So.
For the past few years people have been telling me I should write a book or start a blog. I guess either they find my facebook posts about the crazy things my kids do entertaining and want more or they see me dropping my three year old off at preschool in my pajamas with unbrushed hair and think, "Wow, she really needs something to do with her time. Personal hygiene can wait. She should be a mommy blogger!"
I totally agree.
So what's been stopping me? Well, first of all there's this fear that once I start blogging I'm going to have a responsibility to regularly be entertaining, thoughtful, and just plain THERE. I'm a mother of three little boys with a freelance graphic design career and a husband who travels most weeks for work. I have a hard enough time being present for my kids, nevermind the blogosphere.
But more importantly, I didn't have a good title for my blog. I needed something that would demonstrate my sarcastic wit and worldly intelligence and also maybe say something about what I'm going to be blogging about (myself, my kids, motherhood).
Then yesterday afternoon I was standing in my kitchen watching my five year old and three and a half year old sons wrestling in the family room. Or what they consider wrestling, anyway, which consists mainly of one sitting on the other and repeatedly bouncing up and down while the other one kicks, punches, and bites their way free. Good times! Waaay better than any of the Pinterest borne craft projects I had been trying to engage them in (popsicle stick birdhouses, anyone?). Then, out of nowhere (OK, from under the kitchen table where he'd been happily playing with a marker cap and empty play dough container - because come on he's a THIRD CHILD), my 11 month old baby boy crawled over to them, a look of fascination and pure delight on his face, and threw himself full force into the mix.
What ensued was a lot of screaming, shrieking, laughing, and eventually crying. I've learned by now that intervention is useless, and it's best to take a hands-off, every man for himself, survival of the fittest attitude lest I be accused of taking sides, babying the (duh) baby, or not being fair. Boys are rough and tough. Boys get scraped knees and bloody lips. Boys need their mommies to kiss the bite marks their brother's leave on their backs. Which is what eventually happened.
As I was comforting the victim of said bite marks while listening to the other ramble on about Star Wars characters (What is Chewbacca's last name? Is carbonite cold? Is the Death Star really a star?) I thought to myself, HOW DID I GET HERE??? Cue Talking Heads song from the 80's all about the existential dilemma of having what you always wanted but wondering where the hell it came from. How did I become the mom to three (THREE!) little boys? When did my life become "Look! It's a dump truck!" and "Who left the toilet seat down?" and "Fine just pee in the bushes so we don't have to trek all that mud through the house."
See, I was the GIRLIEST of little girls. My childhood neighbor, who was always a bit of a tomboy and who is now a mother of two girls because life is funny like that, reminded me recently of the times she would play catch in my front yard with my dad while I sat on the driveway painting my fingernails. Yep, pretty much. I loved dress-up and paper dolls and Barbies.
Oh, the Barbies!
I played with Barbie way after it was age appropriate to do so. I dressed her, did her hair, and sent her on dream dates with Ken. Who cares that she had weird little deformed feet and even in her cheap plastic high heels she still couldn't stand up unassisted? She was fabulous!
I thought of the last two jobs I had before I stopped working full time to become a stay-at-home mom, designing lip gloss packaging and tween girl pj's at companies with slogans like "All the flavor of being a girl" and "It's a girl's world." I thought of the box of Lip Smackers and bedazzled blue jean samples that I stockpiled from those companies for my future daughters, which has over the years been picked apart and given away to my niece, my neighbor's daughter, and other people's little girls. I thought of Barbie, who has never seen the inside of my house and how, if she's smart, she never will. Nothing good can come of being the lone female plaything of three little boys (or big boys either, amirite?).
At that point I sat down at my computer, updating my status to inform my facebook friends that the title of my upcoming book (the one everyone tells me I should write) will be 'O' Barbie Where Art Thou?' It was my way of cutting through the chaos of the moment and calling attention to my 'lone female in a house full of males' plight while also referencing a George Clooney adventure/comedy of the 1990's. I love wordplay.
