Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom

Going, Going, Gone (for a while)

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Thu, 06 Sep 2012 14:26:00 +0000

Hey all -

So here's the deal: I've been writing this blog for over three years now... but for the last several months, my heart really hasn't been in it. I think you can probably tell - less frequent posts, less passionate prose, less insight into my actual day-to-day life.

With that in mind, I'm closing up shop here at Confessions from a Work-At-Home Mom for a while. I can't tell you when I'll be back, because I just don't know. The site will still be operational - I'm sure you're just dying to go back and read all your old favorite posts - but I likely won't be writing any new material for a while. The fact is, I currently write for nine other sites, and I'm just flat out of material. In the future (once my contracts with some advertisers expire), I may take this blog private and once again include pictures of my kids and details of our lives. If I do, I'll of course come back to let ya'll know.

To those of you who have been following this site for so long, thank you for your support and continued loyalty; it means more than I can say, really.

Love,
Elizabeth

Entertainment.com Winner!

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Tue, 04 Sep 2012 22:36:00 +0000

The winner of the one-year digital membership to Entertainment.com is...

#3, Gemlvr25

She won with this comment:

"I'd love to have this so I can explore my "new" city for less, money is tight so everything helps!"

Congrats! Please contact me no later than Friday, September 7th, and I'll put you in touch with my representative from Entertainment.com, who will help you claim your prize!

Save Money with this Entertainment.com Membership Giveaway

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Thu, 23 Aug 2012 14:01:00 +0000

It's time for a giveaway! I've talked about my love of couponing before on this blog, and today I'm going to introduce you - or, more like, reacquaint you - with a tool that helps me snag big savings whether I'm going out to dinner, getting haircuts for my family, or visiting a local children's museum: Entertainment.com

You may already be familiar with the Entertainment Book available through Entertainment.com; I used that physical book for years. But this year, I purchased a digital membership instead. You'll still buy one get one offers at local museums and restaurants to 50% off discounts at retail locations, but you'll also be privy to exclusive deals not available in the actual Entertainment Book. All you do is create an online account, then download and print coupons whenever you want. You can even use Entertainment.com's mobile coupon app, to help you locate discounts on the go.

BUY IT!

You could buy the Entertainment.com Savings Membership for $30, but for a limited time, readers of Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom will be able to purchase it for 33% off. Click on this link to buy your digital membership for just $19.99! Your membership is good for 12 months from date of purchase.

WIN IT!

Win a digital membership to Entertainment.com right here, right now! The Savings Membership is good for 12 months from the date you set up your account. Here's how to enter:

Leave a comment on this post, telling me why you'd like to win this giveaway (1 entry)
Go comment on another post on this blog, then come back and leave a comment on this post telling me you've done so (1 entry)
Follow this blog on Google Friend Connect, then leave a comment on this post telling me you've done so (1 entry)
Share this giveaway on Facebook, being sure to include the link to this post; come back here and leave a comment on this post, telling me you've done so (1 entry)
Tweet about this giveaway, being sure to include the link to this post in your tweet; come back here and leave a comment on this post, telling me you've done so (1 entry)

That's five ways to enter; you can enter just one or use all five options to get five entries! Remember, you must leave a separate comment for each entry or they will not count.

I'll announce the winner on Tuesday, September 4th using a random number generator.

Good luck!

Disclaimer: Neither this site nor this author were compensated in any way by Entertainment.com in exchange for this giveaway. The thoughts and opinions expressed in this post are my own, and were not influenced by the sponsor company.

It Was... Magical

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Tue, 21 Aug 2012 15:54:00 +0000

After a year and a half of planning, our seven days at Walt Disney World in Orlando went by way too fast. It's hard to believe that a week ago, DH and I were ~~dragging~~ carrying G around the Magic Kingdom and Epcot; now, it's back to changing dirty diapers, too many loads of laundry to count, and trying to get this ding-dang house sold before we pull it off the market next month.

We ultimately decided to stay at the Caribbean Beach Resort on Disney property. I'd vacillated between this resort and the similarly priced Port Orleans (also on Disney property), but went with Caribbean for three reasons:

I'd been there before (albeit that was in 1989!!!) and knew what to expect; if you know me personally, then you know I'm not big on change or surprises
It had a better pool for G; my little fish loves big water slides, and Caribbean had five slides at its main pool, which was about a 5 minute walk from our room
It was cheaper. We took advantage of a rack rate room discount, which brought our nightly accommodations down to around $130; we'd have paid about $20/night more at Port Orleans, even using that same discount

Instead of buying our tickets from Walt Disney directly, we opted to go with Billy Boy's Discount Tickets, an Orlando-based ticker broker. This was a wonderful experience as well, as the tickets through Billy Boy's are - on average - 5-10% below Disney's prices for the exact same thing. In previous Disney trips, we'd always bought park passes directly through Disney, so this required me to step out of my comfort zone a little bit - and remember, I'm averse to change. But, things worked out perfectly and we had absolutely no problems with our park hopper passes.

While watching G indulge in all the princess and Mickey fun at WDW (I'll write more about this in a future post), DH & I also enjoyed all the people watching. We came up with these totally inappropriate, but basically accurate generalizations:

Americans are fat. I'd estimate that 9 out of every 10 severely overweight people we saw were my fellow countrymen and women.
The French are rude. I can't tell you how many French families cut us in line, only to utter in broken English, "Sorry, no English!" when we'd protest.
The Asian children were not only the best behaved, but also the most excited to be there. They smiled non-stop, and even managed to look thrilled on the boring attractions like Hall of Presidents.
Europeans dress way more provocatively than Americans. DH & I were shocked to see so many bare midriffs, just about all of them on continental Europeans (as in, not the British); Australians weren't too far behind, but somehow, they managed not to be as trashy about it.
The British were beaming with pride after the successful London Olympics. We spoke with two British families who were eager to hear our assessment of the games.
The Americans - followed closely by the Brits - were the friendliest. We encountered so many wonderful families who gave us advice on where to find princesses, avoid long lines for the bathroom, and suggest kid-friendly dining locations. I'm sure part of it was the fact that there was no language barrier, but the enthusiasm was contagious and I'm beyond grateful for it.

A few of you have already been bugging me to see pictures of the trip - I'll be posting them on my personal Facebook page... eventually. I've come back to mountains of work, and am rushing to get all my projects done before some urgent deadlines!

Disclaimer: Billy Boys Discount Tickets is a sponsor of this blog; all views expressed in this post are my own and were not influenced by the sponsor.

I'm Over It

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Sat, 11 Aug 2012 17:40:00 +0000

It's been almost six months since we put our house on the market. Six months of calls at 10:30am on a Saturday, asking if we can do an 11am showing; six months of keeping the house in a constant state of "clean" despite two very dirty kids; six months of living in transition, pulling up our roots here without a place to replant them.

I'm over it.

I'm so sick of the for sale sign in the front yard. I'm tired of friends asking, "So how's the house hunt going?" only to tell them time after time that we haven't had even an ounce of luck. I'm tired of watching other houses in our neighborhood stick the same for sale sign in the front yard, only to have their properties - like ours - linger on what is (at least in my neighborhood) a very stagnant market.

