I Mourned, and Then I Marched

The last time I wrote a post on my blog it was three days after the election.  I was depressed and angry and in a general funk and it was rainy all damn week.  I stopped watching the news.  I drank too much wine.  And I broke down crying in a Whole Foods parking lot for no apparent reason other than the depressing state of the world.

And then life returned to normal, with school pick ups and swim practices and the holidays.  I subscribed to all sorts of Facebook pages that gave me numbers to call, movements to join, and checklists to go through to take a stand, send a message, and affect some kind of change.  And I did do some of those things, which made me feel better.  My depression lifted and turned to a solemn acceptance.  I still refused to watch the news, but would click on the occasional news clip on my Facebook feed, in between reading narratives from Pantsuit Nation.  Watching Saturday Night Live each week became a religious, cathartic experience (and it still is - did you see Aziz Ansari's monologue this week?).

I had heard about the Women's March from its inception, and I always had plans to attend.  It seemed like a simple thing to do to get more involved, and it happens to be in the city I call home. But as the march approached, and I started thinking about logistics, I have to say I had some second thoughts.  I worried about the crowds.  I worried about how I would get downtown, and how I would get home.  I worried about terrorism.  I wondered if it was worth any kind of risk to go, because after all, I am only one person.  What difference would it make if I went or not?

Ultimately I put those fears aside and on Saturday morning, I dressed up in my gear.  Maybe it was because of peer pressure, or of shame of not going.  Maybe it was because my father still glows with pride when he recalls when he participated in the March on Washington in 1963. But mostly, it's because I wanted my children to know that I went.  That there are things bigger than us, and that there are times in life where we have to take a stand.  They don't yet understand what is going on in our country right now, but when they do, I want them to remember that their mother knew that is was not okay.

I had made plans to meet up with a few friends as part of the Moms Demand Action Group, a group that advocates for gun sense and gun control.  We met at the Woodley Park Metro at 8:30 am, and I could tell already that this was going to be a big day.  There was a buzz, a sense of excitement, and I even got a cool hat that made me look a bit like Waldo.

There was also a crowd.  A huge crowd.  So huge, that by the time we got downstairs to get on the metro, it was closed.  It was at full capacity.  At that point, we started weighing our options.  Bus? Uber? Walk?  We did a combination, and ultimately made it downtown by around 10am when the speakers were scheduled to start.

I don't know what I expected.  I truly don't.  I guess I thought it would be similar to an outdoor concert venue?

It wasn't.

It. Was. Jam. Packed.

This was my view when we first joined the crowd, and it doesn't do it justice:

So let me poach from CNN for a much better photo:

It was so crowded it was hard to orient myself.  What street was I on (still not sure)?  Where was the stage (I never saw it)?  Where was the screen (I managed to see the smallest slice of one eventually, obstructed by a tree)?  Where were the porta potties (I never used one)?  Where was the exit, should I want to get out (good luck with that)?

I'm not going to lie - I had an internal fight with my mild claustrophobia for a few minutes there.

But then I relaxed into it, and took it all in.  And I started to get intermittent chills - not from the cold, but from the energy, the love, and the power of it all.

One thing that struck me almost immediately was how nice everyone was.  Everyone was so nice. If this was a concert or sports event or any other crowd, and people were trying to weave in and out, stepping on toes and rubbing elbows, you can bet that there would be curse words flying around. Or at least some dirty looks.  But not so - people were kind, helpful, and friendly.  We struck up conversations with people around us in each corner we ended up in, and learned that most people came from far away. We met people that flew in from California, from Ohio, from New York, from Florida.

There were old people and young people.  There were women and men.  There were black people and transgendered people and Muslims and people in wheelchairs and privileged white women like myself and we all just hung there together.  We all applauded for the same things - for acceptance, for Planned Parenthood, for immigrants, for our environment, for black lives, for health care, for religious freedom, for free speech, and for each other.

There was such a camaraderie, and it wasn't about anger.  Sure, there were some boo's when our current President, and his policy agenda, were mentioned.  But it was more about love.  About cheering.  About a movement of people who are going to look out for each other.  About peaceful protest - I never once felt unsafe, not once.  And how incredible that with all of those people - estimates are at over 500,000 people at the DC march- not a single person was arrested.

Saying that this is what democracy is all about is a cliche, but I felt it, especially at the most surreal moment of the day.  After not eating or drinking for about 6 hours (note to self, pack lunch next time), my friends and I stopped in the Willard Hotel hoping to get something to eat and a glass of bubbly.  Unfortunately it was packed to capacity and they weren't allowing anyone into the restaurant, so my friends and I found a couch to sit on in the lobby to rest for a brief moment. Sitting with us on the couch was an older man with a "Make America Great Again" hat.