Later that night, after the boys were in bed, my husband turned to me and said, "So, I think you've got your blog title." I gave him a blank look. Seriously, at any point in the day if you ask me what happened more than twenty minutes earlier I will probably give you a blank look. It's likely the result of a combination of the useless information (like, that Lightning McQueen's nemesis is Chick Hicks) that takes up space in my brain, six years of sleep deprivation, and the residual effects of a lot of fun I had in college.
"O' Barbie Where Art Thou?" he said. Just the fact that he suggested that meant that he thought it was good enough to use. So I thought about it. It works on SO MANY LEVELS!
It brings up Barbie, that wisp of a female who had it ALL (Seriously! She was an astronaut! She was a doctor! She had work clothes that turned into evening wear in a matter of seconds!).
It describes my longing for girlie things in a sea of boy-dom, things that won't be taken out of my hands and used as lassos and handcuffs but as the scarves and bracelets they really are.
It also speaks to my wish to be the girl who has it ALL - though in my case these days having it all would probably mean a full night's sleep and a pair of yoga pants that could double as evening wear....and a place to actually WEAR evening wear.
And the word ART is in it. I'm an artist! (OK, I know in this case ART is like an Olde English thing or something, but I'm trying here...).
So here we are, we have a name, I have a blog.
It will be about my crazy boys who make me question my sanity when I have to insist that EVERYONE WEARS PANTS TO DINNER.
It will be about the trials I go through trying to be the 'perfect mom' and all the times I feel like maybe I'm not even a 'good enough mom' only to have them throw their arms around me and tell me I'm the BEST MOM EVER.
It will be about the things I appreciate about having three future MEN to take care of me when I'm old and gray and the fear that without a daughter there will be NO ONE to take care of me when I'm old and gray.
Let's get this out of the way first though. I know I'm BLESSED. And I'm NOT the kind of person who goes around using that word (unless someone's just sneezed). I have three healthy, smart (I'm sorry, I'm a Jewish mom, I think they're f-ing genuises) amazing boys who I love more than I thought it was possible to love anything. I know enough people who struggle to know how good I have it. So please understand that this blog is for FUN and don't take me too seriously.
So. What do YOU want this blog to be about? Leave me a comment...
For the past few years people have been telling me I should write a book or start a blog. I guess either they find my facebook posts about the crazy things my kids do entertaining and want more or they see me dropping my three year old off at preschool in my pajamas with unbrushed hair and think, "Wow, she really needs something to do with her time. Personal hygiene can wait. She should be a mommy blogger!"
I totally agree.
So what's been stopping me? Well, first of all there's this fear that once I start blogging I'm going to have a responsibility to regularly be entertaining, thoughtful, and just plain THERE. I'm a mother of three little boys with a freelance graphic design career and a husband who travels most weeks for work. I have a hard enough time being present for my kids, nevermind the blogosphere.
But more importantly, I didn't have a good title for my blog. I needed something that would demonstrate my sarcastic wit and worldly intelligence and also maybe say something about what I'm going to be blogging about (myself, my kids, motherhood).
Then yesterday afternoon I was standing in my kitchen watching my five year old and three and a half year old sons wrestling in the family room. Or what they consider wrestling, anyway, which consists mainly of one sitting on the other and repeatedly bouncing up and down while the other one kicks, punches, and bites their way free. Good times! Waaay better than any of the Pinterest borne craft projects I had been trying to engage them in (popsicle stick birdhouses, anyone?). Then, out of nowhere (OK, from under the kitchen table where he'd been happily playing with a marker cap and empty play dough container - because come on he's a THIRD CHILD), my 11 month old baby boy crawled over to them, a look of fascination and pure delight on his face, and threw himself full force into the mix.
What ensued was a lot of screaming, shrieking, laughing, and eventually crying. I've learned by now that intervention is useless, and it's best to take a hands-off, every man for himself, survival of the fittest attitude lest I be accused of taking sides, babying the (duh) baby, or not being fair. Boys are rough and tough. Boys get scraped knees and bloody lips. Boys need their mommies to kiss the bite marks their brother's leave on their backs. Which is what eventually happened.
