My one and only...

Lately, I’ve noticed something that I actually find a bit unsettling. There is a battle raging, just under the surface of our day to day lives, that pits women against each other in ways that are so insidious and destructive, it boggles my mind. It is a battle between women who have children and those who do not.

As for myself, I am caught somewhere in the middle. I am the mother of one. My daughter has been the driving force in everything I do since the day she was born. Indeed, I could not, for one second, imagine my life without her and I would go through pregnancy and childbirth a thousand times for my sweet girl. That being said, I decided on the day she was born that she would be my one and only. I never felt that craving to have more children. Even today, I can walk past a newborn baby, snuggle it for 30 seconds and give him or her back to her parents and not even feel the slightest twinge of maternal instinct making a reappearance. Since the day of Tricia’s birth, countless people have pelted me verbally with the same question, “when are you having another one?” to which I bluntly answer without any hesitation “Never, she’s my one and only.” Almost always, they are taken aback with my statement, like somehow I have no heart, or that I’m somehow “defective”. Clearly that is not the case, I just never wanted any more children. I don’t think that makes me heartless, or evil, or any less of a woman. It just means that one is more than enough for me on any given day…period. The funny part is, if you were to ask Tricia if she wished for a brother or sister, she would answer "absolutely not." She is content in her standing as an "only child."

I know women on both sides of the maternal spectrum – those with nearly a baseball team, and those who have no children at all, and never intend on having children. My own sister has been blessed with four spectacular children, whom I adore. I might also add that my sister has never looked at me as some sort of freak for only having one child, nor have I ever looked at her as someone who should be medicated for having four. But it’s not always that way with others. It seems that those who have and those who have not often look at each other with something just this side of contempt...not always, but frequently enough for me to take notice and shake my head. There is a perception that women who have no children are selfish, uncaring, and career-driven in ways that go against the very grain of being a woman. Likewise, these same childless women look at those with children often with a sense of resentment for being treated or looked upon as self-centered and narcissistic. They also frequently see mothers as "out of touch" with the rest of the world and "not the sharpest knives in the drawer", as if they had delivered any brain they had right along with the baby, leaving them an empty-headed shell. My personal opinion is that there is no right or wrong. It is simply a matter of choice. I respect those who have devoted their life to their children with complete selflessness, and I also respect those who do not feel that instinctual need to walk the path of motherhood. Motherhood is not for everyone, I can personally attest to that fact. It’s the hardest job I’ve ever had. Any mother who says differently is either a pathological liar or needs to stop smoking crack. I know for myself, I waited until I was 34 to have my daughter, so I knew what was out there in the world, and all that it offered to me. At 34, I had worked hard, played harder, knew what I wanted, and really enjoyed having a career. I was not accustomed to putting anyone else first, and admittedly, I’m still not always good at that part. Maybe it is a sign of my generation. Many of us waited longer to have our children, and put ourselves and our careers ahead of motherhood. It’s not a bad thing, but let’s face it, if you have your kids when you’re 20, you really don’t know anything about that glorious life of a twenty-something - footloose, fancy-free, not a care in the world lifestyle. If you’ve never tasted chocolate, you don’t know what you are missing. But once you’ve tasted it...wow! Many of my friends have also paid dearly for their decision to wait, suffering through infertility issues, and spending tens of thousands of dollars to have a much-wanted child. My heart breaks for anyone who goes through that experience. But it seems to be the price for waiting to start a family until later in life.

I would hope that we could all develop a better understanding and appreciation for each other and our decisions to choose whatever path suits us, however different they may be. Being a mother does not make you a better woman. Likewise, foregoing motherhood for a career does not make you more valuable monetarily or more intelligent. We should respect each other for our choices, and embrace our uniqueness. There is room for everyone at the table, and I believe that in my heart.

In the blink of an eye...

I know that those of you who follow my blog love funny. Unfortunately, today is not funny. I shall try to do better next week, but this week I have my reasons for my lack of humor.

