A few days ago I was sitting in my home, with the children running and crawling all about us, talking to some good friends. We were comparing our twenties and now our thirties. We agreed we’re more comfortable in our skin, more confident, more sure of ourselves. We spoke of regrets, things we’d change, and those we’d do again. But overall, we were pleased with the possibilities of this decade and thought it held the most promise so far.

It’s not a new theme: the men getting wiser and more handsome, the women more horny. If you combine those two, you end up with two Stay At Home Moms joining their preschoolers’ class trip to see a fireman giggling and poking each other like school girls because (seriously, what IS IT) there is something that happens when men hit their mid-thirties and begin to gray around the temples. It helps if they’re in uniform. (Of course)

While we were talking, I found my old copy of Walden, Life In The Woods by Thoreau. This is The Book I’d grab if there was a fire. It’s The Book I’d take to an island and it’s The Book which has more notes in the margin and dog eared corners than any other. I guess it’s my coming-of-age bible in a way. My Hippie Bible.

This book represents my twenties to me in a way I couldn’t express on my own. There are passages that struck a chord in my college angst phase. There are the quotes that brought me clarity during the searching years. I have remembered one quote, on page 141 for those of you also pre-occupied with all things printed, “I carry less religion to the table, ask no blessing; not because I am wiser than I was, but, I am obliged to confess, because, however much it is to be regretted, with years I have grown more coarse and indifferent.” Maybe I love this because I’m there or because he uses just as many commas as I do.

Either way, this always meant something to me.

I wonder what my forties will bring and what having teenagers will do to my own reflective angsts. I wonder if I’ll keep identifying with my daughter as she goes through her own passages. I wonder if I will look in the mirror at my graying temples and see the beauty of wisdom or if I’ll simply think, “damn that Clairol. Time to color again.”

Bust mostly I hope that every stage reminds me I’m still essentially me, maybe covered in a few more coats of wrinkles or rolls, but still me. I hope I remember to listen to music, to tap my toes, to visit with good friends and to walk when the sun is just cupping the trees over the houses.

I guess, at the end, I just hope I enjoy the view around the stream. The stream I go a-fishing in.

Well, I guess it’s time to let you in on a few things going on around here.

First, I’ve been hired over at swank web style. I’ve been working with Karen, doing coding, and will begin taking full design jobs again soon. It’s been fantastic thinking about something aside from teething, bottles, and entertaining my three year old (read: I type one handed while entertaining a three year old, feeding an infant and calling the pediatrician because why is my child getting fangs and where are his two top teeth? but this is nothing unusual to a working at home mom…)

You know those nerds that always say the obvious? Humor is, in my opinion, best when unexpected so stating the obvious is never a party-knee-slapper. So why did I feel the need to start a website based on the obvious? Why did I need to start a web site dedication to not being on the Internet?

I. Don’t. Know.

Because I wanted pretty colors?

Much to the Mister’s dismay, the site is remaining up and people are loving it. They are joining the revolution! They are going to parties and wearing their badge proudly! I love you for this. Because, if I get the quote correct, upon seeing the new site the mister declared, “You are kidding me, right? This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of.” Stupid or not, it’s staying. And you can join.

And not-so-finally, life with two kids just went up a notch. Two days before Christmas, Baby O started this….

Three days later he was so fast at it, I couldn’t keep up. Good for the waist-line, not for the blog.

So there you have it. It’s the thirty-two year old’s version of “My dog ate my homework.” (Incidentally, my infant did eat one of my BlogHer Ad checks. I used the ATM to deposit it so they wouldn’t say no. What a little drool/rip/tiny teeth marks among friends? That’s legal, right?)

I’ll be back after the first of the year. Much love to you all!

I hope Santa is good to you, but I hope your family is better.

Muwha!
XOXOXO

I remember my dad laughing out loud, heartily, at the show “Married With Children.” I remember thinking it wasn’t that funny. It was OK funny. It was “eh”. But laughing out loud? Not so much.

I think I get it more now. The two kids. The money. The sleep deprivation. The lack of a sex life. The “you better praise your lucky stars I shaved my legs today.”  The job. The mortgage.

Did I already mention the kids?

The kids. ... Again ...

We had a long talk last night about our life. It’s hard. It’s not what we thought. It’s more all-consuming having these children. And that’s just from his perspective.

I know you know (but hey! Just in case you’re new here) I was the one who struggled with Postpartum last time around. I’m doing much better this time. In fact, I am almost embracing the whole mom gig. It’s not easy, sure. It’s not always fun, right. It’s annoying/frustrating/exhausting of course. But it’s supposed to be, right? And well.. It’s not all that bad.

Is it possible for Dads to have Postpartum Depression?

I’ll never understand the thought process that having a kid will save a marriage. I had a pretty great marriage. I married my lobster. But those kids, they do things to you. They make you fight. They make you tired. They make you wonder when the last time you did something truly FUN, without having to rush home, worry, wonder what was going on with them. The mister is having a hard time.

And it makes me just so very sad that I can’t fix it. Because I’m a mom and we want to fix everything.