A Peeved Rant

When I married my husband, I inherited this most unfortunate problem that I didn’t even consider would be a problem until it became a problem, and now it’s escalated into my biggest pet peeve ever.

My married name is also a common first name.

Meaning I have two first names as a whole name.

Given that creepy people hang out on the World Wide Web (I mean, none of YOU of course, just other people), I don’t want to give away what that actual name is. But let’s call me Amanda Morgan for demonstrative purposes.

Usually, it’s at the doctor’s office or when I’m getting an email from someone who doesn’t really know me (because they see my name in their inbox as last name first).

Last week, I took my kids to the doctor and even though I said I had an appointment for Liam and Quinlan Morgan, the receptionist still looked up and asked, “And you are Morgan?”

Yes. My name is Morgan Morgan. Isn’t that handy?

It really irritates me when people can’t take the time to really LOOK at my damn name and get it right. Because for God’s sake people, does that mean you think my last name is Amanda? Every time I see an email addressed to Morgan, I get this prang of irritation and the urge to respond in some snarky way usually involving calling them by their last name. (Take THAT Smith! That is your name, right? First name Smith, last name Adam? Smith Adam?)

HA!

Haha!

But I always chicken out.

And while I feel more annoyed than I probably should when strangers call me Morgan, my irritation increases to epic levels when someone I KNOW calls me by my last name. Like that guy at that agency whom I’ve been working with for nearly two years.

Or the co-worker I see ON A DAILY BASIS.

Am I really so forgettable? Don’t answer that.

The point is. What I really need is to stop being so afraid of correcting people. That’s what I need. But I’m introverted by nature, and I also have this irrational fear of upsetting anyone, so normally I let it go. (And also, simply calling that person by their last name is lame.)

But this pet peeve of mine, it occurs at least on a weekly basis, so what I need is a good come back. Got any good comebacks? I am lacking in the witty department. What I’d like to so is shout “Goddamn it people, my name is Amanda. Get it right!” But I’m thinking that might now be the best way to go about this.

As a side note, my second biggest pet peeve: Girls who pucker their lips in photos. What is that about anyway?

Lilac

I’ve lived in Minnesota for nearly three years now, and to this day I still maintain that I was duped. Sure, I’d visited the state in winter, specifically over two separate Christmas holidays. But no one told me that the 50 degree weather we were enjoying during each of those visits WAS NOT NORMAL.

If you didn’t know, during the winter there are known to be days in Minnesota where the high is a negative number. And there was even a time when I may have celebrated such a thing. I was so naive.

I loathe winter here. I’ve been known to stare out my bedroom window on a winter’s night, gazing at the snow covered streets and imagining that they were suddenly free of snow, green and warm and ready to host a neighborly game of street hockey. In other words, I spend all winter pining for spring.

But Minnesota, she is a sly one, because she has something up her sleeve that almost, almost, makes up for those months of torment. This something can make me instantly forget winter’s anguish and fall in love with Minnesota all over again. Minnesota has Lilac’s.

In my life, I’ve never seen a love affair with Lilac’s quite like the one witnessed in this state. They are positively everywhere. And when I say everywhere, I mean everywhere: in seemingly every back yard, along all of the highways, outside shopping malls and probably even the prisons. Everyone loves to plant Lilac bushes.

And that fact alone is why I love this state.

Most of my friends here have exceedingly fond memories of the Lilac’s of their youth. Riding their bikes past those Lilac bushes in the spring, they knew that winter was officially over and summer was just around the bend. And every year, I know that when the Lilac’s bloom those friends have this celebrated experience of reliving their childhood memories all over again.

I don’t have that.

I can tell you this, however. When I walk out of a building in spring, and the rush of air that hits my face is filled with the sweet and splendid scent of Lilac’s, there is no better antidote for winter fatigue.

That scent alone reminds me why I love living here. Sure, next winter I’ll be combing through real estate listings in Colorado, trying to remind myself why I endure these winters. But for now, it’s spring. And then it will be summer, and then fall, and I am telling you, those three seasons can’t be topped anywhere else. They are simply magnificent.

And when I’m staring out my bedroom window next winter, pining for the warm, green glorious days of spring; I’ll remind myself to stare at the dormant Lilac bush in my front yard and remember what awaits me just around the bend.

In The Mornings

In the mornings. This is the time of day that I feel so refreshed, so rejuvenated. I am quite certain that I can accomplish anything.

In the calm of my car, during my 45 minute commute to work, this is the time that I contemplate the future. It must be the sweet morning air, or the privilege of watching the sun rise over a land so beautiful that it takes my breath away (yes, Minnesota is good for some things). Maybe it’s the uplifting stories I hear over National Public Radio (you know, once I get past all the stories about war and car bombings and politics). Whatever it is, I get this electrical sense of confidence and excitement, elation and glee for what could be.

