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Thursday, September 19, 2013

How NOT to be a MILF

**If you are my mom or my mother-in-law, it would be so lovely if you avoided reading this one. I think that you will enjoy this one called 9/11 The Aftermath of Compassion so much more. Thank you. You are the best.

How NOT to be a MILF

Ahhhh September. Fall is in the air. Kids are back to the classroom. Minivans are logging some serious miles and the back to school craziness is starting to feel a little less crazy. We have met all the teachers, gone to all the meetings, purchased enough Joe Corbi's to keep him in business for a long time and bought enough school supplies to stock an entire third world country. I now have 12 quality minutes a day to spend with my four kids that I'm not asking them to do their homework, change into their soccer cleats, practice the violin and not practice spinjitzu on their sister before I jam dinner into them at 4:30 so we can make a 5:00 practice. That we will inevitably be late for. And then we return home at 8 so they can shower, have a snack (what the hell- did the early bird special not fill you up?), finish homework, read something before they are given a half ass rendition of "You are my sunshine" while being thrown into bed with the hopes that the stars have aligned and they brushed their own teeth without us asking them too. I'm sure that happened. I have barely enough energy to hook up with my husband and drink a glass of Merlot before I pass out on my husband who is already passed out.

So I get it. Life is wildly full. And we are so freaking tired. But I don't think we should give up on ourselves. All of the whirlwind of pick-ups and drop-offs lead to a number of mom-eractions we will call them. You see the moms who really seem to have themselves together. Some are extraordinarily organized. Some are straight from a magazine stylish. Some are downright MILFs. And there are those of us who have had completely unfuckable, couldn't be more unattractive moments that if you put them together it could go into the best of "What Not to Wear's" highlight reel. I view motherhood as a sisterhood and feel that it is my calling to help a fellow sister get some. This is what I have learned over the last decade of motherhood about what not to do to become a MILF. 

  • Mom Jeans. Don't do it. If the button of your jeans is higher than your belly button than it is far too high. Only three people in the world can pull off the "on trend" high waisted look: Heidi Klum, Taylor Swift and Beyonce. So unless you are 6 foot, 9 inches tall, weigh 98 pounds and blonde or have a child named Blue Ivy than please, please put the mom jeans down. Better yet, donate them to Goodwill. Halloween is coming and those jeans will go to a fun home that will put them to good comical use.

If what you are wearing is featured in a Saturday Night Live skit than it is not a good, everyday fashion choice.

  • Too Many Stickers on the Back of Your Minivan. I'm pretty positive that the number of stickers on your vehicle directly correlates to how frequently you have sex. As in the higher number of stickers that are there indicates the sex in your future is going to be less and less and less. That is so great that Presley made honor roll 17 times and Paisley plays lacrosse AND field hockey and that you love your German Shepherd. But in that long string of stick people wearing Mickey Mouse ears, I'm just going to take a gamble and say that the last time you had sex was when that small one at the end was conceived. And if you happen to be a man behind that Odyssey wheel, purchasing those stickers at Disneyworld, let's just say that you aren't exactly going to fall in the DILF category. 

Definite points for originality.

  • Christmas Sweaters. You might as well just wear a sign that says "I have given up on having sex again for the rest of my entire life." And if the sweater or vest or turtleneck lights up in any way, I strongly think that you consider joining a convent.

So sparkly.

  • Debbie Downers. At first I thought once you talked about what had you down that everything would be okay but now I realize that that is never going to happen. Your love of all things depressing, couldn't be anymore of a buzzkill to be around. Time is valuable, don't waste it sucking the joy out of the room. Please get yourself some Cymbalta and a vibrator and than shoot me a message that you are ready to put the happy back in happy hour. 

This could be you post-vibrator.

  • Non-stop Yoga Pant Wearers. I am completely guilty of this, especially after having twins. Hell, I'm guilty of it right now while I type. I call it night to day wear. No need to change out of your pajamas to take your kids to the bus, or to pick them up, or change into a different pair of pajamas. By day 3, this gets to be downright disgusting. Your kids look at you with sympathy. Your spouse/partner is frieghtened. And you can't remember if you showered this week, not to mention the last time you actually went to yoga in your yoga pants. It is time to clean up, find something in your closet that makes you remember that you have a vagina and go somewhere with cloth tablecloths. You deserve it.

  • The Overachievers. A little less pinterest and a little more lingerie shopping is in order. You are so good and so into winning at so many things that I think we need to channel your energies into overachievement in the bedroom. Something tells me that someone was left high and dry last night because someone was up to the wee hours making this:

My kids will barely eat pizza.

With a side of this:

You could have been watching Real Housewives while drinking tequila.

And if you don't want to be a MILF, that is okay. But let's start with doing things that make us feel good about ourselves. Confidence is sexy and we shouldn't apologize for that. Being sexy radiates joy. People love happy people. People love to see confident, sexy, happy people naked. And there you have it- you are officially (or unofficially if you prefer) a MILF. And if it seems that right now you are too boggled in all of the day to day consumption of parenthood, just take it one step at a time. You will be a better mom for focusing on your own happiness once in awhile. 
Fake it until you own it. In more ways than one.

Cheers to the sisterhood of motherhood...

Monday, September 16, 2013

I Get By With a Little Help...

I just don't even know what I would do without these glorious beings I call friends. They are everything I never knew how much I would need. I love that new friends emerge in the different phases of life. Though the faces may change, the dearest people to me all have a similar characteristic: the friendship is easy. The logistics might be at times challenging but the friendship at its core is natural. It is a beautiful thing and I am so grateful.

