So I wasn’t at all surprised when she decided that, you know, since she had so little going on in her life (did I mention the two kids, the husband, and the beautiful house in the ‘burbs?), that she decided to start a magazine.

Project You.  It’s all about women, and pursuing your passion while raising your family.

Except for my essay in the mag – it’s about how sometimes (just sometimes) I meet kids that I don’t like.

Yes.  I’m just that evil.

If you want to read it, click here, then turn to page 13. (you can read it online, or print it out and read it magazine style.)

One more thing: If you think that you recognize your own child in the piece.  Well, you’re wrong.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

I LOVE your child. Really.

That’s my story and I’m sticking with it.

I’ve never been to Amelia Island, but it sure doesn’t look like the land-of-the-Grandma’s that I think of as Florida.

Check out her video.

Who knew that you could find history, southern comfort, and Ritz Carlton elegance so close to home? I guess I should, since I write for TravelingMom, too.  But hey, you can’t go everywhere.  (Though I am going to Orlando –not with the Orlandos — just TO Orlando) in a few weeks.)
Maybe I’ll even make a video about it.

As long as I don’t have to appear in a bathing suit!

The comment came from a guy named Ed.  And this was his opening line.

So you ended up being just a mother.

Just another mother, like a chimp, a cow, an elephant, a whale, just another mother, like an insect, or an octopus, or a worm. Just another sad mother.

The guy had me laughing already. What a jokester he must be.  And quite a laugh at family gatherings.

He went on to give his insightful commentary on how others must feel about my motherhood.

Your kids will not thank you, your husband will not like you, your own mother will pity you for making her own same mistake.

Just another mother.

Somehow, I don’t think he and his mom have the best relationship.  I’m very intuitive.  That’s how I know.

Next, the lovely Ed waxes poetic about “parental-brain-atrophy-syndrome” (ooh!  ten dollar words!  can my mom-brain take it?!) I won’t bore you with his entire oeuvre, just a summary.  I’ve biologically dumbed down my brain. My life is “dirt and feces.”   Blah blah blah. Again, just guessing here, but do you think that our friend Ed may have some slight socialization problems?

Motherhood, according to Eddie-poo, has doomed me to “a life of dandruff and diseases, vaccine and lice, high school and drool.” Poor Ed.  Sounds like his High School years were pretty tough.  What with the drooling and all. Kind of makes it hard to get a date. I can imagine the phone call:

“Hi, Susie?  This is Ed?  You know, from your science class?….What? Yeah, that’s me.  The one with the bib.”

When you’re in High School, you hate your mother,  and you have a drooling problem, chances are, you didn’t get a prom date.  Which may explain this next choice tidbit from my friend Ed’s comment.

You lost your dignity through your open legs, first inwards and then outwards, first-in-first-out, garbage-in-garbage-out, a boomerang of boredom.

Wow.  I don’t believe I have ever heard a man describe sex in quite that way. Especially the penis as garbage analogy. Most men I know think of the penis as the pinnacle of perfection, the private part of pleasure, the….well, perhaps I’m getting carried away. But the comment does make me wonder if Ed’s lack of a prom-date problem may have led to him missing out on sex all together.  Which would explain a lot.

After a bit more poetic rambling about my “loss” and how I’ve chosen “prison voluntarily” (guess his Mommy dearest kept him locked in his room most of the time. Thanks, Mom, for keeping away from the rest of us as long as you did!), he devolves into crazy Virgin Mary inexplicabilities.

“…Virgin Mary you are not, because Mary was not a Virgin, and you are not a Mary.“

Huh?

This last line really bummed me out.  For while he may be a psychopath, Ed is no dummy.  His psychotic ramblings up to this point were positively literary! Also, how crazy do you have to be to find MARITAL sex sinful?  Poor Ed. Destined to a life of unrequited love for an inflatable girl.

