5 Ways Parenting is Like Being a Teenage Girl

Being a teenage girl was SO fun, right? As if.

While I was lucky enough to escape the teenage years relatively unscathed (belly-button piercing scar excepted), I still thank the Good Lord that I am not thirteen. Or sixteen. Or nineteen. Nope, I am 29 and will forever stay here. No matter how hard Cher sings, you can't turn back time, people. Be realistic (this does not apply to me). 

In addition to being a teenager (let's be clear, this was only like, 10 years ago for me), I was both a camp counselor and a high school teacher for years. I actually ADORE teenagers. They are amazing. Really, I have nothing but love for them.

But, they are intense. Like, really intense. You know what I am saying?

I thought that, being the 20-something gal I am, that I had escaped the tumultuous time of my teens. Then I had children. While my girls are far from being actual teenagers, I am reliving my teenage days IN ALL THEIR GLORY. Let me count the ways... 

The drama. You thought middle school was dramatic? Goths and cheerleaders have nothing on my daughters. If there was a crying Olympics, my children would medal. EVERY. TIME. Seriously, villages in Africa could exist off their tears. Not only would my daughters medal due to the volume of liquid produced, but the lightning speed at which it is produced! Oh, you didn't want that kind of cheese? PUDDLES.

Someone is always telling you what to do. You may have forgotten but, being a teenager is hard. Your voice is seldom heard. Any control you have is pure illusion. Sound familiar? It's kind of like life with my two lady monsters.
     Mama, do not go upstairs.
     Mama, this milk is cold. I want it hot.
     No potty breaks today, mama. (Ok, I am making this one up but you feel me, right?)
     Put Harper in the pink dress, mama. I want us to match.
      

via GIPHY   

The Ups and Downs. When I was a teenage girl, I could have the best moment of my life AND the worst moment of my life in the span of half an hour. This is SO my world now. One minute, Charlotte is reading to Harper and the world stands still and I think, "I am the luckiest lady in the whole wide world." And the next minute, I am in a total "Jesus, Take the Wheel" moment as Charlotte catapults her sister off the coach and the puddles ensue. Perhaps it has something to do with how BIG my heart is for these kids. I feel ALL THE FEELS as if I was going through adolescence again because never before have I been so exposed, so raw. The entirety of my heart is walking on four unstable legs right out in front of me. It's enough to make anyone feel bipolar.

The moodiness. While I put out a ton of moodiness during my teenage years, I also had to deal with a lot from my sister and friends. Here I am again! I am 1000% biased but my daughters are super cute and sweet. AND THEN THEY ARE NOT. 
       Mama, where is my tutu?
       Which tutu, Charlotte?
       The one like cousin Caroline.
       Hmmm let me see, this one? (holding up incorrect tutu).
       No. my. Red. TUTU!  


via GIPHY

The butterflies. Oh the butterflies. I would get crushes on EVERYONE. All. The. Time. From my very first boyfriend Clint (I lived in Texas, people) to the boy who asked me to roller skate with him (I still hold a small candle for you, Adam), butterflies were a way of living. Just one look at that special someone's face and I was done. Well, being a parent is like that, too. Amidst the chaos, all I need to do is take one look at my daughters and the butterflies are back. It's really incredible. I love what Dax Shepard said in an interview about his new daughter, Lincoln, "When I look at her, it’s like when I was in 7th grade and fell in love for the first time, where it’s debilitating. That’s available 24/7 if I want, which is amazing.” I mean, RIGHT?!?!

There is so much to wade through as a teen and as a parent. From angst to acne (oh, the ACNE!), these two phases in life run the bases. Yet, I find myself reflecting on my teenage years with more fondness now that I've put them in perspective. How brave I was to navigate all of that! I'm not sure I could do it again.

But, here I am. In the throes of more tears than I've ever seen, more drama than I've ever made and, most of all, more butterflies than my heart can handle. Would. Not. Change. It. 

Finding The Calm

Yesterday, I subbed in a second grade classroom. It was an insane experience from which I am still recovering. My wonderful sister is an elementary school teacher and, after yesterday, she is my new hero. 

Things were going just fine in the morning. We had our morning meeting on the rug in the back of the room, the kids went to art, then lunch and we had a somewhat successful math lesson (I won't count the ridiculousness with the blocks used during subtraction if you won't).

But then came recess. Everything fell apart after recess.

The class lined up after their 25 minutes of freedom and I noticed there were a couple of girls missing. When the stragglers finally showed up, so did the tears. Of course, I was concerned. Had they been hurt? Had someone bullied them? But as I surveyed the scene, I noticed they were covered in mud. Zoe, the bolder and apparently more dramatic of the two, looked up at me and said, This is the WORST day of my WHOLE life!

She was the first of three second graders to tell me this yesterday.

