I have a really cute outfit on today, if I must say. My hair turned out good as well and as I came in to work I was feeling sassy. I was rocking the red carpet entry into my office. I figure if you have to dislike your job, you might as well look good doing it, right?

Then…

After my third cup of coffee, I had to hit the restroom. As I was finishing up, I realized that my underwear were on inside out. What am I 5 years old?

Thanks for all the comments (even the contrary ones from my BFF)!!! Glad to hear that you all are listening.

 I love all 6 of you to death.

At this rate because of your loyal readership, I just might be famous 20 years from now. Gawd, I hope I don’t end up being one of those people who ends up famous after they die. If I am going to go to my grave in relative obscurity, it sure as heck better stay that way after I’m gone…ain’t no one getting famous off of Mama if Mama ain’t around!

So, I am starting to get the idea that in your 30’s you question things. And by things I mean everything. If I could sum up my 20’s, it would be OVERLY CONFIDENT.  I knew who I was, who I wanted to marry, how many kids to have, what job I wanted and when I wanted to retire. I was a registered voter and dedicated Republican. A faithful churchgoer and volunteer. I was a Coach purse loving, Grande Mocha drinking, Addidas wearing, Newsweek reading, George W Bush voter. I had it figured out people!

Then, one by one the bricks began to fall. I like soy lattes? I prefer Kate Spade and Asics? I hate republican politcs? Who am I? Mostly it started with having my first child. Isaac helped me to see beyond my point of view. He forced me to realize that everyone is someone’s baby, which puts a whole mew spin on how you see the world. So, with this change in mind, at 27 I did what I knew best, I figured it all out again.  I read Babywise and 7 Habits of Highly Effective People. If being a parent was a brave new world then I would conquer that world. For the next two years, I managed to work, be a mom and even balance the budget.

Then came Joshua. Okay, take a deep breathe, re-organize and start over. Only this time the starting over was like a sputter that never really got to a full start. Much like my Volkswagon in college, it looked pretty but it didn’t have second gear. I couldn’t manage my job and house and kids and everything else like I had before. All of the sudden traveling for work was painful and getting ready for church on Sundays was too hard to pull off. I couldn’t spend the time with my friends that I wanted and I felt relationships slip away. Having two children made me feel like little pieces of me were stolen away and they might not be given back. Worse yet, the question that haunted me was, do I want them back?

Do I want those friendships? Do I want this job? Do I want to go to church every Sunday? What is really important to me? It was like charting a totally new course, or building a house brick by brick. I felt really ill-equipt.

Now here I am in a new town, with a new job and feeling like I am not only lost but maybe someone burned the map and I am left to sift through ashes for directions. I am not unhappy or ill content, just confused about my future. I love my kids and on most days I actually long to have more. I surf the web and look at pictures of newborns or read birth stories and I even think about sneaking upstairs at the hospital and peaking at the nursery (this however is frowned upon by management and some federal laws). However, I can’t imagine adding another child to our chaos. I am also afraid my bladder might actually revolt at the prospect, along with my boobs…both would head further south.

On the other hand, I want to get a better job, one with more responsibility. I thrive on last minute decisions and finishing projects. I enjoy managing things, in fact it is something that actually comes naturally to me. It may sound crazy but on a really busy day at work, where I feel valued and responsible, I might not even think about the kids all day. (Yikes, that sounds bad)

However, what my 20’s taught me is that in my 30’s I don’t think I can’t do both, at least not in the traditional sense. I can’t work 8-5 in a managment position and have more children or even manage the schedules of the ones I already have. So am I supposed to take a break from climbing the ladder to have more children? Or is the fact that my life is chaotic enough right now an indicator that one more child would throw me over the edge?

So, I am 31. I am learning that what I thought I knew in my 20’s, I will re-evaluate in this decade. Does that mean it will happen again in my 40’s? Or at some point do I cease wondering what else is out there and feel comfortable that what I’ve chosen is right for me?

These are just some of the questions that go bump in the nightime of my mind. I promise to let you know if I figure out the answers. However, I can almost guarantee the answer will be different for each of you.