In fairness to Ed (though why I think he deserves fairness is beyond me), his comment ended up in Spam – which means he didn’t necessarily direct it at me – just at any blog having anything at all to do with motherhood.  Though I guess I’m not really helping Ed out here.  This means that he sent this psychotic crap out to a number of women.

Yikes.

And some of them might not have found him quite as amusing as I.

Ed winds down with this serial-killer-esque gem:

You were manipulated into just another life wasted on the heap of trash of a lost humanity dedicated to popular procreation and proletarian proliferation, to please the leaders of a domain of plebeians.

Hey!  Ed knows all about alliteration.  What a positively perfect position for a psychopath who preaches to parents!

Although this whole last passage makes me wonder if Ed even knows where babies come from.  “Popular Procreation?  Well, yeah. Of course it’s popular. It’s sex.  And here’s a newsflash for you, Ed: most people come from the  procreative act.  Except of course, you, Ed. (now now – we don’t want to upset to upset the crazy man!)

Ed ends with this little gem.

Good bye, sad mothers, good bye, old cows, with dried-out utters and distorted hips, good bye, and so alone you all will die.

Good bye to you, too, Ed.  Goodbye to what’s left of your sanity.  And hello crazy-hood!  You’re finally where you belong.

I just hope there aren’t any other people wherever that is.  Because, you know, they might all have…..MOTHERS!

]]> http://fromhiptohousewife.com/2010/08/18/a-psychopath-left-a-comment-on-my-blog/feed/ 10 nancyjrab smoking guy http://fromhiptohousewife.com/2010/08/09/blogher10-pros-and-cons/ http://fromhiptohousewife.com/2010/08/09/blogher10-pros-and-cons/#comments Tue, 10 Aug 2010 02:47:46 +0000 nancyjrab http://fromhiptohousewife.com/?p=1196 ]]> The swag is put away (mostly), the business cards gone through (totally), the laryngitis fading (sorry, hubby, I can talk endlessly again). Yes, it  was my first year at Blogher, and now it’s time for a little post mortem.  Just how was it?

I went into BlogHer thinking that how I felt about BlogHer would pretty much determine whether or not I continued blogging at all.  I had kinda lost my groove after the unexpected demise of SVMoms, and I wasn’t so sure I wanted to feel groovy again. You know, what with the requisite fringe vests and all.

I’m still not quite sure how I feel.  So I’m going to make a list of pros and cons, bests and worsts, and see what wins.

Pro: The conference was in NY. For me, that meant no travel or lodging costs (I live here). For many, it meant a first trip to the Big Apple.

Pro: It was nice to be in a community of women who speak blog-ese.  Most of my IRL friends have no idea what I’m talking about half the time.  And they certainly wouldn’t wait in a restroom to have an audience with The Bloggess. Not that I begrudge The Bloggess her little corner of fame.  She’s truly  funny and she’s worked for it.  But the bathroom?  Really?

Con: The conference was ginormous! 2400 women (mostly, anyway). Which made it feel less like a community and more like a bunch of cows being herded into over-air conditioned pens.

Pro:  I got to hang with some of my favorite people: beccarama, Selfish Mom,  A Child Grows in Brooklyn, MamaKnows Breast and ChefDruck.   And I got to meet some new, smart, funny bloggers, like isdisnormal, VodkaMom and Single Gal in the City.

Con: The overall vibe of the conference – at least for me – was not all that warm and fuzzy.  People were a little clique-ish, and defensive.  A simple “where are you from?” practically got my eyebrows singed off from the darts the person I’d asked was shooting at me with her eyes.  When did “Where are you from?” become fightin’ words? At Blogher10, that’s where.

Pro: There were healthy choices at all three meals.  (courtesy of Tropicana)

Con: There wasn’t enough time to eat – much less make  it to too many of the sessions. There was too much happening at once,  no way to go to all the things you might want to.  Maybe that’s a sign of a good conference — so much you want to do.  But I thought it was a sign that maybe less is more.

Pro: There was a lot of swag.

Con: There was a lot of swag. So much swag, that I suffered from Swag Shoulder for two days, living on Motrin and borrowed time.

