Boom

Years ago I had this epiphany in the women's bathroom of the law firm where I was working.  I do my best thinking in bathrooms, don't you?  I always used to talk to myself in the bathroom as a kid. Probably because it was the only place I could be alone in a tiny house with six people.  Getting back to the major moment, it was February 2006 and I was miserable.  I hated my job, my living situation, my completely dysfunctional relationship with my boyfriend and, essentially, my life.

For the previous four months, I had spent most of my day either fighting with my boyfriend or sobbing about fighting with my boyfriend.  He had moved away for graduate school and we were trying to make a long-distance, cross-continental romance work.  For various reasons, not the least of which was that he wanted to revel in his freedom while knowing that I would be there waiting for him when he needed me, it was definitely not working.  Unfortunately, every time I tried to break up with him he would promise to change.  We had an awful co-dependency that was killing me. Once I finally cut the cord, I felt like a balloon, floating freely up and up.   I immediately knew that was one of the best          decisions I would ever make.

Yet I still had the other issues in my life-the job, the apartment- that I knew were within my control. So, the epiphany that struck me as I stared at the beige stall trying not to pee too loudly was that I only have one life.  I was the only one who could make it not suck.  Sheer genius, I know.  But, somewhere along in the previous couple of years, I had lost sight of this obvious point.  I really had spent far too much time waiting for the "what ifs" or "whens" rather than just enjoy my life as it was or change it as needed.  If I always believed that things were going to be better at another point, there was no need to really focus on the present.  It was like someone smacked me in the head with a giant "THE FUTURE IS NOW" stamp.   

Fast forward six months and I was living in a new place, with a brand new job, in a new field.  The day after I started my new job I (re)met my future husband (technically we'd met once before but whatever).  It's amazing how much you can change once you decide that things need to change.

I'm starting to feel that same energy shift now.  While I'm not sobbing all day and talking to myself in bathrooms (sadly, this is no longer a solo activity), I don't feel as happy as I imagined I would while not working and playing with my kid all day.  It's hard.  Harder than I thought it would be.  I miss being me and don't like always being mommy (mom-me).  A change is coming.   Not a radical one, mind you.  Perhaps a 25-40% change in the status quo.  Once I figure out what that means, I'm going to get right on it.

Well, you already know the outcome

I just saw this Tumblr, Old Loves, posted on Cup of Joe and I am OBSESSED! I can't stop clicking through all the pictures. I love how there are the highbrow classic actors-

Old Hollywood

...juxtaposed with the less highbrow-

Must Love Blogs

It's voyeuristic and fascinating without the creepy, invasive and mostly mean feeling that you get from the usual celeb gossip sites. The fashion changes alone are worth a few glances.

He's perfect(ish) to me

Now that my baby is a one-year old big boy, I suppose I should stop calling him "my baby." But, do they ever really stop being our babies? He still seems so tiny to call him a child and I am really not feeling "toddler" just yet. So, I guess he'll just have to stay a baby for a bit longer.

It's been really interesting to see how differently people treat Mr. Monk once he turned a year. Or, rather, I should say, how people treat me and my parenting. Invariably, the second question out of a person's mouth after age is, "Has he started walking yet?" I have heard that question no less than 30 times in the past week. Whoa, people, simmer down. I'm not sure why all of the sudden people expect him to be walking just because he's a week older than he was last week when no one asked if he was walking. This question is usually posed as he's crawling around the playground. If he were walking, you would see him walking, no? Every time, people then tell me about their son/daughter who didn't walk until he or she was 15-20 months. I don't really care about when he hits these milestones, as I know it doesn't really matter, but I'm not sure why anyone else does.

Speaking of other people caring and oversharing, some woman came up to me in the playground today as my mini was enjoying his few minutes of bliss in the spinning bucket seat. I was standing over him, pushing him round and round when an older lady ambled over and remarked, "Isn't he a little young for that kind of activity?" Aren't you a little old for this kind of activity is what I wanted to respond. Instead I just said that he really seems to love it. And, I'm right here watching my child, thank you very much, ma'am.

