Day 227 or UBP,May I Introduce Myself

Hi Everyone. For those of you who have previously joined me over the last 226 days, please forgive me for any boring, seemingly repetitive information -- well, not seemingly repetitive, probably actually repetitive. Nonetheless, please bear with me. Don' run away screaming or worse, skulk away as if you were never here (yes, I used skulk. I knew one day I would find an opportunity to use a 13th century Scandinavian word. Pretty good for a little Texan girl. But I digress -- don't do it. No skulking!)

So for those of you still with me, here's the Reader's Digest story of my life in the blogging world. About a month after turning 38 (hence the title), I found myself a SAHM in a new town. I say found myself which is ironic (not in the Alanis Morisette way) because I was very lost. I had not succeeded in the dreams of my 20s yet I had a good life. I was blessed with a fabulous family but I had nothing that was challenging me, driving me. And I had aways been driven. I'm a famously hard worker. So besides volunteering for WAY too many PTA committees (See here), what was a girl to do?

So on a girls' night with my best friend of almost 30 years, I saw the film, "Julie and Julia" and I saw something in myself in both of the women. They were women that had a lot in life but no direction, no sense of themselves in those lives. So Julia started cooking (SOOOOOO not gonna happen) but Julie started a blog and I thought "I could do that!" So I did. I started a blog. Just like that. On a whim. And basically, my husband and brother read it.

Then I got brave and told some old friends. And a few read. But one very special friend from one of my many former lives (Unknown Mami) told me a funny thing. She blogged, too. For some of the same reasons. And for reasons of her own (the beauty of blogging). And she taught me how to find other blogs and helped other bloggers find me. She taught me etiquette. But mostly, she taught me that the blogging world was safe and for that I am forever grateful to that beautiful unknown mamasita in the MOST beautiful city in the world. She knows this already but I truly left my heart there.

So I started to see people's names show up after my posts. And these names had things to say. To tell me that my hair wouldn't be orange forever, that I am NOT the worst mom in the world, that the pain of loss would pass, and that somehow I mattered in this world, in THEIR world. Wow! If you knew what a softy I was, you'd know that I am crying now. Literally right now -- salty keyboard, yuck! Oh and I am listening to Barry Manilow which doesn't help. Mandy gets me every time.

So that's it. Over time, I have made beautiful friendships, I have gotten to know myself a little more. I have gotten braver and I am finding myself a little less lost (slightly less ironic use of finding). I ramble. I am goofy (well established!) I am an imperfect mom, an out-of-work actress, an aspiring screenwriter (and actress, still, despite all logic or sense of reality), a lover of books with no time to read, and most days, pretty nice. So that's my intro. If you're not frightened off, great! Stay and have some fun. If you're on the fence -- read here (it's all the scary things you should know up front). And if you now feel like you have wasted precious minutes of your life (especially if you clicked any of the links), well I can't exactly blame you. I am not every one's cup of tea. But as I approach 39, I have finally become MY cup of tea.

Oh, and if you are not bored with me yet, I review kid's movies over at I'd Let My Kid See That and my husband and I are trying to live a little greener over at Cold Comfort Living.

Day 220 or The Countdown Begins

Three Months from tonight will be my last post as 38 and Growing. It's hard to believe that I am over 2/3 of the way through this project. A lot has happened. I have met such BEAUTIFUL people. I still have a lot I want to do. So the clock is ticking. The calendar pages are turning. Like the Byrds sang, to everything there is a season -- turn, turn, turn.

So thank you for going along with me. I learn from you. I lean on you. Like a friend on a drive, you make singing to the radio a thousand times more fun.

All my life, I've known that I was weird. Growing up, well, weird is not cool. It's not endearing or interesting, it's... you know, weird. Now I won't lie to you, weirdness does not become suddenly cool in your 30's. (Interesting, maybe. Endearing, to those who already love you) But something can happen and did happen. Not in my 20s. Not in most of my 30s. But this year. This 39th year of life.

Drum Roll, please...

I stopped caring! I'm not cool. Or collected, for that matter. I am no Grace Kelly floating through the room in Dior couture. (Don't tell my mom this. She has somehow decided that I look like the Princess. It's just proof that there is no end to a mother's love. But for those of living on Earth...) I am no Michelle Pfeiffer looking for a "Cool Rider" with my Pink Lady jacket and a forbidden cigarette strutting across the school lawn. (Yes, I know ONJ as Sandy was in the better film and a WAY better singer but I wanted to be Stephanie in the second film). I am no Man eater -- Glenn Close, for example -- meeting men, having them fall in love with me and never getting clingy or worse yet, goofy. Goofy, I invented goofy. Walt Disney might hold the trademark but I mastered it!

So not cool. So weird. So goofy. That is me. And I have decided that I kind of like it. Surprising, huh? So thanks for coming by to visit the not cool, weird, goofy girl.