There are the ones that know everything there is to know about me and somehow still love me anyway. There are ones I see when far too much time has passed but somehow the conversation always picks up like it was never left. Some friends knew me before babies, some helped me survive pregnancies and there are the ones who know my children. There are the friends who know what it is like to really need to drink a glass of wine. In the morning. Without judgement. And those I only see in classrooms and yoga studios. There are those that I can depend on to dance on a table with and those that sense when I need to let go, release, cry and move forward. And to you dear friends that read this blog, please know that I deeply adore you and read every comment, every e-mail, every message. I love to hear your words.

None of us are perfect. That would be completely irritating. Friends are human, beautifully so and remind us that life is supposed to be fun. They are the reminders of how exceptionally marvelous it feels to laugh with your whole body involved. They are the ones that we can not take for granted.

I do not know how I got so lucky. I need to start telling more people thank you. And I'm going to start right now. Thank you for the joy and the dedication. Thank you for the love. Thank you for saying to keep on going. Thank you for the tea. And definitely the wine. You are crazy fabulous, my friends.

Thank you for being.


Wednesday, September 11, 2013

9.11 The Aftermath of Compassion

Everyone remembers the shock of the world on September 11th. Where they were when the planes hit. The horror. The devastation. The glass. The smoke. The tears. Who they called to make sure they were okay. Who they weren't able to get a hold of. The bodies found. The bodies lost. The feeling of time standing still and forgetting to exhale.

I worked at The Washington Post and I have always felt that I was supposed to be there that day on the 16th floor at the interior of the nation's capital. I watched the smoke pour out onto the sky from the Pentagon. Rumors and tragic updates flew in and out like the waves of the ocean. The news couldn't be reported fast enough. When I left that day and went outside, the normally gridlocked streets were empty. DC was a ghost town. It felt like a deserted movie set. Eerily quiet. That is the point that I cried.

We remember the feel of that day. The places we listened to the news, the panic, loss and empathy. We remember the stories. The questions. The anger. The widows. And absolutely the heroes.

What we sometimes may forget is the aftermath of compassion. A nation that was shattered and found a way to see each other in a new light. A nation reunited. People called one another just to hear their voice. People called because time felt more fragile and more sacred. People cared. And people forgave. Strangers gave each other tissues on the street and told each other how deeply sorry they were. Acquaintances embraced one another. Parents held their children tighter. People helped in any way they possibly could. People listened with patience. People let go of what didn't matter and clutched closer to what did. We were one another's rocks. Kindness prevailed. Gentleness was savored. Love reigned.

From one of the most tragic of days came the most gracious humanity. A stunning aftermath that may have gotten slightly lost in the history books over the years. I hope we do even more than remember. I hope we keep that type of grace alive. I hope we listen again. Check in on one another again. Let's end conversations with love instead of anger. Let us treat people with the type of compassion that they deserve. Let us toast the joy of one another. It is time to pay hope forward.

In light, love and hope...

Thursday, September 5, 2013

The Year of No

I have to say no to my children more times in a day that I care to admit. No cookies for breakfast. No flip flops at school. No cleats in the house. No TV before homework. No you can't have a puppy. Or an iguana. Or a pool. No ninjas at the dinner table. No opening the packages I'm about to mail. Blast. You opened the packages I was about to mail. Timeout.

It is nos on top of nos around here. A no tower. All. Day. Long.

With children it feels like the nos are a necessity. Yes I prefer the yesses but it is the nos that give the structure of learning right from wrong. I give them in the (desperate) hope that my children will grow up to be happy, healthy adults that are able to function in society without their fingers in their noses and their shoes on the right feet. Or at least to not do the things that we did in our youth. For me the nos give them oxygen. Not the amount that makes them suffocate from too much restriction or the other extreme that makes them take advantage and become spoiled. Just the beautiful inbetween where they are able to breathe but they know that they are loved enough to care how they behave as human beings.

But when it comes to adults it becomes a bit more blurry. We sometimes forget about our own oxygen that we so desperately need and deserve. We become yes machines trying to out volunteer one another. In the battle of super parents, I fold. I do not want to be super or parent in a supposedly superior way. I'll take mediocre, thank you very much, with a giant side of sanity.

I am not dissing volunteering in anyway. In fact the world absolutely needs those willing to do extraordinarily selfless things for the pure benefit of knowing they have done something for the greater good of humanity. Our communities and schools are better places because of those willing to dedicate their precious time and energy into making them better. They are paid in thank yous and occasionally (but not often enough) in free food. I will absolutely give my hours to the non-profits that have personal meaning to me. I believe though, that if we say yes to every invitation, fundraiser, car wash, project, yard sale, cookie sale, playdate, meeting, potluck, campout, dance, instrument, sport, choir, theatre, festival, 5K run, class parent opening, coaching opportunity, troop leader position, "enrichment" activity and birthday bounce house party that it just might cloud what is truly important to us. If it is enough to make your head spin, just imagine what it could be doing to you child's.

My yes card is full.

So this year I am saying no. Unless something directly benefits the relationship that I have with my children or my marriage or my close friendships than it is quite simply not worth it. I am choosing them. I am choosing me. I am choosing the causes that we deeply care about. I will show them that we do give back, we just do it with intention. Why give our best selves to others and have little left to give at home? Our money and time are valuable things and it would do a world of good to invest them wisely.

Mother Teresa so eloquently said, "What can you do to promote world peace? Go home and love your family."

Cheers to that.

your non-super but oh so happy naked momma