I know, I know. Where have I been? It’s like I am totally not committed to this blog relationship or something. Next thing you know, I’ll be asking you to move out because it just isn’t working between us. It’s not you, it’s me. I promise.

Well, I have been a busy girl this week. Between the Olympics and Presidential politics and the new looming Cold War with Russia…I have had a lot on my plate. My relationship with NPR is pretty significant these days and we are thinking about taking it to the next level. I am not sure what that means, but I think it might involve a diamond. Shaped like a radio. Or the Constitution.

Seriously though, last night Hillary mentioned at the Convention that she had to thank her “sisterhood of the traveling pant suits“. Okay, I don’t about you but, while funny (in a lame political humor sort of way) I got a very disturbing visual from this reference. As though, at this very moment marching across America is a terse, mannish, short haired gaggle of aging women wearing mix and match pant suits and shouting “Hilary for President.” Ick. So, the moral of the story? Wear a skirt.

On to Russia. So for my friends that aren’t big into international relations, I am going to sum up what is going over there in high school language. Georgia  likes  South Ossetia more than South Ossetia likes Georgia. Georgia got kinda drunk on a Friday after the game and hit on South Ossetia but South Ossetia was not feeling it. Russia stepped in and was all”hey, hands off my girlfriend” and then went totally agro on Georgia. Basically, Russia used the fight between Georgia and South Ossetia to advance its own social agenda and be a big bully. We all know people like that right? Unfortunately, unlike high school, there are nuclear weapons and the UN involved so it is kind of a big deal but whatever.

On to the Olympics. Michael Phelps is awesome, I have a girl crush on Misty-May Treanor and that ribbon twirling thing is still a sport but I’m not sure why. The end.

Oh people, my how things have changed. I know lately I haven’t posted much but things have been CRAZY. Well, more accurately, I have been crazy. Let’s just say that this move has left me with hills and valley’s of emotions and I have been learning a lot about my ability to deal with change. I guess I should have taken Who Moved MY Cheese more seriously…maybe I would have transitioned better.

Anyhow, this week I started running with two girls from work in the mornings. They are both beautiful, young and incredibly in shape (Hi Jenny!) At first I was intimidated but we have had a great time running together and I feel monumentally better throughout the day when I run in the morning.

This morning was particularly fantastic as we happened to run by a certain doctor that the girls know. He lives just a bit off of our running path and we zig zagged out of the way in order to catch a peak of his house. Well, holy moly did we hit gold.

As we nonchalantly jogged by, it appeared that said doctor was (with windows WIDE OPEN) doing pull ups on a bar in his front room. WITH NO SHIRT ON. People, what happened after this was like a scene out of a stupid chick flick. Let’s just say there was lots of high pitched giggling and yet another sprint past the poor, unsuspecting doc’s window. We are grown women mind you, but we aren’t above stalking hot doctors apparently. Now, given that I am a happily married woman (hi honey!) I will say that this little adventure was strictly an information reconaissance mission for my lovely single girl friend, so you could say that I took one for the team. Really, I never leave a fellow soldier behind. I have strict military like morals.

I can’t imagine what the neighbors thought as we cackled loudly outside their windows at O’Dark Hundred, maybe geese flying West for Fall? Anyhow, I fear we were less mature than we would like to think.

 One of the girls I run with is getting married on the beach in Carmel next weekend. She is marrying a secret agent man (seriously, she can’t even tell me about him because she’d have to kill me or something) Apparently, aside from her good taste in men, she MUST NEED glasses because she has asked me to do her makeup for her wedding. (My mom is so proud! Hi Mom!)Although when I told my sister (who is a stylist) that someone asked me to do their makeup, she asked if that meant someone was going to ask her to run for Congress. Point taken Nikki.

So I am thinking that I will post some before and after photo’s of the blushing bride so y’all can see my mad make-up skills. I might have missed my calling as a MAC counter girl, however given that I am a HER and not a SHIM, maybe I wouldn’t make it there too long.