Here’s the thing about swag: no one really needs another mousepad. Or another button with the logo of another company.And please, please, not another eco-friendly reusable bag.  Because when you have 57 eco-bags, they stop being ecological and start being a big ole pain in the ass.  But it is swag, and we all like to get the stuff.

Some of my favorites:

Got Milk’s portable cereal container, useful and not too heavy to carry around.

Oscillococcinum. Because once cold season starts my family and I practically live on the stuff, and now I won’t have to buy as much. A freebie I would have bought anyway? Excellent.

The Wheaties t-shirt.  Just because.

RCA Music, Video and Photo player. Small enough to stick in your pocket.  And free, so I won’t be too upset if one of my kids loses it. (when, not if.)

Avery‘s thoughtful NYC survival kit from the Social Luxe party. It may have just been bandaids and tissues and stuff, but it was well thought out, thoroughly useful, and cleverly packaged.  Go Avery.  Way to make portable toothbrushes fun.

Also from the social luxe party – Foxy Blunt’s gift cards. Hysterical.Sophisticated. Kinda evil. And totally bitchin’. And Mabels Labels cord labels. I think I’m officially a groupie.

I love the Assets tummy control panties – because anything I can do to look thinner without actually having to work to get thinner…consider it done. And the FULL SIZED samples from Eucerin. Love the new fragrance and trust Eucerin not to make my skin look like I just spent three days in an air-conditioned over-sized land-locked cruise ship peopled by swag frenzy housewives.

And, of course, we can’t forget the Sex Toys from Eden Fantasys.  Hey, laugh all you like, but I didn’t see any of those vibrators on the swag recycling table, did you?

Pro: The inspiring international bloggers: www.mideastyouth.com – wicked funny, incredibly brave. www.humanityashore.org - beautiful, moving photos from a brave photo journalist who manages to get what she wants, even in a country where women don’t get too much.  www.awwproject.org - a place where the mostly illiterate and unheard women of Afghanistan get a voice. And mujereslibres.blogspot.com – paying tribute to Latin American women who fight for the rights of others every day.

In the end, it was this last pro that mattered. Those brave women who were risking their lives to blog – they were inspiring.  They made me think about blogging giving people a voice, effecting change.  They made me thing of the  2400 attendees not as swag-swilling women, but as a collective voice that can be used for something other than naval gazing and product reviews.

So in the end, BlogHer did matter.  It was inspiring to hear those women.  It was reassuring to see that so many other women are blogging just like me.  And I guess I’ll keep on going.

That is if all the swag I’ve piled up doesn’t tip over and crush me on my way to my computer.

Like this post? Share it. Tweet it. Leave a comment. Pretty please?

Here’s how.

6:50 am – Wake up. Stumble into bathroom. Throw on workout clothes. (It’s a fact that just wearing the clothes confers exercise points, whether or not you make it to the gym.

7-7:35 am – Say “get dressed, brush your teeth, eat your breakfast” over and over and over and over as if it were a mantra, instead of just a daily battle to get the kids out of the house.

7:35-7:45 Walk kids to bus, realize we are late. Run to bus. Marvel at how, once again, neither of my children has seen fit even to say goodbye before getting on the school bus.

7:45-8:30 Walk dog. See? That’s exercise….ish.

8:30-8:45 Shower/Dress

8:45-9 Coffee, breakfast, email. Multi tasking is my friend. Except when I spill my coffee on my computer as I email. Then mulit-tasking is a multi cursing, multi-hours on the phone with customer service enemy.

9-10:30 Do breakfast dishes. (yes, email takes priority over dishes in the sink.) Make beds, straighten up. Notice the kitchen floor feels sticky. Don’t want to know why – just mop it. Ditto for the Dining Room, which needs sweeping and mopping.

10:30-11:15 Get Fresh Direct delivery. Open up pantry to put everything away, and nearly get killed in the avalanche of cereal boxes, pretzel bags, and precariously balanced cans of Organic canned tomatoes that falls on my head. Re-organize pantry. Find food I probably should have thrown away in 2007.