So last week, I did something kind of crazy. DH and I calculated exactly how much we could sell the house for, pay off the remaining principal on our mortgage, and pay the Realtors and all the other buyer-related fees and not owe the bank anything out of pocket. Then, we dropped our asking price to that amount...

...which happens to be exactly what we bought it for six years ago...
...before we did a soft remodel on our kitchen...
...before we put on an addition...
...before we redid some of our floors, upgraded all our fixtures, and - for good measure - added a storm door for curb appeal.

In all, we've made probably $22,000 in upgrades to our house. Although we didn't expect to see all of that money come back to us when we sold, we hoped to at least see some of it. Instead, we'll likely make a net profit on this house of $0, which just plain sucks. It makes us wish we'd sold years ago, when we first got the inkling this wasn't going to be our forever house; it makes me wish we hadn't made those upgrades and additions in hopes of convincing ourselves it could be our forever house. It makes me wish we'd ridden out this mortgage meltdown - where we're literally paying the price for someone else's financial mistakes - by renting a house instead of owning one.

And now we wait. We hope that droves of people come to our next open house, put in an offer, and let us get out of this place before we start to resent it (wait - it's too late for that last part; I already do resent it). We're giving ourselves til the end of the month to sell the house at this rock bottom price before pulling it off the market. We figure if we can't give it away (for that's basically what we're doing), then there's no point in selling right now - resentment or not, it simply won't be worth it. If it comes to that, we'll simply take a break until the winter thaws next spring and then try again.

You Will Do Great Things

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Wed, 08 Aug 2012 00:49:00 +0000

I've had a pretty hard and fast bedtime routine with both my kids, almost since the day we brought them home from the hospital. It's included a bath just about every night, story time, turning on their music or white noise machine, turning off the lights, and saying good night. And as I say good night, I make the sign of the cross on their forehead with my right thumb, and say, "Go to sleep; Mommy loves you. I'll see you in the morning," as I sneak out of the room.

But something has changed with G over the past few weeks. It started with the Olympics a few weeks ago, and cemented itself after she became the youngest kid at the Y to pass the swim test to join the swim team; but lately, I've been adding five more words to my good night: "You will do great things."

I believe she will, too. She is so naturally inquisitive that I really believe she is destined for greatness. Of course, as parents, I think we all believe our children are going to change the world, as well we should; we are, after all, the ones who are responsible for teaching them to dream big. When I think about her life, I have so many big dreams for her, dreams I never got to accomplish. I want her to reach the pinnacle of her sport while maintaining a hearty love for it. I want her to find a professional passion that inspires her to learn something new every day. I want her to travel the world and gain an appreciation for other cultures by living among them, not by reading about them in the pages of NatGeo. Right now, though, I'm busy simply teaching her to dream, to make goals, to believe in herself.

What big dreams do you have for your children as they grow?

My Rant About Hypocritical People... Or Maybe They're Just Stupid

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Sun, 29 Jul 2012 12:45:00 +0000

We normally don't use that word - "stupid" - in our household. G's at the age where she picks up everything DH or I say or do, so we've carefully eliminated the bad words - and those not-all-that-bad-but-not-very-nice words - from our vocabulary as best as possible.

But when someone is stupid, well, someone is stupid.

One of the many hats I wear as a freelance writer is for a parenting website. I recently wrote an article for this site that has been getting a lot of negative comments. The article, which was about Disney princess culture, was written only partly-seriously - I mean, you can't be totally serious when talking about Cinderella, can you? - although I did point out some issues I have with the princess movies. Case in point? I don't like that Ariel in The Little Mermaid changes her essential nature in order to snag a man; to me, that's a lesson I don't want my daughter to pick up from these movies, which is why I also made it a key point of my article to say that I think they should be more than mere entertainment, but an opportunity for parents and children to watch together and talk about various plot elements and what our young girls are taking away from them.

And then came the backlash...

I am totally ok with negative comments; I've even gotten a few on this blog from time to time, and I try to handle it with as much grace as possible. Constructive criticism is a part of life. But what I can't stand is people who make critical comments out of their ass for the pure sake of being nasty. Disagree with me, sure, but at least respect my right to have an opinion that is different from yours.

But it's not the comments themselves that I think are stupid - like I said, we all have a right to our opinions. It's how they were written. One reader wrote that I was, and I quote:

i may not be married or anything but this is dumb!!! its a disney film they wont do anything bad chill so they use some creativity just to make the movie good and little kids can imagen!!!!!!!!!

Hmmmm. So my opinions are dumb... and you can't spell the word "imagine" or use any punctuation? Isn't that a little like the pot calling the kettle black?

Then there's this lovely comment:

i think this is very stupid if your daughter does not no animals can be dangerous

Yes, my point of view is stupid, yet you can't differentiate between the words "no" and "know." Kind of critical thinking there, my friend. (Oh, and for the record, this reader was commenting on my farcical critique of all the friendly, non-feral animals in Disney movies - which was, again, made in jest! Obviously, I have to work my use of satire.)

My point isn't that these folks aren't entitled to surround their children with Disney princess culture however they see fit and believe that there are nuanced, misguided messages in these movies. If they want to believe that young children can't misinterpret these fanciful tales - which, if you've ever watched your daughter parade around in princess garb after watching a movie, you know is a fallacy - that's their right; they even have a right to criticize my opinion. But if you're going to call someone else or their ideas stupid or dumb, at least use proper grammar, punctuation, and spelling while you do it.

Or you'll risk looking like a hypocrite.

(And by now, I'm sure you're dying to read the article - here it is. Have fun. Leave a comment. Use punctuation.)

The Final Countdown

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Mon, 23 Jul 2012 13:15:00 +0000

It's finally here! The day we've been looking forward to for since March of last year... Our trip to Walt Disney World!

Technically it's not here yet, but we're counting down the final days until we head out the door and on the road to Florida. All our accommodations are set: we'll be staying at the Caribbean Beach Resort on Disney property when we arrive; we're getting our park passes from Billy Boys Discount Tickets, which can save you up to 10% off what Disney will charge you at the gate; we've scheduled not one, not two, but three character meals to ensure that we can bypass the long meet-and-greet lines at the park; we've even made an appointment for G to get all princessed up at the Bibbity-Bobbity Boutique - oh yeah, we're going all out.

As we prepare to leave, I'm filled with anticipation and anxiety. I'm anxious because we'll be leaving C home with my parents while we're away; DH & I have spent one night away from him since he was born - a quick "lovers getaway" (woo hoo!) at a local hotel about a month ago - but we were literally 20 minutes from home, so if an emergency arose, it wouldn't have been any trouble to get to him. This time, we'll be a full day's drive away from our little man. I know he's in good hands with my parents, but leaving your baby for a week is no easy task.

But the anticipation is just as high - if not higher - than the anxiety I'm feeling. Last night as I was laying in bed, I found myself thinking, "We'll be in Disney World in __ days!" (Obviously, I'm not sharing our exact travel dates for security reasons.) I truly believe that Disney World is the happiest place on earth, without question. The parks are full of so many happy memories of my childhood; DH & I vacationed there about a week before we became engaged (to this day, I still wonder why he didn't propose in front of Cinderella's castle, but I guess some things are sure to remain a mystery).

