Here’s a little secret about me - I can’t wait til February.  Every year I think February is the month that I take back control of my life.  Being in the business that I am (elves), the holidays are overwhelmingly busy.  It’s stressful.  And it doesn’t stop in January.  There’s always a week long ski trip, both boys birthdays, elf taxes, back to school and back to teaching a new semester for me.  It’s too much.  This year I had to add on getting new tenants for our rental condo and Winter Formal. 

So, as I look back on the month I wonder how it all got done.  I wonder if I did my best.  I wonder if anyone else in my family even realizes how much I struggle with keeping all the balls in the air.  Of course, I know my BFFs are completely aware of my struggle.  Thank God for girlfriends.  Sometimes life seems so busy.  During January, I always feel that I throw everything up in the air and watch how it falls.

Here’s my own report card:

ski trip - big success

back to school - still not quite in the swing of homework but almost

boys’ birthdays - filled with memories

elf taxes - completed and getting postmarked today (last possible day to avoid penalties)

teaching - lesson plans are a mess.  Uh oh!

condo - rented to new tenants.  Cleaning crew and carpet cleaners are there right now to ensure a sparkling condo by February 1st.

Winter Formal - tux ordered, corsage ordered, dinner reservations made, tickets purchased

It always comes together in the end.  I’ve decided I need a wife.  Someone who helps me with every little detail without ever having to ask.  Hmmmm, where do I get one of those?

I think we all need to practice what we preach onto ourselves.  Does that make sense? 

Here’s the thing, I’m a HUGE believer in handing out compliments.  Not just for the sake of sucking up to anyone - OH NO!  But, for example, if you see someone that looks like they lost weight, tell them; if you notice something super cute on a stranger, tell them; look at the person at the drive-through and smile; hug your husband and kids extra tight; …  My whole philosophy is if you can make someone smile for no money at all - do it!  It’s free!  We’re in a recession and doing things for free is trendy, right?

Anyway, my story goes that yesterday I was feeling a little down on myself.  My family is taking a much anticipated trip to Hawaii in April and I really need to get in shape.  My arms are jiggling and my cellulite is more than noticeable.  There will be pictures of me in a bikini in 3 months so I have no time to waste.  My plan was to join a new Pilates studio in my neighborhood and look like Jennifer Aniston in 6 weeks. 

OK, so yesterday I allowed someone to make me feel a little down.  Well, not just a little down - but a whole lot down.  They said it and I allowed it.  Instead of being my own cheerleader (as I happily am for everyone else), I took the comments as an attack and couldn’t pull myself out of it.  I just wanted to curl up in a ball and go to sleep - but who can do that?  I have two kids.  My two BFFs said all the right things to bring me up, but I just assumed that they have to say that.  That’s their job. 

But then this morning, in the pouring rain, I walked into Pilates class and the instructor asked me if I knew Leila (someone who was on the reformer next to me last week).  I have no idea who Leila is because when I work out I am in my own zone…not looking at anyone and quite honestly, hoping nobody is looking at me.  Leila asked the instructor who I was and commented on my super cute mom body.  Stop!  Ta Da!  My world changed from cloudy to sunshine!  I think I even heard angels singing.  First of all, I dwelled on the “mom body” part for a minute, and then I allowed myself to be completely picked up and out of my blue zone.  Snap!  Just like that I was happy!  A complete stranger who wasn’t even there at the time made my day.  Her one little comment changed everything for me. 

This is why I’m a strong believer in freely giving compliments!  You just never know how powerful your words can be.  Thank you, Leila…whomever you are!

In case you’re wondering - the beginning of April is a very fertile time for me.  TMI? (too much information?)  I know this because both my boys were born in January.  The 16th and 18th to be exact….and these dates were no accident.  I was induced with both my pregnancies, so these were dates of my choosing.  People always comment on how close their birthdays are.  It was a much more calculated decision than they know.  Here was my thought process:  My oldest son could not possibly be born on the 17th…that was the one-year anniversary of the big Northridge earthquake which sent my home to the ground in pieces.  It couldn’t be on an odd-numbered day for no reason at all other than I like the way the even numbers sounded.  I don’t have an aversion to odd-numbered days.  Both my husband and I were born on odd-numbered days, but if they were giving me a choice, I thought 18 was a good number.  I loved being 18…so 18 it is.  Also, the day needed to be closer to the weekend so my husband could take an extended amount of time off (who knew at the time that I really didn’t need my husband at all during the days following child birth).  Therefore, the 18th it was.  My thought process was pretty much the same for my second child. 

