I saw this phrase in an advertisement for some magazine and was really struck by it. I have no idea what the actual article was about - it was on the cover of Mens' Health - but it made me think, "Who is my other me?". I think we all have different versions of ourselves inside of us and they shape the person we show to the outside world. By the choices we make in life we decide which version of ourselves comes to be and I started to think about all the other Marys that exist in me.
I can say with complete honesty that all of my Marys* are married to my hubby because he makes me a better person no matter what situation I'm in. Some of my other Marys though, decided not to have children. Shocking, I know from someone whose full-time job is taking care of her kids. I love my kids to death and could not imagine, in reality, my life without them, but sometimes I think my life could have gone completely in the other direction and I would be a total workaholic. One of my alter egos works in publishing and wears fabulous suits and heels to work everyday. Her nights are filed with parties and work events and she, obviously, lives in New York. Very Lipstick Jungle. Another Mary did go to med school instead of becoming a teacher and balances her practice as an OB/GYN with being a mother with ease and calm (obviously a fantasy). A third, joined the Peace Corps and is living in Africa helping orphaned children.
I probably sound like Sybil with all of these different people I'm telling you exist inside me, but each of them represents something that I love or is meaningful to me. I take what I can from each of them that fits in to my current reality and I feel it makes me a better wife and mother. Anyone who knows me knows I love a little fabulousity and will wear ridiculous shoes and jewelry when given the chance and this makes me feel better on days I can barely get a shower. Nights spent awake with the baby are made bearable when I stay out all night with my husband once in a blue moon. And the publishing? Well, this blog isn't very glamorous, but it counts. Gaining some perspective by wearing or doing something not related to my "job" makes me see there are other identities to inhabit occasionally other than "So-and-so's mother".
Some of the personas influence my hopes and dreams for myself in the future. Yes, I do have those for myself as well as my kids. Just because I'm a mother doesn't mean I'm done becoming the me I'm meant to be. My doctor Mary makes me think about going back to school in the future and Peace Corps Mary makes me wonder if Tony and I won't do some overseas volunteer work when the kids fly the coop.
What all of these women do for me is show me the other possibilities for my life and make me glad I have chosen this one. While they all seem exciting and fulfilling in ways different than the life I am currently living I know this is where I belong and who I'm supposed to be right now. So think about who those other people are who live in your head. Invite some of them out to play once in a while. Maybe you're the only one who knows they exist, but I'm sure bits of them peep through. Be excited about that because it means there are still choices to make and roads to take and different "you"s to be.
* PEN - I love that with the overuse of my name my Google ads include statues of the Virgin Mary.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Friday, March 28, 2008
I said NOW!
I was at the park the other day with the kids when I witnessed what I'd like to say is an unusual event. A mother was telling her son it was time to go and he was having a full-on fit - screaming, crying, throwing himself on the ground. The mother had done all the things we're "supposed" to do, she had given him a ten minute, then five minute warning, she stayed positive and ignored the bad behavior ("Let's go home! You can help me make dinner!") all this with a baby strapped to her chest and another in the double stroller (twins!). It took her twenty minutes to get to the gate of the park and another fifteen to get him in the car. Then, while she strapped the babies in their seats the kid proceeded to climb into the driver's seat and honk the horn at random intervals for ten minutes. This is when I ask myself, dear readers, when did we give up control?
This episode at the park is produced by co-parenting. I don't mean the kind where two divorced parents share custody, I mean the kind where the kid is allowed to call some of the shots. I don't say all of the shots because this woman stuck to her guns, rightly, and got the kid out of the park - eventually. I understand that kids need to feel some kind of control in their lives, but what ever happened to "Because I said so."? This constant bargaining and counting to ten and "this is your warning"s are completely ineffective. When I was a kid, I listened the first time or there was hell to pay. With these kids, they must wonder, "What? Are you going to take away my TV time? You'll just give it back to me later when I beg long and hard enough." Other parents must think me a monster and I feel a little uncomfortable afterwards when I give my kids the beaver face (lips tightened, front teeth slightly exposed) and I whisper-scream, "Are you kidding me? You get over here right NOW!" instead of asking them why they don't want to leave the playbround.