My chest feels like a balloon pumped full of possibilities. I’m going to be a writer. And why is it I always told myself I can’t teach? I could totally teach. One of these days, I’m going to move to the country and live in a home filled with sunny, warm colors and beautiful old antiques. Or maybe I’ll move my family to the beach somewhere. Won’t it be incredible to watch my children frolic on the beach every day? Also, I’m going to start a business and rule the world. Whatever happened to that children’s story I started writing? I really need to finish that.

I am so blindsided by my visions for the future, I can’t think past anything else.

Sure, sometimes these things turn into reality. Like, there was that thing that I couldn’t get out of my head about going back to school for a Master’s degree. Not all my morning dreams fade with the day.

But what happens to the other dreams? Where does my elation go?

I think it starts from the minute I exit the cool dawning of a new day and enter my stale cubicle walls. I lament the piles of everyday, ordinary work to be done and that balloon in my chest begins to deflate as if someone were pulling at either end of the opening and it was making that shrieking “no, no please don’t deflate me!” kind of noise.

I move about my day as if on auto-pilot. I forget about my early morning dreams and focus on the now. I take care of my job and sometimes I take care of all of that other, external stuff that needs to be taken care of: the setting of doctor’s appointments, the calling of the insurance agents, the paying of the bills, the…the…the…!

And then I leave my office, and that crisp new morning air is gone, replaced by a thick afternoon fog of frustration and traffic and headaches. And my 45 minute commute that this morning was full of potential and hope is now the most dreaded part of my day as I fight my way through the throngs of others, who may have been just as hopeful as I this morning, and are now equally as deflated.

Then I get home. And that balloon, now almost completely gone, is replaced by something equally as wonderful but wholly different: love. Because now, all that occupies that space where the balloon lived this morning is the desire to be with my children. My sweet, beautiful boys who are so amazing and full of wonder that I can’t take my eyes from them. I kiss their heads and give them more hugs than they can bear. I play trains with them, and dinosaur’s too. I whisper in their ears how very much I love them. I try my best to make up for not being with them all day. I try my best to make sure they know just exactly how much they are loved.

In the quiet of the evening, after the boys have gone to bed and I might actually have time to contemplate and plan my future, take action that might fulfill those dreams; my attention is diverted by the haze of exhaustion. The desire to spend just a minute with my husband. The need to accomplish that bit of homework. I am tired, and the balloon is deflated, and…, and…, and. The day is done.

I finish my work for today. I drag myself into bed and get lost in the chapters of a good book. I drift off to sleep having accomplished absolutely nothing and positively everything.

But I remind myself: Tomorrow is the dawning of a brand new day.

Targé Boutique

I love Target. Like, really, I have a love affair with Target.

I'm pretty sure there isn't a single thing I can't get at Target. Cool, trendy, hip person kind of nice things at that. Well, okay I can't really get the sectional I want for the new house, but that's just details!

I'm not ashamed to admit that we ate our dinner, as a family, at Target last night.

And then, I sauntered over and got myself a primo tetanus shot. No, not because eating at Target is risky, because it's been more than 10 years since my last shot and those crazies over at the University are insisting I get it updated. But thanks for asking.

While I was doing that, my fabuloso husband was grabbing some groceries.

And we topped the night off by allowing the kids to look at toys while I found myself an adorable new tote and some school supplies for my inaugural day of graduate school.

I love Target. Where else could I achieve so much in one place? It makes me feel like superwoman or something. I am SuperTargetWoman, hear me ROARR.

*This post was in no way endorsed by Target.

Team Spirit

I don't know if it's the human condition, or just an American thing, but have you ever noticed how everyone seems to have this irrational need to pick a team? I'm not just talking sports here people, I'm talking every little thing in our lives seems to be oriented around "us" and "them." In sports, in politics, in social settings, in lifestyle choices, in just about every way imaginable we choose sides. And when a side isn't chosen, that goes against the grain and is just not right.

I do this, too. Even though I am well aware I am exhibiting behavior I've come to loathe, it is like a strange compulsion to be on one side of the fence or the other BUT NOT BOTH. And as such, it is also my obligation to sneer at the other side with rueful spite, or so I'm told.

I wonder sometimes if the reason this country is so seemingly evenly split politically is because we are too afraid to let go of our team. It's like, no matter what our politicians do, right or wrong, we stick by them because they're on our team. I'm not innocent in this, I celebrate MY democrats and sneer at THOSE republicans. Why? It makes no logical sense (the team part, not the sneering at republicans part, that makes perfect sense).