I turned on the news this morning, and was literally speechless – footage of the tsunami hitting the cost of Japan, casting large trucks as if they were matchbox cars, water so black it looked as though it had run through the coal hills of my childhood home of Northeastern Pennsylvania. I wondered how many people were in that water, how many innocent victims were swept up in the wrath of Mother Nature, how many children lost a parent, lost their lives. Life is fragile - indeed so fragile that in an instant we can be crushed like ants on the ground. The world is a scary and amazing place.

Everything can change in a moment. Some say it is God’s wrath raining down on us, like a powerful storm. Some say it is our cosmic karma. My take on it all is that everything changes, every moment of every day, and nothing is really in our control, although we refuse to believe otherwise. We take so much for granted, and we put such a high price tag on things that, in the end, are really worthless. What is really important in the grand scheme of things? A large luxurious house? A tricked-out set of wheels with all the bells and whistles? The latest Coach purse? Let’s be honest, what purse is really worth $300 or more? How many times in the past have you just “had to have” that purse. Looking back, would you still buy it? I wouldn’t. If by chance I don’t wake up in the morning, will that purse, or car, or house make any difference? It will not. It is merely stuff, worldly posessions that fill voids in our collective lives and psyche for some silly reason.

I think the past couple of years, and all its economic adversity, have been a wakeup call for many, including myself. Unfortunately, with each step forward (no matter how small) towards economic and financial improvement, we slowly begin to lose sight of lessons learned. It’s not what we own, it is who we are as human beings, and how we care for each other. It is our families, and the time we spend with them. It is remembering to ALWAYS say I love you at the end of a phone conversation because you just never know what will happen tomorrow, or even five minutes from now.

I, myself, have learned that while I love to drink a nice bottle of red wine from the Paso Robles region of California at $30 bucks a bottle or more, I can derive just as much pleasure from a bottle of Two Buck Chuck. I can still pour it in a nice glass, savor it while sitting quietly with Bill, our lives blissfully buzzing around us. The feeling is the same. It’s not the wine, it’s the company I keep. It is my life, and all the countless blessings that surround me every day. I try to always remember that.

I hope my friends know how much I adore them. I hope my family knows that they are the most important people in the world to me, and that I will always be there for them, under any circumstances. I want my daughter to know that no matter what she thinks on any given morning, she is the most beautiful, brightest shining star in my universe. And I want my Bill to know that not only can I not remember my life before him, I cannot imagine waking up on any given day and him not being next to me.

To those barely holding on by a thread, I wish you God’s speed, and light at the end of a very dark tunnel. You have all the positive energy I can send your way. To those who choose to be a part of my life, I urge you take a one minute out of your day, and take stock of all of your blessings and good fortune, even though they are sometimes hard to see for all the daily crap that surrounds us...because all those blessings could be gone in the blink of an eye.

My love to you.

Of course I want salt…how else am I supposed to retain water like a real woman?

It is a known fact that I am not always the best at dealing with high stress levels. Cranky would be an understatement, as to which Bill and Tricia will testify. This month seems to be one of those months...big meeting in NYC not a month away, wedding on the 15th of April, honeymoon after (which means making sure our high maintenance menagerie is tended to in the manner in which they have become accustomed is a priority while we are gone.) Throw in there the daily rigors of simply dealing with life, and you have a recipe for...cocktails. To those of you who know me, yes, I know you are shocked. To those of you who don’t, let’s just say I know my way around a liquor bottle.