Until that moment, I had forgotten that there had actually been an inauguration the day before, and that many people staying at the Willard Hotel were there for the event.  This particular man was waiting for a car to arrive to take him to the airport to go home.  We exchanged some niceties ("Do you mind if we sit here?"  "How is it outside?"), and then we were on our way.

I didn't feel any hostility towards that man, and I didn't feel any coming from him, notwithstanding how differently we felt about the state of our country.  He cared enough to fly into town for the inauguration.  And I cared enough to spend my day in a massive crowd on the National Mall.

But at the end of the day, don't we have more in common than not?  Don't we all just want to be happy, to be healthy, to be respected, to protect our families, and to live in peace?  We disagree on how to get there.  But I have to believe that if we can come together with an open mind, we can all march together with a unified goal.

One of best speakers of the day was Van Jones (can someone please convince him to run for office?).  When talking about reconciling our differences, he said:

When it gets harder to love, let's love harder.

And that's what the march left me with - a whole lot of love.  And hope.  I watched the news yesterday, albeit briefly.  And I didn't get angry.  I looked at the aerial views of the hundreds of cities around the world participating in the march, and I felt a solidarity with strangers, which is a pretty awesome feeling.

In the meantime, I return to my normal suburban life, but I'm spicing it up a bit and getting more involved.  The People's Climate March is on April 29th here in DC.  Who's with me?

 ***************************************************************************
Like this post?  Like me on Facebook by clicking here!

Rachie Getting Married

When you get to be my age, weddings are a dime a dozen.  Between friends, family, co-workers, and all of my husband's respective cohorts, I have probably been to over 30 weddings in the past decade.  They are all fun, all worthwhile, and all meaningful.  But I'd be lying if I said some didn't mean more to me than others.  And isn't that only natural?  There are some weddings I've been to where I've introduced myself to the bride and groom (awkward).  It's a fun party, but not necessarily one that tugs at my heartstrings.

Not like this past weekend.

On Saturday my baby sister got married.  It's ridiculous for me to refer to her as my "baby" sister, as she is nearly 30 years old and we are only 5 years apart.  But, she is my little sister, and always will be.  And this past Saturday was one of the biggest days of her life.

Rachie got engaged earlier this year, and since then, I have been an active observer of her wedding planning. Make no mistake, she did all the work, but I thoroughly enjoyed weighing in on her flower options, her drafts of the wedding program, her potential cake flavors, her bridesmaid dresses (which had to accommodate my ever growing stomach) and even her wedding dress.  It was fun - far more fun than when I was doing it for my own wedding and feeling all of the accompanying stress.

The lead up to the wedding was huge.  I checked the weather incessantly, I checked her registry incessantly, and privately, I freaked out that I would have some pregnancy complication that would keep me from traveling. In fact, from the second I found out I was pregnant, my first thought was - but what about my sister's wedding?  I just had to make it to that day.  HAD to make it.  With no complications or bedrest or God forbid, early delivery that could keep me away.  I would be there no matter what.  Just make it to October 5, 2013.

I made it, thank God.

A Beat Down and a Christmas Tree

Yesterday was one of those days where I just felt beat down.  Beat down from ALL sides - from my personal life, from my professional life, from random mean blog commenters...  It was one of those days where you just have to laugh out loud at some point and say,  Really?  Really?  The universe wants to pile on something else? 

I had the urge to assume fetal position and tuck my head down to keep all the spears from hitting me.  Kind of like this:

That's a pangolin, by the way.  Taken from http://wisecreatures.blogspot.com/2010/07/tale-of-tails.html

It was just one of those days where I felt defeated. 

Around 6pm I was sitting with the kids at dinner (for icing on the cake, hubby was working late), and brainstorming what I could do to turn this funk around.  And then, the inspiration came: 

What a Difference Two Hours Can Make

This school year has brought a new schedule and it's freaking amazing.  What it boils down to is that I have two free hours a day, between the hours of 1 and 3.  TWO FREE HOURS!

Well, I should clarify, they aren't completely free.  Casey naps during this time, so I am homebound.  But Casey is a master napper these days (oh bless you, angel child).  These two hours are pretty much guaranteed. 

It's not that I haven't had free time in the past.  Ever since staying at home, my boys have (usually) napped.  But their schedules would conflict, or one would rouse early.  And then Braden started his napping strike.  As a result, if I was lucky enough to get any free time,  I could never completely enjoy it because there was a constant threat of it being cut abruptly short.

