I was trapped in The Devil Wears Prada meets Mommy Dearest and it ended a 25 year corporate career.
We have all had a co-worker or supervisor that was unpleasant to be around. Many have had to endure “me too” moments in the workplace that are way too common. What I am talking about is the level of toxicity so vile that it breaks your spirit, shatters your confidence, and makes you question your ability not just as an employee, but as a functioning human being and not even your standby bottle of Xanax can help you.
I met her just over three years ago. Before Corona was a virus. I was successful. I made great money for a big corporate name. I was noticed in my department for all the right reasons. I had a team and great accounts and I brought my “A” game to everything. Even with two young kids and an hour commute to the office three days a week, I made it all work. I was a master scheduler and had amazing focus and work ethic.
My bosses boss tapped me one day and asked if I would be up for a challenge. In corporate speak, that is code for “we are testing you”, so of course I wanted to hear more. I was told that I would still keep my current role and do a job share to lead communications for a major conference. I met with my temporary boss over the phone and again in person, she seemed wonderful and said all the right things. I met with her leader as well and felt completely welcomed, so I accepted the assignment. It is the biggest regret of my life and I have an ex-husband.
She introduced me to nobody. Told me I talked too loud on the phone. Cancelled every one-on-one meeting we had and made herself unavailable to answer questions. But that was the easy part. She was an insomniac. Which meant that the bitch stayed up all night typing out incoherent emails to me that I needed to decode the next morning. All were incredibly time sensitive, naturally and none of them made sense. When I would ask a follow up question for clarification, I would either get zero response or chastised for not being able to figure it out. It was a daily hell that started at 6:30 am when my alarm went off and I saw all the notifications. Panic and dread would consume me from the moment I woke until I finally was able to put the phone down past midnight and sleep.
And that was my life. For four months. She never said good morning. Never told me when she would be out of the office, but I was expected to be able to anticipate her every thought. It was an impossible project. Product delays that were out of my control, all decisions needing to be approved by the CEO, and a structural build for the conference that was down to the wire. I managed to pull off the impossible ask despite her constant changes in direction. 70 hour weeks. The last car in a campus for 7,000 people on many nights. Never took a lunch. Never took a vacation day. Worked Christmas Eve. Worked New Years Day. Ordered every single gift, stocking stuffer, grocery for the entire holiday season thru Amazon because I could not break free to go shopping. My husband said he felt as if he worked in a grocery store with the amount of cardboard he was breaking down. Low point, I was on a work call in line for Santa with my kids. I made zero time for my family during these four months and prioritized this psychopath above everything else. It was the wrong choice.
When the conference concluded, the extended team thanked me over and over again for all of my hard work and dedication. The bitch actually hugged me at the airport when the conference was over and told me what an amazing job I did. For a minute I felt fulfilled. For a minute.
Then she sent a review of my performance to my boss, her boss, and my Senior VP. My boss read it to me word for word and those words broke something inside of me that to this day I can’t get over. We were in an open seating space in the building, not a conference room and I started sobbing. I have never in my life worked so hard, put in the kind of hours you only hear about in movies and books, only to be called lazy and incompetent. The thing is, they all pretty much dismissed it as bullshit because she had a reputation of being difficult to work with, but I couldn’t dismiss it. I was always the one who could win over adversaries. I could take on any challenge and exceed expectations. I had done this my entire career. But it didn’t work this time. I didn’t win her over with my skill and wit. She obliterated me professionally in front of people I looked up to and in that moment, even though her write up was completely insane, she beat me. And then the fear and paranoia set in. Did the higher-ups in my department see me differently? Would this impact my bonus? Would I no longer be on my same career trajectory? Those were now the questions I asked myself every day. Multiple times a day. Questions that never crept into my confident mind before this.
The project ended and I went back into my old role. I was in full swing of a new program I had zero pulse on. I was thrown in and floundered. So unsure of myself, confidence so broken that I no longer had my “A” game. I had depression. I stopped writing my blog. I was there for my friends and family but not really present. People noticed. My reputation let me coast for a long while before my boss started to question if I was ok.
I wasn’t. I’m still not. The impact that this corporate bully had on me was enough to not only reevaluate my role within the department, but whether I wanted to stay with the company. Further, did I want to continue to be in my field, in the corporate world? I started to feel like I was giving up. I was beaten by a fucking Regina George mean girl and dammit did that eat at me more than anything. At this point the pandemic was upon us and the reductions in force had already started. Those who left voluntarily were not being replaced. My boss and I were doing the work of a team of six. I was exhausted, she was exhausted, the work did not stop coming in with demand for deliverables increasing. There was no time for mental health check ins. And then I stopped sleeping.
Take someone who has already lost their confidence and deprive them of sleep, while working from home with their spouse and two kids on web calls for school all day. I could not manage. I did this new normal every day for six months. I sat in my home office on calls all day long while my husband had his command center set up from the dining room. I worked from 8am -7pm. If I had a Dr. appointment for a mammogram, I was texting and emailing for work. I had conference calls and worked on decks for presentations during my hair appointments and Girl Scout troop meetings. Every second I had alone in a car was spent multitasking a call, text or email. It was all consuming. I was tired and trying to figure out what my next move should be as this position was not sustainable. What would make me happy? Then the layoffs came.
