Life Imitating Art

For some reason, I figured that being married and having kids would protect me from the fear of getting older.

It hasn't.

Intellectually, I realize that twenty-seven is not old. But emotionally, I feel like I was seventeen when I went to bed last night and I don't know where the last ten years of my life went. In less than three years I'll be thirty. THIRTY. Family aside, I can't keep the nagging question out of my head; what am I doing with my life??

One of my favorite books (and movies) is Julie and Julia. I love it for many reasons. I feel like I can really relate to Julie Powell. Spoiler alert: I'm an aspiring writer with a blog! I love to cook. I'm prone to meltdowns and melodrama over very minor things, like accidentally buying a head of cabbage instead of lettuce, something I'm sorry to say happens to me more frequently than one might think. One of the best parts of the book (and I stress book because Julie Powell was portrayed as a much sweeter and patient person in the movie...believe it or not!) was Julie's relationship with her husband, Eric. I'll put it this way; It's nice to know that I'm not the only person who alternates between thinking her husband is the greatest thing that ever walked the Earth, and wanting to throw something sharp at his head. It's actually very comforting, if you want to know the truth. 

But most of all, I feel like I relate to Julie because I see thirty looming in the not-so-distant distance and I find myself thinking (okay, obsessing) about how I had a list as long as my arm of goals, and I really haven't accomplished much. As far as my personal life goes, I feel like I've accomplished the equivalent of climbing Mt. Everest. I was never someone who talked about how much they wanted to get married and have kids...because I didn't. Enter Josh, who never tried to change my mind, but did anyway.

But enough mush.

Marriage and kids weren't a goal, but they are an accomplishment, insofar as I haven't messed up either too terribly just yet.

But what about those goals of mine? Here's the thing about becoming a parent. "My" kind of flies out the window and is replaced with "Us". This is all fine and good, and your family should come first, but what happens to our own things? Because here's the thing. Once upon a time, Moms were people too. We were fun and spontaneous, and didn't care if there were dishes in the sink or if the laundry got done. We didn't necessarily want to change, but unless you're Britney Spears, you can't go out every night and ignore your children for extended periods of time. Mundane things become vitally important. Routine is your new religion.  In fact, if you listen really closely after the birth of your first child, you can practically hear the slow, painful death of your former self. Okay, maybe that was a bit dark for a blog, but I swear I'm not trying to be cryptic or cynical. I'm just trying to figure out how to focus on the "Us" without completely losing sight of the "Me". Unfortunately as a mom it's easy to feel selfish when you focus on yourself for more than ten seconds. It's wrong, but it's easy.

So here I am, like Julie Powell, feeling older but not necessarily wiser. Accomplished, but not accomplished at the same time. Wondering how old I'll be before I feel like I have a handle on everything, and like I'm not running myself ragged going in ten different directions at a time.  The difference between Julie and myself is that she figured it out and I am most definitely still working on it.

I can, however, guarantee that I won't spend the next year creating five hundred and some complicated french dishes. I'm crazy, but not that crazy. 

Mean Moms and BFFs, Once-Removed

I've been thinking about friends a lot lately.

Two years ago when I was pregnant with Ben, my best friend moved to Portland. I have other friends, but nothing compares to your best friend, especially when that friend is equal parts hilarious and compassionate, a fun-loving single girl who manages to be amazing with my kids. I'll put it this way: If anyone was waiting in the wings to be my BFF, they had a tough act to follow. 

But instead of throwing myself down on the ground in front of her moving truck and begging her not to go, I had to be a grown-up. Ugh. So now my best friend lives 2,000 miles away, a horrid reality that I refer to as Best Friend, Once Removed. Now I'm left to navigate the mess that is female friendship.

And it's a jungle out there.

I'm writing a paper about Tina Fey right now, so maybe that's why "Mean Girls" is in my head, but I can't stop thinking about how well that movie described how women can be. The problem is, I assumed (wrongfully) that the "Mean Girls" mentality ended after high school. It doesn't. At least, not for everyone.

It's an epidemic called "Mean Moms". Basically, they were the stuck-up, insecure girls in high school that grew up to spawn (God help us all....) future stuck-up insecure girls, and no matter if you're three years out of high school or thirty, these women never escaped that adolescent mentality. And,  just like back then, they want to try to make you feel like the small one. You know these women. They're not real friends. They're one-uppers. If you like to feed your kids organic food, they feed their kids vegan organic food and then proceed to monologue at you for fifteen minutes about how cheese is a silent killer, or some other such nonsense. If your kid plays soccer, their kid takes Mandarin Chinese classes because Oprah says that kids who know seven languages before kindergarten are more likely to blah blah blah blah.  

Let me be clear about something. I think every parent should be their kid's biggest fan. If you are a parent who doesn't think your kid is the greatest thing that ever walked the Earth, then something is fundamentally wrong with you. But with women like this, it's not about the kid. It's about them. Sure, learning a second language is great for a kid, but it's really about the bragging rights and the end goal of you walking away feeling like an inferior parent (person, really). It's fake and annoying, and let's face it, it gives women in general a bad name.

Like I said, I have great friends, friends that certainly don't fall into this category at all. However, having kids who go to classes, school, Sunday school, and so on, I run into these women constantly. Our kids are friends, at least for the time being, as three-year-olds aren't typically elitists. Basically, as a mom, "mean moms" are just another thing I have to suck it up and deal with, as I probably shouldn't expect my kids to exclusively be friends with my friends kids for the rest of their lives.

I have to be the one who teaches my kids to ignore the "mean girls"....while I'm still trying to ignore their mothers...