I blog, therefore I am . . . perpetually full of guilt for not writing more frequently. Sigh. I've put off posting because, for some reason, I feel the need to apologize for not having done it in such a long time. Yes, I'm neurotic. Neurotic and SAD, but neurotic. So no apologies. Sorry. Deal with it. I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggone it, people still like me!
I'm officially a working (outside-the-home) mom again, and boy there's nothing like returning to work to make you realize just how disorganized you are. This transition means my house is always a wreck (although I do have the luxury of having a bi-weekly house cleaner which only ensures I'll be up into the wee hours of the morning the night before trying to pre-clean for the cleaning - STUUUuuupiddd), the laundry is so piled up I'm raiding the dirty clothes hamper at least once a week, my already non-existent "free-time" is now spent trying to fit necessary chores and errands into that non-existent time, my sewing machine is covered in cobwebs, and at least twice a week, meal-time begins with, "Would you like fries with that?" I know it's bad when my 19-month old sees a Whataburger and says "feh-fies," and, when asked what he wants to eat, my 4.75 year old says, "Whatever you'd like to go get, Mama." For now though, I'm really okay with that because being out in the world working again was necessary to reclaiming my sanity. I love, love, love (did I say "love"?) my job and don't regret coming back to work, although I do wish amphetamines were still mislabeled "diet pills" and available over-the-counter . . . .
Enough bloggin'-n-bitchin' though. On to more important things. In just two-ish months time I will see my 38th birthday come and go, and as I'm getting closer and closer to that 40-yr-old mark (which I know isn't really old, so all you ladies can stop shaking your walkers at me) there's a very strange transition happening. I put on an outfit yesterday that I usually love to wear, although this time I felt completely uncomfortable all day - it felt like it was too "young" for me. WHAT?!?!?! Too young for me? I wasn't wearing a onesie or anything. You may recall a previous post in which I lamented my inability to maturely wear glittery eye shadow and fruity lip gloss, and it seems that trend is continuing. I don't like it one bit! I have nightmares of being one of those little old ladies with clown make-up and sequin mini-skirts, people fumbling over each other to get a youtube-worthy video. I'm convinced the parents at my boys' fancy school are looking down their noses at me, not because my car's a Toyota instead of a BMW and smells like a combination of burned coffee and poopy diapers, but because I'm skipping around in my frilly skirts and flats like I'm on my way to the mall and my mom still has to drive me! I remember someone saying that in your 30s you "come into your own," feel more comfortable in your own skin, start caring less about what other people think about you, and become more engaged in finding out what you're meant to contribute to the world. Sounds peaceful. Who the hell wants that?!?!? Screw maturity and self-awareness . . . I want a little more time to feel judged and less-than-average and hopelessly lost somewhere far below that "bar" people are always talking about. Forever young, I want to be forever young . . .