But having two January birthdays created a Martha Stewart neurosis in me.  The drive to make their day special to each of them, despite the fact that Christmas was less than a month ago and their birthdays are basically on top of each other.  This is when the very identifiable neurotic birthday curse happened.  It happens every year and fills me with anxiety.  My husband has learned to stand back and watch it unfold.  He says only positive things because I will have none of his peanut gallery suggestions or comments.  I know it’s controlling.  What can I say?  He puts his trust in me and morphs into my assistant (probably because he has learned to never go against a mom and her passion for her children’s happiness.  I see husband assistants at most children’s parties.  It’s an unwritten rule in my suburb.)  The neurosis goes something like this:

Neurotic habit #1 - take down all Christmas “stuff” by January 1 and create a birthday house.

Neurotic habit #2 - create a unique birthday invitation as special as each child.  It must be hand-made and 3-dimensional.

Neurotic habit #3 - coordinate a new and exciting birthday theme that identifies each child’s current love.  This theme has to be something that hasn’t been done in the past.  I don’t want to replicate someone else’s Pirate Party or Indiana Jones Party.

Neurotic habit #4 - calendar several other birthday events to include extended family and family friends who aren’t invited to the over-the-top kid party.

Neurotic habit #5 - find the perfect gift.  Extremely challenging as Christmas was three weeks earlier.

Neurotic habit #6 - lose Christmas pounds and get back to the gym.  OK, this has nothing to do with their birthdays and everything to do with me…but it’s still always on the list in January.

Neurotic habit #7 - appear as if I whipped all this together with little effort and look as happy and well-rested as can be.  Why is this even on the list?  I’m not sure why I do this.

Neurotic habit #8 - think, think, think of every way to ensure they feel special.  Mustn’t leave out even one detail or I will be beating myself up for the balance of the year.

So, why do I attend my very own party of one on January 19th?  Because it’s over!  The planning is over and their actual birthdays are over.  It’s the day I reflect on my efforts and always pat myself on the back for a job well done.  The first question that I ask myself is if I think they put their head on their pillow and felt special and celebrated.  My answer is always YES!  I wish I could stop with just that question and be done with it…but I can’t.  My next questions are always - what will I change for next year and how could I do it better.  UGH!  Sometimes a party at Chuckie Cheese doesn’t sound so bad!  As for me - today is going to be all about me!  I’m going to Pilates and the gym with NO guilt.  I LOVE January 19th!!!

I saw this post on a blog that I follow and it really struck a chord with me.  As my oldest son turns 15 tomorrow and I think back at how my answer to this question would have changed over the years.

On January 18, 1995, I met one of the loves of my life.  This was a love like no other I had known.  There should be mommy vows taken at birth.  It should be ceremonious.  After-all, it’s easier and much more likely that women will divorce their husbands then divorce their children.  The vows should be something like I will love you unconditionally, support you, allow you to vomit on me, teach you to walk, teach you to talk (which I truly did regret at certain ages), let you keep me up nights, kick me in the stomach while co-sleeping (co-sleeping wasn’t ever my plan, it just seemed to work out that way for a couple of years), give you all my money, cater to your every need, wipe away your every tear, feel your pain, feel your joy….and all you have to do is live here.

As for the backseat question - my answer has evolved.  15 years ago I would’ve answered a quick, vehement YES!  Now, I’m not so sure.  15 years ago for some reason I bought into the 1-dimensional life of Super Mommy Wannabe.  Don’t get me wrong, at the time I found this life to be so overwhelmingly fulfilling.  I built my Stay-At-Home mom soap box and I proudly stood on it.  I willingly chose to give up so much of myself because I thought it was hands down the right thing to do.  Personally, I felt anything less than this would be selfish seeing that my husband had a great job and we could afford to make this choice.  I gave my life to my children.  I really didn’t have anything else.  Sure, I had other moms from the play groups, scrapbooking friends, gym friends…but all this was in the name of being Super Mom.  Losing my independence happened slowly.  It was a very gradual death until one day I realized how shallow I had become.  I felt like I had nothing to add to the conversation between adults.  I lost my passion, my zest.  One day I woke up to understand that my anxiety was truly a scream for more from me.  Not a scream to be a better mom, but a scream to be a better me.  I always knew there was more for me.  That’s when I started plotting and planning my more balanced life.  Hmmmm, how was I going to have a life that was fulfilling for my children, yet still fulfilling for me?  I was entering an unchartered course.  It took me awhile to let go of the guilt of dividing my time.  There were going to be less home-made cookies, less volunteer hours at school, more piles of laundry and I was going to have to learn to say no without guilt.  Eventually, I found a happy balance. 