As for me, I am on the Broncos team, but no matter how hard I tried to resist it, I am also on the Vikings team (go Favre!). To clarify, if the Vikings were pitted against the Broncos, I would root for the Broncos without question. I am NOT like that silly woman I saw on Monday Night Football last night wearing the cheese head with Vikings braids and a half-green, half-purple #4 jersey. Because that's just absurd.

There are other teams for whom I'll proudly wear the home colors. I'm part of the mommy team, and the working mommy team. I am on team Edward, swoon. I am PROUDLY part of team getyourkidsvaccinatedforgodssake. I am a card carrying member of team Colorado, well, at least I used to be until they made me change my card to Minnesota, but I'm still on the other team in spirit. I support team gay rights, and team right to choose (and frankly, I don't really care what you think about that).

I am also a full fledged member of team respect. As in, no matter which team I root for I make it a point to respect and try to understand the other point of view. Well, unless you're a Raiders fan, then I can't really help you.

And really, shouldn't we all be part of team respect? Which teams do you root for?

Full

I think it should almost be my mantra that I tend to bite off more than I can chew. For the brief moments in my history when I have the "right amount" of things going on, I tend to feel really shifty and ready for my next big thing. Ready to get married, ready to buy a house, ready to have a baby, ready to change jobs, ready to move states, ready to have another baby. And so on AND SO FORTH.

I don't know why I have always been so restless, but it's just a fact of nature. So it should come as no surprise that in addition to working full time at my Advertising job, and raising my two beautiful boys I've decided to add in the start of graduate school and a big move to a new house within only a week of each other.

There was this article in the local newspaper this morning about this woman who is a Minnesota Vikings cheerleader, and though I didn't manage to read the entire article, the basic gist was something like: feel sorry for this poor, tired, overworked Target executive who somehow manages to also be a cheerleader and a wife. And all I can think is BIG WHOOP lady!

There are times when people ask me how I manage all that I do. My response to that is, I don't really know how I'd manage to not do all that I do. I'm compelled to do them. It makes me happy to be constantly striving for something more, it give me something to reach for. I like that.

I think that what I'm trying to say is that I can sense a change in where I'm heading with this blog. Because if a 30-something cheerleader who also has a job (GASP!) and a Husband (you mean, she manages to be a cheerleader and isn't single?!) is somehow a big feature article, then surly you, my loyal 5 blog readers, will find entertainment in me: the 20-something career woman, wife, mother-of-two, graduate student. Right?

Would you enjoy the latest details about what a nightmare it is to pack for the big move? And on that note, for some godforsaken reason we have kept every single bill we have received in, like, TWO YEARS. Do you know what a chore it was to go through each and every one to be sure that there isn't anything IMPORTANT in that pile? And also, do you know that U-Haul has the gall to charge nearly $400! for a set of boxes and markers needed for a move? No, I didn't pay $400! for boxes and markers, but for the love of all that's holy ARE YOU SERIOUS?

Would it interest you to know just how excited I am to go back to school? No, really. Like so freaking out kind of excited that I actually read the descriptions AND CUSTOMER REVIEWS attached to the textbooks I ordered from Amazon. Yeah, that excited. And I may be changing my tune when I'm up to my eyeballs in school work and can't even catch a glimpse of Grey's Anatomy because there is too much to be done, but, would you be interested to know about that when it happens, too?

Do you care to know that I sometimes lie awake at night wondering what I'm going to do with myself when my kids are grown up? This is because I am a young mom and I'll only be in my early to mid-forties when that happens and above every other thing I have going in my life, raising my kids is 100% number 1, and when that job is gone, then what?

I don't update this blog as often as I should, mostly because I often convince myself I don't have anything interesting to say. But you know what, this blog is as much about preserving this time in my life as it is trying to entertain other people, and in that respect I have A LOT to say. So say away I'm going to do. You know, until I am completely overwhelmed with my job as mother, wife, employee and graduate student.

Consider This Forwarded

I really don't like forwarded emails. I am that person that will immediately run to Snopes.com everytime I get something in my inbox that seems even the slightest bit incredulous (and most of the time, I'm right).

But today I actually got a good one. A few lines that made me laugh out loud. So, rather than forwarding to random email contacts (which is my policy to NOT do), I'm posting it here.


Random Thoughts From People Our Age...

Editor's note: I'm pretty sure that by "our age" it was inferred 20-30 somethings.

1. I wish Google Maps had an "Avoid Ghetto" routing option.

2. More often than not, when someone is telling me a story all I can think about is that I can't wait for them to finish so that I can tell my own story that's not only better, but also more directly involves me.

