Novel

There are days I catch myself

wondering if there are enough words,

enough thoughts, enough determination and discipline.

There are days when I wonder

if there is a novel lurking

deep within my mind and heart;

if I have enough courage, talent

to actually sit down, write it.

My thoughts get too far off.

I am brought back to reality

by the melodious, mischievous, boyish laughter

of my three works in progress,

and I stand in awe that

I have co-authored these first chapters

of what is sure to be

the three amazing life stories of

my three, most beloved, inspiring sons.

Want to share?  Catch Melissa at Making Things Up and the Six Word Friday challenge!

Subliminal messages

This afternoon, I was on a mission. As unbelievable as the following will sound, I actually have TWO adults-only evenings planned for this weekend. One is dinner with a group of friends tomorrow night. The other is the Bon Jovi concert on Sunday night with my husband and sister. I know. I am living on the edge.

Thinking of Kristen at Motherese and her quest to purge her closet and find her style, I had my marching orders. Although I know my style (somewhere among Gap, Banana Republic, The Limited and Ann Taylor, with a few funky, kind of trendy gems), I hardly ever go shopping anymore. I find it frustrating, expensive and hard to find similar aforementioned styles at knock off prices, because I have three kids, you know? And they are usually shopping with me, which is decidedly not fun; for them or for me.

However, I have not a thing to wear. I have tons of stuff, but nothing that is appropriate for a nice evening out and a good, old-fashioned rock concert. So, after work and picking up Joshua, I headed out to the mall with a $40 budget for both evenings combined and three children to boot. I decided to hit Forever 21, a definitely trendy store for young women.

How do I know this?

Because there is no way to maneuver two walking children and a stroller and a big ass handbag (with all kinds of survival mode stuff) through the dang store. I know. I've tried. Several, several, several times. I must be a glutton for punishment.

It must be mentioned that Forever 21 means just that. There is no one in there over the age of twenty five. Except for me. And my three boys, whose ages combined do not equal 21, but are decidedly not the fashion accessory or shopping companion of any twenty one year old. And my sister. With her two girls in the double stroller. Definitely not twenty one.

The place is buzzing with girls ('cause that's what they are). It is Friday night.

These people have hot dates to dress up for.

I have a hot date with the washer and dryer when I get home. After I feed and bathe and/or supervise bath time. I know. You are just breathless with excitement.

But I digress. I start trying to look around the store. I can't get through the mob. There is no stroller courtesy. People don't look down to see that there are children that are going to be trampled on or get stuck on clothing racks. There is no room to move.

But I stay the course, and try to find something appropriate for the occasion, my age, and the ongoing problem areas formally known as my breasts and where my waist used to be. Did I also mention I have a $40 budget and three hungry children who are starting to snarl at one another because they haven't eaten in hours?

I find success at the clearance rack, where these cheap, poorly made clothes are further marked down to ridiculous prices (maybe they seem cheaper to me, because I actually earn my money, instead of asking my mom for the money, like the rest of this particular demographic does). I found a cute shirt for $8.99. Further scrounging produced a tank top for $3.50 and a pretty blouse for tomorrow night for $17. I decided to splurge and purchase a very pretty, funky necklace that I could use for both for $9. So I spent $42 but have some pretty blouses that will survive the trend or barely survive laundering past the fourth wash, whichever comes first.

What was fascinating to me was visiting the Ann Taylor Loft across the way. Wide, spacious aisles gleamed for me as I easily walked between racks, laden with ridiculously expensive clothing (maybe they seem expensive, because I actually earn my money, instead of using my rich husband's credit card, like the rest of this particular demographic does. Oh wait, I don't have a rich husband). I am met with stroller etiquette. I encounter courteous sales people who will offer totally biased opinions so that I purchase the stuff that is not in the clearance racks.

If I partake of the buying experience offered there, there is no question that I will leave with a very age appropriate outfit, and that I will be in deep debt when it is all over. Needless to say, I glided right back out through their very neat, courteous, adequately spaced aisles and right on out the door.

Subliminal messages in both establishments, don' t you think?

Cheap, trendy will cost you in headaches and replacements of the garments themselves: trying to get in and out of the store, your ego taking a pretty good beating surrounded by children who are barely old enough to drive, let alone vote, trying to find something age appropriate and the realization that not only are you not Forever 21 (even though you may feel it in your heart), but you are so far in age from 21, that you are nearer to doubling it.