Anyhow, running this morning, while fully entertaining, was a bit hard because my children refuse to sleep. Isaac and Joshua, at least once a week decide to tag team me in the middle of the night with a parade of requests for water, bottles and bathroom trips. I am thinking that we are going to have to separate the two little tyrants and move Josh to the guest bedroom because I can’t hang with the lack of sleep. Somehow the man sleeping next to me manages to sleep through the Midnight Masterpiece Theater of Children - although they are so loud I don’t know how.

Look for my regular Friday Fasting post tomorrow, as I am screaming up on the end of week 2 of no shopping. One day at a time, people, one day at a time.

Yes, this is my closet. No, I don’t want your advice on how to be more organized. My system (oh there IS a system) works for me, it’s called: “just throw it someplace because I have five seconds and there is a child hanging from my ankle” I’m sure you’ve heard of it.

So last week I embarked upon a 90 day shopping for clothes fast. At the end of week one, I can honestly say that I am doing alright. I haven’t perished and I managed to throw together some okay outfits for work this week. However, temptation did come knocking via email. I had 15 email solicitations from the likes of Old Navy, Banana Republic, Pottery Barn, Shutterfly, Nordstroms, Macys and Victoria’s Secret. I had no idea how much online shopping I did until this week - I mean how else would I be getting so many personalized emails from all of these stores. Totally ridiculous (and by ridiculous, I mean AWESOME).

We are going out of town this weekend and I assume that is where temptation will hit. Already, as I was packing I was thinking that I don’t have the right clothes for this trip (it is really hot in Turlock) and that I was going to feel dumpy all weekend because I have no new summer clothes. However, I am resolved in my committment - there will be no shopping.

It appears that if I just stay out of the bars malls, then I don’t have a temptation to drink shop. So, no malls for me. The online stuff is much harder though my peeps, because you barely even know that you are doing it. One day you are bored at work and start surfing Banana Republic, all of the sudden there is $300 worth of clothes in your cart and you are thinking, with my 20% off and free shipping this is going to be bargain! Then the phone rings (and you have to answer it  because you are a secretary now!!!) and you wake and realize you can’t click PURCHASE NOW! no matter how much it hurts. Holy Batman this is hard!

I have to say though, all of your awesome comments have helped, I am glad to know that some of your are in this with me. To the rest of you…Don’t you judge me!

I’m off to pack dumpy clothes for my trip - till next week my fellow shoppers!

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?

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.

Dear Tori Spelling,

Just stop it. For years, I have hated you. I have made fun of you and your fake boobs that hung so unpleasantly off of your emaciated chest, as though trying desperately to leave your presence. I despised your character on 90210 and I didn’t care whether or not you slept with David. I just wanted you to go away so I could keep on pretending that Kelly and I were friends.

After the 90210 years you thankfully dropped off the radar for a bit. Then back you came with a vengeance in some ridiculous faux reality show and a big Beverly Hills style wedding. I was annoyed again. Whenever you were on a gossip mag I would be so upset because, other than being Aaron Spelling’s daughter…what did you do? You were like the pre-Paris Hilton. Like a Paris Hilton warm-up. (thankfully you wore underwear, because I seriously would’ve clawed my own eyes out if that would’ve shown up in a magazine)

Then, we all got to hear about your affair with a married man and your expeditious divorce to first husband. In my mind, I figured your were just being who I expected you to be. Mostly I wanted you and whatever husband you stuck with to use your frontal floatation devices and get lost at sea.

Then, a month ago, out of sheer boredom I stumbled across your new season of Tori and Dean. I thought that I would watch a few minutes, yell at the television and be done with it. Oh, but Tori you vixen, you knew that wouldn’t be the case.

Here you are, in my front room, pregnant and funny and vulnerable. WHAT? I am actually liking you? Hold on, maybe I need to re-think everything? Okay, can I blame global warming?

Seriously, as you talked away on the show I was thinking that you were saying things I would say. You were being paranoid that your hubby was cheating with a hot scuba instructor and I thought, well you should be because he cheated with you. Then you said, “we started with cheating and so I will always be fearful that he will cheat again.” Whoa. Okay, something happened and started to like you.

So, now four episodes in to Tori and Dean and I am hooked. I actually told someone the other day they should watch your show and they looked at me like I had definitely spent too much time at home with the kids.