Sometimes I can’t help but be brutally honest. Well, most of the time. Take for example that shirt you’re wearing, it isn’t working for you. And the plan you have to make a bunch of money by selling your plasma, I’m going to call “shenanigans.” Not sure when the honesty bug bit me but I really can’t remember a time when I wasn’t infected by it.

Unfortunately, I also lack what some might call a poker face, or the inability to visibly hide my true feelings about a situation. The silly grin pasted across my face probably means I have good news, just as the furrowed brow might mean you are currently annoying me.

As you can imagine, this honesty issue has wreaked havoc on many a relationship or job situation. Over the years I have learned to keep my mouth shut for the most part but most of the time my face gives me away, that cheating bastard. I try really hard to manage what is going on inside my little brain but I now believe that I was meant to tell it like I see it…it is my destiny. Some people are meant to be cowboys or wizards or the President, I was meant to be like Jack Nicolson in A Few Good Men and spill my guts on the witness stand because “you can’t handle the truth.”

So, why the discussion about brutal honesty you ask? Well, sometimes I feel like I hold back on this website. As though I write knowing someone might read this and think differently of me. I really don’t want to do that anymore. This website has been cathartic for me in many ways but I always hold back a bit because I am afraid of offending someone. I obviously don’t want to purposely offend but this website is a form of catharsis for me, a way to vent and toss around my thoughts or feelings about subjects. I want to be able to freely talk about things here, like how hard this move has been emotionally or how I am worried about people liking me or even my struggle with being more joyful. Sometimes I want to write about questioning my belief in God or the decision to have more children but I need the freedom to do so without feeling like someone will be disappointed in me or worried about me. I need people to understand that my writing is a way of processing things; it is neither definitive nor complete by its very nature.

I hope I don’t alienate any of you with this post but if I do, well then I guess it just wasn’t meant to be.  Thank you to those of you who have commented and emailed me about this site, you keep me going and I love the feedback, even when you tell me I am crazy. However, to this I say, can you handle the truth?

The other day I was running at the local high school track. There was a guy running behind me who decided after a few laps to switch directions. After doing so we ended up passing each other twice every time we went around the track. After passing each other approximately 10 times with no eye contact or acknowledgement, I decided to be friendly. Here was the exchange:

Me: Same pace, huh?

Dude: Yeah! Good for you!

Excuse me?

For the next two laps I kept going over what he said in my mind. Was he serious? Yeah good for you? What does that mean? Was he trying to say that he was some sort of stud and I was lucky I could keep up with him? I was incensed. Who says such stupid things?

Cut to two days later, Kevin and I are running at the beach with the kids. The boys are in the BOB stroller and Kevin is pushing them. A guy passes us and says:

Guy: You are making him do all of the work!

Me: Yeah because I had to push them out!

Did I just say that?

Apparently my quick judgement of the guy at the track was ill advised, because when running, who knows what may come out of your mouth.

I realized the other day that I have really high expectations for life. I really do expect to win the lottery or “be discovered.” For what you ask? No clue really, I just believe that someone is going to come up to me and say, “You are so interesting and the whole world must know immediately.” Might be the same reason why for the entirely of my teen years I was convinced that if Keanu Reeves could just meet me, he would love me. Yup, that’s why I’m in therapy people. I am not sure where these delusions of grandeur come from but I think it might have something to do with a few childhood moments. Let me explain…

Somewhere between the ages of birth and seven, people noticed that I didn’t take bad pictures. In fact, pull out a camera and I was likely to put on my best smile. I might even strike a pose or maybe you want me to do this with my hands or laugh like this?

Like an actor slipping into character one vertebrae at a time, my camera persona fell over me like a familiar old jacket. It was nothing I was taught, I just loved the feeling of being captured in a moment. As though the camera could hold time still and I could languish in the attention for an eternity. As time went on and awkward teenage years ensued, I would loose that love but for the duration of this part of the story I was always camera ready.

Obviously people encouraged my ham-like nature, which in turn fed the compliment hungry beast. All of this picture taking/pose striking led to obvious questions about what one might do with this skill that I possessed. After hours of discussion and an ill advised but thankfully short deliberation about pageant entry, my mom and I decided that I would try to get a gig as a child model.