Later in the day, on one of our daily visits to Whole Foods (I wish I were kidding), Mr. Monk was again enjoying himself. This time, his revelry involved a bagel and a relatively loud rendition of his favorite song, "dadadada daddyyyyyy." As we were walking down the baby products aisle, an older woman got all up in his stroller and said, "Inside voice, please!" I had already been trying to tell him to be quiet in the store, but I wasn't exactly appreciative of this random busybody's reenforcement. He's 1, lady, give him a break! And, you have NO IDEA WHAT SCREAMING SOUNDS LIKE IF YOU THOUGHT THIS WAS BAD!

My beautiful, loud, manic crawling, bucket seat spinning enthusiast had himself a birthday party full of hootin' and hollerin' and we have the pictures to prove it!

Now I want a cosmo

My husband is out of town and I am already watching "Sex and the City" on demand. I'm like a caricature of a bored housewife. This episode I'm on is from the last season, with Aleksandr Petrovsky, Miranda's wedding and Samantha's breast cancer. Not my favorite season, but it'll do. And, Carrie's hair is pretty, wavy awesomeness. As I watch this, it has just occurred to me that I am now frighteningly close to the age of these characters, at least much more so than when I initially enjoyed the series almost ten years ago.

Back then, I was in my early twenties, living in Manhattan-Los Angeles-Manhattan, spending four to five nights a week in bars/lounges/clubs. In almost four years, I've been to less than five clubs in San Francisco. My, how the mighty have fallen. This show, unrealistic though it was (exactly what kind of writer buys those shoes and lives in that apartment?), always makes me miss New York. New York and brunch. Brunches that lasted hours, dissecting dates, careers, travel plans, families. I wish I had that time again to chat with my girlfriends, children, husbands and geographic distance be damned.

Incidentally, I actually met Sarah Jessica Parker when I was in college. Unbeknownst to me, I was babysitting for her niece and nephew and almost squealed with delight when she opened the door. She was as sweet as pie and teeny, tiny. That same night, the family's dog gave birth in their bath tub. I had to call the parents back for an emergency delivery. I helped to whelp!

Dun dun dunna...

End of an era

You know it was a good wedding when you can hardly speak the next morning. When I was younger I used to love having a cold because I thought I sounded all sexy and hoarse like Demi Moore. In reality, it's more reminiscent of a frog. Then again, when I was really little I used to think it'd be cool to break my leg so I'd have to use crutches. This poor kid in my class, Howie, used to break at least one bone every year. Thinking of it now, I realize he probably had osteoporosis or some sort of bone disorder, but I was sooooo jealous of his casts and how he got to go down the stairs on his butt. Clearly, my issues go way back.

Anyway, we had a wonderful weekend at our friends' farm chic wedding in northern California, surrounded by love, sunshine and hay rides! Mr. Monk loved being a part of the festivities. So much so that he started cheering during the ceremony. Heeeeeeyyyyy!!!! Eeeeeeeeehhh! Hiiiiiiiiiii! He just wanted to express his joy for the happy couple. Thankfully, we sat on the aisle and made a quick break for it. There were loads of other babies around, which helped ease the burden (and shift the blame).

Although we had a few "were we out of our damn minds for not getting a sitter?" moments, for the most part, he slept. He slept during the cocktail hour. He slept through the dinner. He slept through hours of outdoor music and his parents dancing their asses off until 2 am. He even slept in a bowling alley the night before the wedding! How redneck is that? We parked him in the arcade section and rolled on for hours. He never made a peep despite the blaring house music, laser lights, oh and the soothing sounds of 8-16 pound plastic balls smashing into wooden pins all night long. Our next kid won't sleep at all, right?