3. Nothing sucks more than that moment during an argument when you realize you're wrong.

4. I don't understand the purpose of the line, "I don't need to drink to have fun." Great, no one does. But why start a fire with flint and sticks when they've invented the lighter?

5. Have you ever been walking down the street and realized that you're going in the complete opposite direction of where you are supposed to be going? But instead of just turning a 180 and walking back in the direction from which you came, you have to first do something like check your watch or phone or make a grand arm gesture and mutter to yourself to ensure that no one in the surrounding area thinks you're crazy by randomly switching directions on the sidewalk.

6. That's enough, Nickelback.

7. I totally take back all those times I didn't want to nap when I was younger.

8. Is it just me, or are 80% of the people in the "people you may know" feature on Facebook people that I do know, but I deliberately choose not to be friends with?

9. Do you remember when you were a kid, playing Nintendo and it wouldn't work? You take the cartridge out, blow in it and that would magically fix the problem. Every kid in America did that, but how did we all know how to fix the problem? There was no Internet or message boards or FAQ's. We just figured it out. Today's kids are soft.

10. There is a great need for sarcasm font.

11. Sometimes, I'll watch a movie that I watched when I was younger and suddenly realize I had no idea what the f was going on when I first saw it.

12. I think everyone has a movie that they love so much, it actually becomes stressful to watch it with other people. I'll end up wasting 90 minutes shiftily glancing around to confirm that everyone's laughing at the right parts, then making sure I laugh just a little bit harder (and a millisecond earlier) to prove that I'm still the only one who really, really gets it.

13. How the hell are you supposed to fold a fitted sheet?

14. I would rather try to carry 10 plastic grocery bags in each hand than take 2 trips to bring my groceries in.

15. I think part of a best friend's job should be to immediately clear your computer history if you die.

16. The only time I look forward to a red light is when I’m trying to finish a text.

17. A recent study has shown that playing beer pong contributes to the spread of mono and the flu. Yeah, if you suck at it.

18. Was learning cursive really necessary?

19. Lol has gone from meaning, "laugh out loud" to "I have nothing else to say".

20. I have a hard time deciphering the fine line between boredom and hunger.

21. Answering the same letter three times or more in a row on a Scantron test is absolutely petrifying.

22. My brother's Municipal League baseball team is named the Stepdads. Seeing as none of the guys on the team are actual stepdads, I inquired about the name. He explained, "Cuz we beat you, and you hate us." Classy, bro.

23. Whenever someone says "I'm not book smart, but I'm street smart", all I hear is "I'm not real smart, but I'm imaginary smart".

24. How many times is it appropriate to say "What?" before you just nod and smile because you still didn't hear what they said?

25. I love the sense of camaraderie when an entire line of cars teams up to prevent a dick from cutting in at the front. Stay strong, brothers!

26. Every time I have to spell a word over the phone using 'as in' Examples: I will undoubtedly draw a blank and sound like a complete idiot. Today I had to spell my boss's last name to an attorney and said "Yes that's G as in...(10 second lapse) ..ummm ...Goonies"

27. What would happen if I hired two private investigators to follow each other?

28. While driving yesterday I saw a banana peel in the road and instinctively swerved to avoid it...thanks Mario Kart.

29. MapQuest really needs to start their directions on #5. Pretty sure I know how to get out of my neighborhood.

30. Obituaries would be a lot more interesting if they told you how the person died.

31. I find it hard to believe there are actually people who get in the shower first and THEN turn on the water.

32. Shirts get dirty. Underwear gets dirty. Pants? Pants never get dirty, and you can wear them forever.

33. I would like to officially coin the phrase 'catching the swine flu' to be used as a way to make fun of a friend for hooking up with an overweight woman. Example: "Dave caught the swine flu last night."

34. I can't remember the last time I wasn't at least kind of tired.35. Bad decisions make good stories

36. Whenever I'm Facebook stalking someone and I find out that their profile is public I feel like a kid on Christmas morning who just got the Red Ryder BB gun that I always wanted. 546 pictures? Don't mind if I do!

37. Is it just me or do high school girls get sluttier & sluttier every year?

38. If Carmen San Diego and Waldo ever got together, their offspring would probably just be completely invisible.

39.. Why is it that during an ice-breaker, when the whole room has to go around and say their name and where they are from, I get so incredibly nervous? Like I know my name, I know where I'm from, this shouldn't be a problem....

40. You never know when it will strike, but there comes a moment at work when you've made up your mind that you just aren't doing anything productive for the rest of the day.