Now, I'm going to be able to share all that unbridled joy with my daughter. I cannot wait to see her face as we walk into the park and she sees the castle for the very first time; I can't even imagine how she'll react. I'm planning to record that moment on our video camera. I'm also looking forward to spending a week with my oldest; she's done the most amazing job transitioning from the role of only child to big sister over the past year, and this trip is - in part - recognition for that.

Reader, what is your most memorable childhood vacation? Which vacations have you attempted to recreate with your kids?

Ants In My Pants

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Sun, 22 Jul 2012 18:09:00 +0000

I remember, as a teenager, wanting to spend my Sundays doing nothing more than laying on the couch. I didn't care so much if the TV was on; I didn't need anyone else to be around. I simply wanted to rest, knowing that the week ahead likely held 5am swim practices, dance class until 11pm, and plenty of homework.

What happened to that girl who was so willing and able to relax? Now, I feel like it takes me far, far more effort to wind down and do something just for me than it does for me to plan a great activity for the kids or a family outing.

These days, I'm constantly on the go. When I'm not working, I'm cleaning the house; when I'm not cleaning the house, I'm playing with the kids; when I'm not playing with the kids, I'm shuttling them to and from __(fill in the blank)___; when I'm not their personal chauffeur, I'm plotting out the next day's activities. I never stop. I can't stop.

For some reason, I can't get to the place in my mind where I find peace and quiet. I can't find that restful place that gave me the ability to lay down on a weekend afternoon and take a nap. I don't know what happened, but I'm not quite sure I like it.

How do you make time to relax and do *nothing*? What are some of your favorite relaxing activities?

Playing God

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Sun, 15 Jul 2012 13:19:00 +0000

I've been on a religious roller coaster ride lately, and I can't seem to get my footing. You'll probably realize that as you read through this post, because it'll likely be convoluted, complicated, and confused.

Lately, DH & I have been feeling alienated from our church - not the actual parish where we attend Sunday mass, but the greater Catholic Church based in Rome. We don't agree with a lot of the social-political decisions the Vatican has made, and we definitely don't believe the Pope is infallible (is it more of a sin if I write that on a blog than on the tissue of my own heart?). And while we love our local parish and its pastor, we're starting to feel like staying with Catholicism simply because we like a single parish and a single priest is kind of disingenuous.

So, we've been church shopping, not just for a different parish but for a different religion altogether. This is not something we take lightly. Both DH & I are cradle Catholics, born, raised, baptized, confirmed, and married in the Catholic Church. We've become more "cafeteria Catholics" (a term introduced to me by my good friend and coworker, KD), and I'm not ok with that; if I go to a church, I want to do so knowing that I believe its teachings with my whole heart, my whole mind, and my own soul.

We began by looking at the Catholic Church's closest "cousin" - the Episcopal Church. We're fortunate to have a great Episcopal parish (church? I'm still getting the terminology right) in town and, knowing how similar the two religions are, we started visiting for Sunday mass (services?) intermittently, while still attending our Catholic parish as well. We've really enjoyed our experience, but we know that the possibility of switching religions is going to be a long, hard process that's going to require a lot of reflection and prayer.

I haven't shared our faith journey with a lot of people for a lot of reasons. Those with whom I have shared it have had mixed reactions. Some have been critical of our search, one person even going to far as to sarcastically wish us "luck" when the final judgment comes. I was shocked at this response. I've always been the type of Christian who believes that we're all honoring the same God. It's kind of like a book G received a few Christmases ago about Santa Claus; he wears different clothes, has different titles in different places, but he's always the same person. That's my view of God - as long as you're living a good life and believe in a Creator who is greater than you, there is a place for you in heaven, regardless of whether you believe the Pope is infallible, good works are essential to salvation, or some philosophical concept known as transubstantiation.

Not everyone has this viewpoint, though, which makes me sad. Being a Christian - and a religious-minded person, in general - is supposed to be about acceptance and tolerance, about turning the other cheek, about loving the other person as we love ourselves. Tearing others down based on what you feel are your "correct" religious beliefs goes against the basic tenets of organized religion; it makes religions divisive, rather than inclusive.

I can't say where our journey of faith will lead us. In many ways, I can't envision a future in which my children don't make their First Communion or aren't married in a Catholic church. In other ways, I feel like I'm compromising every time I walk into one. What I do know, though, is that no matter what our decision, when we make it, we will do so with a greater understanding and respect for other denominations and how they operate.

Bring The Nostalgia In From The Cold

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Fri, 13 Jul 2012 11:49:00 +0000

Retro by any other name, still looks as good. There's a reason that yesterday's interior design trends orbit back into today's design inspirations. Some design classics are always cool, like certain clocks. Here are two design eras that are equally as cool, when reinterpreted through a 21^st century lens.

'Mad Men' 50's Nostalgia

The mid 20^th century was full of technological development and industrial growth. So too, the interiors of houses changed from drab, dingy, post-war houses to super modern, bright and functional abodes inspired by the space race and nuclear energy. This was the inspiration for the 'Staburst' clock. A design that draws inspiration from nuclear atoms. It makes a striking centrepiece hanging on a wall. Along with it, use bright block colours and geometric wall paper and mid-century furniture, for a funky retro look.

Steam Punk and Rustic Victorian

Let's turn the clock back even further to the start of the 20^th Century. Adapted for 2012 are influences of steam punk, Victorian and French Provincial furnishing. Take a large Roman numeral clock and put it on the stairwell or entrance hall. Then paint the whole area white or stucco. Then strategically place old Victorian inspired lamps with dim globes to add atmosphere. Add a plush lilac or purple chaise lounge. It's a soft and hypnotic combination that works really well for houses, both old and new.

There are limitless possibilities for inspiration by cherry-picking styles in bygone eras. Mix them up to make something that is definably 'you'.

A Stroller, A Windshield, And My Mother's Near-Death Experience

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Fri, 06 Jul 2012 12:08:00 +0000

I'm going to have to file the story I'm about to tell you next under the "strange but true" category. I'm also going to have to file it under "Top 10 images in my mind I'd like to erase."

I spent the last week at my parents' house in Ohio; DH was stuck working the July 4th holiday - and the days leading up to it - so I packed up the kids and headed north. Our week was going by peacefully until Tuesday afternoon, when some bad thunderstorms rolled in.

When I'd made the drive, I'd packed light, only bringing one of my two strollers. The result was that G always had to walk when we took my mother's dog for a walk, while I pushed C in the stroller. That led to numerous complaints from G. In an effort to stop her complaints - after all, isn't that what a grandmother is for? - my mother wanted to find the old stroller they'd used when I was a baby. The problem was, we couldn't find the stroller. It wasn't in the basement where she thought it was, and my aunt didn't have it either.

When the storms began pouring down on Tuesday afternoon, my mother finally remembered where that ancient stroller had been stored: up in the attic above our garage. So, together we pulled down the stairs to take a look. I was wearing shoes, so I climbed up and soon found the stroller in the back corner of the mostly-bare attic. I didn't see the handle for it, however, and told my mother such.