So my cool, collected, graceful friends, please keep coming to see me as I put this project to bed. On July 6th, I won't be 38 anymore, but I hope that I'll still be growing. If you've got any ideas for the name of the next incarnation, let me now. You have exactly 91 days to share. :-)

Day Sixty - Six or Mommy Needs a Time-Out

So in the post Halloween haze coupled with time-change mania, my children and I were not on our A-Game. We were neither in sync or in the groove. And well... Mommy had a meltdown.

Now I did not hurl myself on the floor as my two year-old did (though I was tempted) nor did I start yelling the same thing over and over as my six year-old did but I would not have survived the white glove test of parenting today. I have no doubts of that. .

There was no perfection pie here

I did not use my calm voice. I did not rise above the melee. I was full on in the "melee". I was sick of the fights over toys. (Legos for goodness sake. They LITERALLY have thousands. They both need the same tiny red block? Seriously?) And the use of furniture as both weaponry and gym equipment. I was sick of my children screaming demands for pink milk from across the apartment rather than coming to me to ask. I was sick of negotiating the Halloween candy disbursement. I was just plain sick.

So I yelled. I used the scary Mommy voice. And then worst of all, I just started crying. Right in front of my children. Sooooo not pretty. And when my husband came in, I literally told him that I needed to go into the bedroom and be left alone for at least fifteen minutes. I did not want to see or hear my children. I wanted a Mommy time-out.

These are the moments that kill me. I adore my children. I want to be the steady force in their life that helps navigate them through the real craziness in life. I don't want to be the craziness. I want them to remember the moments we played dress up like Mommy and Daddy this morning and not the moment when the parental sanity timer went "ding! time's up" and I took a ride on the looney train. In other words, I don't want my children to have extended therapy sessions about their memories of Mother before she started wearing the very stylish if impractical (especially after Labor Day) white long-sleeved jacket. Very long-sleeved.

So I took a time-out and the day was better but I still wouldn't want any TLC film crews following me. And I won't be writing any Dr. Sears style parenting books. I might call my mom, however. She should get a BIG laugh out of this one.

Day Sixty - Three

Wow! Two months since I started this crazy thing. Thanks to all of you have continued to stop by. I am learning that I don't have to do this all by myself and that's a good feeling. It's soooo much easier when I let people help me.

It can be a hard thing to ask for help. When you're a young child, you eagerly find opportunities to "do it myself". And later in elementary school, you learn that friends can judge when you're unsure. Conversations start carrying the phrase, "I know but I want to see if you know" whenever seemingly grown-up subjects come in to play. In other words, if you don't know something, don't let people know. Being a less than together child (read: mess), I was an especial target for such "tests".

So I have spent a lifetime becoming, well... something of a know-it-all. Now, not in an in-your-face, blow-hard, constant fountain of undesired information kind of way. But I'm unreasonably afraid of being caught ignorant. I am voracious in my hunger for knowledge of all sorts. I read EVERYTHING! I'm working on my fourth degree and I try to absorb any knowledge anyone shares with me like a sponge. And as I said, I don't just run around throwing information bombs at people. But when asked something, I tend to overspeak... a lot. I have a very comfy soap box and I pull it out a little too easy. Okay WAAAAAY too easy.

So as I become comfortable in my skin, I hope to become more comfortable in my mind. If I know that I know, I don't have to show. Does that make sense? Well, if it doesn't, I won't spend the next hour explaining why it does. My soap-box is safely stored in the closet. I'm trying to see if I can let it gather a little dust. Just a little...

Day Fifty - Seven

First off, how much do I love Unknown Mami? If you have somehow found me without finding her first...Stop reading. I mean it. Stop reading, scroll down to my blog list, and click on her link. You won't regret it. If you find your way back to me, terrific. If you get lost in her lovely blog, well, can't say as I blame you. She is insightful, funny, and darnit she likes me so I really can't do anything but adore her. In all seriousness, however, she is a dynamite lady in person and my blogging goddess. So go already... go.

Wow, did you come back? How amazing is that? Is it because she told you to? Gosh, do I love that woman.

So we are entering the weekend and my son has a playdate this afternoon. And two offers for next week. So my son is officially way more popular than me. And that is great. I love that he is a confident, together little boy with lots of friends.

I especially love that because I have never been confident and together. Hollywood is full of characters like Ally McBeal and Bridget Jones. In those versions, the women are far more attractive than their situation would otherwise suggest and despite everything, they are adored. Well, here in the land called Earth, men do not instantly fall in love with the clumsy, insecure, messes of the world. Employers do not appreciate inappropriate dress in the workplace. And doors don't fly open when you are the kind of person who throws herself full force into a door that clearly says "Pull". (Yes, I really did that. More than once. Okay. Okay. Lots more than once.)

So I confess. I am a mess. Though I did have a dear grad school friend who told me I wasn't clumsy, I was endearing. Really good friend. Really bad liar. But I love him anyways. If you're out there, AA, big kisses.

The good news, however, is that it is not a genetic condition. (My husband might suggest here that he had such a great pool that it counteracted my genes, but you haven't seen his closet!) I have managed to create and raise a great kid. Funny, bright, and best of all he likes himself. At the end of the day, this messy girl did something right. (At least for now....) And that makes me like myself.