My husband was first. 22 years with the company and they brought in “the Bobs” and made him take a skills assessment like he was fresh out of college, not a successful member of the leadership team with an impeccable reputation. He had to answer questions like “would you rather kill or steal” and there were 100 of those mind fucks. After a couple of months, he lost his battle in the corporate hunger games. Then my call came. They actually laid us both off. From the same company. Every source of income, gone. We got severance, thank fuck, because we needed it. Unemployment for the first time in both our lives helped as well. It took my husband 10 months to land. After George Floyd’s murder, every corporation in America upped their diversity game. Great for America, bad timing for our middle aged, management level, white dude looking for a job in a pandemic. So now we have my partner in crime on the depression train with me. Woo woo!
The second I was laid off, I panicked, because…health insurance. The corporate machine was kind enough to give me some runway and gave me three extra months before we were out of insurance. That was kind. Biden’s recovery bill also helped us with insurance. I have never in my life benefitted from a government program of any kind, but this one saved us thousands in health care coverage. But it worked out ok in the end. My husbands new company picked up the insurance where Grandpa Joe left off and now I can get my mammogram again without having to take a work call in between breasts being squeezed.
The one thing I have learned is the importance of having a spouse that supports you, respects you, and truly wants to see you go for your dreams. Either that or he was just tired of the funk I had been in for two years. So we made the decision, with the support of our kids and our friends, that I would take my severance and go to beauty school. Fuck, I was scared. My self doubt was high. Would people think I was having a breakdown, a midlife crisis? Could I really give up my income? Would my family be ok? I think my dad literally just stopped asking what my backup plan is last week.
Bottom line is, I did it. And it pretty much sucked. I was a 44 year old student with work ethic, used to going non stop for 20+ years and now I was in class and on zoom calls with kids in hoodies with only one eye showing and vaping on screen. But they weren’t all fuckwits that locked themselves in the single school bathroom to post on TikTok. There were some great ones and I did make friends. Granted, they called me “mom”, but they are friends.
I graduated in under a year. I got all the awards and honors. I paid for the whole program out of pocket and I built my own salon. Again, out of pocket. I am now my own boss. I love what I do. Sure, there are still moments of self doubt that creep on in when it’s a slow week, but I know I am really good at what I do and as my business continues to grow, I will get mentally stronger and more confident.
I will never understand women who degrade and bully other women. I have always and will always go out of my way to make connections for people and to help others. Life is about how you treat people. Put good things into the world and they will come back to you. One nasty witch might have started the trajectory for my corporate days ending, but it opened bravery in me that I never knew existed. So I suppose I should thank my bully for ruining a part of my life. My kids now get to see that it doesn’t matter how old you are, go get your dreams. A little secret – I do keep an eye on that passive aggressive twat on LinkedIn. One day she’s going to work for one of my friends. Karma’s a bitch, and my friends are loyal and fierce. A girl can dream. Xoxo
Caught in the act…with an everything bagel!
Every single one of us is scarred from the childhood encounter of when we walked in on our parents having sex. I hid behind a stereo speaker for an hour trying to get the images out of my innocent six-year-old mind. Now its 36 years later, the images of my parents in the sack are still haunting me, and I’m writing about how I’ve possibly done the same kind of irrevocable damage to my own child.
So, it started like this… I might have had a few drinks. I will recount what I can, but some details are fuzzy.
I’m not sure where we were that night, but after we got home and paid the babysitter, my husband was hungry...for food. So, he made himself a bagel, an “everything” bagel to be exact. You know, the one with poppy seeds, sesame seeds, salt and a bunch of other stuff stuck to it. Too lazy for cream cheese or butter, he took his toasted everything bagel, put it in a paper bowl and headed upstairs to our bedroom. He changed into his t-shirt and bed shorts, put on the awful wire-rimmed glasses he has had since high school, and settled into our bed to watch Sports Center…with his bagel.
Enter the buzzed and seriously irresistible wife.
I am a seductress. I walk in and assess my prey. I sashay to the bed. I don’t care about the poppy seeds on my bedspread, I am all about my husband. I kick off my shoes, pull back the covers and pull down his shorts. At this point I am pretty sure he puts his half-eaten bagel down, but in my foggy memories, I can’t be 100% certain. I am standing at the side of the bed bent over my husband, doing what naughty drunk wives do to remind their husbands that even after years of marriage, their wife still has it going on, when I get “the tap.” I’ve only been going at this for a minute, so it isn’t that kind of tap. It’s a tap on my shoulder, the back of my shoulder…from behind me. Even in my cloudy state of mind, I know that in my husband’s prone position on the bed, there is no possible way he could be tapping the back of my shoulder. Which only leaves one possibility…it’s my kid. Here in my room. With this…happening.
Oh. My. God. Quickly, I pull up the covers over my husband’s lower half and turn cautiously to see my sleepy little girl. She may be sleepwalking, I think to myself. She seems pretty out of it. Her eyes are only partially open. Did she see anything? How long has she been standing there? With my back facing the door, she couldn’t have witnessed my actions, right? Please God, don’t let my little girl run away looking for a 1980’s stereo speaker to hide behind. What have I done!
“Mommy, I can’t sleep. Can you stay with me for a few minutes?”
Well, hell. “Of course, honey. Let’s go lay down in your bed.”
My kids sleep like the dead. They play hard and sleep hard and when their little heads hit the pillows, they are usually out for the night. But tonight, my darling girl seems to know her drunk mommy is up to no good, so she needs a snuggle. Seeing how I left her dad pitching a tent in the bedroom, I do everything I can to get her to dreamland. I hum, I rub her back, stroke her hair, we snuggle, we talk. OMG, just go to sleep!