She told me to come on down so she could take a look. I assumed she would do just that - take a look - but she had other plans. She took off across the attic's crossbeams in order to reach the stroller and locate the missing handle. But when she did, her sandals slipped and she came crashing down...

...right through the ceiling of the attic...

...right on to the windshield of my car...

...right on to the garage floor.

I started screaming. After all, we'd just nursed my father back to health after a quadruple bypass followed by a ten-hour surgery to repair an abdominal aortic aneurysm (yes, it's as bad as it sounds; don't believe me? Look it up online), and here was my mother falling 12 feet through the attic floor and on to the garage floor. I thought for sure she was going to be dead, or unable to move her arms and legs, or gushing blood while I screamed in terror. G was there too - we'd both watched her fall, which, even though it only took a second or two felt like it lasted for hours - and was equally horrified.

My mother, however, is bionic. She popped right now. She wasn't bleeding at all. She wasn't hurt at all. And, thanks to the adrenalin and a high pain tolerance, she wasn't in a lot of pain either. Apparently she didn't want to be outdone by my father's health miracle, and decided to create one of her own.

My windshield, however, was another story. In a stroke of pure luck, my car broke my mother's fall. You can see where her body slammed into the thing - it shattered, but remained physically intact. Instead of falling straight on to the garage's cement floor, she landed on a windshield designed to absorb impact in the event of a collision. The thing is, I almost hadn't parked in the garage that afternoon. My dad had left the one stroller I brought from home in the middle of the garage floor, and I almost parked in the driveway instead of moving the stroller out of the way; it was only that rainstorm that motivated me to park indoors instead.

Before I left to come back home - after the fabulous folks at SafeLite repaired my windshield (only a $50 deductible!) - my mom remarked that she was proud of me for not making a big deal out of the windshield.

Seriously.

I was flabbergasted. "Who cares about the car?" I told her. "I thought you were going to be dead, Mom, and if it hadn't been for my car, you might have been."

(PS #1 - She really is ok. No concussion, no broken bones, no torn ligaments, nothing. Her big toe on her right foot is bruised, but other than that, she's not too much worse for the wear.)

(PS #2 - Both my parents have given me major health scares in the past six months. Hopefully, this means we don't have any other near-tragedies for the next 30 years!)

Color Me Proud

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Mon, 25 Jun 2012 12:17:00 +0000

Today is something DH and I have waited for for a very long time now - his first day on patrol! When he got into law enforcement almost seven years ago, we had no idea where it would lead him or us. In fact, we didn't even know if it would be simply a job or a career.

Five months ago, he was working in the county jail, on the verge of earning a promotion in rank - from officer to corporal - when the Major approached him with an ultimatum: either accept the promotion, but lose his sworn status and 401(k) benefits, or move out to patrol. It wasn't anything personal; in fact, all of the sworn deputies working in the detention center were faced with the same decision. DH was given only 36 hours to make this life-changing decision, yet he never looked back nor regretted his choice to go to the road. It's seemed like he spent forever waiting for the transfer to patrol, but when it finally came, it came FAST. At work this past Thursday, he learned it would be his last day in detention and that he'd move out to the road three days later. It was a welcome shock for all of us.

So now - right now, in fact - he's cruising the streets of our county with his training officer, learning the ins and outs of patrol. He's a little worried, to be honest. He's spent his entire law enforcement career working with inmates in a pretty safe environment (his jail doesn't use guns, which always made me feel like he wasn't in any danger); now, he's concerned he's going to see some of those same former inmates out in the real world. He's also afraid he won't make the transition well; he was a bit of a "big fish" in the detention division, and now he's back to square one in so many ways.

I'm just so proud of him! When he told me about the transfer, I could hear the excitement in his voice. This is something he's really wanted to do, and something he was starting to worry he'd never get a chance to do.

Congrats, honey! I love you so much and can't wait to see you in your new uniform when you get home!

Kid Of Quirks

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Fri, 08 Jun 2012 13:01:00 +0000

The longer I am around my daughter and her friends, the more convinced I become that there is no such thing as "normal" when it comes to children. Consider:

My daughter refuses to wear underwear to bed. Apparently, she prefers freebagging it at night.
She also refuses to sleep underneath the covers at night, whether it's 40 degrees outside or 80 degrees, whether we have the AC turned up high or the heat ramped up. (I do, however, sneak into her room every night before I go to bed to cover her up with a blanket, otherwise she wakes up at 2am complaining that she's cold.)
Her favorite activity is currently folding laundry. Some days, when I don't have any laundry that needs to be folded, I'll find her emptying her dresser drawers so she can refold everything.
She is adamant about wearing her goggles in the pool so the chlorine doesn't hurt her eyes; yet, when we went to the beach, she was oddly ok with the saltwater.
Ask her what she wants to eat for lunch, and she'll likely say peanut butter and jelly. Yet, if I give her that, she'll pull the sandwich apart, scrape off the PB, and eat only the jelly.
She doesn't think people get any older than five years old. I've been informed that I'm 4, and that her grandparents are all 5. After that, the aging process comes to a halt.

What are some of your kid's quirkiest quirks?

A Jerk for No Reason

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Wed, 30 May 2012 00:29:00 +0000

I've done a lot of thinking about my religious, personal, and political beliefs over the past month. After all, it is an election year, and taking stock of your opinions is part of what makes being an American so unique. Of course, it isn't something I reserve specifically for the six or so months prior to a Presidential election; I do it more often than every four years, to be sure.

As I've been contemplating my own beliefs - and, just as importantly, why I believe them - I've been observing the beliefs (and, likewise, the foundations of those beliefs) among my friends, family, colleagues and acquaintances. I've heard some people argue against gay marriage because their church taught them that marriage is between one man and one woman. I've seen other people fight against higher taxes for the wealthy because their rudimentary econ classes in high school taught them it goes against the tenets of capitalism.

I don't agree with those opinions - not by a long shot - but I still have a message for those who do:

Fine by me.

Such open-mindedness may sound forced coming from someone as blatantly liberal as myself. Maybe I can say that because, not so long ago, I was far more conservative... you know, before my liberal-leaning, elitist East Coast private school education and tenure in the ubiquitously-liberal field of journalism pushed me left of center. But I voted - and proudly voted - for George W. Bush in 2000 (my first voting election) and 2004. Today, I self-identify as a full-fledged Democrat (had you asked me four years ago, I would have said I was a slightly-left leaning Independent).

My issue doesn't have to do with what people think - we're all entitled to our own opinions - but, rather, why they think it. Someone who doesn't agree with the concept of a social safety net (this encompasses programs like Medicare, Welfare, etc.) isn't a problem, unless they're against it because they racist, misogynist, or xenophobic. The former represents their political perspective; the latter represents their fear.

Fear. That's really what it boils down to for me. If you are basing your opinions on fact (real fact, not the kind spit out by Fox News - no self-respecting journalist, even one in the middle, considers that news outlet to be fair or balanced), then I can respect them. I may not agree with them, like them, or even understand them, but I can at least respect the fact that you have a different opinion than I do. That's what makes America so great - we are all free to think what we want, and as long as you are making a judgment based on an accurate, educated assessment of any given issue or situation, then I support your right to do that.

