dar liomsa (in my opinion)

There have been recent rumblings in the stay- at -home mom arena.

Politicians throwing accusations and others responding.

At the same time there was a separate word war among lululemon- yoga- pants -wearing- moms.

With all this controversy and name calling, I felt it necessary to chime in.

Apparently, working moms with an axe to grind, have taken fire at stay -at- home -moms who spend their days in lululemon yoga pants.  The attack is not new ground, women have been judging one another for years. With one group blatantly misinterpreting the other. It's and age old debate. After reading a recent blog post, via a twitter link, I felt the need to reply, but only after first googling said lululemon yoga pants. This lululemon war is based on the  assumption that stay- at- home moms who spend their days prancing around town in these $98 a pair yoga pants, live a life of leisure. Their days filled with yoga class, pilates, and Starbucks breaks,  while their children are in school and their husbands are at work.

That is no one's business but their own.  Quite frankly, it's a schedule I would gladly take, if I could afford it.

The problem I have with this war, is that I had no idea these expensive yoga pants even existed. The only yoga pants I have ever owned came from the maternity section in Target, which I wore when I may or may not have been pregnant, whatever. Those yoga pants never once experienced a 'downward dog' or the utterance of a Namaste, as I have never actually taken yoga. I wore them because they were the most comfortable pair of pants I ever owned. They were sweat pants, without really being sweat pants.

The point is, regardless of the clothes one wears, what other women do all day long while their chidlren are in school is their business. And if a working mom is jealous of a stay- at- home mom simply becasue she spends her days in yoga pants, then that mom needs to look within. Change yourself. Petition to change the dress code at work, to include your beloved yoga pants. Or switch careers and become a stay- at- home mom (they're always hiring). Whatever you are disliking about any stuation, let the change begin with you.

Do I make assumptions based on other people's clothing? Absolutely. That's my favorite game to play! The mom I sat next to at my kids' last  dentist appointment, dressed in a tennis skirt and ponytail, glued to her iphone, complaininig that her daughter's braids ( she got in Jamaica) were coming out? I totally wrote her story in my head.  The moms I see  in the school drop off, donning  pajama bottoms and be  dhead, I may or may not be judging them. The busy looking moms in leggings, running sneakers and Vera Bradley diaper bags I rub elbows with in the clearance aisle at  Target? I could tell you how not so leisurely they spend their days, as their carts are filled with more chidlren than products.

But what would people say about me?

The mom strolling through the supermarket on a quiet afternoon, with no kids hanging off the shopping cart, begging for cereal. I would hope they would say, 'that right there is a veteran'.  She put in her time and now that her kids are in school all day, she gets to food shop in peace, it's a small reward, but  worth it. And those pants she's wearing? I think she snagged them off the $3 rack at JC Penney last week.

I lik e to think if myself as a fighter.

One who does not back down from a challenge.

But there is one thing that renders me helpless.

There is one fight I never feel prepared for.

And that would be stain fighting.

I do what I can to pre -treat, wash, dry, and fold.

I do it daily, and I do it well.

So , I thought.

But every once in a while, clothing emerges from the dryer, still stained.

I throw up my hands in defeat.

The stain wins.

I believe karma is, rolling your eyes when a weepy mother calls her grown child her baby, one minute, and the next minute you yourself are a weepy mother doing the same.

Because until you are a mother you don't fully understand 'mother vision', causing a mother to eternally view her child as an innocent three year old.

Once you become a mother you fully uinderstand the impact of "mother vision", until of course your own mother tries to baby you. Then, you find yourself aggravated and ranting and reminding your mother that you are a grown woman and does she know how old you are?"

To which she may be tempted to reply, yes, honey you're three.

My mortgage for a movie?

I placed a call to my mortgage broker this weekend.

She was surprised to hear from me, it being the weekend and all.

Also, she just scored us a really good rate this time last year.

So she was a bit confused as to what I might need so urgently on a Sunday morning.

Well, the kids are dying to see The Hunger Games, I explained.

Uh-huh.

And you can't watch a movie without the movie theater popcorn and candy.

Yes?....

And well, have you been to the movies lately? We have five people in our family.

And?....

Well, we're going to need to re-mortgage the house (again).