But now?  These two hours are bliss.  For one, I eat lunch alone everyday.  Alone!  I wait to eat until Casey falls asleep, and then I take my time.  I sit on the couch and put my food on the coffee table.  I WATCH TV.  I eat oreos.  I don't have to tend to anyone or share my food with anyone or interrupt my lunch to wipe someone's ass. 

Fog Lifting

I have been feeling oddly happy lately. 

Not that I don't have reasons to be happy - I have countless reasons.  But I have also had some reasons to be sad.  And angry.  And then add in an emotional breakdown and an acute anxiety episode and I've been hanging on by a thread a lot of the time. 

But for the past few weeks, I've just been calm. 

In early July my insomnia came back with a vengeance and I have been back on sleeping pills ever since.  I HATE this.  I HATE taking a pill to go to sleep.  I have accepted having to take other medications in my life, but these sleeping pills just make me angry.  The ones I take aren't technically "addicting," but for me, I think they are mentally addicting because I start to feel like I can't sleep without them.  So each night becomes a challenge - can I do it?  Which inevitably means no, I can't, because when you think about sleep, it doesn't come. 

Some Days

Some days at home are HARD.  Really hard.  I go through the motions and try to get out of the house, but really I am tired and hungry and bored.  I make meals the kids don't eat and put the TV on more often than I should.   The days are long and my husband works late and I put the kids to bed and then turn on crappy television and start the whole thing over again the next day.  On those days, I sometimes fantasize of another life - one I used to have, or one I could have had. Not that I want that life per se, but it's one that seems so out of reach that it is interesting to ponder.

But some days are completely awesome.

Some days I have to pinch myself that I am so lucky to be spending my life, my time, with these two amazing little boys.  I take pictures and videos and email them out to family.  I literally billow over with happiness when Braden makes Casey laugh, and we do crazy things like all pile in my bed and watch TV or go out for ice cream or take a trip to the pool at 7pm.  Because why not?

A Good Day Is...

Sleeping in until 9:15 am.

9:15 am!!!!!

Awakening to this face:

And this face:

Eating 1300 calorie Fajita Nachos from Don Pablos for lunch.  (My choice for venue - I'm high class, you see).  

Happiness

There's nothing better than an unexpected good mood when you have been stuck in a funk.

Nothing monumental has occurred, I just woke up today feeling happy.

For one, here is a screen shot of the weather forecast:

Goodbye, seasonal affective disorder happy light.  I won't be needing you for a while.

Second, I have a night out tonight with an awesome friend.  And we are actually doing something other than getting dinner and drinks (not that I'm knocking that at all).  Instead, we'll be going to Lunafest, "a traveling film festival of award-winning short films by, for, about women."  Yay for something different.  And if it sucks, we'll just get dinner and drinks.

And there are so many other things.

The Answer

I am happy staying at home, you know.  Really.  Notwithstanding all my recent posts on my devilish toddler, my guilt over splurging on a pair of boots, judgmental attorneys who hate women, and the monotony of my daily life, I actually am happy with my current job.

I am the first to admit I've been a bit of a Debbie Downer recently.  I have a couple of excuses: First, it's cold and dark outside.  As I've mentioned before, this tends to bring on a funk each year, no matter my employment status.  Second, this blog is my place to vent.  For some reason, I have more of an urge to vent when I am sad than when I am happy.  So the "wah wah wah," "I'm bored," "feel bad for me posts" tend to outweigh the "what an awesome day," "my kids are the joy of my life," "you know you want to be me posts."  When I'm happy, I don't always want to write about it.  I'd rather just live in the moment.

My last post was a particularly depressing one, in large part because I'd just gotten back from vacation.  (Isn't everyone depressed when they get back from vacation?).  In any event, I suppose I can see why, to an outsider, it may seem like I am a miserable stay at home mom who regrets and laments walking away from my career.  In fact, a commenter asked me this very question:

"Why do you choose to stay at home?  It seems as if you don't enjoy it.  Every single thing you typed is the exact reason I work outside of the home (the need for something other than monotony, the need to be intellectually stimulated, etc.).  I have great admiration for SAHMs, and I'm not at all trying to judge, I promise.  But, it seems that so many SAHMs are not happy..."

I thought this was an interesting, genuine question.  So here's the answer:

Past Midnight

I find it funny when people ask me what I'm doing for New Year's Eve.  It's a perfectly polite and well meaning question, but really?  REALLY?

Let me tell you a few things about New Year's Eve:

Even before having children, I dreaded New Year's.  It was always this high pressure night when you had to make big plans and find dinner reservations and pay some price fixed New Year's special and then find a party or bar where you would fight for drinks and a cab home.