What I don't support is someone who makes an opinion based on fear, loathing, and assumptions. I don't respect someone who lets negative emotions like jealousy or hatred guide their decisions. That's the devil at work there, plain and simple.

If America is going to continue to be a great nation (and these days, that's a pretty big if), then we're going to need to learn to make educated decisions and respect those whose evaluation of any given situation has led them to a different conclusion. A country comprised of 100% Democrats would work no better than a country composed of 100% Republicans; we need the give and take of each other to learn, and grow, and change.

And if we don't? Well, then we all fail.

Too Hard, Too Fast

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Wed, 23 May 2012 19:17:00 +0000

I'm struggling with something right now that I think a lot of parents deal with at one time or another: deciding whether or not too push our children, nudging them gently in the right direction, knowing that with each step they're moving farther and farther away from us.

That's where I'm at lately. As I mentioned last week, G just wrapped up her first year of preschool. It's been a fabulous experience; so fabulous, in fact, that she is beyond bummed that the year is already over. Like mother, like daughter, I guess. She was also really sad when she figured out that her current teacher, Miss B, wouldn't be with her next year. So when I found out that Miss B would be teaching our preschool's new "extended day" program for four-year-olds in the fall, I had to make the gut-wrenching decision as to whether or not to send my daughter to school four-hours-a-day, five-days-a-week.

Miss B has done so many wonderful things for G, as well as all the other students in her class. My three-and-a-half year old - the youngest in her class by a full three months - can write every letter in the alphabet, both upper and lower cases. She can sound out and identify in print most basic words. She can do simple addition and subtraction (numbers 10 and under). But that's not what makes Miss B so incredible. What's really remarkable is that Miss B has managed to teach these skills to EVERY CHILD in G's class. No, I don't believe that every child in G's class is a budding genius - I just believe Miss B is that good of an educator.

Plus, the idea of G getting to have Miss B for a second straight year is alluring in and of itself. After all, once a child moves on to the public school system, it's unlikely he or she will ever have the same teacher in back to back years. I feel the continuity of having Miss B, whom G simply adores, next year will really help my daughter grow socially and intellectually. I also feel that having a teacher who really knows G will help when it comes time for the decision I've been dreading since my OB told me her due date more than four and a half years ago: whether or not to send her to kindergarten just shy of her fifth birthday. I know that Miss B will provide us with a straightforward answer, based on her interactions with G over a two year period; her insight will be invaluable and, quite frankly, an opinion I won't challenge. If she says G is ready, I'll send her; if she says G isn't ready, then she'll return to preschool (this time in the school's K-5 program) for another year. It's as simple as that.

But despite all my love for Miss B, there's still a part of me that wonders if I'm pushing my daughter too hard, too fast. She's only going to be a child once, and I don't want to fill up her days with too much regimentation and routine. On top of school (which she loves - the child has never once asked to stay home from school over the past year, and on the one day she was sick, she cried and cried and cried because she was missing out on all the fun), she also takes dance classes and swim lessons. I don't want to fill up her schedule and have her be one of those stressed-out, over-scheduled kids you read about so much these days. I want her to be a kid.

Ultimately, though, I have to acknowledge that my daughter is awake for roughly 85 hours a week, and that preschool, dance, and swimming combined will occupy just 1/4 of that time. We'll be left with more than 60 hours every week for being silly and spontaneous, to go on adventures and spend quality time together.

Maybe my fears over pushing her too fast have less to do with her - deep down I know she's ready for it - and more to do with my own struggles letting her grow, letting her grow up, letting her slowly but surely move away from me.

School's Out; Mommy's Crying

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Tue, 15 May 2012 12:30:00 +0000


Photo Courtesy: Phillip Martin

When I was a kid, I lived for summer vacation. Sure, I loved the school year - I have always thrived in an academic environment - but by the time March rolled around, I was already counting down the days til summer break.

My, my, my, how times have changed.

A week from tomorrow is G's last day of preschool - the last day of her first year of preschool. She's attended a local church's preschool every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday since September. She spent the year in a three-year-old classroom, meaning most of the kids started the year at age three and have since turned four, even though G didn't turn three until her second day of class. Nonetheless, she's more than exceeded our expectations, learning how to write all her letters (upper and lower case), spell basic words, do simple math (adding and subtracting numbers 12 and under), and begin to sound out words and read at a very rudimentary level.

I'm so proud of all she's accomplished this year, but I'm a little sad as well. No, I'm not sad because of how quickly she's growing up.I'm sad because once school is over, my unofficial three-hour-long break every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning will be O-V-E-R.

Over the past nine months, I've used those nine hours a week to bond with ~~Baby~~ C, giving him one-on-one attention he otherwise wouldn't get with his older sister around. I've used those nine hours to work out at our local Y. I've used those nine hours to do work - both housework and business work. I've made the most of those hours, packing more into them than many people pack into an entire day. I've been a productive, busy momma.

So when school officially lets out next week, I won't be looking forward to a summer by the pool, free from the strict routine of the school-year. Well, I guess I will eventually, just not yet. Instead, I'll be trying to figure out how to occupy my precocious daughter for an additional nine hours every week.

Moms, how have your thoughts about summer vacation changed since having kids?

Defriending My Friends

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Wed, 09 May 2012 14:42:00 +0000

If you remember this post, then you know I was a strong opponent of the amendment to add language defining marriage as between one man and one woman to my state's constitution. Well, I'm heartbroken to say that the amendment not only passed, but passed by an even wider margin than polls were predicting: 61% to 39%. Yup, that means that more than 1.3 million voters in my state (NC) voted for fear, bigotry, and legalized discrimination.

I'm not going to go into the depths of my feelings right now - they're too raw, so I'll probably leave them for another post when I've cooled down. Instead, I'm focusing what I'm doing - or trying not to do - in light of this new amendment.

What I'm doing is calling my family and friends to action. Whether you live in North Carolina, Washington, DC, New York, or California, you can help stand up against this intolerance by signing a fast-growing petition posted on Change.org - again, you don't have to be from North Carolina to let your opinion be known on this issue.

What I'm doing is letting those whose voices - and hearts - have been silenced by the self-righteousness opinions of closed-minded individuals know that I stand with them. I have stood by their side, and will continue to do so. In fact, I'm pledging to do even MORE, even if I don't know what that is quite yet.

What I'm not doing - or, at least, trying not to do - is defriending all my friends, colleagues, and acquaintances on Facebook who voted for this amendment. I'm trying not to let one political act define how I feel about these individuals, despite the fact that they have chosen to judge others based on God's own design. I'm trying not to call them hypocrites, bigots, and prejudiced. I'm trying to show them by my actions that open-mindedness and tolerance is the path to glory, not judgment and fear.

I've had others on the other side of the gay marriage issue tell me they've been called by God to vote against the union of two men or two women, based on words Jesus never said. Well, you know what? I feel like He's called me too. He's called me to stand up for the now legally under-privileged. He's called me to give a voice to those who now have none. He's called me to be a light for love - love of all his people, just not those who meet society's narrow set of standards.

Will you stand up with me?