Last night, as a gift to myself, I trekked across town to the home of a friend of mine who has had a tough year herself. Her divorce is now final (YAY!) and her apartment is darling. For an instant, I was jealous. Wow, a home ALL to yourself. No one else’s laundry, mess, errant hairs in the bathroom sink, or unflushed toilets. Of course, I wouldn’t trade all those things, or lack thereof, for the love of my Bill and my Tricia, but the momentary fantasy left me almost giddy. To boot it all, on the counter of her perfectly decorated kitchen bar area was...drumroll...a JIMMY BUFFETT MARGARITA MACHINE. I found myself coveting it, longing for it. It was huge – nearly large enough to drown every ounce of stress that is currently plaguing my life. It SHAVED the ice instead of crushing it, and it even had this cool compartment that drained off any water that had melted off the ice, so it would not water down your drinks, something I consider a cardinal sin. What an engineering marvel. Did someone win a Nobel prize for this beauty? I secretly wondered if she would rent it to me in a dire stress emergency. I didn’t ask, but I have filed the thought away. Indeed, if, for one paycheck, I stopped getting slammed with unexpected and annoying expenses, I might be able to scrape together enough pennies to go buy one for myself. Hers was a gift from her boss…what a thoughtful and wonderful boss she has! I heard her mention Kohl’s as the place where these indispensible kitchen accessories could be found. I’ve already decided mine will be red. I closed my eyes for just a moment and envisioned it in my kitchen. Certainly it would need to have a place of honor. I wonder if I could talk Bill into putting an addition on the house to display it properly? Hey! We could put in a sunroom just off the kitchen, and it could not only display my BEAUTIFUL margarita machine, but we could appropriately decorate the room in a Jimmy Buffett theme and move the cockatoo, parrot and cockatiel out there. I will name my new room Parrothead Alley...magic! I just knew Bill would think it was a good idea. Hell, he knows how I am. I am the woman who buys a pair of shoes she can’t live without, then plans an entire wardrobe around said shoes so I never have to remove them from my feet. Surely, he will understand the importance of having a Jimmy Buffett Margarita Machine. What home would be complete without one? We could even use it to make the world’s most DELICIOUS margaritas and set up a stand at the end of the driveway to sell them. Think of the income potential. Maybe I could get my friend to bring hers over and we could sell two flavours. My friend is going to LOVE this idea, I just know it. Before you can say “pour me another”, we will have ALL of Manassas, Virginia, stress-free and completely loaded. I think Manassas could use a little of that...just sayin...

So please, if you a free moment in your day, say a little prayer that I can attain Margarita nirvana in the not-to-distant future. If I do, you are certainly invited to stop by and indulge in some stress-free margarita heaven...with or without salt. :)

Mean People Suck...

Last week I received a very public verbal “slap” from someone, and I have to tell you, it really caught me by surprise. It was over a post I put on my facebook status message that said “After seeing Lindsay Lohan today, I realize I don't have an outfit that seamlessly transitions from court to night." (quoted from Liz Winstead, Daily Show Co-creator speaking about Lohan's choice of wardrobe for her latest court appearance.) The quote struck me as incredibly witty, and pretty much in line with any number of thoughts running through my head at any given moment. Those who know me will tell you that my sense of humor is, more often than not, a bit twisted and sarcastic bordering on downright caustic. And given the internal commentary that is constantly playing in my brain, that quote would have been pretty mild for me, had I actually come up with it on my own. But nonetheless, it made me giggle, and as I frequently do, I felt the need to share, as many of my friends are of the same mindset when it comes to humor. Humor makes the day a little brighter, and if I have the opportunity share some, I usually will.

The inference of this particular woman’s verbal reprimand came in the form of “Who gives a S__! I have better/more important things on my plate right now then what Lohan is wearing and why!” Quite honestly I sat back, stunned at her statement. Apparently, not only is she completely devoid of any sense of humor, but she fancies me as a waste of energy, shuffling around in a bathrobe and slippers, scrolling through “The Star” and “People”, or watching Maury Povich and Judge Judy. For the record, I am gainfully employed at a fairly high-pressured job where I deal with pharmaceutical CEO’s located anywhere on six out of the seven continents (no pharma companies in Antarctica.) Not only do I not own a bathrobe, I don’t even own slippers. I hit the ground running at 5:45am, and fall into bed every night between 9pm and 10pm. Don’t get me wrong, I feel no need to defend myself against this person. My friends, in their precious pit bull sort of way, have already chimed in on my page, leveling comments at this woman that should probably keep her from posting anything anywhere for a very long time. (I love my friends!) But I still find myself thinking about it, because underneath, I still take too many things that other people say way to personally. I’ve met this woman three times in my life (she is the mother-in-law of a relative of my fiance’s) and I have never been ANYTHING but completely gracious to her. I’m not sure how she came up with her “words of wisdom” that she directed towards me. Perhaps she had a bad day. Perhaps she had one too many glasses of vino, which turns her into a blabbermouth. But since she has a photo of herself in HER bathrobe as her profile picture, and obviously has time to read my facebook page’s “mindless entertainment” maybe she should stop and take a good long look in the mirror. Obviously, she has more free time than she would like to admit.