Finally, after my several failed attempts to sneak away, she is out cold and I am finally able to slide out of bed and slink out of her room avoiding all of the squeaky boards on the way out as not to stir her from her newfound slumber. I walk back to the bedroom and find my husband propped up against the headboard half-asleep, still watching Sports Center, with an empty bowl and bagel crumbs all down his t-shirt. Jesus Christ, he seriously ate the rest of the bagel! At a time like this, he finished his snack and acts like nothing permanently life damaging just transpired. I climb up on the bed and get under the covers. I look at him again, totally content, belly full of bagel, sports on TV, and…his shorts still around his ankles. I start to laugh. Hard. Snort-laughing. I just can’t stop.
“What?” He asks.
“How was your bagel?” I say through snorts and sobbing laughter.
“Sorry, I was hungry. Now lock the damn door and get over here.”
Needless to say, every time we see an everything bagel, we laugh hysterically and remember our drunken night and “the tap.” Our friends bring up the “everything bagel story” every once and a while and we laugh until we cry recounting the horror of that night. I am so thankful for a husband that still adores me after 12 years and two kids. We have fun and laugh at ourselves, and we ALWAYS lock the bedroom door!
To this day, our daughter has never mentioned that night, so I am sticking with the “sleepwalking” philosophy. Maybe someday she will write a blog article about the time she walked in on her parents going at it with a bowl full of baked goods nearby. Let’s hope not.
I went off Facebook and this is what happened.
Spoiler alert – I missed out on absolutely nothing.
When I was in college, I used to watch Days of Our Lives, don’t judge me, Bo Brady was hot and you know it. Once I graduated and went into the workplace, I stopped watching Days, but would still catch it occasionally on a day off. It usually took all of twenty minutes for me to get up to speed on the storyline even though I was out of the loop for months at a time. This past February, I decided that I was going to walk away from Facebook for Lent. I wanted to give up something that was important to me so that it was a meaningful sacrifice. I deleted the app (not the account) from my phone and went cold turkey on Ash Wednesday. The thought of being “disconnected” for 40 days was a little scary as I was an avid status post-er (3-4 times per week). I also had alerts going to my phone whenever there was a comment made on a post or group – imaging Pavlov’s dogs – I would see the alert and open the app. My husband (a non-Facebook user but Twitter sports whore – that’s a whole different post) would throw the nasty comments my way about “how I care more about Facebook than my family”, and “did I learn that on Facebook”, and “if it’s on Facebook, then it must be real.” I knew it was an issue and surrendering for Lent was a good way to break the bad, phone-obsessed habit.
I love social media. I love seeing pictures of my friends and their families. I love witty banter and memes that I can share with my friends. I love being kept up to speed on neighborhood and school happenings. I love staying connected to my roommate from college and my friends on opposite coasts. I love dancing puppies and babies spinning on Roombas. I love to see where people have traveled, keep up on illnesses and health issues of those that I care about, and enjoy the positivity that shines daily from a community that really cares about each other. I love that you can reach a big crowd quickly for prayers, use it to fundraise, secure donations, and reach volunteers for people and causes that need support. I love when we encourage and lift each other up. I love the stories of good.
What I don’t love is negativity. People bitching about taxes, politicians, how bad the state of Illinois sucks, school districts, and the all-mighty weather. What I don’t love is feeling that I must acknowledge every picture my “friends” post or there is a perception that I don’t care. Lack of a “Like” might as well be a bitch slap in some social circles. I don’t love divisive attacks on people who have differences of opinion. I don’t love the cattiness, bullying, and constant political debates. I don’t love 2018 Kardashian baby watch, Stormy Daniels high school photos, and Candy Crush requests littering my newsfeed. I don’t love feeling attached to people that I really don’t know and spending time investing in other people’s lives, when the fact is, we don’t really know each other! Facebook for me is a rabbit hole. One day I had to stop myself when I realized I was looking up my old college roommate’s, husband’s sister – who I NEVER EVEN CARED FOR. Stop the madness!!! I am not an investigative journalist, but I found myself playing a game of “how much can I find out” when someone would post another passive aggressive cryptic message. Who are they? Why do they feel that way? All this distraction while my sink is full of dishes and I have eight years’ worth of kids clothing that needs get schlepped to Goodwill hanging out in my basement.
Oh, and Russian hackers really piss me off. I hold corporate grudges because I can choose where to spend my time and money. I boycotted BP gas stations for 8 years after the Deepwater Horizon oil spill happened and killed the all the ducks in Louisiana. And that was an accident! I won’t eat at Chik-fil-A, I only go to Hobby Lobby when I have no other choice, and Wells Fargo can just kiss my ass. Facebook’s broken security measures, corporate greed, and genuine disinterest in keeping its users informed about breaches in security is truly enough for me to rethink how I interact with this platform going forward. Sheryl Sandberg should “lean over” and smack Mark Zuckerberg in the head. But hey, at least he had the decency to trade in his Chucks and t-shirts for a suit while he testified in front of congress about how careless his company is.
I use my social media accounts for specific things. I get my news from Twitter, my laughs from Snapchat, and pics of my friend’s kids from Instagram. All I get from Facebook is annoyed.
What have I learned from my Facebook hiatus?
