Catching my breath

Posted on May 16, 2012 by admin

Have you ever choked? Like, legitimately began choking on something where for a second (which feels like several minutes) you were certain death was imminent?

The summer I was 15, I remember vividly sitting on a bar stool right next to my very best friend, eating dinner at my dad’s house in Chattanooga and choking on a piece of bread while no one noticed. Of course I couldn’t make a single noise as it was blocking my airway and I was far too panicked to think of physically grabbing my friend not six inches to my right and making her take notice so I sat there and awaited death.

Somehow I survived, the bread dislodging itself from my throat and me then furiously trying to relay the fact that I had just been suffocating and not a single one of the five people in the room even realized it.

I read something recently that resonated with me – and uncomfortably so. This woman, a very well-to-do, intelligent, charismatic lady, wrote about how she had been a stay-at-home-mom for 26 years and never got used to it. She couldn’t even bring herself to use that ‘SAHM’ title so when she was surrounded by others she would make sure to deflect the inevitable question of “What do you do for a living?” Feeling as though her 26 years of being a SAHM wasn’t, well, enough; as though being ‘just’ a stay at home mom was an inadequate job amongst those who “worked” a more traditional office job. Of course she knew the value in being a SAHM, it just wasn’t enough for her.

I could have totally written that. Word for word, each letter, each pause in each comma – it was like YES. THIS. UH-HUH. HEAD NOD.

Now I have that office job. A job that is perfectly suited for me and a job that I really love. I am no longer ‘just’ a stay at home mom; I am a mom and I am also out there just like I wanted to be, working really hard to provide for my kids and, better yet, I’m lucky to be doing something I enjoy.

Win-win.

Except.

Now I feel like where I ‘failed’ at being a successful woman in the working world before, I now fail at being the super mom everyone expects I should also be. The guilt has not gone away; it’s simply shifted. While I once would have wished I could have brought in an income, I now feel like a failure for missing school activities. Now working isn’t a choice but a reality. Attending school activities are no longer my main job – they are what I do in my free time. And I have very little of that these days.

Finding a balance between the work that I love and being with my boys who I work so hard for is incredibly difficult. I can’t keep up. I can’t maintain that SAHM persona they’re used to and provide for them like I have to. And the stress is sometimes suffocating.

Last week, I worked a ton of extra hours to bring to fruition a site I’m really proud of. GUILT. My oldest gave me a note for Mother’s Day warning me he will forget about me if I send him to daytime summer camp when school’s out. GUILT. He’s being bullied again. GUILT. My mom called to let me know she thinks he could really use a little one-on-one time with me – if I have time. GUILT. My 5 year old reminded me I haven’t answered his mail. GUILT. There’s no way I can make it home in time for their Open House next week. GUILT. Tonight, my ex asked me if I could take the boys for a little while because I was home earlier than normal and I said I needed to work. GUILT.

And I feel like an asshole. Especially over that last one. But I just need a second. A minute. For air. Because between the work, the parenting and the guilt – oh my god the guilt – it’s like I’m standing here, in a room full of people, choking and no one has noticed. And I just need to catch my breath. For just a second.

The way it was

Posted on May 7, 2012 by admin

Have you ever stared at a photograph remembering a time when life was so much better only to realize it never was?

What year is this?

Posted on April 22, 2012 by admin

No, YOU just spent $35 on iTunes in twenty minutes. On this.

. . . !

Posted on April 19, 2012 by admin

This song always chokes me up – that’s just who I am and what I believe in. But watching my son and 119 other Kindergarteners sing and sign* it, well, excuse me while I get the dust out of my eyes.
__________

*They signed all 8 songs they sang. His school is also a dedicated special needs school and therefore teaches sign language to all students so every child there can converse with one another regardless of how each communicates.

Windows

Posted on April 4, 2012 by admin

I drove with the window down tonight for the first time in as long as I can remember, my hair damp with sweat from working out, my shoulders cinching upward, shivering in the breeze that was sweeping my neck and creeping up my sleeves.

It’s the first thing I’ve felt in I don’t know how long.

So I just let myself feel it – the wind whipping, the chill of fresh air in an indifferent, dark nighttime sky, the discomfort of being cold – breathing in deeply like I had just emerged from under water for a record breaking amount of time; gasping for any feeling to see if, in fact, I could still feel at all.

I’ve started working out again, vigorously, to train for my first 5k – a bucket list item. I’m not a runner but there’s something in me that just wants to run. Far. And I’m afraid it has little to do with exercise.