The girls had slipped (apparently simultaneously?) while playing tag. But this mud catastrophe was only part of the recess drama and just the beginning of this terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Somewhat of a feud had developed between the remaining girls. Lots of I'm not your friend any more action. Probably a walk-in-the-park for my sister to deal with but, you see, I'm used to teenagers. Teenagers are passive aggressive, God love 'em. A sixteen year-old will never actually tell another sixteen year-old that she doesn't want to be friends. No, she'll post it to another friend's wall on Facebook so that future ex-friend can see and then start texting about it using lots of emoticons and abbreviations. But second graders don't bullshit. They get right to the point and break up with you to your face. Of course, the next day you might get back together, but that's just another story.

Maya, the girl doing the breaking up, told me it was her worst day ever and then proceeded to cry for the next half hour. Sammy, the dumped, put on a braver face and just said it had been a terrible day rather than the most awful of her long 8 years. I appreciated her perspective.

Oh, and we haven't even gotten to Madison yet (those of you who know my cat will see the irony in a minute). She had a rough day (and yes, of course she vocalized just how awful it had been to me at least once). I'll summarize by saying that she initially served a time-out on the rug in the back of the classroom and then subsequently served one outside in the hall (self-inflicted). Even though I saw very little of her, I felt her wrath like she was ever-present.

At some point between sharpening pencils and providing tissues to the wounded, I took a step back to try to find my calm. Things were seriously chaotic around me -- tears and time-outs and math! Oh My! -- and I thought to myself, this is your yoga practice. Can you be calm inside when all hell breaks loose outside?

I won't lie to you and tell you that I was in a "Zen place" from that moment on but it was an educational moment, for certain. For much of the day, I felt so incompetent and out of control and coming back into my breath helped me regain my calm so that, rather than run out of the room screaming, I could deal with what was in front of me. Or, at least survive what was in front of me.

I'm fairly certain I won't be going back to second grade. I think I'll leave those heroics to people like my sister. But, I'm grateful for the memories. Hopefully Zoe will remember me fondly when she thinks back to the worst day of her life.

Yoga. It's Not Just For Heathens Any More.

My yoga practice just got cooler. Why, you ask? Because it's been termed "demonic" by Mark Driscoll, the pastor of Mars Hill Church in Seattle. And, if I know my inner 14 year-old self as well as I think I do, this pastor calling my yoga class a "little demon class" just kicked her into full rebellion mode. Take a look at this guy and his thoughts on yoga below.

I want to share a few things I've learned from my practice of yoga so you can see just how far I've gone into the realm of demonism and begin to pray for me as soon as possible. Actually, you might want to contact your local priest and schedule an exorcism at your earliest convenience.

• All beings should be happy and free, expressed in the mantra Lokah Samasta Sukino Bhavantu in Sanskrit.
• God is present in each one of us.
• Namaste isn't just a word, it's a way of living that acknowledges the sacredness of others.
• Setting an intention at the beginning of practice helps you be mindful of those you love.
• Moderation, or Brahmacharya, is a helpful skill to master in seeking a virtuous life.
• Quieting the mind, paying attention to the breath and looking inside one's self will lead you to the divine.

So scandalous, right?! I mean, have you ever read anything SO contrary to Christianity? The idea that God would invite us to look inside ourselves to meet him (or her) is so unlike anything in the Bible. Clearly when St. Paul asks the church in Corinth, "Don’t you know that you yourselves are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit dwells in your midst?", the answer is a big, fat "NO." And I hate to think what the ancient monastics would say about Brahmacharya!

Obviously, I am kidding. (If you didn't get my sarcasm then I will pray for you and your humorless soul.) I think Mark Driscoll has it TOTALLY wrong. I would also take a guess the good pastor has never even been to a yoga class (dude just looks tight, doesn't he?).

I am a Christian. I am also a yogini. In my experience, they are not mutually exclusive and, in fact, both strengthen each other in my life. Notice, I say experience because, unlike MD over there in Seattle, I have experience in both the Christian realm and the yoga realm. I would shrug off this anti-yoga banter if it was an isolated incident but, unfortunately, it's not. From the Catholic church to Christian fundamentalists, yoga has its share of critics. I'm totally comfortable with it having critics but I'd rather they be well-informed ones that aren't coming from a place of fear. I'm pretty sure that practicing yoga isn't secretly leading me into demon worship and, if it were, I'm certain I'd put the brakes on it. I'm not afraid of being converted to something against my will, I'm just not. What I am afraid of is missing out on amazing things because I don't trust myself enough to encounter the unfamiliar. If I lived like that then I might have never read Harry Potter (the horror!), lived in San Francisco (which I'm sure is MD's fave city) and become a yoga teacher (aka a demon teacher).

So, Mark Driscoll, I will pray for you. I will pray that you have a more open mind and learn not to fear the unfamiliar. Of course, this is my prayer for myself as well.