My mom proceeded to take pictures of me in different situations and sent them off to several talent agencies in San Francisco. After a considerable wait period, we got answers from two of them. The first was a huge agency in the City that represented some pretty big child stars. The agency asked that I come in for an interview. I vaguely remember the waiting room to be a bit like the set of Ugly Betty, lots of pictures on the wall of beautiful people and glass doors. There was also lots of pastel because after all, this was the 80’s and who didn’t love the Miami Vice look?

For weeks my mom and I had rehearsed my “audition” and I finally had it down. I would be reciting the lines from a popular L’Oreal commercial, only we had changed it up a bit. For those of you that remember the 80’s, the commercials we chose were done by Andy McDowell and she always started them with the line “You know what really chips me off?” Then she would explain how whatever chipped her off wasn’t her nail polish because L’Oreal nail polish doesn’t what? Chip. That’s right.

We had added a little humor to the lines and I felt comfortable enough to say them aloud in front of strangers. “You know what really chips me off? When I go to Paris and my luggage goes to Rome!” Oh the hilarity! What 8 year old hasn’t experienced that unpleasantry?

When they called my name and I walked down the hall all by my lonesome, I began to feel nervous. Just because I could manage not to look like a freak in front of a camera didn’t necessarily translate into solo interviews with strangers whereby I recite a ludicrous commercial and wait for approval. However, as I sat down in front of the four adult strangers something strange began to happen. I shook hands with all of them, and began to recite my commercial. After my first line, they laughed…in a good way. I was dizzy with the glow of approval, they thought I was funny! When I finished they asked that I repeat the commercial again, only this time with a southern accent. I’ll be frank, I was 8 and I am sure my version of southern was no where close to spot on, however if they were going to laugh again, I was willing to do anything. I’d speak martian or gibberish or Valley Girl for that matter. Come to think of it, I think Valley Girl was involved.

They pretty much offered me the job on the spot. My mom was shocked at the process and told me in the car that she could hear them laughing from the waiting room. She implored me to tell her what exactly I had been doing in there. I told her what happened and I distinctly remember her reaction was something of shock. She hadn’t taught me that part, the part where I make stuff up on the fly. Her little ham was growing up!

To make a long story short, I didn’t go with the big agency because they wanted too much of my time and I wasn’t ready to drop out of school and hire a full time tutor. There were Barbies to play with and kids to prank call, I didn’t have time for “homework on the set.”  However, the agency we did go with paid me $80 an hour for the work I did, which was mostly print work for Macy’s and brand name toy companies like Mattel.

According to an inflation calculator, $80 in 1985 has the same buying power as $163 dollars today. Considering I just took a job making somewhere in the $30 an hour range, is it really that surprising that I am disappointed?

These days I have settled for less money in the workplace but also I have moved to the other side of the camera and now relish in taking pictures of others. I look back on my years doing modeling work as an important part of my life. It made me learn to be comfortable in an interview and at ease with a crowd. Unfortunately, it appears that my 15 minutes of fame may be over and I was too young to enjoy it. Like a meringue on a foggy day, I peaked early.

Twice now our family has had professional shots done and both times the photographer asked if our son Isaac would ever consider modeling because, you guessed it, he takes great pictures…

One of my favorite childhood memories involves hours and hours of tennis lessons. It started when I was four and I didn’t really stop playing until after high school. Growing up on the Peninsula, everyone plays tennis. If baseball is America’s past time, then someone should tell Monterey because here, it is all about the courts.

I remember a specific conversation with my mom, wherein she explained that if I was to ever be a proper woman, I should know these few things:

- how to correctly match my shoes and belt

- how to sprinkle my conversation with impressive vocabulary

- how to kick an opponents’ ass in a friendly game of tennis

Her quest to make me a real girl started with group tennis lessons and quickly moved to private lessons as finances provided. So, at the tender age of 8 I would walk from Carmel River School to Mission Ranch next door and have private lessons twice a week. I absolutely loved the freedom of walking from point A to point B and I especially loved the individual attention of the lesson.  

The lessons were scheduled for twice a week and on those days I would cut through the back of the school, where there was a hole in the fence and make the treck across a field to Mission Ranch. Before I hit the courts, I would stop in at the front desk. The office had a candy vending machine with what I thought was the best candy bar known to man, the Violet Crumble. My mom was a bit restrictive on the sugar front at home so this stolen chocolate treasure was usually the highlight of my day. 