When You Were Inside Me

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Thu, 03 May 2012 12:49:00 +0000

Dear Baby C,

When you were inside me, I used to dream of your face. I wondered who you'd look like - me? your daddy? your sister? I pictured you with your daddy's strong features, my blue eyes, and your sister's wide smile. I could make myself giddy thinking about your chubby little feet, or how you'd have those adorable dimples where your fingers met your hands. Little did I know that you'd also be the only member of our family to have delicious dimples on your cheeks as well.

When you were inside me, I thought about your future. I daydreamed about your first t-ball game, football game, basketball game. I daydreamed about watching you take your daddy's car out for your first real date. I fretted about the day you'd pack up and leave us for college - Duke, naturally. I wondered what career path you'd choose; maybe medicine, the field I gave up on so long ago. I thought about the girl you'd one day bring home to meet us, about the day she'd walk down the aisle and meet you at the front of our church. I thought about how her daddy won't be the only one giving something - someone - away that day. I thought about the day when you'll see your children enter the world, how you'll finally understand what a parent's love is all about, how you'll finally get to witness a miracle.

When you were inside me, I never had to worry about where you were or what you were doing. I could feel you, and we were one. I didn't have to wonder if you'd managed to climb the baby gate (again), only to crawl up the stairs at the speed of sound. I didn't have to get on my hands and knees to help retrieve you from underneath the coffee table. I didn't have to worry whether that bump on the head was just a bump, or something more serious.

When you were inside me, I was always able to protect you. I was able to guard you against the too harsh sun that would burn your baby skin. I could keep you safe from the small toys your sister is always leaving around the house. I didn't have to see your salty tears that feel like they're coming from my eyes.

When you were inside me, your life was an empty book, waiting to be opened, waiting for God to write the opening lines. Your time inside of me was just the prologue.

You've now spent 365 mornings outside of me.

The cord may no longer be attached, but we're still one, you and I. You still hold my heart as surely as if you'd lived inside of it, not simply next to it for nine months.

I still remember the morning I learned you were inside of me, the fear and anxiety I felt that there wouldn't be room for you in my life. Now, I've had a whole year to bask in your baby sweetness, to nibble on those chubby toes, to take in your baby smell, to watch as you throw back your head with a hearty peel of laughter. I've had a whole year to see your personality bloom - a personality that is equal parts mischief and tenderness. I've had a whole year of pulling you into bed beside me every morning, the first beautiful face I see as the sun rises to greet us.

I love you, my sweet, sweet boy. I don't want to admit that this first year is over; it's gone too fast. But I take solace in knowing that we have a lifetime of memories still to make - first steps, first words, first day of school. So many firsts, seconds, thirds that I'll lose count and won't be able to mark each one. It won't make them any less sweet, though.

Happy birthday, Baby C. I can't wait to see what life has in store for you.

Love,

Mommy

(PS - many of you have been asking when I'm going to post pictures of my kids again! Since my blog is public, and I want to keep my kids' images private, I won't be posting any more pictures of them here anymore; most of you are friends with me on Facebook, though, and I'll post some there soon, I promise!)

When It's So Hard To Remember

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Wed, 25 Apr 2012 14:21:00 +0000

It's been a tough week in our house. G got in big trouble at preschool on Monday for hitting one of her little friends - something I've never seen her do with any of her other playmates, and something that is, quite frankly, unacceptable in our household. Since then, we've had one meltdown after another over her behavior. DH and I have been at our wits end, pulling out all the parenting stops in hopes of finding a solution to bring back our sweet little girl.

That's when I stumbled across this video online:

It's a simple concept, really; a man in The Netherlands compiled videos of his daughter, Lotte, over a 12-year period and put them all together in one 2:45 piece. By the time I finished watching the video, I was in tears.

Time goes by so fast. After tucking G into bed last night, I spent a moment looking at some of the pictures I've posted on a cork board that hangs from her bedroom door. There was me, holding my days-old daughter in the hospital on the first day she was allowed to wear clothes - her newborn-sized onesie proudly proclaimed "New!" and I am wearing the proudest new-mommy grin. There's another one of G hoisted on top of her daddy's shoulders, the early autumn sun silhouetting them at a college football game. There's a picture of her holding her baby brother for the very first time, a smile of amazement and curiosity spreading across her lips.

I get so bogged down in the day-to-day elements of parenting that I often forget to look at the bigger picture - that one day, my daughter won't need me to tuck her in at night anymore. She won't need me to kiss her boo boos to make them better, won't want my help brushing her teeth, won't laugh at me when I do a silly dance through the grocery store freezer section. Whether I like it or not, she's going to grow up. She's going to go off to college, forge her own path, create her own identity very much separate from the life I lead. It's inevitable. And, as much as I hate to admit it, I'd be a failure as a mother if I didn't want those things for her.

It's my job to prepare her for what's out there. It's my job to teach her about all the world has to offer. And, of course, it'll be my job to cushion her fall if she ever flies too high or too far and needs to come back to the nest.

But seeing little Lotte grow up - literally before my eyes - made it so poignantly clear that although we try to hold on to our children's baby days through pictures, videos, and memories imprinted in our minds, our efforts can only go so far. We can only take them so far before they have to spread their wings and make the journey on their own.

It's the toughest part of being a mother.

Booked, Paid, and Ready: Our Disney Reservations

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Mon, 23 Apr 2012 13:38:00 +0000

If you can't tell, I'm more than a little excited about our upcoming trip to Disney World. I've been plotting and planning out our vacation for years now (no, I'm not exaggerating; DH & I decided we'd be taking G to Disney World this summer TWO YEARS AGO when she was still just a year old), and the closer it gets, the more anxious I become.

There's so much to plan - the park passes (you'll remember that we already booked our discount tickets through the website Billy Boy's Discount Tickets last month), the travel arrangements (we are going to drive there, since our local airport doesn't offer direct flights to the main airport in Orlando, where Disney provides free shuttles to and from the resorts), plus the hotel reservations.

I've been focusing on that last part - the hotel reservations - for about the past month. Unlike a certain friend and work colleague, who shall remain nameless, I cannot wait until the last minute to decide where I'll stay: I'm too impatient for that! It would absolutely pique my anxiety, and this trip is supposed to be enjoyable. So planning in advance is the right option for me and, hence, my family.

Photo Courtesy: Walt Disney World Resort

We knew we wanted to stay on park property. This will be my 8th trip to Walt Disney World, and I've stayed on Disney property all but two of those times. One time, we stayed in Kissimmee because my parents were looking to save money; instead, we wasted about two hours a day in hotel shuttles going back and forth from our hotel to the parks. It wasn't worth it. The other time, we stayed just outside the park - maybe a five minute drive from the Magic Kingdom parking lot - but only because DH (who was at that point only DF, as in darling fiance) was playing in the Champs Sports Bowl and my mom and I wanted to stay at the same hotel as his college football team. It was nice, but it lacked the awe and wonder of a Disney resort - yes, even to two adults.

Originally, we'd planned on staying at a value level resort, which includes Disney's All-Star themed resorts. DH & I stayed at the All-Star Sports resort one spring break in college (again, he was DF back then) and really enjoyed ourselves. We were all set to book our stay when Disney - like they often do - started running a sale that gave us up to 25% off rooms resort-wide. That meant we'd be able to stay at a moderate level resort - places like Caribbean Beach Club and Port Orleans - for basically the full sticker price of a value resort. Since we've had two years to budget for this trip, we knew we had the cash and decided to "splurge."