My body is sore and I can hardly move. Getting back into a routine of training regularly is hard. I’m tired. I don’t have time. So many excuses. Lactic acid build-up, bruises, tight muscles – it’s enough to make any person want to stop as soon as they begin.

But the truth is, the more I keep at it – the more I strain and try and work through the pain, forcing myself to do it, the easier it gets and the stronger I become. So I’m forcing myself to keep at it. The exercise, yes. But the rolling down of windows too.

Next time do it better, faulty salad and bad drivers

Posted on March 25, 2012 by admin

Story of my life.

If I were to write a Dr. Seuss-esque book it would be called “The Weeks Are Long, The Weekends Are Short.” Followed by the line, “My eyes are red, I have nothing to report.”

I’ve been up to my eyeballs in work, commuting and work with a side of commuting and everywhere you look around here is the sight of pure neglect. *blows dust off blog*

A few completely random thoughts (they wouldn’t be mine if they were organized) I’ve collected somewhere in the empties of my brain over the last week or two:

If there’s ever a shortage of salad (not lettuce mind you, but salad as a whole) you can, with clear conscience, blame Santa Monica. I’m on a steady diet of salad from This Place or salad from That Place because apparently all there is to eat in Santa Monica is salad. Even when the company orders in pizza for everyone, there it is: SALAD! and everyone, brainwashed to gravitate toward the green stuff is like OOOOH! I’ll take some of that SALAD! Oh and there’s pizza? That’s cool. I guess.

But no, I’m not any skinnier so… yeah. Um. What the hell? FAULTY SALAD. That’s what.

I drive 51 miles to work and 51 miles back home. In traffic. In – essentially – Los Angeles. This is the equivalent of your dad telling you he had to walk to and from school every day, barefoot, in the snow, uphill. For 51 miles. It’s a gorgeous, photogenic coastal drive but the amount stupid driving on the road is insurmountable. Through my extensive research I can tell you the pricier the car, the dumber the driver in this particular area. But get behind a work truck or a bus and you’re golden. I know the rhythms. Got them down pat. But when someone, usually a tourist who’s gawking at the ocean like “Oooh! Water! It’s wet! Soooo prettttty! I’ll just drive by really sllooowwwllly rather than pull the fuck over and actually touch it!” decides to cruise instead of drive and messes up the commuters’ patterns, god help them.

I need a megaphone – please and thank you. Have you any idea how many times a day I have to tell someone they’re the worst driver EVER? Huh, son?

But I’m not an angry driver. I’m just a vocal one. Ahem.

In other random news, the boys begged me to add “Draw Something” to their iPads. So if you’re one of the lucky ones receiving random, fucked up drawings of “fog,” I’m sorry and you’re welcome. At least they’re not one of those assholes who just write the answer and submit it to you. (WHAT’S WRONG WITH THOSE PEOPLE?)

At first this was so much work, playing this game with the boys. ["Mom, how do you spell 'pregnant'?" Um... *shifty eyes*] But now it’s our cool little way of staying in touch when they’re not with me. We pass loving notes back-and-forth before each drawing like the one above from my 9 year old. *cough* And, I have the added benefit of knowing when certain little shits have taken their iPads to bed with them when they weren’t supposed to. Oh, I have a particular little 7 year old who’s waiting on my drawing at 11 pm? GUESS WHO IS LOSING THEIR PRIVILEGES?

This is parenting in twenty-twelve, people.

A closer look at classic rock

Posted on March 4, 2012 by admin

I know you don’t need no education and I was tempted to leave you kids alone, but I thought you could use another brick in your wall of music lyric education by yours truly – this time in the classic rock genre which I am also a fan of.

[If you missed my analytical breakdown of rap lyrics, you can find it here.]

(You ridiculously young folk – who probably shouldn’t be reading this blog – will recognize some of these classic rock “tunes” from Guitar Hero. Blasphemy!)

I’m in the mood and the rhythm is right to move to the music, so let’s get started, shall we?

It’s more than a feeling, it’s my theme song. Suddenly I’m a 50 year old man in a pool hall, using one hand to punch numbers on a not-so-old jukebox that plays mp3s instead of records while using my other to hold my frosty Budweiser and within the first few notes crackling through the shitty billiard speakers, I don’t only close my eyes and drift awaaaaaaay, my pool stick also becomes a guitar I riff on. So many people have come and gone, but Boston? You complete me.