11:15-12:15 Research our next vacation: Africa. Ok, I admit, this is the fun part. A bit overwhelming, perhaps, but fun. We are going on a big trip for my husband’s 50th birthday, and I’m responsible for putting it all together. The number of companies offering Safaris is astounding. And each one looks better than the last. Hey, somebody’s gotta do it.

12:30-1:30 I forgot to mention that during the entire day, I’ve been short of breath. Seems my lovely swine flu/pneumonia experience has left my lungs a little less than perfect. Spend this hour at the Dr.’s office taking a lung capacity test, reading ancient magazines in the waiting room (I think I saw an advertisement for that food I should have thrown away in 2007!), and being handed a handful of prescriptions. Fun Fun Fun.

1:30-2:15 Walk the dog again. Take him to the Pet Store to buy more poop bags and more training treats. Use said poop bags on the way to the pharmacy with the dog to pick up my prescriptions.

2:15-2:30 realize I haven’t had lunch. Eat, standing up in front of the refrigerator: a tangerine, a hunk of cheddar cheese on a piece of leftover Challah, and a chicken leg.

2:30-3:00 Receive package with new bedding for my bedroom.( Note to readers: do not get new bedding just before getting a new puppy. Your new bedding will instantly become old bedding, and you will need to get new new bedding way too soon.) Take dog stained and chewed old-new-bedding off the bed, replace with new/new bedding. Spend at least seven minutes trying to figure out if it’s worth saving old-new bedding, and if so, where I can store it. Decide to toss it. Dog pee and puppy-teeth sized holes just don’t say “sleep comfortably” to me. Call me crazy.

Hey look! It’s 3:00 already. Time to get the kids, start dinner, help them do their homework (the evening mantra: sit down and do your homework/sit down and do your homework, sit down and…), etc. etc. etc. See how busy my day was? And see how much nothing I did? A lot of nothing. Plenty of nothing. And after a day like that, I’m not so sure that nothing is plenty for me.

If you liked this post, share it! Tweet it! Stumble it! Leave a comment! Do something! (not nothing!)

1. Last Saturday night, hubby and I went out to dinner with (child free) friends.  The time of the reservation? 9:45.  The place?  The hip and fabulous Chop Shop in the Meat Packing district. What made it GlaMOMous other than the time and locale?  I was NOT the oldest woman in the place. Whoo hoo!

2. I was a lady who lunches and saw a Broadway Show, Time Stands Still, with Laura Linney, Alicia Silverstone, and Eric Bogosian. (they were in the show, they didn’t see it with me.)

3. I had my hair done by hair-dresser to the stars Creighton Bowman.  Or as he likes to be known, Creighton Bowman for Tres Semme.  Yes.  My hairdresser has a sponsor.  And he does movie star hair.  On real movie star heads.  Check out his website. Plus, in case you were wondering, he really does use Tres Semme.  I guess I always thought that celebrity sponsors only used their products on camera.  Turns out, Creighton (at least) uses his sponsor’s products in real life, too.

4. I met with my dog’s agent.

You read it right.  My dog, Bentley, has an agent.  And while he’s not ready for prime time yet…we’re getting there.  And before you get all upset about me exploiting my dog for profit — he’s a DOG! Get over it.

5. I had a massage in a lovely little town upstate that seems like just the kind of place celebs would go to be left alone.

6. I met Cody Linley (teen heart throb/Hannah Montana star) at a launch party for a new Wii game by Sega. (Click here to read all about it.)  And ok, ok, maybe that’s not exactly glamorous.  But my daughter was with me and she thought it was the height of celebrity.  So there.

7. I saw Kelly Ripa at the supermarket.  Which, I do believe, is the definition of GlaMOMous.  Because who, other than a mom, would be at the supermarket in the middle of the day?