As I was comforting the victim of said bite marks while listening to the other ramble on about Star Wars characters (What is Chewbacca's last name? Is carbonite cold? Is the Death Star really a star?) I thought to myself, HOW DID I GET HERE??? Cue Talking Heads song from the 80's all about the existential dilemma of having what you always wanted but wondering where the hell it came from. How did I become the mom to three (THREE!) little boys? When did my life become "Look! It's a dump truck!" and "Who left the toilet seat down?" and "Fine just pee in the bushes so we don't have to trek all that mud through the house."
See, I was the GIRLIEST of little girls. My childhood neighbor, who was always a bit of a tomboy and who is now a mother of two girls because life is funny like that, reminded me recently of the times she would play catch in my front yard with my dad while I sat on the driveway painting my fingernails. Yep, pretty much. I loved dress-up and paper dolls and Barbies.
Oh, the Barbies!
I played with Barbie way after it was age appropriate to do so. I dressed her, did her hair, and sent her on dream dates with Ken. Who cares that she had weird little deformed feet and even in her cheap plastic high heels she still couldn't stand up unassisted? She was fabulous!
I thought of the last two jobs I had before I stopped working full time to become a stay-at-home mom, designing lip gloss packaging and tween girl pj's at companies with slogans like "All the flavor of being a girl" and "It's a girl's world." I thought of the box of Lip Smackers and bedazzled blue jean samples that I stockpiled from those companies for my future daughters, which has over the years been picked apart and given away to my niece, my neighbor's daughter, and other people's little girls. I thought of Barbie, who has never seen the inside of my house and how, if she's smart, she never will. Nothing good can come of being the lone female plaything of three little boys (or big boys either, amirite?).
At that point I sat down at my computer, updating my status to inform my facebook friends that the title of my upcoming book (the one everyone tells me I should write) will be 'O' Barbie Where Art Thou?' It was my way of cutting through the chaos of the moment and calling attention to my 'lone female in a house full of males' plight while also referencing a George Clooney adventure/comedy of the 1990's. I love wordplay.
Later that night, after the boys were in bed, my husband turned to me and said, "So, I think you've got your blog title." I gave him a blank look. Seriously, at any point in the day if you ask me what happened more than twenty minutes earlier I will probably give you a blank look. It's likely the result of a combination of the useless information (like, that Lightning McQueen's nemesis is Chick Hicks) that takes up space in my brain, six years of sleep deprivation, and the residual effects of a lot of fun I had in college.
"O' Barbie Where Art Thou?" he said. Just the fact that he suggested that meant that he thought it was good enough to use. So I thought about it. It works on SO MANY LEVELS!
It brings up Barbie, that wisp of a female who had it ALL (Seriously! She was an astronaut! She was a doctor! She had work clothes that turned into evening wear in a matter of seconds!).
It describes my longing for girlie things in a sea of boy-dom, things that won't be taken out of my hands and used as lassos and handcuffs but as the scarves and bracelets they really are.
It also speaks to my wish to be the girl who has it ALL - though in my case these days having it all would probably mean a full night's sleep and a pair of yoga pants that could double as evening wear....and a place to actually WEAR evening wear.
And the word ART is in it. I'm an artist! (OK, I know in this case ART is like an Olde English thing or something, but I'm trying here...).
So here we are, we have a name, I have a blog.
It will be about my crazy boys who make me question my sanity when I have to insist that EVERYONE WEARS PANTS TO DINNER.
It will be about the trials I go through trying to be the 'perfect mom' and all the times I feel like maybe I'm not even a 'good enough mom' only to have them throw their arms around me and tell me I'm the BEST MOM EVER.
It will be about the things I appreciate about having three future MEN to take care of me when I'm old and gray and the fear that without a daughter there will be NO ONE to take care of me when I'm old and gray.
Let's get this out of the way first though. I know I'm BLESSED. And I'm NOT the kind of person who goes around using that word (unless someone's just sneezed). I have three healthy, smart (I'm sorry, I'm a Jewish mom, I think they're f-ing genuises) amazing boys who I love more than I thought it was possible to love anything. I know enough people who struggle to know how good I have it. So please understand that this blog is for FUN and don't take me too seriously.
So. What do YOU want this blog to be about? Leave me a comment...
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