Now, being just a small town girl, livin’ in a lonely world, I’d be hesitant to take a midnight train goin’ anywhere… but damned if it isn’t fate that a city boy, born and raised in South Detroit took the same goddamn train goin’ anywhere. I don’t own much cheap perfume (shit is expensive) but dancing up and down the boulevard? GUILTY. Street lights, people, hiding somewhere in the night? Just another Saturday, people. Welcome to Hollywood – what’s your dream?

In my life, there’s been heartache and pain. I don’t know if I can face it again – or if I can even make those two lines rhyme [pain? again? eh.] – but I’ll tell you one thing: I wanna know what love is and I want you to show me. I KNOW you can show me. (UPDATE: I’m going to take a little time – a little time to look around me. Looks like love has finally found me.)

Now, indulge me for a second: I’m gonna have a fantasy. Now I know love is blind, but read between the lines… Love in an elevator: fun or cumbersome? Do we bother to stop for lingerie on the 2nd floor or is that a mood killer? Do you care to learn how to fax in the mailroom, honey, or is that innuendo? Also, just a disclaimer, with L.A. traffic, I don’t know if I can have you home by 5, but I do like the whole idea of lovin’ it up while you’re going dow-ow-ow-owwwn…

It’s like a Tide commercial in the making, but if you want to pour some sugar on me, love is like bomb, baby, come on get it on, by all means. Though calling me a “devilish woman” and “Little Miss Innocent” all in one breath? Perplexing, but, because you have mad crazy rock hair will I let that one go. After all, you are hot, sticky and sweet from your head to feet (feet? the fuck?) and basically, I CAN’T GET ENOUGH. P.S. I take two lumps.

Momma, life – it just begun – but now I’ve gone and thrown it all away…. OK so that’s not true. But if I’m not back this time tomorrow, carry on, carry on. Did that send shivers down your spine? Sorry. I don’t have to go. Well I do. But only briefly. I’ll be back soon with more lyrical genius… next time with some hipster-take-the-wheel hysteria for you.

*slams guitar into speaker and walks off stage*

Two points

Posted on February 26, 2012 by admin

He made his first basket at the very last game of the season. It happened so fast I couldn’t even register what was happening until it had already happened and before the cheering and the yelling and the “YEAH BUDDY’s” could escape me, the tears already were.

I’m not ashamed to be that mom. I’m lucky to be her.

Those two points rippled through that gym, sending a wave of emotion through parents and teammates who hardly know him. Strangers on their feet screaming. The assistant coach, already limping from an injury, ran up and down the court high-fiving anyone and everyone, screaming like it were his own son. The ref who had spent the entire season blowing the whistle at traveling, calling fouls and trying to get the boys to stay out of the key for too long came over to tell him how proud he was of him.

It was never about being the best; it was about getting his moment.

He got his moment. And he was at his very best.

I couldn’t help but be overwhelmed with pride. Not just by his two points but by the boy who gets teased for being the short guy on the court. For the boy who understands his position in the game better than anyone but doesn’t always get passed the ball. For the boy who, when I asked later “Are you proud of yourself?” replied humbly, “Maybe.”

Be proud, dude. For this, for everything, for being who you are.

Aww, skeet-skeet: Analyzing rap lyrics

Posted on February 21, 2012 by admin

I’ll be ~~wearing a~~ hood foreva.

My iTunes is a ridiculous mix of genres from the booty-shakin’ beats of hip-hop and rap to the hipster-take-the-wheel emo tunes and even a tiny bit o’ crooning by some of them country-western folk. I listen to music every. single. morning. as I get dressed and put my make-up on and as I dry my nails (I have a whole nail drying dance that I swear-to-god works – more on that destined-to-be-viral idea later) and now I’m really taking my jams to a whole new level of serious with my uber-long commute to work.

I might dance in my car like only all of So Cal is watching. Haters be hatin’ but my booty be shakin’.

My commute also gives me far too much time to think about the lyrics of the music I’m pop-and-locking to, which has led to me this very moment, where I break it all down for you; the very meaning of the hip-hop lyrics you’ve been wondering about.

Just freaking play along like you were wondering, m’kay?

Now before you go commenting like “Oh that’s not even what they’re saying!” Or, “THAT’S NOT WHAT THAT MEANS!!!” Let me tell you a couple things. 1. *looks around* This isn’t your blog. And, 2. I can certainly be down with O.P.P. (Other Peoples’ Perspectives) but this isn’t one of those times.