After years of concerts, trips to Europe, and overpriced Manhattan nightclubs, in 2005 we decided we were getting too old to venture out.  Instead, we decided to keep it more "low key" and have a party at our apartment in Manhattan.  Our apartment was actually on the bigger size by NYC standards, so we cleared out the furniture, cleaned, and had about 40 people over.  This was great, until I realized that we LIVED in the apartment and it had been trashed.  At 2am when everyone left, and I wanted to do some minor cleaning (aka, there are bottles of vodka spilling in our bath tub), my husband (then fiance) could not be roused from this position:

A Whole Lotta Holiday Card

Oh, the holiday card.  The way to spread holiday cheer, while at the same time saying "look how cute my kids are, surely they are cuter than yours."  Or, if you're not quite there, "look at my dog, doesn't he look funny when he wears an elf hat."  Or perhaps even, "we got married this year, look how stunning I look in my wedding gown, I lost 15 pounds to fit that thing on my body."

It's enough to make you sick.  Or get totally excited to check the mail to see what holiday cards have come.  Or get totally swept up in the phenomenon yourself.

Yes, I in fact have done all of the aforementioned holiday cards.  Shall we take a tour?

Pic of the Week - Oh Christmas Tree

It may be a bit puny.  Stubby.  Sparsely decorated.

But it's ours.  And man, it smells good.

Just looking at it puts me in a good mood!  Yay for Christmas!

Three squared

Today is my birthday.  I am 33.

I'm not really one to freak out about getting older, and this birthday is no different.  So what if I'm 33?  I have a few more wrinkles, and a  few more pounds.  But overall, I don't feel any different than I did when I was 25 (except maybe a bit more tired - yes, a bit more tired).

It's funny how birthdays change when you get older.  Or maybe it's when you have kids.  I'm not sure.  But they just aren't such a big deal anymore.  Gone are the days where I rally all my friends together for a happy hour and secretly tally who remembered my birthday and who didn't.  At this stage, who cares?  Half the time I can't even remember how old I am.  I think once you get to the stage where you have to mentally subtract your birth year from the current year to figure out your age, the era of gilded birthdays are over.  So if you are reading this later this week, and you realize you forgot my birthday, and you feel bad - don't.  Really.

The overblown presents and parties may be a thing of the past, but that doesn't mean I won't try and make this day as close to perfect as possible. I might as well milk it!  So my plan today is to do the following:

1) Lay in bed an extra half hour while hubby takes care of the kids (check - thanks to hubby).
2) Put Casey down for morning nap, and return to bed with french vanilla decaf (check).
3) Continue reading the Hunger Games.
4) Go to the grocery store for Thanksgiving dinner shopping (this would normally suck, but I am putting a positive spin on it by allowing myself to buy a Tony's frozen pizza for lunch).
5) Pick up Braden and then allow Braden and Casey to watch as much TV as they want prior to their nap, so that I can finish the Hunger Games.
6) Return to bed during Braden and Casey's nap and watch last night's Real Housewives of Atlanta, and will them to sleep until at last 4:00pm.  Please.
7) Gather family together to go to my favorite restaurant of all time - Chili's.  I may charade as a foodie, but at the end of the day, there is nothing better than Chili's nachos.  (Each individual nacho has its own cheese and toppings!)
8) Blow out the candles to my birthday cookie cake.  Is there anything better than a cookie cake?
9) Relax with a glass of champagne and the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.
10) Stop writing this blog so I can get to numbers 1-9 above.

It's going to be a good day!  And by all indications, another good year.  Here's to 3-squared.

My Journey to the Light

As I've mentioned on this blog before, I tend to get in a funk from mid-November until March.  This funk coincides directly with the onset of daylight savings time, and dissipates when the clocks spring forward.  So yeah, it's not a coincidence.  Classic seasonal affective disorder (self diagnosed).

I've been on the hunt for one of those "happy lights" - the ones that are supposed to mimic the sun and make all of the winter funk go away.  It's all a bit hokie, but why not?  Problem is, said lights are kind of expensive (upwards of $100), so I've been a bit hesitant on splurging for something that is probably psychosomatic in nature.

A friend of mine knew of my quest for brightness, and forwarded me an email that went out on her neighborhood list serve.  Someone was selling a happy light for the bargain price of $40.  This seemed a bit more reasonable.  I emailed the woman and arranged to pick it up last Wednesday.

I had ideally wanted to wait until my husband got home from work to go pick it up, so I didn't have to drag my kids with me.  But of course, with my husband's schedule last week, the chance of him getting home before bedtime was slim to none.  So around 5pm last Wednesday, I headed out into the darkness to find the light.