After my candy break I would head to the court to meet my instructor. He was tall and tan and he wore the typical short white tennis shorts of the early 80’s nature. He had the perfect sandy blonde hair and a really cool accent. Even at 8 years old, I was aware of my good fortune in tennis coaches. The best part about him though was his name, Chic. He had no last name of record but does it really matter when your first name is Chic? Chic was from Australia and he moved to the Peninsula with the sole purpose of teaching tennis, I think. For this I am sure that every well kept wife, with a sudden interest in tennis, was thankful for his voyage from Down Under to the West Coast.

So, as Chic moved about the court teaching me proper forehand and backhands, serves and volleys I took it all in. I just knew that one day I would be a tennis star and Chic would be in the stands cheering me on. After my lesson was over, I would head back over the school and wait for my mom to pick me up. She would come racing in after a long day at work and ask how my day was and if I enjoyed my lessons. I would of course answer that my day was fine and lessons were okay, I couldn’t let on that I had a big 8 year old crush on Chic, lest she decide to tease me or find a less intriguing coach so that I would pay more attention to the game.

As time went on, I began to loose interest in tennis and began to flirt with other sports. Tennis went from first love to an old mistress, thought of fondly but no longer properly nurtured. Because of this, my game never really went to the level I would’ve liked but I still managed to make Varsity in high school, where a small and spry female coach would scream at me from the sidelines of practice about my form and concentration.

The disenchantment came fast a furious during my years on Varsity because how exactly does a girl go from playing tennis at Mission Ranch in Carmel with Chic to a high school court in Turlock in 106 degree weather? For this reason, I still have a love hate relationship with the game, but many fond memories to keep me going.

Yesterday my four year old had his first private tennis lesson at Carmel Valley Ranch. When I asked him how it went, he said “Good.” He was very non committal about it, which made me wonder if maybe Chic now has a daughter and she is a tennis instructor at Carmel Valley Ranch.

My BFF, Rebecca is a super star. Not only does she put up with me… her and her husband are co-founders of a rockin new website for mom’s called Momfaves. In her spare time, she is raising two fantastic little boys that are nearly the same age as my two boys.

Becca and I met when we were 14 and it seems like a lifetime ago. We both had big bangs, well really it was just me, and we liked older boys that were no good for us. Becca is the ying to my yang, as Jerry Meguire would say… she completes me. I have been forever jealous of her crazy long legs and thoughtful personality. I know that she is jealous of me too…of my crazy loud laugh and my t-rex midget legs. I know that she will be my friend until we are silly, incontinent ol’ ladies headed out of this world to meet Jesus who art in heaven, amen.

Every friendship has stages. There was the grunge music, smoking and sneaking out stage. Then the we’re too cool to date boys from this school stage. Then there was college and the meeting of the future husbands stage. I never thought that the having kids stage would bring us so close, however it has completely cemented our friendship in ways I can’t explain. 

 Dear goodness I just re-read this and it sounds like I am going to propose to her. Rebecca I love you and I see us growing old together….

Okay so the best part of hanging out is watching our children become friends. So check out some pictures of our visit and our kids blossoming friendship.

WARNING - GIRL PARTS MENTIONED, PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION

(this is Spanish for if you are my father-in law or my Dad, do us both a favor and skip this post)

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So, I oft set out to prove why I am a total jackass and today, my friends, I succeeded with flying colors. My Mom and Dad came into town for my Mom’s birthday this weekend and I was excited to spend some quality time with them.

First thing’s first, Mom and I head to the mall. I proceed to buy a ridiculously expensive pair of Coach sunglasses and man, am I feeling sassy. I swear I put the glasses on and all of the sudden, BAM! I was Posh Spice, Beck’s is my man-toy and I am hard rocking it people. These sunglasses are amazing, more on that later though.

So, part of our adventure involved a previously standing appointment that I had at a nice spa in Monterey for a little waxing. My Mom wanted nothing to do with this, but I was all in baby. I have been to a few spa’s in my time and feel fairly comfortable in the spa environment. This is usually my downfall, believing far too much in my own ability to act normal in any given situation.