So parents out there, let's make a deal. I won't judge you when you yell at your kids and you won't judge me. Maybe if we weren't afraid of looking like bad parents, we'd make our kids tow the line more often. Otherwise we might have the lunatics running the asylum, I mean, playground.
This episode at the park is produced by co-parenting. I don't mean the kind where two divorced parents share custody, I mean the kind where the kid is allowed to call some of the shots. I don't say all of the shots because this woman stuck to her guns, rightly, and got the kid out of the park - eventually. I understand that kids need to feel some kind of control in their lives, but what ever happened to "Because I said so."? This constant bargaining and counting to ten and "this is your warning"s are completely ineffective. When I was a kid, I listened the first time or there was hell to pay. With these kids, they must wonder, "What? Are you going to take away my TV time? You'll just give it back to me later when I beg long and hard enough." Other parents must think me a monster and I feel a little uncomfortable afterwards when I give my kids the beaver face (lips tightened, front teeth slightly exposed) and I whisper-scream, "Are you kidding me? You get over here right NOW!" instead of asking them why they don't want to leave the playbround.
So parents out there, let's make a deal. I won't judge you when you yell at your kids and you won't judge me. Maybe if we weren't afraid of looking like bad parents, we'd make our kids tow the line more often. Otherwise we might have the lunatics running the asylum, I mean, playground.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
To be a kid again...
As a parent I spend a lot of time telling my kids what to do, when to do it and how to do it. The other day, as we were running late, I was screaming at my oldest to put on her shoes for the fifth time and I thought to myself, "Why the hell doesn't she listen the first time?" When I really looked at the situation, it dawned on me that it really can suck to be a kid. My daughter was happily watching Sesame Street, but because we have to leave the house at 8:15 she doesn't get to watch the whole thing. I'd be reticent to peel my eyes away from my favorite show too if I never got to watch it. So this Friday, I am putting myself in my kids' shoes.
Top 5 Things that Suck About Being a Kid
5. Gym class - I thank my personal gods every day that I do not have to suffer the indignity of being picked for a team ever again. Whether it be the dreaded dodgeball or soccer, it's the same popularity contest all over the world. It might be fun to travel back in time and see how your position in the pecking order is directly proportional to your likelihood of winding up a bloated, alcoholic, has-been who thinks high school were the best days of your life.
4. Clothes - Imagine having someone else choose your clothes for you. Sure, I give my kids the obligatory, "Pants or skirt?" choice all the parenting magazines tell me makes them feel more in control of their lives, blah, blah, blah, but really, I'm the one buying the clothes so I'm defining the pool from which they pick. I personally suffered from this until I reached middle school as my mother really had terrible taste in clothing coupled with the fact that we were on a tight budget and Old Navy hadn't been invented yet - the pickin's were slim at Sears. Every time I buy something for my girls I think about what it says about them. While I stand firm on my ban on bare mid-drift (it happens, even in kindergarten) and animal print anything (#1 daughter has a friend with a leopard print skirt and jean jacket with matching trim - a teenage pregnancy in the making if you ask me) I don't want to dress her so conservatively she's considered a dork. I'll enjoy this unquestioned authority while I can though since I can hear the arguments already, "But Madison's mom let's her wear it..."
3. Bedtime - If someone came up to me right now and said, "Enough writing, it's time for bed." I'd tell them to go screw. That's what my kids must feel like every night when I tell them it's time for lights out. Imagine not being able to watch another Law & Order re-run just because I feel like it and yes, I know I'm going to be tired tomorrow, but who cares? I'm surprised there's not a riot from the bunk beds every night.
2. Homework - I still, to this day, have nightmares that I'm back in school and have some paper due that I have not written or test I haven't studied for. I think that's supposed to mean something psychologically. Perhaps that I'm a control freak who feels overwhelmed living in a uncontrollable environment such as raising three kids? Nah, couldn't be. While I do entertain the idea of going back to school, I dread the idea of homework and tests. Remember that sinking feeling when you hadn't studied or done the homework? The smell of a #2 pencils still gives me the jitters.
