purple bow in her hair.  I am all about being open-minded, but come on!  Obviously, a girl.  Second, who cares?  A baby is a baby.  It doesn't bother me as much when someone else has a baby of their own and asks because I think it a matter of relating to the other person (kind of like, what are you dealing with?  Circumcision and getting peed on or lots of crevices to clean and yucky rashes?   Because if it is (fill in blank), I get you).

Ok.  Back to my story.  So, this lady asks Steve if Soph is a boy or a girl and he tells her that she is a girl.  I swear you could feel the pity emanating from this lady.  "Oh well.  Maybe the next one will be a boy."  She then proceeded to tell us, and this is the really disturbing part, that she taught a natural family planning class and that there were "things" that we could do, naturally of course (like that makes it any less disturbing), to increase the chances that we would have a boy.  She talked about her success rates with such pride.  Steve and I both listened out of respect because she was so old and we are pretty sure that she was a woman of God...didn't want to get in trouble with the big Guy for being rude to a nun.  When the conversation was over we went on with the rest of the day but it stuck with me and really bugged me.

I am not sad that I have two little girls.  I love the fact that they will have the opportunity to be each other's best friend (maybe), share clothes (wishful thinking), and be a team for the rest of their lives (this one is a given, they have no choice!).  Not to mention, I love all things girly.  The clothes, the toys, the movies.  Everything.  I am not even sure how I would handle a boy.  I get drama.  I don't get football (stereotypical, I know, but just making a point).  I have mastered changing girl diapers.  I enjoy not having to deal with the rogue pee.  I just get girls.  A boy would be a unique challenge for me.  That is not to say that I wouldn't love to have one.  But, the truth is, I don't really care either way.  I just hope the next baby (if there is one) is a healthy baby.  So, I just don't get why this woman felt bad for us.  It is not 1950.  We do not live in a male-dominated society.  Boys are not superior to girls.  There is no advantage to having a boy.  It's the girls that stick around to take care of you, right??  Sure, I will go broke paying for clothes, college, and weddings.  But I will enjoy every minute of it! 

Of course I would be lying to you if I said my curiousity wasn't piqued.  I looked up online what these "things" we could do were.  Well, let me tell you, they are NOT things that a little, old lady nun should know about.  I don't care how "natural" she thinks they are.  I bet your interests are piqued now too...just be warned!!

Until next time...

To pee or not to pee...an oversimplified analogy

Last Sunday started like any other weekend morning...Steve and I were awoken by the dreaded (but still cute) call of the Mia.  Usually it starts with a "moooooooooomy".  Sometimes she will switch it up and call out for "daaaaaaaaaady".  Sometimes she alternates between the two and sometimes, when we are really lucky, she even adds a "Mommy, Mia peed".  Lovely.  Anyway, after a few minutes of debating about who would get up first, Steve caved and got out of bed.  At this point the calls to us had escalated to an annoyed "get me out of this crib" cry and Sophia had woken up and was crying as well.  But at that point I didn't care because I knew Steve would handle it.  I was just psyched to be able to close my eyes for a few extra minutes. 

So, a few minutes pass (maybe longer if I fell asleep and didn't even realize it) and the girls are still fussing.  With each minute of crying/fussing, my anxiety is increasing.  Where is Steve?  Did he get lost on the way to their rooms (answer could not be "yes" given that we live in a teeny, tiny house)?  How could he be so insensitive?  My poor girls were upset and they just wanted to get out of "baby jail" (aka, their cribs).  By this time I had heard the toilet flush, the sink running, the medicine cabinet open and close, the fridge and various cabinets open, and what I thought was the microwave turn on.  Um, hello?? Just as I was about to have a panic attack (and go get them myself), I hear a door open and I hear him talking to Mia.  Thank goodness!  Of course, poor Soph's cries didn't mean that daddy was going to move any faster.  She just had to wait her turn.

This is by no means meant to insult my husband.  In fact, just the opposite.  This particular instance made me think about so many mornings where I have been the one to get up with the girls.  There have been numerous times where the first thing that I have thought when I woke up in the morning was, "Oh my God!  I have to pee so badly."  *Don't judge...obviously my dreams are pretty dull.  But before I did anything about it I was distracted by a sweet, little voice (or a loud, angry cry) calling out to me.  Instead of doing what my husband would do (um, go to the bathroom), I have just gone ahead and gotten the girls up.  There have been days where I have gotten them dressed, breakfast served, lunches and diaper bags packed, and out the door before I have remembered that I ever had to pee.  I know that this a lot of information for some of you, so I apologize.  But my point is that I have actually forgotten to pee.  This is a problem (not to mention a sure-fire way to guarantee a bad bladder!).

One of the biggest gripes that I hear from most of my female friends about their boyfriends or husbands is that they tend to take care of themselves while we tend to take care of them, our parents, our kids, our pets, our friends, our neighbors, and then, if we have time, ourselves.  I have complained about this myself.  But are they so wrong?  Is it wrong that Steve is able to let the girls cry for a couple more minutes so he can...uh, pee?  Nope!  In fact, at the end of the day he will probably be the better parent because he is taking care of himself.  (Please do NOT ever tell him that I said this.  It will ruin me.)

So, the question is to pee or not to pee?  Do I deserve a medal because I sacrifice my bladder so my kids don't have to stay in baby jail?  Nope!  All I deserve is a big glass of cranberry juice and a kick in the a$$!  Lesson learned!

Until next time...