41. Can we all just agree to ignore whatever comes after DVDs? I don't want to have to restart my collection.

42. There's no worse feeling than that millisecond you're sure you are going to die after leaning your chair back a little too far.

43. I'm always slightly terrified when I exit out of Word and it asks me if I want to save any changes to my ten page research paper that I swear I did not make any changes to.

44. "Do not machine wash or tumble dry" means I will never wash this ever.

45. I hate being the one with the remote in a room full of people watching TV. There's so much pressure. 'I love this show, but will they judge me if I keep it on? I bet everyone is wishing we weren't watching this. It's only a matter of time before they all get up and leave the room. Will we still be friends after this?'

46. I hate when I just miss a call by the last ring (Hello? Hello? Dammit!), but when I immediately call back, it rings nine times and goes to voicemail. What'd you do after I didn't answer? Drop the phone and run away?

47. I hate leaving my house confident and looking good and then not seeing anyone of importance the entire day. What a waste.

48. When I meet a new girl, I'm terrified of mentioning something she hasn't already told me but that I have learned from some light Internet stalking.

49. I like all of the music in my iTunes, except when it's on shuffle, then I like about one in every fifteen songs in my iTunes.

50. As a driver I hate pedestrians, and as a pedestrian I hate drivers, but no matter what the mode of transportation, I always hate cyclists.

51. Sometimes I'll look down at my watch 3 consecutive times and still not know what time it is.

52. It should probably be called Unplanned Parenthood.

53. I keep some people's phone numbers in my phone just so I know not to answer when they call.

54. Even if I knew your social security number, I wouldn't know what do to with it.

55. Even under ideal conditions people have trouble locating their car keys in a pocket, hitting the G-spot, and Pinning the Tail on the Donkey - but I’d bet my ass everyone can find and push the Snooze button from 3 feet away, in about 1.7 seconds, eyes closed, first time every time...

56. My 4-year old son asked me in the car the other day "Dad what would happen if you ran over a ninja?" How the hell do I respond to that?

57. It really pisses me off when I want to read a story on CNN.com and the link takes me to a video instead of text.

58. I wonder if cops ever get pissed off at the fact that everyone they drive behind obeys the speed limit.

59. I think the freezer deserves a light as well.

60. I disagree with Kay Jewelers. I would bet on any given Friday or Saturday night more kisses begin with Miller Lites than Kay.

61. The other night I ordered takeout, and when I looked in the bag, saw they had included four sets of plastic silverware. In other words, someone at the restaurant packed my order, took a second to think about it, and then estimated that there must be at least four people eating to require such a large amount of food. Too bad I was eating by myself. There's nothing like being made to feel like a fat bastard before dinner.

Jedi Quinlan

There is a secret my Husband kept from me until after our nuptials. He is completely and unequivocally a geek. G.E.E.K. He's probably read every Star Wars novel out there, he asked for (and got) a Luke Skywalker Lightsaber for Christmas and was totally serious about wanting it. He knows all manner of Star Trek trivia, and his latest foray into Geekdom would be an OBSESSION with World of Warcraft (oh yes, he is).

I didn't know is was so bad, or maybe I ignored the fact, until long after he'd captured me for good, so by then I was just stuck having to understand his quark and GET OVER IT.

This got harder when he started secretly inserting his Star Wars madness into our daily life, by oh so subtly making sure everything living creature in our home was somehow Star Wars themed. This is how he agreed to name our first dog together Maggie, because (wink, wink) there is a character named Maggie in one of the novels.

When he suggested the name Luke for our second dog, it DIDN'T EVEN OCCUR TO ME why he did, but I liked it so I agreed. That guffaw goes directly to me. How obvious.

He told me months after our first child was born that he liked the name we'd picked out together so much because, you guessed it, Liam Neeson played Qui-Gon Jinn in Phantom Menace, so it MUST be a good name.

Oh, and here's a picture of Daddy and Liam on Halloween one year:

Sigh.

I'll grant you that the Star Wars enterprise is so vast that it would almost be hard not to find a link, but this next one, oh it's a doozie. When naming our second son, we'd both decided that we liked 'Quinn,' but I wasn't sure that a one syllable name was sufficient enough. I'd come across the name 'Quinlan' in one of my baby name books and had determined that we'd name him Quinlan, though more often than not we would call him Quin. (Note: ONE 'N' because his name is NOT spelled Quinnlan.)

I really thought I'd won this time. Quinlan is such a unique name that there was NO WAY it could be Star Wars related. But I guess I'd never Googled the name, because I was wrong.

So wrong.