A few things; first, that I can’t NOT have a Facebook account. It is woven into society as a major method to share information. I honestly only “cheated” once during Lent. There was a day when our local middle school went on soft lockdown (insert fed-up angry eyeroll) and I went into Facebook to see if the district had posted any updates. Pretty good excuse, right? I thought God would understand. What I realized is that even if I don’t want to be on Facebook, I need to be connected into certain groups and understand that this is the primary source for conveying information to the masses.
Second, I found that I had more to talk about when I saw people face to face. We have gotten so accustomed to documenting every place we go and everyone we go with, that we run out of stuff to say when we actually see people in person and find ourselves making conversation by discussing what we saw them post on Facebook. Oy! I have been to a few parties since my big FB departure, and I have truly seen a difference in the depth of conversation I am having with others. I’m asking more questions instead of making assumptions and am enjoying their company more because I have no clue what they have been up to.
Last, and the greatest lesson learned, is that IGNORANCE IS BLISS. That might sound so sad and naïve to some of you, but I have learned that what I don’t know, can’t hurt me, and I’m really quite ok with that. People having a party and not inviting my kids; I will never see the 104+ photos showing how perfect life is without our family in it. My mother posting a live video of her feet when she thought she was leaving a comment on her church page; not my cross to bear. Not being served ads for products I truly don’t need; woot! more money in my pockets. You get where I’m going with this? If you don’t know these posts exist, you won’t waste emotional headspace, your precious time, and your money over them. When I think about the amount of time I have spent reading comments on a post that a person I knew in high school 25 years ago put up about her neighbor’s kids’ hockey team, I have to wonder what’s wrong with me. From the look of my basement (aka the dump), I certainly don’t need to procrastinate any more than I already do. I’m not suggesting that if you get off Facebook, you will have a clean basement. I’m actually not suggesting to get off Facebook at all, but just to think about the value of your time and ask yourself if what you are investing it in is paying you the right kind of dividends.
So how do I intend to use Facebook moving forward?
Diligently. I plan to spend some time sifting through all my “liked” pages and removing anything that is not of significant interest to me. I’m going to go through my “friend” list and unfollow people who are not active participants in my life and unfriend people that I don’t know. I am going to resurrect my Evite account and use it for upcoming events and party invitations. I am going to de-activate alerts and limit the number of groups that I belong to. That should show Mark Zuckerberg who’s boss, right? Ha, not a chance, but it will give me some of my time back and help me to focus in on the people, organizations, and causes that are truly important to me.
So hello Insta (that’s how the cool kids say Instagram) and welcome back Evite! I can’t promise I won’t share pictures of my smiling kids or a beautiful beach in the future, but I can promise that I will reduce my social media footprint. Just like sands through the hourglass, Days of Our Lives is still on the air and Stefano is still abducting people and taking them to his secret island (I had to look this up – they actually killed him for real). I guarantee if I come back to Facebook in a few months, it shouldn’t take very long to get caught up. Now I need to figure out who organized the lawn aeration in the neighborhood. I missed it because I wasn’t on FB!
Girlfriends; my secret weapon.
In a world where “Me Too” and “Times Up” are common terms and my young daughters unfortunately understand what the term misogyny means, I find the need to combat the negativity and write openly about the strong, beautiful women I am blessed to have in my life as friends. They are role models, confidants, party animals, comediennes, and all around hard working, bad-ass mommas and I am so proud to know each of them.
Over the last few years, there have been significant changes on the friendship front for me. My dearest friend became a momma for the first time. This has opened up a whole new bond between us and I feel that we are closer than ever as a result. Also, I have formed friendships with two different groups of women as crazy-busy as I am, but who keep me laughing, smiling, and crying over constant streams of group text messaging and stolen coffee (aka wine) meetups. God, I am blessed. I have many strong friendships that I cherish, and they have entered my life from all different directions.
My friendships can be broken down into categories. Like the jeans in my closet, they come in all different shapes and sizes.
- The Bestie
She is technically my friend, but in reality, she’s my closest family. The one who I always answer my phone for even if I’m in a meeting just to make sure she’s ok. We have held hands through some of life’s toughest moments; kids, jobs, relationships, loss, and the final episode of Dawson’s Creek. She’s the one that shows up early to help set up the party decorations. She is my “in case of emergency” person. The one whose cards I save in a box because they mean more to me than anything else because they are from her and her words are perfect. With this friend, there is complete unfiltered honesty and zero judgment, ever. We lay out all of our crazy and work through it together. She is what I would wish for in a sister. We share a fitting room, she calls me out on my bullshit, and is my biggest cheerleader and support system. She knows where I’ve buried the bodies and would never dare rat me out because I am in charge of hiding her goodie drawer contents when she dies. She is my person.
- Group text gang
If you ever want to figure out how complicated a woman’s mind is and how quickly her train of thought shifts, look through a group text with four active female participants. Conversations swing between children, to home décor, to pets, to birthday party’s, to dick sizes, to work, to vitamin supplements, to idiot neighbors, to waxing, to vacations. Anything goes. Anything. At any time of the day. We laugh so hard, we offer encouragement and advice, and we are always there for each other. There is no judgment and a lot of raw honesty. We are an amazing electronic foursome and when we are actually all together, we laugh even harder. My Wolfpack.
- Couples only
These are the couples that my husband and I can travel, go out to dinner, or plan a game night with. OMG, when you find these people, never ever ever let them out of your life. Finding people that you can go away with is a game changer. Don’t get me wrong, my husband and I love a romantic getaway for two, but it is so rare to find couples where you like both of them equally and want to spend an extended period of time with them. Being able to hang by a pool or play craps until dawn or sit in a bar with great people is usually just what the Dr. ordered to become completely recharged. These people may not communicate with you daily, but are always thinking of you when they see a great dinner or airfare deal!