We've made reservations for seven nights at Disney's Port Orleans French Quarter. In all, we'll pay $1187, which averages out to $169.57 a night (although Friday and Saturday nights are more expensive). We'll have access to the resort's pools - including the pools at the neighboring Port Orleans Riverside resort - plus water launch access to Downtown Disney. We'll also get free transportation to the Disney theme parks, including Epcot which we could basically walk to from our property. What swayed me to the French Quarter resort over the other moderate value properties was the room location; I mentioned to my super-friendly customer service rep (how do even customer service reps sound magical over the phone? That's Disney for you...) that G loves to swim, and he told me that the standard rooms at French Quarter are closer to the pool than standard rooms at any other moderate or value level property. I loved getting that personalized information.

So now we're all ready to go - now I'm just waiting for the dates of our trip to get here, so we can indulge G in a magical week!

The Blame Game

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Fri, 13 Apr 2012 15:53:00 +0000

Before the kids and I left to spend a week in Ohio with my parents, I'd opened a box of my favorite cereal, Kashi. (Yes, I realize I'm probably the only person in America who absolutely loves what my mother refers to as "twigs and berries in a bowl.")

When I came back home, the entire box was gone. My husband, who doesn't even like it, later told me he ate it because it was there.

I was furious. I screamed. I slammed a cabinet door. I used foul language. I blamed my husband for eating my cereal.

But was it really his fault?

Last July, I wrote a post for this blog about how I always found myself saying "I'm sorry" - even in situations where I was in no way to blame. At the end of the post, I vowed to stop apologizing for things that weren't my fault.

I guess I did a pretty good job of keeping that resolution: maybe too good of a job.

These days, I find myself blaming everyone but me for everything that goes wrong in my life. My husband ate all of my favorite cereal?!?! Damn him, he should have known better! There's no more room in my favorite yoga class at the Y?!?! Screw you, you exercise anorectics! My house isn't selling as fast as I'd like it to?!?! My Realtor's to blame!

Of course, in all those situations, my own actions played a large role in the ultimate outcome. My husband wouldn't have eaten my cereal if I'd simply communicated with him that I'd appreciate it if he'd save it for me until I returned. There would have been space for me in yoga class if I'd gotten out of the house sooner instead of fiddling with my email on the computer. My house would probably sell faster if my husband and I actually listened to our Realtor and were more realistic about the asking price.

I've always been an extreme personality, apt to see the world as black and white, ignoring the millions of shades of gray in between. I don't do well with nuances; I simply want to be told what's going on, in BIG BOLD FONT instead of being forced to read between the lines. Maybe that's why I went from one end of the spectrum - apologizing for everything - to the other - blaming others for everything - in such a short amount of time.

What I do know, though, is that I dislike my current behavior as much as I disliked the old doormat treatment I was getting last summer. When I refuse to take accountability for my own actions and the roles they play in my life - and in the lives of others - I lose my grasp on reality. I start to imbue a pack mentality, fearing that everyone is out to get me, when in fact, that's not the case at all.

So now, I'm making another vow: I'm going to take the middle ground. I know doing so will be far harder than embracing the extremes, as I'm usually apt to do. But it's something I have to do, not just for me, but for the people around me (who are probably sick of me blaming them).

When Is A Year More Than A Year?

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Thu, 05 Apr 2012 13:53:00 +0000

"Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning."

-Winston Churchill, November 1942

When is a year more than a year? When it is really ten years, or 30 years.

Think about it. When the world was partying like it was 1999, waiting with baited breath to welcome in the year 2000, we were celebrating more than the start of a new year: we were marking the dawn of a new millenium. We were recognizing the start of not just a new year, but of a thousand new years.

That's why tomorrow seems so monumental to me. My 30th birthday marks not just the start of a new year, but of a new decade. I have ten years ahead of me with a "3" holding the tens spot. It's time to say goodbye to my 20s.

Yet, as all beginnings do, tomorrow also marks an ending. It's why I included Winston Churchill's famous 1942 quote at the beginning of this post. The British Prime Minister uttered this quote during a 1942 speech, after his army's successful defeat of the Nazi military mastermind Rommel in Egypt. Churchill didn't go as far to say that the battled had turned the tide completely in the Allies' favor, and with good reason: it would be another two and a half years before World War II would finally come to a close. However, he did acquiesce that the victory marked the end of the beginning, a beginning which had been a tough road for the British.

As I stand on the precipice of a new decade, I feel much like Churchill back in November of 1942. The first 30 years of my life are in the books; they, like Churchill himself, are history. It's the end of the beginning of my life. I'm now embarking on my middle years. By the end of this chapter of my life, I'll be 60 - the age both my parents are right now. I'll probably have a grandchild or two. DH or I may be retired. It seems like a lifetime away, really.

But I can't wait to start this journey. Because, even if it is the end of the beginning, it is the beginning of the middle. And, judging by PB&J sandwiches and Oreo cookies, the middle is always the best part.

Things I Can't Abide

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Mon, 02 Apr 2012 14:55:00 +0000

Photo rights: Mother Jones

You're not supposed to talk to your friends about two things: money and politics. Well, I'm about to break that rule and get all political up in here.

So yeah, booyah.

Next month,voters in my state will be asked to vote on a same-sex marriage amendment. If the amendment passes, same-sex couples will be prohibited from tying the knot - as well as from receiving any types of marital benefits, such as health care coverage - in North Carolina.

Quite honestly, I'm disgusted that the state legislature is even asking me to vote on this measure... but not for the reasons you may think.

As I've mentioned many times on this blog, I'm a practicing Catholic. I go to church every week, celebrate all the sacraments, spend a few minutes every night before bedtime with my devotional booklet. Saturday, I received a monthly newsletter from my Catholic diocese. A huge, full-page ad on the back of the paper urged me to vote in favor of the same-sex marriage amendment, telling me - among other things - that marriage helps give men and women a healthy way to fulfill their sexuality while strengthening family bonds.

I nearly choked when I read it.

It's no surprise to me that the Catholic Church is vehemently opposed to same-sex marriage; it's a pretty conservative religious institution, despite what other denominations (those that think we're all papists, mostly) may believe.

What might surprise you, however, is that I am not.

In fact, I'm not only not against same-sex marriage, I'm 100% for it. With all due respect to my Catholic diocese and that massive ad, I believe:

Marriage of any type strengthens family bonds. Whether it's a woman and a man, two women, or two men running a household, having two parents actively involved can have nothing but positive benefits for children.
Marriage of any type is going to give its participants the opportunity to fulfill their sexual desires. I'm sorry if you think same-sex sex is gross.
While parts of the Bible - specifically the Old Testament - prohibit a man from lying with a man, no where does Jesus speak out against this. NOT ONCE. He does speak out about adultery, but the only reason why same-sex marriage would be considered adultery (in the church's eyes, adultery is ANY sex outside the bonds of marriage) is because the church - and in some places, the government - won't let same-sex couples marry!