A Surprise Package

With Casey's recent birthday, we have been getting a lot of packages in the mail.  Cars and books and clothes from Gap Kids (love).  Even though the presents aren't for me per se, I still get really excited when we get something and tear the wrapping paper off in excitement help Casey unwrap the gifts.

A few days ago the UPS man paid us another visit, but this time the package wasn't addressed to Casey.  Instead, it was addressed to both my husband and I.

Now this was interesting.

Why would a package be addressed to the both of us?  This indicated it was not a purchase by my husband or myself (I tend to order things and then forget about it).  It also indicated it was not a present for either child, as even if their names are left off of an address label, usually only one parent is the addressee.  Not the case here.

Since Casey was sleeping and Braden was watching the Halloween episode of Yo Gabba Gabba for the TWENTIETH time this week, I figured I would play a little game with myself.

What do I want to be in this package?

My imagination started to run the gamut.  Out of every possibility in the world - what do I want to be in this 1 foot by 1 foot box?  The rules of the game were that it can't be money (too boring), and I had to narrow it down to three options.

I came up with the following:

All Grown Up

Do you ever have those moments where you have a sudden realization that you are a real grown up?  And it is shocking to you?

I've had some of them - much more so lately.  Whenever my husband and I discuss our mortgage or interest rates or 401ks, I have this sensation of: "Woah, I'm old.  This is real grown up stuff."  Or when I hear myself giving timeouts or urging Braden to eat vegetables.  I think, "Wow, I'm really a parent.  Listen to me!"  It's just a gentle reminder of the nail in the coffin of my youth.  That, and the minivan that I drive.  

I had another one of those moments a few days ago.  It was this past Sunday morning, the first morning in our vacation house in Cape Cod.  Though I have come up to Cape Cod every summer of my life, until this year, we have always stayed at my dad's rental house.  But now, the four of us are quite the gaggle, and are a bit more conspicuous than your typical house guests.  So this year, we decided to get our own house.  After all, we are grown ups, right?

The Rundown

Want to know why I'm in such a good mood today?

1) It's Friday.
2) It's sunny.
3) I'm not at work.
4) Slight hangover this morning was well worth the extra glass of wine I had last night meeting up with an old friend.
5) I was able to stay in bed for an extra half hour this morning with slight hangover, since Braden agreed to watch Yo Gabba Gabba in my bed instead of the living room.
6) It was one of my favorite Yo Gabba Gabba episodes ("Eat," with guest star Elijah Wood).
7) Braden kissed Casey on the head this morning, and actually looked at him once.
8) Casey took an hour and a half morning nap, allowing me to return to bed and watch last night's Real Housewives of New York episode, which was excellent.  Just excellent.
9) Casey is the best baby ever.
10) I had 3 leftover empanadas at 10:30am this morning, made from scratch by my neighbor.
11) I am having a night out with the girls tonight for my friend's birthday. 
12) As of today, I have made $18.14 cents off of this blog - enough to get at least two margaritas for night out with the girls.
13) My sister and her boyfriend are coming in from New York to visit, and will be arriving just in time to drive me home from night out with the girls.
14) My husband has been home early (aka, before 7pm) every night this week.  Thank you to my husband's law firm!
15) We are officially using part of my husband's "spring bonus" money to redo our patio.  Thank you to my husband's law firm!
16) We purchased tickets to the Beer, Bourbon and Barbecue Festival, coming to DC on June 17.  Oh yeah.
17) We're going to the pool tomorrow (the fact that I am horrified at myself in a bathing suit does not negate the fact that I am elated that it is finally pool weather).
18) My best friend from London will be staying with me all next week, and he doesn't even care that he has to hang out with a bunch of kids and structure his day around nap times.
19) Both kids are currently napping.
20) When they wake up, I'll get to hang out with two adorable, amazing, hysterical, smart, precious boys all afternoon.

That's why.  

Happy weekend, everyone!

Sunny Days

Since starting his blog, I have detailed some of the difficulties of staying at home and the internal conflicts involved in leaving a career.  But I haven't really discussed the perks.  

One of the major perks of my new "career" - the hours of 9-10:30am.  This is when my older son is at school, and my younger son is napping. 

You know that feeling you have when your alarm goes off, and all you want to do is stay in bed in your pajamas and relax for a few more hours?  Well, I have that!  For now at least.  Though I am up with both boys at around 7am, I don't mind at all because I know my bed awaits my return.  And when I put Casey down for his morning nap, I close his door and make a sharp left back to my bedroom.  I usually have already prepared a cup of coffee which is at my bedside.  I put on the TV and watch the Today show or some DVRed reality show trash program from the night before.  And I play on my computer.  There is a reason why a lot of my posts are posted around 11am.