1. Food - I've already confessed that I'm a rabid foodie so imagine what a theater of pain it would be every day having someone else tell me what to eat. "Finish your peas or no cookies." I hate peas, screw you! What about those Sundays we all have, usually hungover, when we just decide to eat crap all day because we feel like it. Life would be very bleak indeed, without those days. Having someone else tell me when I've had enough cake (there's never enough cake) or that I can't eat that whole box of Cap'n Crunch? No, really, I'll decide when I'm done.
Maybe by thinking this way I am actually doing what the magazines say and empathizing, at least a little, with how difficult it must be to have no control over your own life. Everyone reminisces about how great it was to be a kid with the carefree days and ability to determine your own sleep schedule, but I think, on the balance, I prefer being an adult with control of my own choices. Especially since I no longer have to wear an over-sized red sweatshirt with paw prints all over it paired with matching leggings and eat peas before doing a book report and going to bed after The Muppet Show.
Top 5 Things that Suck About Being a Kid
5. Gym class - I thank my personal gods every day that I do not have to suffer the indignity of being picked for a team ever again. Whether it be the dreaded dodgeball or soccer, it's the same popularity contest all over the world. It might be fun to travel back in time and see how your position in the pecking order is directly proportional to your likelihood of winding up a bloated, alcoholic, has-been who thinks high school were the best days of your life.
4. Clothes - Imagine having someone else choose your clothes for you. Sure, I give my kids the obligatory, "Pants or skirt?" choice all the parenting magazines tell me makes them feel more in control of their lives, blah, blah, blah, but really, I'm the one buying the clothes so I'm defining the pool from which they pick. I personally suffered from this until I reached middle school as my mother really had terrible taste in clothing coupled with the fact that we were on a tight budget and Old Navy hadn't been invented yet - the pickin's were slim at Sears. Every time I buy something for my girls I think about what it says about them. While I stand firm on my ban on bare mid-drift (it happens, even in kindergarten) and animal print anything (#1 daughter has a friend with a leopard print skirt and jean jacket with matching trim - a teenage pregnancy in the making if you ask me) I don't want to dress her so conservatively she's considered a dork. I'll enjoy this unquestioned authority while I can though since I can hear the arguments already, "But Madison's mom let's her wear it..."
3. Bedtime - If someone came up to me right now and said, "Enough writing, it's time for bed." I'd tell them to go screw. That's what my kids must feel like every night when I tell them it's time for lights out. Imagine not being able to watch another Law & Order re-run just because I feel like it and yes, I know I'm going to be tired tomorrow, but who cares? I'm surprised there's not a riot from the bunk beds every night.
2. Homework - I still, to this day, have nightmares that I'm back in school and have some paper due that I have not written or test I haven't studied for. I think that's supposed to mean something psychologically. Perhaps that I'm a control freak who feels overwhelmed living in a uncontrollable environment such as raising three kids? Nah, couldn't be. While I do entertain the idea of going back to school, I dread the idea of homework and tests. Remember that sinking feeling when you hadn't studied or done the homework? The smell of a #2 pencils still gives me the jitters.
1. Food - I've already confessed that I'm a rabid foodie so imagine what a theater of pain it would be every day having someone else tell me what to eat. "Finish your peas or no cookies." I hate peas, screw you! What about those Sundays we all have, usually hungover, when we just decide to eat crap all day because we feel like it. Life would be very bleak indeed, without those days. Having someone else tell me when I've had enough cake (there's never enough cake) or that I can't eat that whole box of Cap'n Crunch? No, really, I'll decide when I'm done.
Maybe by thinking this way I am actually doing what the magazines say and empathizing, at least a little, with how difficult it must be to have no control over your own life. Everyone reminisces about how great it was to be a kid with the carefree days and ability to determine your own sleep schedule, but I think, on the balance, I prefer being an adult with control of my own choices. Especially since I no longer have to wear an over-sized red sweatshirt with paw prints all over it paired with matching leggings and eat peas before doing a book report and going to bed after The Muppet Show.
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