My friends, I give you Jedi Quinlan. Quite possibly the MOST Star Warsish name yet. And may I add that there are maybe three people out there who show up in Google with the first name Quinlan? ONE of them HAPPENS TO BE A FREAKIN' JEDI. In fact, I'll bet that a certain portion of the population, when hearing the name Quinlan, thinks to themselves, "Oh yeah, like the Jedi."

Nate denies any knowledge until this day of such a fantastic discovery, but I'm crying fowl. It's a conspiracy! Just when I think I've topped his game, he pulls me back in.

Oh, and P.S., Jedi Quinlan Vos carries a green lightsaber. Let me just tell you how tickled-pink my Husband is to discover such a glorious thing, because of course, so does Luke Skywalker.

And this is the point at which I say: Oh my dear lord, I live with three boys. And if genetics has anything to do with SciFi geekiness, I AM IN SO MUCH TROUBLE.

Identity Crisis

It occurred to me the other day, while I was shampooing my hair, that when my youngest son graduates from high school I will only be 43 years old.

Forty. Three. I started to panic. Forty-three is so young, and my children are my life. What am I going to do with myself when they no longer need me? I’ll have most of my life left to live and the most important thing I will ever do, raising children, will be over!

Then I started to hyperventilate. Have I really let my entire identity become so intertwined with my children that I no longer know who I am? Am I really panicking about something that will happen 17 years from now?

And this is where the motherhood conundrum gets messy. I love my kids so very, very much that I WANT them to be my world. My everything. But I also want to have my own identity. But I feel guilty about having an identity separate from my family. But I know I should have my own identity. But how could I do that, when they are my identity. But…you get the idea.

When I look at Liam, so often my mind pops right back to the very moment he was born. The tiny ball of baby placed on my chest, the collective gasp in the room when he let out his first cry. But here I am, 3 lightening-quick years later, and he’s not even close to that little baby anymore. I love 3-year-old Liam, but I’m STILL wondering whatever happened to my baby?

The other day I stared hard at Quinlan, cruising along the couch with those cubby little legs. He's beginning to say words! Actual english language words! He's feeding himself, seeking independence, rapidly moving toward his first birthday. All I can think is, Wait a minute! Wasn’t he just born, like, last month? I cannot fathom how almost a year has already gone by.

And before I know it, I’ll be 43. Setting up the cake and decorations for my youngest child’s high school graduation, and wondering, now what?

It's important to me that my kids see that I have my own life, my own identity apart from them. I want them to form their own opinions, seek their own passions, have their own unique and glorious identities. But I just can't shake this gut-wretching, heart-dropping feeling that when my job is no longer raising my children, I will no longer know what on earth my job is.

Forty. Three. Oh my god, what will I do?

Down With Poo!

There is a revolution happening, and I'm jumping on board.

It began with an article I read a few weeks ago. It described, in detail, why so many people are no longer pooing. It's the No Poo movement.

I was pretty skeptical at first. It sounds so gross. I was sure it would only make me feel, well, icky. Like so many other people, I'm quite used to pooing at least everyday. Sometimes more.

The article went on to describe how pooing is a relatively new and modern concept, which I really didn't know. It also talked about how not pooing may even be healthier, and included many testimonials from self-described non-pooers who proclaimed how much better it is not to poo. They were very persuasive. They even had pictures.

But there is a downside. There is a period of up to six weeks where your body has to adjust. I have a job to go to everyday, and I wasn't sure if I could just quit pooing cold turkey and still show my face at work everyday. I mean, what would people think?

So I stewed on the idea for a week or so. I'd decided that this No Poo thing just wasn't for me. I couldn't just give it up, I was far too used to my daily regime. But, it lingered and lingered until finally I decided to jump on board.

Rather than just giving it up completely, I decided to ween myself off poo. Last week I thought I'd just poo every other day. Just to see how it goes. And, although it made me quite uncomfortable, it was tolerable.

This week I'm moving to pooing every two days. Today is my first "day two" of no poo, and although I'm a little embarrassed, it's still fairly tolerable. I know it will get better with time.

I'm hoping it won't take too long for my hair to adjust to no more shampoo. I plan on washing with some baking soda and apple cider vinegar. I'm convinced that this is the solution to my frizz problem. Shampooing only strips oil out of hair, and then the scalp adjusts to compensate, and it's a vicious cycle. But once the oil level in my hair evens out, it will be SO worth the effort, I am sure.

Wait. What kind of poo did you think I was talking about?

If you're interested in the article, you can find it here.

My Kid IS That Special

A few days ago, I read this article, erm opinion, titled "You're Kids Aren't That Special" on CNN. In it, a gentleman of mature age describes how he was never the greatest of parents, and was also an alcoholic, but he'd like to give his two cents about parents these days.