I ball so hard m*therf*ckers wanna find me. Let me tell you what, Jay-Z. I haaaated playing tetherball against assholes like you. Don’t ball so hard. It sounds painful. Bitch behave? Oh hell no. That shit you say? CRAY. Provocative? Yes. Does it get the people goin’? Yes. BUT CRAY, Jay.

Now Flo, I know that “sometimes (you) get a good feeling” but most guys do; it usually happens first thing in the morning, for starters. It’s cool. But the whole “giving in’s not an option, gotta get it in” has me all arched-brow over here like, you ain’t sayin’ what I think you’re sayin’ right? You talkin’ about gym time? Knew it. *whew*

I just wish Drake had told us what the motto was a lot sooner. I know he’s only 25 sitting on 25 mil, but crap, it would have been nice to know it was as simple as “you only live once” like, yesterday. I would have done EVERYTHING differently. Skeet, skeet, skeet.

I’m just sorry J. Cole can’t be my man. I got high, I got low, I dropped my thang down to the flo’ and… he’s only here for one night? Bullshit. Get right, get right. And to think I wanted to ride around town in his big ol’ raaaaange, nevermind his big ol’ chaaaaains. Damn they don’t make ‘em like that anymore. *sigh*

Oh, Tyga. I know you were faded/faded/faded/faded when you wrote this ’cause you keep saying the same goddamn thing over/over/over/over again. You spit out random shit like “Scarface” and “Dan Marino” without meaning/meaning/meaning/meaning and frankly I’m going to need Botox/Botox/Botox/Botox from wrinkling my forehead trying to get it/get it/get it/get it.

And lemme tell you something, Lil Jon. When the sweat starts drippin’ down yo’ balls, it’s time for you to get off the got-damn dance floor and air yo’ junk out. That’s funk waiting to happen. I’m all for a guy gettin’ low on the dance flo’ (I ain’t scared, I ain’t scared) but aww, skeet, skeet muthafucker, I don’t want to hear about your wonder cheese.

Join me next time as I dissect Hipster Hysteria, classic rock tunes or possibly some boot-scootin’ country.

Do work, son

Posted on February 20, 2012 by admin

Insert golf clap here, I’ve officially been at my new job for two weeks. Just long enough to figure out my chaotic morning and nightly routines and plenty long enough to have my share of awkward moments that only I could create.

Everyone is crazy friendly at this company and I’ve noticed how super proactive they are about introducing themselves in hallways, the kitchen area, anywhere – even if we don’t necessarily work closely together. Taking this cue, a week in I decided to do the same over the cappuccino machine (where I have taught people to make foam, OF COURSE) by introducing myself to a man and telling him which team I work on, how I am new, etc. to which he replies, “I know. We met your first day?”

Riiiight. Whoops. And so we meet again?

There are also a fair share of celebrities and producers and Big Names roaming our office and the building hallways and while I’m not one to usually put faces with names (see above), I found myself a little dumbfounded to run into a producer of a show that sounds similar to Lurvivor mid-stairwell.

No, no. Like, physically run into him.

IN MY DEFENSE, who stops mid-step to text? Fine. Plenty of people. But should they? No.

A few days later color me surprised when the whole Hump Island selection suddenly became relevant in a totally YEAH, GOOD LUCK WITH THAT MEGAN kind of way when a certain Bostonian who likes ‘dem apples’ was roaming the hallways.

People, this is why you don’t laminate your Hump Island choices.

Next week I get to meet the co-owners/partners of the company. I think it’s incredibly cool that they do that sort of thing with each and every employee but really, y’all know me, this is just an opportunity for me to see how far I can stick my foot in my mouth.

But seriously, I’m pretty sure there’s not a whole lot worse I can do with my nervous banter since I checked out my bio on the internal site and, heh/blush/cough/fuuuuuuck, what do you know? There it is, all shiny and shit: a link to this here blog.

*waves hi to my new co-workers*

*shifty eyes*

And on the home front, I’m adjusting – and quicker than I expected which is good. So very good. Going from married to divorced to single mom to single working mom… god, it’s been a roller coaster. But I’m really loving this new ride I’m on and am managing to not worry so much about the upcoming twists and turns; it’s refreshing to just enjoy the thrill of it all.

Undomestic Diva

Doin' the best I can… When I feel like it

Author Archives: admin

What year is this?

A closer look at classic rock

Two points

Aww, skeet-skeet: Analyzing rap lyrics

Do work, son