- Rat racers
Some of the best friendships I have started in the workplace. The people you can’t avoid because you see them… Every. Single. Day. You get coffee together, grab lunch, and talk about the daily updates in your life. They know you really well because they are intimately exposed to the career part of your life that others can’t see firsthand. They understand your stress about balancing career ambition with family responsibilities and they can offer unique support and perspective. I have six dear friends that I have accumulated through 20 years in the workforce. Over the years, some have moved across the country, some moved on to other opportunities, but all have remained in my life. When we get together it is as if no time has passed. We may have regrets about how long we stayed in a position, but we are always truly thankful to the company that brought us together.
- All the single ladies
They like to have fun. They need your support. They have scheduled child care for the weekend and don’t need to make it home at the end of the night. These girls can party it up and make you feel like you are in your 20’s at seven o’clock and then like an old-ass lady by midnight. They do shots effortlessly, know about dating apps, and are always wanting to “take a girls trip” to somewhere amazing. They make you want to let loose and enjoy yourself, but they also make you want to work out and watch what you eat, because they look stunning out on the dance floor. Husband buy-in with these friends is key. Selling stuff from the basement to fund the girls trips is also helpful!
- Carpool mommas
People say how it takes a village to raise your kids, this group is my village. Working moms that still want their kids to be in activities need to realize they cannot do everything themselves without losing their minds. Getting a group of moms together to build a carpool group has saved my sanity and removed my guilt that used to hit me whenever I asked someone for help with my kids. This group relies on each other equally. We don’t have to feel bad asking for help, because helping each other is the bond that ties us together. Divide and conquer is our motto and I have never met a kinder group of women who are so willing to jump in and help each other at a moment’s notice with a ride, kid coverage, joint gift arrangements, and all of the other administrative and logistical bullshit you need to think through when you have young kids in school and activities.
- Politically opposite friends, aka “Conservatives”
Shh, don’t tell anyone, but I do have conservative, “Trump supporting” friends. How is that even humanly possible, you may ask? Easy, we don’t talk politics and simply enjoy being with each other. Then we get drunk and I make them wear my pink pussy hat and take pictures of them for future blackmail purposes. Politics is a funny little trigger point these days. There is an old poetic saying that opinions are like assholes, everyone has one. Well, no offense, but I don’t want to hear anyone’s opposing political opinions any more than I want to see a brown starfish; just ick. This isn’t the high school debate team. Nobody is going to outscore me and change my mind and I am not going to change anyone else’s. Part of being an adult is agreeing to disagree on some things and having the courtesy and respect for my friends, to keep my opinion locked up when in their company. I expect and deserve the same courtesy.
Friendship 101: parting wisdom
What to make of all this? My husband tells me that I am crazy for keeping a full social calendar. I get the jabs about girls’ night out happening far too frequently for his liking or waking up at 7:00 on a Saturday to meet the “moms” for coffee when I sure as hell wouldn’t drag my butt out of bed for him, but you know what, my friends keep me sane and it is important that I make time for relationships that lift me up and set an example for my daughters of what healthy female relationships should look like.
I have had to learn to stop being so sensitive. There are all sorts of people in the world and some are not meant to be in our lives forever. This has been a hard lesson for me to accept and I need to remind myself to stop mentally giving the finger to people that have hurt me and to not openly roll my eyes at passive aggressive social media posts. Disengage from mental bullshit and move on has become my mantra. I am learning to focus on all of the amazing things in front of me, and not focus on the hurt of what didn’t work, but on the happiness of what is working. Because it is amazing and should be celebrated.
During the week, I am a full-time career mom with a lousy commute, two kids that need rides to activities, help with homework, and much needed one on one momma time. Essentially, there is not much social time for anything more than the occasional text or quick conversation during the week. I live for my weekends to not only get all my errands done, but also to have the occasional date night with my husband, hang out with friends, and catch a movie or build a fort with my kids. That’s just where my life is right now. It is fast paced, full of commitments, and free time is a hot commodity. If you need me, tell me and I will be there, but please do not take the fact that I didn’t send a card when your dog died as a personal insult or a display of disrespect. I try my best and often I do fail. I sometimes need to be told when more is needed from me. I also need for women to cut each other some slack and stop trying to be so Pinterest perfect. Mind games are exhausting and I have no interest in participating.
It has taken me a long time to find myself, be comfortable in who I am, what I believe, and how I want to live my life and raise my family. I have hit bumps in the road and it has been my friendships that have helped to develop me into the confidant, strong, funny, mess of a woman that I am.
I always tell my daughters that friendship should be easy and enjoyable. Friends should lift you up and make you feel good about yourself, they should make you laugh until your face hurts, and be there to stand with you when shit goes down. When it gets too hard, and you are spending too much time doubting yourself and how your actions are perceived, that is where you need to remember the old line “you can pick your friends but not your family”. Lord knows, I am stuck with my wacky family, but my friends; those I can choose. And man, have I chosen wisely, because I have the best group of bitches anyone could ask for!