I’m confounded by the way people feel compelled to spew ugly words towards others, as if somehow their opinions are more valuable than most anyone else’s opinions. Do they not realize that ultimately, NOBODY cares what they think--about pretty much anything? They are like the mean kid in school, the one who always took great joy in making others feel terrible so they could feel that much better about themselves. In my mind, if you can’t say anything pleasant, then by all means, KEEP IT TO YOURSELF. I, of course, am not referring to the healthy and sometimes heated debate that many of us get into on occasion. I am referring to the unsolicited statements that are made for the sole purpose of deflating someone in a very personal way. If you don’t like what I have to say? Feel free to unfriend me on facebook. Walk the other way when you see me on the street. If you cannot be positive, then I do not need you in my life. Life is hard enough on any given day, and that kind of negativity just makes everyone feel kind of lousy.

I guess it all comes back to what my mother used to say, “Mean people just plain suck.” The moral of the story is, surround yourself with people who will prop you up, not tear you down. Thankfully, I am well propped up in my life. :)

Desperately seeking perfect...

I read a pretty profound blog today (http://www.danoah.com/2010/09/disease-called-perfection.html), one that broke down the illusion of “perfection” in terms that brought me to tears. In this blog, I could literally see examples of countless people in my own life who were killing themselves mentally and sometimes physically for the sake of this thing called perfection. There is it was, all right in front of me in black and white. I include myself in this statement, for the record. Truth be told, I have been guilty of desperately seeking perfect my entire life.

I’m trying to remember the first time it became so important for me to be perfect, or project that image of perfect. I’ve been through enough therapy sessions to realize that I was young, really really young. When I was 3 or 4, I can remember my father’s second wife making me sit at the dinner table for hours, berating me for not eating my peas. My dad wasn’t there so it was just her and me. I can still see those peas on my plate, all perfectly round, maybe 20 of them. For years I thought I dreamed that night, and her cruel words. I am now convinced it was not a dream. I finally ate the peas, sobbing to myself with each bite. I did it for my dad, because I loved him so much and I didn’t want her to make him miserable because I was so imperfect. It’s amazing I actually like peas at all now. I despised them at that moment in my life. My father saved me though. He divorced that witch six months after he married her. I was safe. I never saw her again. Subsequently he married my forever mother, for whom I would walk on broken glass.

But my need for perfection continued, and indeed still haunts me. But here’s the funny thing about perfection…the more you chase it, the more it alludes you. I wanted it so badly, in everything I set out to accomplish – my physical appearance, my relationships, my career. For years, I would lie awake at night and pray for everything to be perfect. It never was. Mostly, I was left feeling inadequate, anything but perfect. But each day when my feet hit the floor in the morning, I was back to “perfect me”, smiling and pretending as if life could not possibly be any better. The pile of crap I’ve brushed “under the rug” in my lifetime is large enough to make a landfill overflow. Eating disorders, bad relationships, broken friendships, unfulfilled career aspirations. It still hurts my heart when I think about it. All for the sake of trying to attain perfection. What a colossal waste of time and energy.

But, miraculously, somewhere between my last failed marriage and where I currently am today, I finally realized that “being perfect” was beyond exhausting. In fact, it was sucking the life out of me. I was putting upon myself impossible expectations, expectations that no one could ever hope to attain. Somewhere between then and now, I realized that I needed to just stop...stop trying to be 5’10” and 115 lbs (clearly, at 5’2”, 125 lbs, and 46 years old, that is never going to happen.) I need to stop trying to be the perfect mother, the perfect companion, the perfect friend. I needed to just STOP and cut myself some slack, before I self-destructed, before I disappeared completely. I’ve been closer to that point than I want to admit, believe me. I think I also realized that, by setting such unattainable expectations for myself, I, by example, was setting my daughter up for the same scenario in her life. She is the best part of me, the one thing I absolutely got right. All I really want is for her to be happy - happy with herself, and the world around her. She doesn’t need to try to be perfect. To me, she is perfect just the way she is.