I have a friend - one who I know reads this blog from time to time - who is Catholic, but who has a tough time abiding by some of the tenets of our faith. I've been the first to defend my church. Maybe that makes me a bad Catholic. But I tend to view the Bible the same way a loose constructionist views the U.S. Constitution - as a malleable entity, one whose connotation changes with the times. Perhaps homosexuality wasn't a major issue in Jesus's day, explaining why he never directly addressed the topic. But in my point of view, the absence of any significant discourse on Christ's part to condemn homosexuality leaves me to believe that it was A-OK with him (oh, and please don't start on the whole "homosexuality is against Moses' law" argument; so was working on the Sabbath, and we know that Jesus healed on the Sabbath).

I don't think same-sex marriage is a threat to the institution of marriage. Never once have I looked at my husband and thought, "Hmmm, if those gays and lesbians are allowed to get married, we should probably get divorced."

Want to know what I think is a threat to the institution of marriage, and - maybe more importantly - the institution of the family?

People like Newt Gingrich, who marriage hop from woman to woman...

Men who father multiple children with multiple women, then fail to play any significant role in any of their offsprings' lives...

A divorce rate that some statisticians say is upwards of 50 percent for first marriages, and subsequently higher for second, third, and fourth marriages...

Two women who love each other and want to dedicate their lives to one another are not a threat to my marriage vows. Two men who yearn to raise a family together don't pose a risk to the ring I wear on my left hand.

Over the past 150 years, this country has had to come to grips with its ghastly inequal view of those who are different. 150 years ago, black men couldn't vote. 100 years ago, women couldn't either. But things have changed; we have changed. We've learned that different isn't always bad or wrong or dangerous. Most of the time, different is good. Variety is beautiful, showing us that we don't all have to look alike or behave alike to be worthy of another's love.

So come May, I'll be heading down to vote against the same-sex marriage ban... God can judge me if he sees fit, but I have a suspicion that the Lord who urged us to love one another as we love ourselves has better things to do.

Don't Call Me Skinny

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Fri, 23 Mar 2012 15:12:00 +0000

As I was hustling out of the gym this morning, carrying a fussy Baby C in my arms, I literally ran into two women I knew from my Body Pump class.

"Hey!" I exclaimed as I recognized the pair, "I saw you out running when I dropped G off at preschool more than an hour ago! Now I feel guilty - I've only been here 45 minutes!"

"That was us!" one of the women replied. "I needed it, though; you're so skinny."

There it was. That word that makes me bristle like someone's just used a coarse, horse-hair brush on my skin. To some women, four-letter words get them all riled up. For me, it's this six-letter word that sparks my ire.

I know this acquaintance meant it as a compliment. I'm 5'8" and 135 pounds (I know this because I'd spent part of my 45 minutes at the gym weighing myself, as I do just about every Friday), so it wasn't off the mark either. I am skinny - I just don't like anyone to call me out on it.

The fact is, I'm kind of new to the whole skinny thing. When I was a toddler, I had the kind of cheeks old ladies in supermarkets liked to pinch. As an elementary school student, well-meaning family members often commented on my inability to lose my "baby fat." By the time I reached middle school and later high school, I had trimmed down, but I'd also dove headfirst into competitive swimming, giving me the bulky shoulders and broad back that would define my body type - and, no less importantly, my body image - for more than a decade.

By the time I headed off to college, my weight had stabilized at 153 pounds, putting me squarely in the "healthy" BMI range; however, I was still self-conscious of my swimmer's physique, especially since I'd eschewed my university's swim team in favor of its ballet classes. Around the lithe ballerinas, many of whom couldn't have topped 115 soaking wet, I felt like a bull in a china shop.

While my weight had some ups and downs in college, I was the exact same weight - 153 pounds - on the day of my college graduation as I was on the day of my high school graduation. Feeling confident that I'd found my "adult weight," I celebrated my entry into the real world (aka, grad school) by purchasing a new wardrobe, all size 8s. They fit perfectly... for a while.

I don't know if it was the stress of grad school (which I hated), my upcoming marriage, or both, but I ballooned in the months leading up to my wedding day. While the traditional school of thought says most brides lose weight before walking down the aisle, I packed on 15 pounds. None of my size 8s fit anymore, and I found myself buying size 10s and even a few 12s. My wedding gown itself was a 14, as wedding sizes tend to run small compared to off the rack clothes.

My weight vacillated between 155 and 165 until I got pregnant two and a half years later. My OB instructed me to gain between 25 and 35 pounds with my pregnancy, most of it during the latter half when the baby was really growing in size and weight. I, however, packed on 22 pounds in my first 22 weeks, sending me into a mental tailspin over exactly how much weight I would gain by the time it was all said and done.

Positive that I'd never again fit into the size 8s I'd purchased after graduation, I went through my closet, donating all my smaller sizes to Goodwill or the Salvation Army. When it was all said and done, I ended up with only double-digit sizes in my wardrobe when I gave birth to my daughter in September of 2008, having gained a total of 37 pounds.

And that's when something strange happened...

As I started to breastfeed G, the weight started coming off... fast. By the time I took her to her two-week pediatrician's appointment, I'd already lost 20 pounds. By the time she was six weeks old, I was down to my last five pounds of baby weight. When I went back to work four months after giving birth, I actually weighed ten pounds less than I had before I got pregnant. By the time G celebrated her first birthday, my weight had leveled off around 140 pounds, where it stayed until I got pregnant with Baby C in August 2010.

I gained an even 40 pounds with Baby C, and on the surface, I was worried that I'd never lose it all. But deep down, I had a gut feeling that breastfeeding would rev up my metabolism into overdrive, helping me lose the baby weight once again. Here I am, with Baby C coming up on 11 months old, weighing 135 (at one point late last month, amid the stress of my dad's health, my weight actually dropped to 131 pounds - a number I hadn't seen since the seventh grade).

Why do I tell you all this?

Definitely not to make you jealous of me. Heck, if I were reading this five years ago, I'd say my future self was being a braggart. But please, don't misinterpret my extensive use of details for pride. That's not the point.

I've had body image issues all my life. Up until a few months ago, I've never been a person who got called skinny. That word was always directed toward my friends. I was always as "muscular" or having an "athletic build" - I was definitely not described as thin.

Maybe that's why I'm so uncomfortable when someone actually uses one of those complimentary words in my direction. "But I'm not!" I want to call out. In a way, being called skinny makes me feel like a fraud, a traitor; after all, I spent most of my life as a "big boned." I may look like a skinny woman, but I don't feel like one.

If you'd told me on my wedding day - when I was stressing out because the five additional pounds I'd packed on since my final dress fitting a mere two weeks earlier - that I'd be a thin mom, I'd have called you a liar. I think as women, we always want what we don't have; it's the whole the grass is greener mentality. I've been on both sides of that fence, and let me tell you:

The grass isn't always green over here.

While the number I see on the scale has changed, to some extent, what I see in the mirror hasn't. I still see the child with chubby cheeks; I still see the teenager with bulky shoulders; I still see the bride who feels like a stuffed sausage in her gown. My body image hasn't changed. And until that happens, I don't think I'll ever be comfortable being called that six-letter word.