21 Day Fix This!
So my husband is running. He has not done one second of exercise in the last two years since the stress induced “cardiac episode” that scared the crap out of all of us. What this means is now he jumps out of bed at 5:00 AM and runs three-plus miles every other day. Because that’s normal, to just start running three miles straight without an app that gently eases you into it over a nine week period. Good for him, right? I am thrilled that he is countering his Coors Light intake with some much needed exercise. It’s good for both his heart and his soul, but now he looks at me with sympathy and distain as I sit quietly on the couch and read my erotica. He says things like, “why don’t you go get on the treadmill”? Or, “should you really be snacking this late at night”? Really, dude? Really? Up until a month ago, I would find empty containers of peanut butter and graham cracker boxes littering the recycling bin. Now I’m the asshole because I have not yet found that same inner motivation he has? Whatevs. I can tell you what to do with your fancy fitted running shoes.
I am the first to admit that I need to exercise. I am mortified to say that I have gained 40 pounds over the last two years and that I officially weigh more than I did at nine months pregnant. Ugh, what a horrible feeling. I don’t get it. I look in the mirror and do not see the obese troll that takes my place in pictures that end up on the school Facebook page. Who’s the fat girl and where the hell did my neck go? Why does my stomach lop towards my vagina, when did my arms start to wobble, and why the hell do my thighs rub together? I was always thin. I had perfect, perky 34C cups and a tight ass. I had a fucking thigh gap! Now my 38DDD boob status and size Large Vanity Fair Kohl’s panties just piss me off. What happened to me?
At what point did I become the person who follows that large woman in the 21 Day Fix videos doing the “modification exercises”?
Here’s what has happened. I’m tired. The most tired I have ever been in my life. I have a kid that has anxiety that manifests itself every August before school starts. The difference is, this year it isn’t going away and I am struggling to cope. The mornings are getting rougher, more crying, not cooperating, not doing the usual morning “get ready routine”. I have to be more hands on and it sucks. This is the kid I could always count on to run the ship while I get ready for work and now she can’t complete a sentence without second-guessing herself. She was the one who sprung out of bed, got dressed, and brushed her teeth before I even opened my eyes. Now I am dragging her out of bed by her feet and pleading with her to do simple routine tasks all while my husband takes a 30 minute poop as he watches the latest ESPN podcast. My frustration is evident. Sometimes I hold it together and try my best to be patient, sometimes I swear and yell. I’m not a perfect mom, nowhere near it. This shift in my daughter’s behavior has doubled my own morning routine. I have been running late for work as a result, and my appearance has taken a beating. The evening routine isn’t much better. I am mentally wiped. After I get dinner made, kitchen cleaned, homework folders sorted, backpacks packed, lunches made, clothes laid out and kids in bed….I need a strong drink, not a workout. While I do all this, the 5K hero sits back on the couch and seems annoyed when I tell him his kids are in bed and want him to come say goodnight. Then I toss and turn all night thinking about all the ways I am screwing up.
So that’s the story. I am fat because my kid has anxiety. Seriously, I just laughed at me, too. What a joke, I literally just blamed my sweet, struggling seven year old for my pants no longer fitting. Pull yourself together woman and own it! YOU ARE LAZY. All that shit I said about my kid and my life was true, but I know just as much as the next person that exercise is the key to all the other issues. If there is one thing I am hoping my girls get into over the years, it’s Girls on the Run or some sort of run club. I would love for them to learn a life skill like running and actually enjoy it. I have been trying to get into running for years. I long for a “runners high” that never comes…story of my life. Fat and sober.
From now on, my new mantra is:
Work out, have more energy.
Work out, sleep better.
Work out, look better.
Repeat.
Now, I just need to figure out how to get myself out of bed in the morning!
Dissecting the Mom Taxi
My calendar has a first name, its m-o-t-h-e-r. My calendar has a second name, its f-u-c… Ok, so it’s not the same as the time-cherished bologna jingle that we all know and love, but it is my current reality of being a working mom with two young girls who are involved in a boat-load of activities.
Swim, dance, gymnastics, cheer, Girl Scouts, religious education. Couple those with the school obligations, birthday parties, family commitments, and my own work, social, and volunteer responsibilities and this momma’s calendar looks like one hot mess! Do other people feel like they are always playing beat the clock? I swear my kids have become experts at putting their shoes on in the car while buckling up and eating at the same time. Sometimes I feel like Wonder Woman for pulling everything off without a hitch and making this crazy schedule work and other times I feel like the worst mother in the world for yelling, nagging, and pushing kids out the door and into the car to race to the next place. So why do I do this? Why do I enroll my kids in activities that cause me to run like a crazy person from work to home to wherever they need to be five days a week?
Am I trying to live vicariously through my girls?
Am I meddling in how they form relationships?
Am I trying to be the polar opposite of my mother?
If I am being honest, the answer is probably yes to all three of these questions. I have made some great friendships with other working moms both in my neighborhood and at my kids’ school. We tend to have our kids in a lot of the same activities and lean on each other quite a bit for carpools, class reminders, moral support, etc. The camaraderie with this great group of strong women is unlike anything I witnessed in my childhood. My own mother was not involved in helping me develop a social circle and cement friendships that I have to this day. I was left to figure out many of life’s lessons on my own and became overly trusting of the wrong people. I had a misguided perception of how strong my friendships were and, no surprise, they did not survive into adulthood. I think this may be why I push my girls to engage in activities that have athletic as well as artistic elements, why I have started them young, and encourage them to stick with their choices so they can build solid friendships through these activities that I never had as a kid.