Another milestone was celebrated last week.

Our kids wore new uniforms and marched in a parade to mark the opening day of their baseball/ softball season.

I, being the dutiful mom that I am, had everyone arrive on time and line up with their respective teams.

I then positioned myself to take pictures of the event.

 A friend of mine, was very impressed with my attention to detail and having a camera.

"Do not be impressed", I announced. These pictures will never see the light of day.

Cover blown, again. I couldn't just let her be impressed?

I always find a way to blow my own cover, like when the check out girl admires my huge diamond and I whisper 'it's fake'.

Let them think it's real, my husband whispers.

Let them think?

Let them think I'm going to print and scrapbook every one of those pictures?

No way. That is so, too far from the truth.

 

I'm not sure if karma is the right word to use .

But I just have to laugh when I'm introduced to a new couple, close to my age, who call each other boyfriend and girlfriend.

I find myself secretly thinking really? Your husband left you and this was the best you could do?

Maybe I've watched too many soap operas or read too much chick lit, but when I hear so and so has repalced her husband with a new guy, I totally expect him to fall into the category of rich, good looking, or  both.

For the simple fact that if you choose, halfway through your life to do it all over again then, for sure, you will make improvements. A choice that is better inside and out. When you choose someone who closely resembles your past  situation,  people don't even realize that you've made a switch.

If given the opportunity to wipe the slate clean, one should.

I guess what I'm saying is, invest some time and effort into the decision.

It's your upgrade.

 

 

Last night I dared to wonder, 'Has anyone ever actually been killed with kindness?'

Does it really work?

Can being nice to someone who is perpetually mean bring their demise?

And if it does work, could the kind one be charged with criminal intent?

These are the kind of questions I seek to answer.

These are the questions that keep me up at night.

Well, that and the neighbor's howling cats, blaring car alarms, and crickets.

But mostly these questions.

 

 

I want to be famous.

Famous people are celebrated long after they are gone.

As evidenced by the recent celebration of Vincent Van Gogh's 159th birthday.

I get the whole 'had he been alive today' idea of celebrating his birth.

But really, do you think he would have made it to 159?

Not likely.

Regardless, long after many of us leave this earth, few people will celebrate our birthday.

Unless, of course, we are famous.

So, I've decided I want to be famous.

I want random strangers, 100 years from now, eating cake and making merry on the date of my birth.

I'm telling you now, it's what I would have wanted.

You know, in case you're still around and want to head the committee.

Also, ice cream cake is my favorite.

Consider this a warning. No, better yet, an invitation.

To those of you who may need the following items in the near or distant future. Baby crib circa 1997, extra large doggy crate, combination bbq grill/cooler (three of them), extra window screens, miscellaneous wood trim, and spare bike tires. I have been housing these things in my shed long enough.

If you need/want/ expect the need to own them, please claim them now.

They reside in my shed, because they were evicted from my laundry room.

They were not sent directly to the curb because, "someone might be able to use them."

Nearly a decade later, no one has come to my door asking for these things. Quite frankly I'm a little tired of waiting for someone to need them.

So, I beg of you to claim your property.

I've housed it long enough.

 

I sat and watched the ants circling the ant traps and wondered, is this irony or insanity?

It was definitely quicker to squish the tiny bugs with my finger, but I wanted to know that the ant trap could handle the job, you know, in case I needed to walk away to eat lunch or fold laundry.

When I returned, the ants in their confusion (or rebellion), marched on, around, and near the trap never taking the plunge.

Much like my children who demand, daily the very shirt they wore the day before, life is full of ironic/insane circling.

The insanity that is my life finds me repeating patterns that are painful: make beds, mess beds, wash, dry fold clothes, repeat. Clean up toys, clean up toys, clean up toys.

The problem in my pattern is that the other people who live in this house, do not have the muscle memory to perform such tasks. It's so much easier if mom gets my favorite shirt from the dryer, because I would just let all the clothes fall onto the floor and mix in with the dirty ones.

It's so much easier if mom cleans my room, because she does such a good job.

I love the way mom makes my bed, and I'll be sure to tell her so she'll keep doing it.

These ant traps are fun, watch me climb, jump and whee!-  slide down.

Silly woman, when will she learn?