Or the alternative: classic and elegant, a store catered to more adult tastes, albeit expensive tastes, no age issues, mainly because you are on the younger end of the spectrum of that particular demographic, perfect fit and clothing made of lasting quality. All that, plus wide gleaming aisles for double strollers...and hefty price tags, even on clearance.

I think I am still somewhere in between. No longer a girl, not yet a (middle aged) woman. Kind of a tween, if you will. Couldn't we have a combination of Forever 21 and Ann Taylor, a love child, if you will? Where you could find age appropriate, cute clothing that would accommodate the areas formally known as my breasts and where my waist used to be? Where you are greeted with wide aisles that would accommodate my stroller and two walking children? And have helpful salespeople that would tell you that your arse is too big for those pants? Is it too much to ask?

The bright side? My older boys did not laugh hysterically when I asked them what I thought about the shirts. My sister and I ( and the five kids) got to go shopping for a whole 45 minutes before the Witching Hour. And the whole experience today did not drive me to drink and sob over my lost youth, but I did partake of a milkshake.

Because I could afford it. How's that for a subliminal message?

***I promise to post pictures of said get-up's by Monday, if I don't deem myself looking too ridiculous.

Letter to the 21 year old version of myself...

Dear Maria,

I know that you think you've got it all figured out. Things are coming up roses, as they should. Your crappy childhood and adolescence have earned you the right to be happy. But, before you get so blindsided by happily ever after, there are some things you need to know, that will help transition you into adulthood, 'cause you have no idea how it's going to go down.

1. This is the best you are ever going to look. You will spend the entirety of your wedding and reception tugging on the too loose wedding gown that you swear you love right now. The moment John slips the wedding band on your finger and it sits there for a month, your weight will balloon instantly and you won't really recover any dignity until after you have your second child and you are thirty. Hope you have enjoyed the good metabolism while you had it.

P.S. You really need to do something about the eyebrows NOW. Thick and wide only looks good on Brooke Shields, in the early nineties. We will not discuss the upper lip right now. It needs to GO. NOW. Seriously, you are not fooling anyone with the bleach. Seriously. You look great and it will be a while until you look better.

2. You think you are tired now. You are not. I know, the projects and finals at school are kicking your butt. You work on your internship, go to class and then work a part time job after that. But you are not as tired as you think you are. Have some fun! You have no idea how much free time you have RIGHT NOW. And you will not have that kind of time again until your third child starts college (I hope!) Go out. Go dancing. Pick up a photography class (trust me, this will come in handy with all the kids you are going to have), pursue other interests besides reading (although that's good, too). Call some girlfriends and take a trip somewhere. Live a little recklessly. Have some good stories to tell. You're going to need them. Don't worry about the money so much. When you finally have some money to enjoy, you will be too tied down to responsibilities that can't wait.

3. Have an even smaller wedding than you are planning and go away to some great place for your honeymoon. I know that Disney World sounds very romantic right now, but trust me, you are going to wish you had spent more money on feeding your soul instead of the thirty people you stopped hanging around with once you fed them at your reception. Think big: Europe, the Mediterranean, Mexico, the big American cities like Chicago or New York. Again, forget about being fiscally responsible. When you have the money to do it, you won't be able to. And if you do, (because you will) you will be too worried about the kids.

4. Don't worry so much about the stuff you can't change. You are aging yourself unnecessarily. You are stressing yourself out to the point it will take a very long time to recover. This is a particularly hard lesson for you to learn, so don't be too hard on yourself. You are good at fixing things, but you cannot fix everything. Get over it. There is someone to take care of it, and He also created the world in six days. And He even took the seventh day off.

There will be lots you won't be able to fix. Broken relationships, broken people, sickness, death and thousands of other things. Lighten up.

The only one you can fix is yourself. So do it when you think you need it. The only thing that you can change about a situation is how you react to it. Food for thought.

5. Your hair needs work. Stop being stingy, get yourself a decent hairdresser and some good shampoo and conditioner. Embrace your waves, but tame them. You will be okay. Trust me when I say that the worst is over. I mean, really, what was worse than your sophomore school picture?