Am I meddling by doing this? Am I changing the trajectory of where their lives would have landed if I didn’t interfere? I don’t know, maybe, but right now, even though I am exhausted, it seems like the right move. I want my girls to be strong and confident, good friends, and above all else, kind and caring people. If pairing them up with other kids whose parents are aligned to my beliefs helps to get them on the right path, then I can live with my meddling.
I think about what they will be like in high school and what kinds of activities will help them grow long-term. Hell, I wish I would have been in cross country and developed a love for running when I was young. Now the treadmill and I have a very love/hate relationship and my backside seems to expand more each time Jimmy Johns delivers to my door. I was involved in activities, but nothing that I loved and had a passion for. As a kid, I did a season of soccer, a baton class, a tumbling class and about four piano lessons. I lettered in two sports in high school, but spent most of my time keeping score. I wish I would have had encouragement to focus on more artistic and creative activities, but hey, who wouldn’t want to be a vertically challenged 5’4” benchwarmer on their varsity volleyball team?
In the words of the Steve Miller Band, time keeps on ticking, ticking, ticking….into the future. I can’t go back and do it all over again, but I can experience the joy on my kids’ faces now even if it results in a crazy calendar. I only have so many years to cherish them before they spread their wings and run screaming to escape me. Let’s hope I can find the balance between spectating and interfering and don’t run out of gas in the process!
This is 40
So this is 40. Welcome to the era of mammograms, abnormal Pap smears and aches and pains that only come from inactively sitting in a cubicle all day. For me, 40 came and went and it was no big deal. No tears, no breakdowns, just a smooth transition into the second half of my life. I feel ok, I look ok, my jobs ok, my level of life satisfaction is satisfactory. So now the question…how do I take satisfactory and elevate it to extraordinary? And do I really need to?
Yes, I know the drill. Enough articles exist explaining that extraordinary life fulfillment stems from putting down the cell phone, being present, living every day, embracing the awesomeness of my job, kids and my husband….but sometimes I’m tired of my job, my kids suck and I want to punch my husband in the neck. Once in a while I wonder if this satisfactory state is actually a mid-life situation but then I find myself six Google searches deep on “mid-life crisis” looking for plausible reasons for my weight gain, my sudden disinterest in anything that doesn’t involve crafting, and my lack of motivation to do simple things like the dishes and grocery shopping.
I used to dream extraordinary dreams about jumping out of a plane, travelling the world, and writing a book. Now I am investigating the death rate correlation between being overweight and indoor skydiving simulators, figuring out when we can afford the obligatory Disney trip before our kids think Disney isn’t cool, and I desperately try to bang out this blog post once a month in an effort to avoid paying for professional therapy.
We all have that extraordinary friend. The one that has seven pairs of Tory Burch shoes and didn’t get them at a resale store, who keeps a gratitude journal to reflect on life’s wonder, actually shops in physical malls vs. clicking on Amazon Prime, and takes multiple vacations to paradises I can’t pronounce and not only wears a bikini, but rocks it. I am not that friend. I am the friend that sneaks off to New Orleans to get wasted and forget my life for two days. I don’t own a gratitude journal, but really try to count my blessings at least once a week. I have not even thought about a bikini since 2001 and the only Tory Burch shoes I have are flip flops that I ordered off Amazon and I am pretty sure they are legit. Satisfactory at its finest, friends.
Being a 40 year old working mom adds another layer of crazy. I have found that the “work/life balance” that people refer to is a lie. I feel that I am either succeeding at home OR at work, but both rarely happen simultaneously. I can’t tell you how many times I have had to walk away from my crying child at day care drop off because if I didn’t, I would be late for a 9:00 meeting. Then my morning is plagued by the guilt I feel for making the choices I did. I’ve had to cut a work trip short to get home for my wedding anniversary and then stress about the connections I am not making and the meetings I am missing. I wish I could go back in time and choose a career that would afford me more flexibility to still work hard and be there more for my family. I’m at the point in my career where I have to keep moving forward, but these are lessons I know I will instill on my girls.
Have I lost sight of who I once aspired to be in the process of growing older? I like to think of myself as a work in progress. I have matured so much in the last ten years and as a result, my priorities have shifted. Instead of having a list of places I want to visit, I now have a summer bucket list for all the things our family wants to do together. We still know how to have a great time, we just do a lot of entertaining at our house vs. going out on the town. Our family does fun things both as a family and independently. I throw a lot of money at babysitters to ensure that my husband and I can still go to a ball game or have dinner out with other adults occasionally, and I never feel bad about it. Just because I am a mom and a wife, does not mean that I have to have my family around me at all times. I enjoy a crazy girls night out, my book club, my volunteer group, and of course my gaggle of cheerleading moms that I laugh with on game days. I enjoy my nights out with my husband where we laugh too hard and drink too much and remember why we love being us. Best of all, I enjoy the quiet snuggles, trying new hairstyles, and laughing at farts with my crazy kids. I don’t think that I would be the person I am without all three components of my life. I still can see the old me, but now its a better version. Sure there are things I wish I could achieve. I would love to be described as the size 6, half-marathon running, vice-president, badass mom, but I am also pretty comfortable as just me.
I want my life to be quietly amazing. I don’t need to be famous or the center of attention. I just want to be happy, have my kids listen occasionally, and feel like my husband still wants me. So, I’m 40 years old, and in the words of my husband, “C’s get degrees”. I guess that means it’s ok to be satisfactorily average. Good thing I surround myself with lots of extraordinarily awesome people to up my game.