Namaste.

Ideas for Getting Out of A Bad Mood

Maybe today sucked. Maybe you have an ingrown toenail or your cat was acting up. Maybe your cat has an ingrown toenail. Or, maybe you were just grumpy for no reason. Whatever caused (or did not cause) your bad mood, you're desperate to get out of it. Because, let's face it, being in a bad mood is no fun (for you or the people around you).

This might surprise you but, I am not always a pleasant, bubbly person. I get grumpy and even mean sometimes. Shocking, I know- am I rocking your world?! While it might be easy to get in a bad mood, it's really tough to get out of one. This is where I am here to help. I've come up with a few tips to get help get you out of your bad mood.

1. Treat yourself to something. Not something big, like a pony, but something small and special, like a Diet Coke, a latte or some chocolate. Yum-tastic.  
2. Get up and get going! What you may want to do is watch the 6 hour, BBC version of Pride and Prejudice featuring the fantastic Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy (or something like that . . .) but, your body and mind will thank you if you just get out and do something! Make a plan, make a friend and get out of the house or office, just for a bit.
3. Exercise. Boost those endorphins to help your mood from really going south. Exercise gives you endorphins. Endorphins make you happy. Happy people just don't shoot their husbands, they just don't. (Yes, I am aware that I just quoted Legally Blonde making me, officially, a cliche.) 
4. Do something funny. Choreograph a dance to your favorite song (note: this becomes even funnier if you suck at dancing). Prank call a local grocery store (Do you have Mrs. Butterworth's syrup? You do? Well, you better give it back to her! is really a classic). If either one of those don't appeal to you, video yourself lip-syncing to a song like this guy:


5. Start drinking. It's five o-clock somewhere right? Unless you're not a happy drunk in which case, don't do this one, it'll make it worse.

Well, I hope this list was helpful. I know I already feel better.

Sometimes . . . I ruin adventures.

So my husband loves to go on, what he calls, adventures. I know what you're thinking: I'm either married to an eight year-old or to Indiana Jones. Let's just compromise and say he's a bit of both.

I have ruined a couple of our adventures because, well, I can be fragile. By that, I mean I have motion sickness and am absolutely not a good sport about it. I also go from zero to starving in like a millisecond. He loves that. I'm not necessarily proud of this "not being a good sport" thing but this blog makes me feel like I'm in the confessional room on The Real World (back when it was good, obviously).

When we first moved to San Francisco, my husband and I drove up to Point Reyes. Point Reyes is a beautiful peninsula about an hour and a half drive on a ridiculously curvy road. Ridiculously. My very own explorer extraordinaire had the route mapped out for us. I will spare you the details but you can imagine how this scenic drive went for him and his adventure-ruiner. Let's just say I have not returned to beautiful Point Reyes and I don't intend to unless they make a straighter freaking road. I know California's broke but I personally think it should be on Arnold's "to do" list. I know what you're thinking, Why would your husband make you go with him when he knows you'll just get sick and ruin everything? The answer, my friends: naive optimism. Remember: a hybrid of an eight year-old and Indiana Jones. It's a dynamite combination.

I have a long history of ruining adventures with my fragility. I'm like a peach.

I was six when we took our first ski trip. We were living in Madrid, Spain at the time and decided to go somewhere in the French Alps (I feel ridiculous even writing this because it sounds snobby. Please feel better about me knowing that I was in a bright purple one-piece snowsuit and my dad was decked out in neon colors . . . see below). Of course the road was brutal and I threw up all over my purple snowsuit. My father, ever the problem-solver, had me go out and roll in the snow to get cleaned off. Awesome. Despite my vomiting and later peeing myself during ski school, I actually enjoyed my first skiing adventure. That purple snowsuit went through a lot.

So yeah, I'm fragile. It's a miracle I am still here.

 Sorry about the quality- best my secretary could do. . .

"Quirky" by Claudymom

I love quirky people and would like to be one someday. Maybe the quirkiest person I know is my mom, Claudymom. She is both delightful and a little odd-- my favorite combination. She has these tiny little freak flags (they are subtler and more tasteful than mine-- I think she hired a decorator) that she displays from time to time. I decided to dedicate this post to Claudymom and give you, all 5 of my readers, Claudymom's Guide to Being Quirky:

1. Put ice in your white wine. Because, no matter what, it is just never cold enough!
2. Get a hula hoop and take up hula hooping. Do it for your daughter's friends when they come over. They will love it.
3. Purchase a sling shot and some ammo. Get to be a really good shot and chase the geese away that ruin your backyard.
4. Mispronounce random words that everyone else can say. Refuse to ever get a Volvo because it would sound like you are talking about female anatomy any time you'd mention it.
5. Never spit out your toothpaste because it is crass to spit. When you are lectured by your daughter for poisoning yourself, tell her that you've been doing it all your life and you haven't died yet!
6. Say things straight out of "Charlie Brown" like good grief! Add your own spin and expand to good griefous! or something like that. Go crazy!
7. Get the most out of every tank of gas. Don't refill until you are literally about to run out of gas. Pass this trait onto your daughters.
8. Make up your own names for things. "P.F. Chang's" restaurant might become "P.C. Fang's" or, for short, "Fang's." Get creative with it.
9. Get a really kick-ass nickname like "Claudymom" and become an entity unto yourself. Own it. Live it. Get an aol screen name circa 1996.
10. Don't be afraid to incorporate new lingo into your life. It might mesh well with words from your vernacular like "hunk" or, everyone's favorite, "heebie jeebies." Surprise your kids when you "call bitch" (aka claim the middle back seat of a car for yourself.)

I think the overall message of Claudymom is to be all around fabulous and well-liked. Loved, actually.

Well, good luck being quirky! Claudymom has helped all she can- the rest is up to you.

Who is the quirkiest person YOU know?

I was once bitten by a snake

Yeah, I'm totally not kidding. The memory of it is flooding back to me since it happened a year ago here, at my parent's house in Devon, PA, where I am currently on holiday (read: unemployed).

Now, don't get the wrong idea about Devon. It's suburbia-- the Main Line of Philadelphia. The closest people get to reptiles here are the alligators on their Lilly Pulitzer dresses. But of course, all that changed on one summer day in 2009. . .

My parents and I were just returning from a lovely dinner out. We pull into the garage and I get out of the car. I begin walking to the side door when I step on something squishy. It all happened so FAST-- I felt a sting on my heel and yelled with great fervor and emotion "A SNAKE JUST BIT ME!" I saw it slither away from me, deeper into the garage.

My mother  (let's call her "Claudymom") reacted fast. She bolted back into the car and LOCKED THE DOORS. Thank God for power locks or she would have been taken by that snake that day. We can only thank the makers of my dad's SUV for having the foresight to protect women and children from two-foot water snakes that wander up from the pond into the garages of innocents.

While my mom was indulging the "flight" aspect of her reflexes, my father went into "fight" mode. He grabbed a shovel and proceeded to kill the snake. I think he was defending my honor. He was brave that day . . .

I, of course, had let myself into the house and was wriggling around trying to get rid of the heebie-jeebies (Claudymom's words, not mine) that damn snake had given me. I looked down at my foot and had the tiniest little cut from where the snake had pierced my skin. It was literally so tiny I started laughing hysterically. It didn't even hurt. Of course I would get bitten by a snake and have barely anything to show for it. I mean, it is really hard to brag about how hard core you are when you basically have a paper cut on your foot.

After the snake was properly dead, Claudymom unlocked the car doors and joined my father and me in the house.

We became much closer that day. . . Claudymom believed she had escaped death by mere seconds, my dad had stared into the face of a two foot snake and lived to tell about it and I was nursing my paper cut. The feeling of being alive was invigorating.

The scene of the attack.

My fear of flying

I am afraid of flying. I hate it. But obviously, see above list of interests and notice "travel" as one of them, I must do it. It's a necessary evil, I suppose.

This phobia of mine far supersedes both my fear of spiders and of birds accidentally flying into my face. You think I'm crazy? Well, just look at what happened to poor Fabio. I have no problem displaying my crazy when it comes to these two phobias. I will scream dramatically and with great affect when encountering an eight-legged demon and I will unabashedly "hit the deck" when winged creatures  are flying just a little too close to my head (my husband LOVES when I do this on our walks in the park). Yes-- I am not embarrassed nor shy about waving these freak flags of mine but when it comes to flying, I feel I need to keep it together. I won't even medicate or drink too much on a flight because I don't want my reflexes impaired in case we go down. Emergency-ready-position needs to be easy to get into and Valium or alcohol may inhibit me and I just don't want to take that chance. So I must stick to faking that I am OK. That I don't think I'm actually going to die. I smile and nod at the flight attendants as if I am just on a leisurely cruise about town.

Perhaps I don't want to incite panic among the other passengers thereby jeopardizing my chances of survival in the event of an emergency. Or maybe, just maybe, I have a little bit of shame for once? I think the former is more likely. As for me, I will keep my sweaty palms and  thoughts of imminent death to myself. If everyone actually realized that we are only protected by a thin metal casing that could be ripped apart by turbulence or forced to the ground by a stray bird in the engine (again with the BIRDS!), everyone would be as freaked out as I am. It's their ignorance that protects them. I wouldn't take that away, I'm just not that kind of person.

A little pick me up. Maybe the best thing ever.

This girl is my hero. I am totally changing my morning routine after seeing this.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qR3rK0kZFkg