I wait my turn in the incense filled holding area for my esthetician and I am casually wearing my sunglasses indoors, because I am totally famous.

Juliette greets me and we go into Room 3. She explains that I need to get undressed and here is a towel, blah blah, blah. I stopped listening because I had started thinking about how much this was going to hurt and how I should have had a glass of wine before I started this process. Juliette leaves the room and I begin to undress. On the table is a towel and a sanitizing wipe. Now, for those of you who have had a wax before, this is totally normal and you just go about following the directions given to you. However, I was too involved in my Posh pose to listen and now here I am opening the sanitizer and begining, um, application.

WOW! That burns! Ha Ha Ha. Wow, that really burns. Holy Crap, I am burning alive, get water! STAT! As I run around the room looking for water I am sure that she is coming back in the room any minute and she  is going to catch me splashing water on my nether regions and wondering what in the good Lord is going on in here.

After the water puts out the fire, I walk back over to the table and pick up the packet that I so hastily tore open. IT SAYS HAND SANITIZER! Oh my goodness, people hand sanitizer does not go there. So now I am panicking, did I do permanent damage? Clearly I’ve failed to listen to directions? Wait a minute…why do my hands need to be clean for this? What the heck is going on here and does this happen on Dr. 90210?

I jump on the table and try to act normal as Juliette knocks and asks if she can come back in the room. I say yes, and in she comes. She sweetly asked if I was ready.

Um, I think so? Hold on, let me get my glasses…

Well, I would write more but I can’t seem to unclasp one or both children from my ankle long enough to have a significant thought, let alone put it in writing. Being at home all day with the children is definitely a mental and physical challenge that leaves me longing for adult interaction and some time for myself. Seriously, I can’t even go to the bathroom without a child witnessing the act.

In other news, we have been frequenting the beach quite a bit. It has been really fun. I don’t particularly like all of the sand in my car and on my floor but I suppose it is worth it. On most days we take the BOB stroller and go for a run on Scenic all the way to the Carmel River State Park sign and back (about 3 miles) and then we stop and play in the waves for a while. Isaac loves this particular outing - I think he shares my awe of the ocean and he seems to be absolutely joyful there. Also, the Carmel beach is famous for all of the dogs on the beach, which Isaac adores. He runs and chases the dogs and he has even made a friend with a labradoodle named Gracie. She seems to be there everytime we are and she is really cute. Joshua is okay with her as long as I am holding him - I think her size is intimidating to my little Peanut.

Thankfully the beach wears the kiddos out and they take good naps upon return, which means I have had some time to read. I think that reading is my favorite thing, I love to get lost in a character and become a part of another world for a while. However, lately I keep thinking about writing a book so as I read I try to figure out if I like the author’s style or if I could write something similar. I have taken a few shots at fiction - none that I have posted here for fear of rejection - I just don’t think I am cut out for fiction. My imagination isn’t thick enough. I honestly think that a fiction writer’s brain must have another layer of curiousity that mine just does not posses. That plus the fact that my life is crazy enough to be fiction makes me think that I should stick to writing about that, or maybe my family history.

Kevin has been working like crazy since we’ve been here. On most days he leaves around 7:15 in the morning and doesn’t get home until after 6pm. Tonight he won’t be home until 9pm or so because he has a City Council meeting. On these days, I struggle to come up with enough activities to keep the kids entertained all day and evening before bedtime. I know that Kevin is transitioning to a new job and working hard because he wants to do well, so I guess this is just the way things are for now. I think if I had some friends here to do stuff with it might be a little easier to make it through some of these long days. I met some people a few weekends ago but all of us have little kids and lives are busy so we haven’t hung out. I know that friends and social outings will come with time, I am just not one for patience.

Isaac starts summer camp next week at St. Dunstans pre-school. He will be going half days for two weeks and then he takes a break from St. Dunstans for a month before actual pre-school starts at the end of August. During the break he and Joshua will be going to a home day care in Salinas since I will be working by then. I am worried about Isaac not liking the home day care since he likes a lot of interaction. However, there is not much else I can do since St. Dunstans has a break for most of August. The school situation is so different here. I loved the school the boys were at in Turlock, it was open all but about 15 days a year and the teachers were awesome. Here, there is a lot more varience in schedules that will be a little challenging for a working mom.