Perfect is overrated, and, well, it’s bullshit. If we’re always perfect then we never make mistakes, which means we never learn. There is true beauty in learning from our experiences and moving forward in a positive light. It makes us feel whole, and capable. It makes us appreciate ourselves, our families, and loved ones. To be imperfect allows us to breathe a little deeper, love a bit more passionately, and most importantly, forgive – ourselves and others. I really don’t expect perfection in those with whom I choose to surround myself, and I am fairly certain they do not expect perfection in me. If they do, they’ll be a long time waiting for that to happen.

Who needs Bounty paper towels? We're living in a world of the self-absorbed...

Dear Population under the age of 30,

While I understand that you are embroiled in a time of your life that is often difficult to navigate and fraught with philosophical twists and turns, I feel compelled to point out a number of factors which could, in the long run, make your life easier...or at least your parents’ lives easier. Please, don’t think I am talking down to you, or otherwise degrading you. I am simply stating what your parents are too afraid to say for fear that they will “injure your fragile self-esteem.” Rest assured, I have no vested interest in your self-esteem. I am merely exhausted from listening to your parents complain about what an ungrateful bunch of spoiled brats you are. I’ve also witnessed the behaviour of many of you firsthand, and sorry, but I am inclined to agree with their observations.

So here it goes…

1. While you may have been led to believe otherwise, you are NOT the only person in the universe. Indeed, you are not even the only person on Planet Earth. Look around, there are lots of other people who are pretty damn sure the universe is not revolving around you.

2. Good behavior is rewarded. Bad behavior is not rewarded. Do not expect to flunk out of college, then live at home rent-free, without a care in the world. The hot water for your three daily showers, electricity for your computer, tv and 20 tech gadgets, as well as food for your never-ending appetite all cost money...money your parents are tired of dishing out.

3. I don’t care how horrible you perceive your childhood to be. #1, it was not as bad as you think it was, and #2, get over it, we all came from dysfunctional families. Seriously, you think you have the lock on that one? It’s a big boat, and a lot of people on it. Time to take responsibility for your own actions. Stop blaming it on everyone else. If that’s bad, go get a good therapist.

4. Six figure incomes generally do not just fall into your lap like a gift from God. I know it’s hard to imagine, but in addition to a full-time job, you may need to find a PART-time job to supplement your income in order to afford anything close to the lifestyle to which you feel as though you deserve. It is not the responsibility of your parents to fund whatever you cannot afford. Figure it out or go without.

5. Driving is a PRIVILEGE, not a RIGHT. If you speed, text behind the wheel, let your registration lapse, or otherwise do anything completely stupid with regard to your driving record, be prepared to pay the consequences. It is not the fault of your parents, the arresting officer, your drivers ed teacher, or the public at large. Pay the fine and learn from your mistake. Likewise, it is not the responsibility of your parents to pay your insurance so you can drive said car. If you cannot afford your insurance, then refer to Item #4 (the second job part.)

6. With age comes responsibility for your own actions. There is no shame in making mistakes, but for God’s sake, LEARN from your mistake. No one else is responsible for your screw-ups. It is all on you. If you do screw up, that does not mean your parents love you any less, but do not expect a big group hug and a rousing version of Kumbaya. Your parents will more than likely express their feelings about said screw-up, and will expect you to suffer the consequences. So man up, and move on.

7. Please try to at least attempt to act adult-like. No one expects you to be perfect, but for the most part, we all expect you to at least TRY to do the right thing.

8. Drugs are bad...ALWAYS, without exception.

9. When considering whether to continue smoking or quit, always pick QUIT. We’re tired to you smelling like an ashtray.

10. I know life seems like an unending DRAMA of the first magnitude when you are in your twenties, but trust the rest of us who have been there, it isn’t. You will survive, you will be stronger, and someday you will look back and think, “God, I was the most self-absorbed, self-centered person alive back then.” We will forgive you of this, since we were all in that moment, at one time or another. But in the meantime, please try to remember, there is more to life than you, your feelings, and your drama. Whatever drama you are inflicting on your parents, they are dealing with all of that PLUS their own. Dial back your expectations, please.