I've been mulling his opinion for a few days now, trying to decide if I agree, and I've decided: I'm pretty sure I'd like to punch him in the face (metaphorically speaking, of course).

To be clear, I've certainly encountered my share of parents that I'd like to grab by the shoulders and ask, "What the hell are you doing?" Children running amok in a department store, pushing and shoving other kids at the playground, generally raising havoc. It is true that some parents really do need a reality check.

However, raising kids today is nothing like raising kids 20, 30, 40+ years ago. Parents are absolutely bombarded with often conflicting messages about the best way to raise our children. Let them cry it out, don't let them cry it out, give them free expression, don't give them free expression, buy intelligence-enhancing toys, NO blocks are the way to go!

Along the way, more than a few of us have gotten confused. We all just want to do what is best, we're just not all sure what that is. One thing many of us cling to is the notion that our children should know that we think they are special. It gives them confidence in a scary world, something some of us wish we had more of.

And, by the way, my kid is that special. That's way he calls me Mom, it's my job to think he's that special. No, that doesn't give him license to act poorly in public, but young children can't be reasoned with and I don't know of a single parent who hasn't dealt with less-than-perfect children while glaring faces look on. There is nothing we fear more than a miserly old man scowling down our back when our child is throwing a fit at a restaurant, or on an airplane, or in print on CNN.

Maybe Mr. Cafferty forgot about the time his young children flung spaghetti at Grandma's or had a meltdown at Woolworth's. Or maybe, he's stuck on his own childhood memories, "I remember as a kid I was expected to behave myself out in public or suffer the wrath of one very angry father."

Perhaps that's why he's become an abject old man with a stick up his ass. Just sayin'.

Mommy Wars

There is this girl. I met her on craigstlist, after hastily deciding not to send my first born to the daycare I'd been planning on for months. She and I had many similarities. We lived in the same town, we got married and had kids at close to the same age, we both had one son. But that's exactly where the similarities ended, because everything else amplified my personal, daily conflict. The one where I chose to work.

I knew, almost instantly, that she would be the perfect person to watch after my newborn three days a week. He would get personal attention there. She was skilled at looking after young children, and she seemed to genuinely care not just for, but about him. I really couldn't ask for more. And he did do very well in her care.

I still consider her to be my friend, but I doubt she realizes just how much knowing her has put my own life's trajectory in question. Of two differences I don't question. She is devoutly religious, while I am anything but. I believe in God, but I'm just not sure what kind of God, and I'm pretty sure I'll never know. That's just fine by me. She is also very conservative, and I am quite liberal. This, too, is just fine by me.

But it's the final difference that I grapple with everyday. She is a stay at home Mom (SAHM). She is there for her kids every single day. No matter what the day holds, rain, shine, happy kids, sad kids, trips to the library, or snuggles on the couch, she is just simply there. Soaking in every detail of their upbringing, not missing a second. To be clear, she is not the bane of my existence. She is more the metaphor for the struggle that so many Moms like me have. The struggle that has inspired a fervor of emotion on both sides of the debate. But, I'm here to tell you that my emotion is as much directed at those who resent my decision to work as it is at those who applaud it.

I've reminded myself a hundred times over, being a working mother is as much for my benefit as it is for my family's. I've told myself that I'm not cut out to be a SAHM. Staying at home during two different layoffs had all but driven me to the brink. I considered my career ambitions to be a strong part of my identity. And I've always firmly believed that I really can "have it all."

But I also backpedal on my convictions, almost daily. How on earth do I manage convince myself that I'm not cut out to stay at home with my kids? I maintain a warm, loving, and mostly even demeanor when my preschooler is begging me not to leave in the morning. Only to climb into my car and let the tears fall freely on the way to work. I study my infant's sleeping face when I lay him in his crib at night, knowing that he'll still be sleeping when I leave in the morning and I won't get to see him until the following evening.

It's gut wrenching, this struggle. The hard facts are that, at the moment, I couldn't afford to stay at home if I wanted to. But, I'm not so sure that I would if I could, and does that make me a ground breaking American woman, or does it make me a bad mother? I'd be proud to raise boys who understand that the woman's place is not necessarily in the home, but I have to constantly convince myself that I'm not doing long term damage in the process.

I realize now that this term 'Mommy Wars' is not so much about two groups of women tongue lashing each other for their personal decisions, most of us are far too civilized for such banter. Rather, it's about a personal war that so many mommy's have. I know I'm not alone when I say that.