6. WEAR YOUR SUNSCREEN! You are WHITE. YOU DO NOT TAN! You will have huge chunks of precancerous stuff taken out of your back and arms. It will not be fun. Plus, the sun makes you older faster. Don't help out Mother Nature. That bitch needs to back the hell off for a while.

7. Don't react too negatively to people who decide to have plastic surgery. Did I mention Mother Nature and her high jinks? Plus, after nine months of hell and three cesarean sections, all you will want Santa to leave you under the tree (besides silent toys with no small pieces for your children) is a tummy tuck, breast lift and liposuction...No need for me to explain this in detail right now. You will understand at once, when you see yourself after having your first son. It's too bad that this epiphany comes right after childbirth and during post partum depression. You will be okay. Don't cry too hard, remember it will bring more wrinkles...

8. If you are thinking of masking the waist problem, just buy a bigger size. Don't even think about Spanx or any of its ugly Cuban cousins: the fajas. I truly believe that sadistic people design these inefficient torture devices that only push your fat to some other nameless place. Plus, if you ever ignore this advice and decide to wear one, don't even think about going to the bathroom. If you can roll it down, it will NOT come back up. Trust me.

9. Stop reading Calvin and Hobbes. You know how you always say that you want a kid just like Calvin. Well, you get Calvin AND Hobbes in the deal. I can't figure out how Joshua fits in, but it will come to me.

10. Pick your battles with your husband. You knew what you were getting into. Think back to all those times you thought the things that piss you off now were endearing. Because you thought they were. Gravity will continue to function, so either bend over and pick up the dirty clothes or leave them there. Arguing is not a magic wand. Ignoring is.

Please don't be frightened. You will have the life you always dreamed of. You are happy. You are married to your best friend and your children are all the blessings (and headaches) you thought that they would be.

These are just merely suggestions that you should have put into play YEARS ago. They would have saved a ton of headaches and you would not have been so anxious all the time.

Enjoy your twenties and early thirties. It goes by way faster than you think.

Maria

A mother's version of Fantasy Island...

For those of us who grew up in the 1980's, we can remember some of the cheesy TV programs that were in circulation. One of my favorites was Fantasy Island. Of course, people were never really happy with their fantasies in the end, but they at least they had a chance to give it a go.

With all the crappy shows that are out there today, wouldn't it be great if mother's had their own version of Fantasy Island?

Could it involve a travel itinerary that did not involve finding babysitting for the children you were leaving behind, cleaning the house so that said babysitters did not have to walk through clutter and filth?

Could our fantasy actually begin BEFORE we were on the plane, so that we did not have to pack for ourselves, do laundry to be able to pack, and do the children's laundry so that the babysitters would not have to wrap our children in towels or rags?

My fantasy would include a quiet trip, especially since there would be no children hollering with each other in the back seat of the van, fighting over what movie they were going to watch, hollering that they need to go to the bathroom, that they were hungry, that they were thirsty, wondering how much longer it was until we got there, and wondering when we were going to stop at Grandma and Granddaddy's house?

Once I got there, someone would unload my luggage and carefully arrange my clothes and toiletries so that I would not have to search for them. The decisions of what I was able to do would be made solely by me, and on a moment's whim.

I would be required to have all kinds of spa treatments as part of the stay...massages, facials, manicures, pedicures, wraps...Pure bliss.

Meals would be scrumptious and non-fattening. I could eat and drink to my heart's content, a virtual gourmet experience, with nary a chicken nugget in sight, and my waistline would never be the wiser.

In my free time, I would be able to indulge in my love of reading...All the books that longingly called from the bookshelves, beckoning me to purchase them and read them, would get the merited and overdue attention they deserve.

In preparing for my eventual return home, my clothing would be laundered, pressed, folded and packed in an orderly way, as to facilitate unpacking. My home would be prepared for my imminent arrival by being cleaned and organized by professionals. My children would be overjoyed at the prospect that their loving mother was coming home. There would be no waiting for my luggage in the claims area of the airport, no traffic on the way home...

Wait a minute, this happens every year, to my CHILDREN...Maybe, instead of a trip to Fantasy Island, what I really need is to be my own child! I need myself to be my mother! Holy crap!