Top ten list of shit I never did before I hit the big 4-0. Surprisingly, many involve my armpits!
10. Spend three hours of my life developing a carpool spreadsheet for cheerleading practices
9. Use my husbands Old Spice deodorant because it smells good and I’m all out…again
8. Find new uses for deodorant, like applying it to inner thighs to avoid chafing…thank you Amy Schumer for that fab tip
7. Have an emergency stash of edibles
6. Read erotic novels often
5. Own and use essential oils daily
4. Spend $28 on deodorant that lightens my underarm skin
3. Wear bright lipstick and not give a fuck what anyone thinks
2. Have sex in a public restroom…it was really clean
1. Watch Game of Thrones and love it!
M@th%rf*ck*ng Pajama Day
M@th%rf*ck*ng Pajama Day
My Olympic sport is getting myself and two children ready and out the door in the morning. It is a shit sport, no medals are handed out, and my husband is an active bench warmer.
I do try hard. My girls’ hair is always done, clothes are almost always clean, teeth are brushed, and they each get a package of mini muffins and a piece of fruit for breakfast. All while I am getting myself ready for work, packing up backpacks, finishing lunches, making coffee, packing the car, and waiting for my husband to sashay downstairs so we can begin the day. Bronze medal contender, right? I do my best to remember the “item of the day” or which kid needs crazy hair, pajamas, or an extra t-shirt for tie dying. Most days I get it right, but other days I don’t. When that happens, the feeling of pure failure that I feel when I walk my beautifully dressed daughter into daycare and hear, “oh no, mom, you forgot it’s PAJAMA DAY” is overwhelming.
Goddammit I hate forgetting pajama day because your kid is an outcast the entire day and I might as well wear a scarlet letter on my chest showing all the other moms that I didn’t read the stupid calendar that hangs right inside the door I use to exit to my garage. It’s not like the day I forgot to send a packet of gelatin or the day I sent my husband’s XXL Polish and Proud shirt for “heritage day”. This is simple and easy. The kid wakes up in pajamas, change the undies (or not) and you are good to go!
Can a brain be full? I really feel that between work, home, my kids, and our schedules, my brain truly has reached capacity.
For the record, I don’t baby my kids. I try to teach them that shit happens and you need to roll with the punches. Life isn’t perfect and you don’t always win, so I think it’s important not to be the parent that drives all the way home to get the pajamas and bring them back to school, however, it doesn’t change the fact that I feel like shit because my kid is sad as a result of me forgetting to do something.
Now I know what you are thinking…who gives a shit if the kid isn’t wearing pajamas. They will live and being different builds character, you will live, forgive yourself and move on with the day. I want to do this, I really do, but when I feel that I fucked up, I think about it. A lot. To the point where I obsess over calendars, and dates, and lists in an effort to make sure I don’t forget anything else. The only thing that really helps me is when other moms tell me their stories of how they screwed up, too. Comparing stories with my fellow Olympians of the ridiculousness of the failure we feel daily is what makes me smile, give myself the gold, and look forward to sitting in the daycare parking lot and searching my trunk for an item that starts with the letter “X”. FML
Want to Come to My Pants Party?
Want to Come to My Pants Party?
If you missed my Anchorman reference, shame on you. It truly is a classic! But I’m not referring to having a party in my pants, as awesome as that sounds, I’m talking about the seven goddamned LuLaRoe party invites I get on Facebook each and every week. Every mom in my hood has been invited to this new age “pants party” where your host has a pop-up-shop, aka, racks upon racks of cheap clothes in their family room for you to peruse, try on, and ultimately purchase. These items range from $25-$60 and they all have a women’s name associated with them. Then when you come out of the broom closet/dressing room, your friends ooh and ahh over how great your “Randy” looks and discuss the differences between “one size” and “tall and curvy” and how that print would look so great paired with a “Cassidy”. Oh Jesus Christ, the fact that a size 0-10 can wear the same pants is an alarm bell if I ever heard one. I’m trying my hardest to deplete my wardrobe of over-sized, neon color garments, not add to the collection.
I’m so excited to bring wine to your house so you can sell me cheap pants. Said. No-one. Ever.
I find it comical that women will flock to these get-togethers and spend a ton of money. Watching your neighbors all fall for wearing these ugly-ass “butter-soft” pants is reminiscent of Edward Scissorhands where the ladies in the hood allowed a creature from an abandoned castle to give them all the same crazy haircut. Disguising a party as a way to sell shit to your friends is low, but selling them these awful garments is just plain cruel. I can’t go to the bus stop without seeing all my neighbors in leggings sporting prints with umbrellas, chili peppers and macaroons and pairing them with a baseball jersey top. Oy, someone please get a group subscription to In-Style and stop this madness.
I blame president douche-face. He keeps telling us all how great the economy is and how he is so “good for business” (I hope you read that and heard Alec Baldwin). Ever since he was “elected”, I have gotten at least two invites per week from my friends peddling make-up, skin care, freezer meals, energy supplements, and PANTS….lots and lots of pants. Suddenly it’s 2007 again and the new Lia Sophia is PANTS!
My solution; just say no. Not to drugs, but to pants parties. I am still a proponent of getting together to drink wine, as well as having a party in my pants, but disguising a get-together with all your female friends in an effort to get a free pair of shitty leggings for yourself…let’s put an end to this fad.
Now, a party where we get together, drink, and talk smack about our husbands…I RSVP YES!
Wish I'd Gone to Beauty School 