As always after a wedding or any celebratory weekend, I feel a little sad today. There is something so magical about seeing a whole slew of friends (or family) in one place where nothing else exists but the need to have fun and share the love. Mr. Schneed and I realized on our way home that this was our last wedding. For now. We have a few more single friends, but no pending engagements/weddings. We are officially olden. After five years of spending every spring-fall going to at least five weddings (one year as many as 12!), this is just downright depressing. Time to start planning some reunions.

This Is The Time To Remember

I just got off the phone with my 96-year-old grandma. She was telling me how she hurt herself today. Swimming. She overswam the backstroke and now her back was screaming at her. She was thinking that she probably should skip the gym tomorrow so she could get back to swimming over the weekend. Are you kidding me? She is amazing. I wish I could bottle her energy. Not to be outdone, my husband's 94-year-old grandma, who had BRAIN surgery a few weeks ago is now up and at 'em. Florida's water must be the true fountain of youth.

Earlier today I heard from an old friend with whom I hadn't spoken in months. I love those random chat moments on gmail. Sometimes the internet is a heavenly place. Amidst our playing catch up, this friend asked me how I liked staying at home with my son. I lived with her back in the years that I worked as a big firm lawyer in NY. Work hard, play hard to the extreme. I'm pretty much the polar opposite of that now. Aside from my initial identity crisis at about 3 or 4 months postpartum, I have mostly loved being a SAHM and enjoying my son's fleeting babyhood. It is so very much more exhausting and more thrilling than I could have imagined. Though I still have a little trouble responding to people's questions about when I am going back to work, that's primarily because I have no idea. I will be doing some temporary, part-time work this summer for my old office, which should give me a sense of life as a working mama. I'm most excited about the thought of getting dressed before noon and having dinner waiting for me when I get home--that's the way it works, no?

Mr. Monk's playgroup went to the California Academy of Sciences today. It is a glorious place filled with neon fish, sea dragons and an albino aligator. Needless to say, the babes squealed with delight pretty much the entire time. Here is mine trying to become one with the fish universe.


Definitely a day to hold onto.

And "Footloose" is on tv now. Does life get any better?

Cocktails and Dreams

Nothing makes me feel more like an adult than coming home to find the babysitter has eaten all our snacks and fallen asleep on the couch watching bad TV. Never mind that my babysitter is in her late 40's and is someone's grandma. Every time she comes in and I'm running around half-dressed, trying to put the baby to sleep, I think I must be faking this whole parenting thing.

One of my first regular babysitting gigs was in high school for my younger sister's good friend. This family had a beautiful home, stocked pantries and...wait for it...a soda machine!!! The dad worked for Coke and they had a soda gun hooked up to their sink. I'm fairly certain that I drank more soda in the couple of years that I babysat for them than in the entire rest of my life. I remember their kitchen was basically all windows and I would see my reflection gorging on soda and candy. Even though I repulsed myself, I was powerless to stop. I mean, there was a freaking soda machine in their house! You don't get many opportunities like that.

I put myself through college babysitting with this service, It was the perfect job--they had to provide dinner, cab fare home and I never made less than $18-20 an hour (pretty crazy when you consider that's less than what I pay my babysitters now). One time I even got to meet Sarah Jessica Parker because I babysat for her niece and nephew. I had to bite my tongue to keep from calling her Carrie.

Almost every Friday and Saturday night, I would babysit on the Upper West Side from about 7 to 11, watch cable I couldn't afford, get a free meal, pocket the cab fare and then take the subway downtown to dance and spend my newly-earned dollar bills. Back then the parents seemed so accomplished and uh, old. They always wanted to hear about my dating life-too bad I had to make up the interesting bits. It blows my mind that some of my friends in NY now use the same service. My favorite nights were the ones when the wives would come home drunk and laughing. And that wife was me last night-smiling a little too big, talking a little too loud. I'm pretty sure the babysitter enjoyed my tipsiness as much as I did.

Apropos of nothing, here's a pic of Mr. Monk enjoying his favorite Hawaiian delicacy last week.