8.  I went to Barneys.  True, I was there to return some clothing to the children’s department that was a gift, and that didn’t fit.  But still – it was Barney’s.  Talk about glam – even the  sales people look like movie stars. (Ok – those of you not in NY – is Barney’s a totally NY thing?  Or is it everywhere?)

I thought I could get to ten things.  Really I did.  But alas, no can do.

Still – not too shabby for a stay at home Mom.  Feeling better about myself already!

This morning, here in San Francisco, where I am (for now) escaping the horrifyingly cold weather in NY, I am awaiting the results of my own spit test.  A few weeks ago I spit into a vial (which I then made vile), mixed said spit with some concoction 23andMe sent me, stuck it all in an envelope and sent it off to 23andMe, where some unsuspecting scientist undoubtedly discovered that I eat way too much garlic.

I’m hoping they discover more.  Like maybe why I’m so low on the hand-eye coordination scale.  Or (more seriously) if I’m prone to diabetes, to certain kinds of cancer, Crohn’s disease, or if there’s some reason both my daughter and I love mint but hate wintergreen.  Hey, maybe there’s some genetic reason some Lifesavers flavor-name-writer chose to call it Wint-o-Green? Very annoying, that.

The whole idea of 23andMe is to provide consumers access to a truly amazing new technology that can teach us an awful lot about who we are — and that has the potential to change the way we treat disease, or look at disability, or relate to ourselves.  Genome testing gives us the opportunity for an amazing insight into who we are. And 23andMe is hoping that as we share this information online, we’ll help them create a research database that could, eventually, help scientists with research, and help people connect on a totally different and more profound level than “I’m a Beyonce fan and so are you!”

So this afternoon I”m headed to Silicon Valley (with my new HP Pavillion computer – thank you Best Buy for actually having someone on the floor who knew what she was talking about) to start working on a special project for 23andMe.  And I’m being deliberately vague, here.  This is all very top-secret.  Very hush hush.  I’m even wearing a trench coat and dark glasses as I type.

I will tell you this – I’m meeting 23andMe founders Anne Wojcicki and Linda Avey later today at the 23andMe headquarters, I’m going to take yoga (courtesy 23andMe), I’m going to learn a whole lot about genes and genetic testing — which is a good thing, since I know pretty much NOTHING about it (I’m pretty sure 23andMe knew that when they hired me, but just in case, don’t tell ‘em)– I’m going to meet a tremendous number of supercool women, to see and visit the Googleplex (how cool is that?) and even get a massage and/or pedicure on them.  Sounds good to me.

I’ll write more about my 23andMe experience once my results are in, so if you’re interested, click on the subscribe to my blog button up there in the right corner.

I’ll keep you posted.  Who knows, maybe I’ll find out that genetically, I’m meant to be a blond, so all this hair-dyeing money I’ve spent over the years was not vanity, but a biological imperative!  Maybe I’ll find out why I really don’t like chocolate (I know, it’s weird), love brussels sprouts, and seem to have an amazing tolerance for watching really bad sitcoms.  The depth of the knowledge I may gain (and the shallowness of the things I’m focusing on – mint? Hair? Sit coms?) is really revelatory, isn’t it?

We’ll see.

Me: Hi baby-girl! How are you?

Wee One: I’m fine.  But where are you, Mommy?

Me: I’m at work.

WO:  Do you have a hammmer?

Me: No, sweetie.  No hammer.  What do you think Mommy does at work?

WO:  I don’t know.  What do you do?

Me: I make commercials so that people know what shows to watch on TV.

WO:  Well, that doesn’t sound very important.  I think you should just come home.

Out of the mouths of babe, right?  Not long after that I slowed work considerably, only accepting those projects I knew wouldn’t keep me in the edit room until 3am. (Which in TV, isn’t a lot.)  And eventually, I stopped more or less all together, aside from the occasional day-job here and there.

But recently, I started working again.  And today, I had to back out of going on a class trip because I have a work meeting I can’t get out of.

You know what?  This working thing is really cramping my style.