Tori, here is the bottom line. I used to hate you and now I think we could be friends. If you are faking all of this, I’m gonna be pissed. Be real with me girl, if you want this thing to last we have to be honest with each other.

Sincerely,

Your new fan - Jenn

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…

So, just because I have been changing diapers for a living doesn’t mean that I have completely resigned in my position as headline news correspondant to the stars. (The Captain never ceases having opinions, sometimes she just resigns to share them entirely with her family…lucky them!)

So, a while back I heard a presentation done by a management consultant. He was attempting to show the aging “Baby Boomers” how to let go and let the next generation lead. Basically, his topic was succession planning. Anyone in the workplace knows that we are about to experience a major managment drain in the next 5 years as the Boomers head to Sunnyhill Manor.

Now, first off, we all know that the Boomer generation has some mad leadership skills that have served this country and many, many companies very well. However, some of them are in their 70’s now and it is time to retire and go fishing/golfing/drinking/whatever. So, as they exit the workplace who are they to leave in charge?

Typically this would be the next generation, which in this case is Generation X. Gen X is usually defined as those born from 1965-1980 (dates vary). The way I like to think of it is Gen Xr’s should know the following: the first video played on MTV, the name of U2’s first hit single, what night the Cosby Show was on, who Alex P Keaton is, why Zach and Kelly broke up, what Grunge is and who the two Corey’s are.

So back to the consultant. Well, Mr. Brilliant had this to say, “Skip Generation X completely, too few of them are management material, and go straight to training Generation Y (the Millenials).”

What?

Did he just say that? Before I could put on my cape and go WWF on this guy, some jokes were made about how he wasn’t entirely serious but basically Gen X was a bunch of overpaid slackers with inappropriate expectations due to the scars left from their parents’ divorces in the 80’s. Well, that and it is mostly Madonna’s fault.

Alight look, we all know that Generation X has its’ flaws. I mean, those of us who watched Reality Bites and said “Hell yes! Fight the Man! Don’t work at the Gap!” have some tendencies toward belief in corporate espionage and tend to be a bit too sarcastic for our own good. But does that mean that an entire generation should be discounted for leading this country and it’s corporations into the next era? Hell no!

After I took a deep breathe and realized this was just another typical Boomer talking I did some self-reflection. What does Generation X stand for and what do we have to offer? Everyone knows the Boomers are smart and motivated by their WW II era work ethic. However, they also tend to be stuck in their ways and unable to see the forest through the trees. They invented the 70-80 hour work week and they think that anything less is proof of non-committment.

So, what does Gen X we bring to the table? (besides a belief that Eddie Vedder is a demi-god and that flannel was a fashion trend worth recognizing?) Here’s what I think (I know you were waiting for this). I think that we haven’t yet shown the world what we have to offer. We haven’t stood as a collective voice and said that we want to be the leaders. We experienced a totally different reality than the Boomers, we saw divorce and MTV and a general lack of commitment from those who were leading us. Because of this, Gen X has an overdeveloped sense of entitlement about what we deserve from the world and highly attuned sense of sarcasm. But we are also smart, really smart. Some of my fellow X’rs are incredibly educated and also really committed to making family life a priority. I think we might be the generation to show the world what a real work-life balance can look like.

Yes, we demand a lot from our employers. We are the generation that saw the Family Leave Act come to fruition and we also have demanded equal rights for domestic partners. We care about the family (no matter what it looks like) because a lot of us were lonely kids. We want more for our kids and sometimes our work life takes a back seat.

However, America I ask you…is that such a bad thing? Does that disqualify us for leadership like that jackass consultant said? Or does it mean that we can show the next generation that you don’t have to work 70 hours a week in order to be the boss? I vote for the latter.

I have to say, as with most things that make me mad - like the scale, or So You Think You Can Dance result show night - this motivated me. This consultant threw down the gauntlet and said our generation wasn’t worth it. I say, not only are we worth it, we can be damn funny and real while we prove that we are. Come on people, show those Boomers’ who is boss (no not the 80’s television show, you Tony Danza lovers).

I don’t know about you, but I just want to make Mr. Huxtable proud.

Update: you must read this article. I found it after I wrote this and it is really great.