Walking around any office, it's easy to see which co-workers have kids at home. They're the ones whispering into the phone to the caregiver, grasping for minute details of the day that would otherwise be lost. They're the ones spending too much time uploading and arranging pictures for their computer screensaver. They're the ones found occasionally gazing into space, yearning to be home. They're the ones with that look of guilt that just can't be cleanly wiped away. And, occasionally, they're the ones sneaking off to their car just to cry a little bit.

I don't need a working mother to tell me I'm doing the right thing, nor do I need a SAHM to tell me I should be home with my kids. Because this war? It's far more nasty when it's fought with yourself.

Confessions

It is time, I must profess. Time to set aside my embarrassment, and come clean with the truth. Because the truth shall set me free. Or so I've heard.

I have a confession to make. Revealing a truth obvious to many, but potentially hidden to others. I have an addiction. One known to bind my attention, and strip away my priorities. I have, at times, become a prisoner to my obsession. Spending countless hours toiling away at, and harping over the source of my grievance.

I'm speaking, of course, about Facebook.

It started innocent enough. I was even a late bloomer to Facebook because it didn't become popular until after I'd graduated college, long after my college e-mail address had expired. Meaning I was not allowed access. Then, one day, someone informed me that Facebook had changed all the rules, and now anyone could join.

Even then, I didn't care much for the application. Sure, I could keep in touch with friends, see what they were up to. Big deal.

Then, Facebook changed the rules again. They made these things called status updates front and center. And, suddenly, I was hooked. Because for some reason, the mundane things people confess to be doing from moment to moment are outrageously entertaining.

Suddenly I have found myself constantly thinking about what my next status update will be. Would people rather know that I overslept, or that I hate driving to work? Should I brag about my children, or rant about the weather? I find myself thinking in the third person, "Amanda would really like to throttle that obnoxious person over the cube wall." Inner thoughts, of course.

I even had a dream that the President was the grandfather of my children (it was unclear who's father he was) and we all got to spend the weekend at the White House. My biggest concern? How best to describe my good fortune on my Facebook status.

I take pictures in the context of how they will look on my Facebook page. And the last couple of parties I have been to featured Facebook as a major topic of conversation. A la, "Don't worry, I'm going to tag you in this picture!" And, "Hey, did you see what so-and-so said on their status?"

Even as I confess to my addition, I can be found continuously clicking back to the source. Checking and rechecking for new status updates or photos. Needing to know if someone has big news, or if they ate a bagel for breakfast.

I must be honest however, the Facebook addition isn't so bad. It allows me to keep my family updated on the insignificant details of my children's growth. I've rekindled friendships I might not otherwise have. Found old friends. Discovered new and interesting things about people, the context of which may never have come up (re: 25 things). For those things, I find it to be a worthwhile, if not always productive, use of my time. So I'll keep toiling away, and probably obsessing. It's the Facebook way.

Amanda is thinking that Facebook is freakin' awesome. There, I said it.

State of Fear

I graduated with my Bachelor's degree in December 2004. And in that short amount of time, I've been laid off twice, people. Twice.

So you can't call me crazy for being just a little more than paranoid right now. Nevermind the fact that I couldn't possibly be in a better business, doing advertising for a very large grocery wholesaler. (Because, while anyone can decide not to buy that TV this year, everyone needs food.) There's been no talk of layoffs at my company, in fact, they're still hiring. But still, I find myself in this state of mind numbing, paralyzing fear.

Even the minuit detail that I managed to land this job as the economy was sliding and I was 30-weeks pregnant can't subside my confidence that anytime I get called into my supervisors office it is to hear the words no one ever wants to hear, "Your job is being eliminated." Nor can the knowledge that while I was on maternity leave I got more than one dire message that I needed to return. None of it matters. I can't shake the notion that in this big, big world I'm still just a peon. And as such, I'm easily disposable.

Back in February I interviewed with Best Buy. I didn't get that job, not least because I applied more for the great perks Best Buy offers than for my skills related to the position. This week I hear that Best Buy is offering buyouts to every single corporate employee. That's right, from secretary's to VPs, they will offer an average of 7-1/2 months of pay plus a year of medical and life insurance if you quietly walk away.

Which begs the question. What would you do? Take the buyout and keep your fingers tightly crossed that 7-1/2 months is enough time to find something else? Or, stick your heels in the ground and refuse, knowing that in six months your job could be eliminated anyway and without such a generous offer?

These are uncharted waters. And why do I bring it up? Maybe to help me stay sane. I think/worry/fret/obsess about it on a daily basis, so I want you to join me. But maybe also so that when the day comes that my job disappears too, I can say, See! I told you. I TOLD you!

For now, I think I'll gaze into my future. Melodramatic? Not a doubt about it.