Now I know, that sounds awfully cavalier, given what’s going on only a few blocks downtown – the panic, the lay-offs, the wiping out of people’s life-savings — and I’m not saying I’m going to stop working.  Or that it’s even an option.  But I am saying: working is kind of a bummer after a year of having my time myself….other than the 10 hours a week I gave to my kids’ school, the grocery shopping, the cooking, the straightening up, the laundry.   And the constant feeling that really, truly, I should be working out more.

See, I can’t seem to care about work.  I need the paycheck, I like the adult conversation.  And honestly, I couldn’t have a better situation.  It’s part-time, it’s mostly at home.  It’s writing.  I’m getting paid to write.   Boo hoo.  Poor me.

If I were a man I’d say that I just can’t get it up for ad-copy.  Does anyone really get excited about the Insurance industry?  Or a real-estate complex in New Jersey?  Or a marketing company that hired another marketing company to write their marketing material?

I know I sound like a spoiled brat.  But people: this is a no-holds-barred confession.  I’m not proud of feeling this way.  I’m just tellin’ it like it is.  And I know I can’t be alone in this: balancing work life and motherhood is HARD.  Sarah Palin aside.

The truth is, I couldn’t get all that excited about playing Littlest Pet Shop, either.  Or sitting around the playground for hours once they were old enough that “Playground” wasn’t synonomous with “disaster avoidance.” (That was exciting in a heart-stopping, “oh my God my children are going to kill themselves on that see-saw” kind of way.)  On the other side, TV may sound glamorous and all that — but it’s hard to feel glam at 2am in a smelly edit room working with a 30-something editor who still lives with his mother on a commercial for yet another movie about a woman who had everything….until.

So maybe I’m just not all that excitable.  Or exciting.  Crap.  Maybe it’s me!  Maybe I’m just dull.

Are there any mothers out there who absolutely love every minute?  Every episode of Hannah Montana?  Every repetition of Raffi songs?  Every sullen “you can’t make me?”  Is there anybody who has a job that really thrills them? (Sarah Palin aside)  I’d love that job.  I’d love to be that mother.  But I’m just not.

Maybe if I had a hammer.

Something must be done.   So I’ve decided to throw my hat into the ring.  I’m running on the MOM platform.  And it’s not an acronym.  I’m running as a Mom, on the issues that matter to Moms and here’s where I stand.

1.  The Economy

Where does all the kinzcash go?  Really, I’d like to know.  My son and daughter often choose to play on the Webkinz website for their allowed thirty minutes of screen-time each day.  There, they earn Kinzcash for doing jobs, and playing games.  Yet they never seem to have enough Kinzcash to buy the things they need for their pets, like a new chew toy, or a large screen tv. (And really, what virtual penguin doesn’t need a 55″ plasma?) America needs to start putting a little kinzcash in the bank for that sick-day when all screen-time rules go out the window, and they play on the computer all day.

2. Healthcare – These two scenarios illuminate my stance on the issue:

a)    Your child has just thrown up on the dry-clean only comforter you paid way too much for because it was on sale, even though the sale price was more than you would have spent on a comforter at regular price. She is running a fever of 101.5.  Do not call your pediatrician.  It is hysterical parents, not lawsuits, that are driving up the cost of health care.  Unless the vomiting is projectile, and the fever over 104, just accept that your kid is sick, get a grip, get a rag to clean up the puke, and deal with it.

b)    You have caught whatever it is your daughter has, and have just thrown up on your professionally blow-dried hair which you now will have to wash and will never look quite as fabulous again.  You have a fever of 99 point nothing.  Call your husband.  Tell him he has to pick up the kids. Call him again, tell him you are too ill to clean the house, and you’ve called a maid service.  And a restaurant that delivers.  Steaks.  Then make yourself a cup of tea, curl up in bed with that book you never had time to read, and give yourself some universal health care.

3. War
I am against intervention unless absolutely necessary.  If they’re fighting over a toy let them work it out.  No need for the Superpower (aka MOM) to step in.  If they descend into blows, break it up quickly and get out.  No need to stick around and become the object of their misplaced rage.

