Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

1 Jul 2010 Uncategorized

The more things change…the more they…well…change. To stick with the adage that the more they change yet remain the same, frankly, doesn’t make any sense.

Especially as we say goodbye to the revival tent for Sacramento moms that has been SacMomsClub.com. I found this site shortly after it cropped up and was drawn in through user-driven content otherwise known as the witty and poignant observations of Creatress and Kelli Wheeler—women who I now consider friends outside of the virtual world and confines of blog comments and message board postings. Because of them, and through the of kindred spirit connection of “what the fuzz happened to my twenties, my body, and former life” my experience with SMC helped crystallize for me not only what type of mom I was shaping up to be but what kind of woman I had officially grown up to become. The authentic friendships and voice as a writer I found through the site have fundamentally changed me—probably even more than the stream of advice and support for things like potty training, sleeping through the night, marriage power struggles, budget shaving, and losing the baby weight. BTW…the baby weight still hasn’t come off (Carmen, my baby, is four). I officially choose to blame SMC and not the fact that I refuse to modify my intake of wine and cheese.

Its been about six months since my last post but I did want—like many other long-time users of SMC—to pause and type a thank you note to the Bee for bringing this site up at a time in my life when I really, really freaking needed it. Mostly, though…I want to thank Antoinette, Hillary, Janet, and Eowyn—you girls are amazing. You have no idea the impact meeting you has had on me. And with the exception of Janet—who just won’t budge—its been great transitioning to Facebook with you. Also, to so many others who encouraged and commented on Full Moons and Safety Glass—thank you, thank you, thank you. Like many of the other “old regular” bloggers, my blog has already moved to another site and I am about to dive back into regular multi-week posts. If you want to follow the next round posts you can find me at www.livelyparent.com. The great thing about posting on my own site is I can officially drop the F bomb without recrimination. If you know me in real life…you can attest to the importance of this in my daily life. It’s true…I have a true love for a good F bomb. So—to some degree—LivelyParent is the slightly less-filtered version of AmandaS. I like the unfiltered version more but…that’s just my opinion.

It seems best to contextualize my retrospective look back at SMC through the experiences of my daughters, Ava and Carmen. With your help, we have transitioned off the boob, into underwear, over to kindergarten, and out onto the ski slopes. Thanks for the ride, SMC community. It’s been fab. And so…in honor of Hillary’s undying devotion to the Great Androgynous One, who’s alter she prays at daily…

http://www.youtube.com/watch#!v=75R3TkXorC4&feature=related

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Polka Dots

29 Dec 2009 Uncategorized

I made an observation while school clothes shopping this fall. My five-year-old is tall (like her dad) and as a result, is already in a size six. In addition to making me feel exceedingly old and depressed—this also makes me feel really, really cheap.

Here’s why…

When my oldest crossed over from clothes sizes that ended in “T” she also crossed into the land of the of pre-teen clothes. Size six clothes are the same as size fourteen clothes as it relates to style and, well, price. This mean that I not only have to watch out for hootchie clothes intended for a twelve-year-old that want to reach out and kidnap my sweet, innocent five-year-old, but I also have to watch my wallet. Once the “Ts” disappear from the tag, so do the prices on clothes. Gone are the days of three-for-ten at Old Navy. Forget about a Circo deal at Target. Nope, I now have to pay what feels suspiciously like the prices that I pay at Macy’s for my own pants—gulp—I actually paid $20 for a pair of pants for Ava.

I am not sure what was worse, trying to stomach this new level of financial commitment to a wardrobe she will outgrown in about 15 minutes or the indignity I suffered trying to stuff her into a 5T with her yelling at me in the dressing room—“Mom, my vagina hurts in these pants, I need a bigger pair!”

True story.  And, NO WAY to do I want to be responsible for childhood psyche scaring due to early camel toe experiences. No. Fucking. Way.

So, I bucked up and paid the extra dollars to buy her age-appropriate clothes in her correct size.

It is still sad, though. Gone are the days of cute Gymboree matchy-matchy outfits with her younger, size 3T sister. Sadly, the thing I miss the most are the polka dot pants.

Polka dot pants are awesome. I mean, I could never wear polka dots across my ass, but on a kid as cute as mine, nothing looks better. Since the size six clothes are the same style as the size fourteens, I’m sure that no self-respecting clothing manufacturer is going to waste their money making polka dot pants for the Hannah Montana set. No one would buy them but me.

Sigh.

Given all this, I delighted on Christmas morning when Ava tore open a gift from her Aunt Kris. This gift was like mana from Heaven. It was a wonderful, perfect pair of black pants with white polka dots.

Ahhhh….another year of innocence to celebrate. Bring on 2010—I can take it now that the polka dots have shown up.

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Thanks

23 Nov 2009 Life Lessons

Greeting cardEvery once in a while, my life presents me with a “greeting card moment”.

Greeting card moments are when something so sappy and sentimental takes place that the only way to describe it is with overly dramatic, cursive writing. If it’s a really over-the-top greeting card moment, there will be a flower border with butterflies embossed on the edges. Oh, and maybe a rabbit. Rabbits on greeting cards connote an overflowing sense of schmaltziness. A puppy or kitten work, too. Actually, maybe a puppy or kitten would be better…a rabbit on a greeting card screams Easter. This is fine if you are sending an Easter card. The fact is, I actually prefer blank greeting cards. I like to write my own message because I’m not usually satisfied with the pre-packaged messages that made Hallmark a multi-billion dollar empire.

Greeting card moments are probably lost on people who float through life on a rainbow or people who continuously sing Disney Princess songs. These folks miss the greeting card moments because they live within a perpetual greeting card context. I, however, do not live within a greeting card context. The only times I come close are when I am having a cynical, snarky day. Those days, my life might approach one those sarcastic square-shaped cards…you know…the ones that require extra postage with a vintage photo. What’s with the extra postage, anyway? There are enough of those square cards around these days that the post office should get with the program and update its letter-sorting equipment to accommodate these square-shaped cares. So annoying.

In any case, I had a greeting card moment today. The events and circumstances too personal for public consumption via blog, but suffice it to say, the moment was dripping sentimentality. Sentimentality underpinned with the truest and most authentic sense of gratitude, affection, and—well—sadness I have possibly ever felt.

Should the object of this sentimentality ever happen to read this post, to you I say “thanks”. Words have eluded me both today and the month leading up to today. So, thanks…for helping me become the person I never knew I wanted to be.

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