For those of you who think I’m being unduly harsh...please. I guess my exhaustion comes from the fact that there are a ridiculous amount of twenty-somethings (and younger) who have an overstated sense of entitlement. Personally, it kind of ticks me off. I’m not sure why so many young people today believe that they should get WHAT they want exactly WHEN they want it, simply because they exist. I had the time of my life in my twenties, and I made plenty of stupid mistakes. But one thing I can assure you, no one gave me anything. And it would have never even occurred to me to expect it,or even ask. Once you cross that line into adulthood, it’s all on you. If you have a support system to draw upon in times of sincere crisis, then that is truly wonderful, but don’t expect it. More often than not, in times of crisis, that is when you really learn how to be self-reliant. That is when you pick yourself up by the boot straps and find out what you’re made of. In the end, being self-reliant will make you feel so much better about yourself, your abilities, and who you are as a person. It’s called “growing up.”

I can see menopause from my back door…what a crappy view…

For those of you who were unaware of the newly designated National Day of Mourning, let me be the first to bring you the news. From now on, February 5th is officially “The Old Broad’s Birthday”. Yep, I called my Congressman and had him bring it to the floor for a vote. Congress can’t agree on much these days, but they certainly could agree on one thing, that redheaded chick that lives in Manassas, Virginia? SHE IS GETTING OLD! I love bi-partisan spirit. Please send your condolence cards directly to my home since I will be there, crying in my dirty martini and applying wrinkle cream with a putty knife.

I’m not really sure how this happened, but it sure did happen quickly. One day I was partying like a rockstar with my rockstar friends, all of us pretending like we were important and in charge of the world. The next day, my eleven year old daughter is referring to me as pre-elderly and laughing at the music I listened to “back in the day.” WTF??? I don’t feel old. I’d like to think I don’t LOOK old, but apparently, to an eleven year old I am ancient. I wouldn’t swear to it, but I believe she thinks I am in the beginning stages of Alzheimers – which is quite possible since I can’t remember sh&t anymore. I wonder if she has started looking at nursing homes for her aging mother? I hope she picks a place in a warm weather climate, as cold weather at my age has also become truly unappealing. You know, it should be illegal to have arthritic hips in your forties.

Actually, I was watching television the other day and was thoroughly excited to learn that Depends undergarments were now available in different colors. Wow, wardrobe choices for those of us who are approaching incontinence. By the way, sneezing is already a risky proposition. It should really be hoot in four or five years. All I know is that I hope they come out in red. I have a sexy red bra, and I’m pretty sure the matching thong isn’t going to be an option in years to come. I will, however, draw the line at those ugly orthopaedic “walking shoes” and elastic waist pants. If, at some point, I am no longer able to hobble around in 5 inch heels, then I shall have Bill push me around in a wheelchair…wearing heels (me, not Bill.) Likewise, I’ll just keep a blanket over my lap and skip the pants altogether…another reason that red Depends would be a great fashion statement.

The truth is, getting older would be much more enticing if it wasn’t such a ridiculously young world. Everyone is twelve, for God’s sake…singers, models, celebrities. Hell, some of them aren’t even OLD enough to party like our generation did, and those that do, well, they end up in rehab, or jail, or both. I don’t remember anyone my age going to rehab, or jail, for having a good time. We partied responsibly…or at least smarter than the current batch of twenty-something whiners.

I’d also like to see more middle-aged or older runway models in New York, Paris and Milan, sporting cellulite and saggy breasts. How much fun would that be? We should bring back all the models of the 70s and 80s, and make them “walk the catwalk”…without the benefit of makeup or hair dye, or plastic surgery - just them, in all their natural glory. Now THAT is a reality show!

Be honest, you’d DVR that bitch, wouldn’t ya? I know I would.