4. Freedom of Choice
I support a woman’s right to choose not to have sex with her husband because a day spent racing around to afterschool activities, cleaning up pukey bedspreads (see above) and generally feeling gross did not exactly put her in the mood for love.  More like in the mood for a pint of ice cream and a Sex in the City marathon.

I support a woman’s right to choose to have sex with her husband because after a day spent running errands, making beds, making dinner, helping with homework, and Simonizing the car, she deserves to feel like something other than a slave to motherhood.  She deserves to feel like the sexy woman she really is.

5. The Sanctity of Marriage
Puh-leeeze!  The sanctimony of this idea is more like it.  Marriage is messy, and angry and funny and supportive and infuriating and gratifying and really really hard.  If two people want to enter into marriage, knowing all of that, who am I to say no?  Two men, two women, hey, I’ll even go all out and say a man and a woman – as long as they love each other, should be free to get married.  Along with that right should come the freedom to rely on the other person to walk the dog, remember to buy more milk, do the laundry once in a while, and tell you you look beautiful when you’re covered in cat hair, wearing your 1980’s vintage “Duran Duran” t-shirt and you’ve not yet lost your post-partum fifteen (though your “baby” is five and a half).

So there you have it, my platform.  My campaign strategy is simple:  everyone should read this, pass it on, and then write me in.  There will be a ground swell of support.  And then I’ll be vilified as the female Ralph Nader (albeit with more fashion sense.)

So maybe I should forget the write in campaign.  Although I did really want to hand out my “MOMS for a Change” lunchboxes on the campaign trail.   Because while there may those who would have immediately thought of a diaper change, I wouldn’t have minded.  ‘Cause you gotta admit, there’s a whole lot of crap in Washington to clean up. And nobody’s better at cleaning up crap than a good ole M.O.M.

This post originally appeared in a slightly different form at NYCMOMSblog.com

A real, honest to goodness, I will get a paycheck job.

I didn’t do this lightly. I had slowed down working a lot about three years ago, then stopped completely one year ago, and I was starting to lose my mind. Full-time mommy-hood was killing me. Too much stress. Too much worry. Too much laundry. I even blogged about it here, and here.

I felt like my days were completely overloaded…with absolutely nothing. Remember, my kids aren’t babies anymore. They’re in school all day. That meant my days were filled with cleaning and grocery shopping and cooking, and feeling guilty if I didn’t get to the gym. ( For really, wasn’t that my job? Super-fit exercise mom?

I didn’t want to just have days filled with Yoga class, and lunch with friends, and afternoon jaunts to the museum. I wanted to feel like I was contributing to the world, to our bank account. I missed the camaraderie of the edit-room, the creative energy of brainstorming meetings.

So I decided I’d start looking for some freelance work once the summer was over. Well — the summer is over.

Yesterday, a woman who was referred to me by an old client called and offered me several big writing assignments. I was excited for about two hours. Back to work! Back to adult conversation, and people actually listening to what I have to say. (Unlike my children.) Back to a paycheck!

Then I started worrying. What will I wear? Do I have anything without glitter stuck to it? Will I remember not to address clients as Sweetie? Will I forget I’m not supposed to cut their meat at business lunches? Will I remember how to write for someone other than myself? How to put together proposals and organize a creative brief?

And now, all I can think is OMG! I won’t have time for Yoga class, or lunch with friends, or afternoon jaunts to the museum!

I know, I know, welcome to the real world. Where people go to work and earn a living. And maybe it really will be exciting, and fulfilling, and I’ll be glad I’ve re-entered the world of the working.

Or maybe, I’ll realize what I’ve lost. Picking my kids up at school every day. Watching them at Tae Kwan Do and gymnastics. And I’ll be sorry that I signed on for six months or so.

Still – there is that paycheck. And the thought that I can use it to buy myself a really really great pair of shoes. Without glitter on them.