Speaking of working, I start on the 28th, a mere two weeks away. I can’t belive that this time has gone so fast. On my last day of work in Turlock my new job here seemed a little less than real. Yet, as with anything in life the time flew by and now another transition is upon me. I have to say that I have some trepidation about the new job. I was warned ahead of time about office politics and issues between the women in the office. I can’t stand that kind of crap and sometimes in my attempt to stay out of it, I come off as being “above it.” Which I think can make my cause worse when it comes to fitting in. However, I personally believe that women can be their own worst enemies when it comes to promotion in the workplace because of drama. Men don’t get involved in the drama and women just look petty when they do. Anyway, enough on that. I will let you know if the rumors are true about the office politics, maybe I will be pleasantly surprised when I get there. Besides, I am not sure that any workplace could be worse as far as office politics, as the one I spent the last seven years. So, it would take a lot to surprise or offend me.

Well, there is a baby crying which is my cue to go…The next post will have some pictures of my friend Rebecca’s visit. Our kids had way too much fun together and I got some great shots.

Wrankled, messy, tore up. This is my heart on fear. My head swims with the decisions, the indecision, the possibilities for failure. What if I did something wrong, what if one of the kids got sick, what if we ran out of money, what if… you get the idea.

Ever since I was a child I can remember the palpable emotion of fear. It has been a constant in my life. Not because I was raised with terror or abuse or some terrible form of neglect. Actually, I was loved and well cared for. The fear snuck in all on its’ own and has managed to ravage my days. This move brought up a whole new level of fear and worry that I never thought possible. I found that there were so many decisions, so many possibilities to do the wrong thing.

At first I thought my propensity toward fear was because I am smart. You see, I understand the consequences of action, I know the statistics on injury and disease, I know that if things can go wrong they will. I know, I sound like Debbie the Downer…Living this way makes me a less than desirable party guest.

Later in life as I contemplated this fear mongering, I began to think maybe I am cursed, genetically pre-disposed to a negative way of thinking. Lately I’ve come to the conclusion that it is the thorn in my side, the thing that God never quite removes. I don’t know yet if it is because I won’t let Him or because He has chosen not to. I suppose the answer will come with time.

Either way, decisions come at a great cost if you live life in fear. What you will have for dinner can spiral into an internal dialogue about weight and colon health. On the really big decisions fear can act as a complete roadblock and lead only to inaction, even if you are being called by God to act.

So what does one do about fear and where does fear come from? The humanistic approach would be to say that fear comes from lack of knowledge, so to learn is to remove fear. I’ve found the greater knowledge I have on a subject, the more likely I am to analyze it to eternity and back with no conclusion. You see for me fear is not being scared of something I don’t know, it is a worry that something unexpected, unplanned for will pop up and change everything.

I know intellectually that fear has a purpose and that some fear of things is healthy. When does it move to unhealthy? When does it cross the line into negative thinking and predisposal of bad outcomes? It seems like the line is fine and unclear. However, today I heard a quote that made me think a little differently about fear.

“Fear is the defining characteristic of a man expecting punishment.”

If I could insert a picture of a light bulb going off, I would because it was that obvious. I operate on the premise of fear because of my expectation of punishment for action/inaction. This says a lot about what I believe about God. I live in expectation of His punishment. If I do the wrong thing then certainly I can expect some consequence or punishment, hence the fear regarding the original decision. So really, the fear is about a lack of control in the outcome, not the decision itself.

I wish I could say that all of this goes on in a conscious environment. However, fear is so familiar, so comfortable, that all of this is actually occurring on a deeper level. So changing it is going to take me being aware of this little mini drama as it plays out. As with anything good in life, this will take work on my behalf.

I know that God loves me and commands me to rid myself of fear. He wants me to live with abandon for Him. To do so means I have to shed my belief that He is an eternal punisher. God is love, His greatest commandment is to love, He speaks of love consistently. While my choices may warrant consequence at some point, it is not God’s intention or sole purpose to provide those consequences. He FIRST loved me, before the world existed. However, He loves me still, after I sin, after I make the wrong choices.

Because of this love, I can’t let fear grip my heart in expectation of punishment. Instead I will strive to walk in expectation of being loved no matter what.