My children continue to be #1 on my priority list.  There’s nothing like the joy of knowing that they lay there heads on their pillows each night with thoughts of the beautiful day they had and that I was a part of it…it’s just now I do the same thing.  Yes, I did take a backseat to my children, and I still do - but now I do it with a joyful heart because I have more balance for me.  And guess what…sometimes they take a backseat to me!

First, thanks to everyone who has supported me during my journey over the last 5 months.  For those of you that don’t know, my absence was due to my mom’s untimely death on September 25.  That is the day I had to learn how to live on this earth without a mother. 

Let me start by saying my mom and I have been down our share of rocky roads.  Looking at our obvious personality characteristics, we were opposites.  Because of that, I never did feel that my mom understood me.  I grew up telling myself that I would never be like my mom.  But here’s the thing - I was so much like my mom and she was always my biggest fan.  What I’ve learned from my recent journey is that a relationship between a mother and a daughter is complicated, intricate, intense and priceless.  It is also a relationship I will never know as ”the Mother” because I have boys. 

Thursday, September 24th, started out like any other day.  My youngest son had a 1/2 day at school and it was my turn to host the 1/2-day play date.  What this meant to me was that my house would be turned into a 9-boy-testosterone-zone for 2-3 hours.  I would need food and activities.  You learn very quickly that without these two things, your beautiful home becomes their haven…and it’s not pretty.

For those of you that know me, you know that a shower is considered optional on my To Do list.  I will admit to going more than one day (and more than one spin class) without a shower.  That’s what hats are for, right?  For some reason, on September 24th, I opted to skip my morning gym routine and take a shower.  I was happy with this choice later.   I then ran a couple errands and had 20 minutes to pick up the pizzas before the boys graced me with their presence.  I was talking on my cell phone when my sister beeped in.  Then she beeped in again, and again and again.  Honestly, I was getting a little annoyed.  When I finally got in the car with the pizzas, I called her back.  That’s the moment that everyone began to sound like Charlie Brown’s teacher.  She said my mom was in the hospital and had had a massive heart attack.  OKAY!  WHAT????  How could this be?  I just talked to her 3 days before and she sounded great.  She was excited about lots of upcoming plans she had and was asking about visiting in November to see the boys and help with the elves.  At this point I couldn’t even hear my sister, other than her telling me she was going to check on flights and call me back.  That’s when the smell of pizza came over me and I realized I was hosting a big play date in 15 minutes.  OMG!  My next call was to my husband, who was unreachable, of course.  My next call was to my friend, Marianne, to ask her if she would stay at my house and host the play date.  Yes was the only thing I could hear her say.  I was on a flight out of Burbank an hour later.

Once we arrived at the hospital, I felt more in control but only to realize later that I was in denial - really big denial.  My mom was unconscious.  She was hooked up to all kinds of machines.  Someone was stationed outside her room and her room only.  I didn’t think this to be strange at the time because I would’ve insisted that someone drop everything to care for my mom like this anyway.  Doctors would come into the room and apologize to my sister and me.  I kept thinking they were apologizing for our quick journey or something.  What does, “we’re so sorry” really mean anyway?  Sorry for what?  We’re here and my mom’s here and breathing so what exactly are they sorry for?  And I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why they would say bad words/phrases to me like grim, dire, hour by hour, …  At no time did I realize that they were just keeping my mom alive with life support.  They were keeping her alive because I didn’t get it.  I wasn’t having it.  I couldn’t wrap my arms around what was really going on.  BUT, 11 hours later my mom was gone and I haven’t been the same since.   

Life as I knew it was over.  I never realized how much of a day-to-day impact my mom had on my every day life.  Losing a parent is huge.  The grieving is massive.  The What-Ifs are constant.  The silence is scary.  Of course, I’m looking for the lesson in this all.  I don’t know if there really is a lesson.  I am learning how to maneuver through life as the oldest surviving immediate family member.  It’s strange to think about.  Mostly, I am trying to hang onto what’s real and the people I love.  I’ve realized in the biggest way that life is short and the only way to be is true and real.  I’m learning that I’m incredibly strong, yet still very fragile.  I guess I’m stronger than I am fragile…and I’m back to blogging.  YAY for me!