SAHM

I just received an email from a friend, describing another friend of hers as a SAHM. Huh? I sat there staring at the letters. S-A-H-M. , was it pronounced Sahem? Was the H silent? Same? Did it stand for something? Silly And Happy Mom? Sexy and Hot Mom? Is that like a MILF? (See I'm up with the hip acronyms....sometimes). I had to ask.

Apparently it stands for Stay at Home Mom, but you probably already knew that. OK. I am confused as to why we would need the acronym SAHM. Is that to make it easier to take out a singles ad in the local paper:

SAHM seeks SM(the 'M' standing for Male, not Mom in this case, but to each their own) or SAHD(Stay At Home Dad) to LOL together with.

Is it used in crossword puzzles?:
Accross
47. Four letters that describe a mother that never leaves her home.

Or, is it that when you are chatting on a MOM board (which all mom's do of course), you can state your career easier? - SAHM....LOL (I have to keep throwing that LOL in there too).

Another problem I have with the term SAHM is I don't find that to be an accurate description of what I do. My job has little to nothing to do with STAYING at all. I never STAY in one place too long, let alone at home. Maybe that's just me. I think it should be changed to OTGM (On The Go Mom) or RAHM (Rarely At Home Mom). I think these are better descriptions of what I do. Between Mommy and Me, swim class, tumbling and errands (which go on and on and on...), I can't honestly say how often I am AT HOME. When I picture a SAHM, I picture the little old lady who lived in a shoe, sitting back in her rocking chair knitting with tons of children running around and cats on her lap, in her hair, on the dining room table, on the kids.... (Not that there is anything wrong with owning cats or knitting for that matter). That is what I picture as staying at home. The kids run free and care for themselves, just like the cats (I know cat-lovers will differ). The mom just sits all day and Stays At Home. Maybe it is true "when you live in a shoe and have so many children you don't know what to do."

So, the next time you hear someone categorize a mother as a SAHM, think of me. Please correct them: "You mean an 'On The Go Mom,'" and I'll feel that just one more person gets me.

Saved by Cheerios

So, there he was. He was tall, dark and...... greasy. He stood over the cash register at the mall pretzel shop. Our eyes met as he was about to take my order. Before I could say anything, he stopped to pick at one of the oozing pimples on his face. Of course, he wiped it clean with a napkin shortly after and grabbed a pretzel. With a quick "Never mind," I ran off as quickly as I could.

Shocking as it may seem, this was not the first time I had to deprive my son of a pretzel at a mall. It has happened before, the same way at a different location. I understand that acne was even more uncomfortable for the cashier and an awkward part of growing up, but as long as there was no interaction between the acne and my pretzel, I would have been ok. Am I asking for too much?

After a persistent mall search for anything else my son would eat as a snack, on opposite ends of the mall no less, all he could say was "No! Pretzel mommy, pleeeeeeeeeeease." How could I refuse after a pleeeeeease like that? But how could I explain to him that it was unsanitary, and there was no way I would let him have one. I tried. Trust me. I tried and tried.

So, I did what any good mother would do and I returned to the pretzel place. There had been a change of shifts. A new greasy teen was on the register. I took my chance because the pretzel- twister-teen was wearing gloves and handling the actual pretzels. The line was long. That's a good thing, right? (Not for my two year old son.)

We finally reach the register. Ok, I can do this. As long as the pretzel-twister-teen is the one that hands us the pretzel. Just then (and this is no joke, I am serious!!!), the cashier teen gets a paper cut and screams. He tells me to hold on and begins sucking on the cut on his finger. He gets back to me. I can't move. I am in shock.

Thank goodness for the pretzel twister. He must have understood the look of fear on my face when he asked if HE could help me. I asked for a pretzel that HE twisted and just took out of the oven. He handed me one and I left the money on the counter. I left before I could get the change. I didn't want to take a chance on having him touch the register that that greasy teen #1 had touched and paper cut teen #2 had touched. I must have had that same look on my face I remember having when I had morning sickness with my pregnancy, because he asked if I was OK. I nodded, thanked him politely and left with my pretzel.

I hesitantly handed my son the CLEAN pretzel after inspecting it closely ten times. "No, mommy! Cheerios? " he asked. Did he understand?

Thankfully, I always have a cheerios stash in my purse. With a sigh of relief, I tossed the pretzel into the garbage can and handed my son his zip-locked cheerios.

Kundalini

Early morning, I head over to my Kundalini Yoga class. I have always practiced Yoga on and off "truthfully" for some years now, but have never experienced Yoga in the way I do through Kundalini. Kundalini represents a letting go of thoughts and control (what? control issues?) and helps one follow the flow (what?...not a chance, buddy!)

With my eyes barely open and mind already running a mile a minute, I almost turn back each time. I can't help but think of all the things "I could be doing with my time" instead of Yoga. Sleeping for one. I make it to class...we start out sitting cross-legged and reflecting on our inner selves. Inner selves? No, let's just move on and think about all the other things in the world. So, I fight my mind every step of the way. The conversation with my inner self begins:

Me: After class, I need to stop for groceries. Can't forget a roll of quarters for laundry. Wait, mind come back.
Mind: I'm here. I've been here all along. What?
Me: Ok, I have to stop thinking about other things.
Mind: So, stop thinking.
Me: Ok, I'm going to stop thinking now. Did I lock the door on my way out? Wait...clear my thoughts.
Mind: Need something to think about. I can't help but think about not thinking.
Me: Ok, I'll pay attention to my breath. Wait, no that will make me hyperventilate. Am I breathing ok? Too fast? Too slow? How come the guy next to me sounds like he's snoring when he breathes? Is that the right way to do it?

This conversation goes on and on and on (did I mention "and on..."). We move on with our poses. Wait..my thoughts are disappearing. I'm focusing on being scrunched into frog pose. Now, standing. My mind is slipping away from me. Damnit!!!! I need to regain control!!!!
But there is no use. I'm in standing position chanting 'Sat Nam'....Me? How did I get here?...and how do I get out of it?

An hour and a half later, the practice finishes in Savasana pose (pronounced Sha-Vasana) or corpse pose. Lying on my back with my legs straight out in front of me. Hands at my sides, palms facing up. I am calm. This scares me. (Yes, calm scares me.) My mind is clear. All I hear now is the old man next to me snoring. Is he asleep? No, he snores even when we are changing poses. Then the song. (Yes, everyone joins in to sing the same song as the end of every practice. )From the outside looking in, it looks really lame. I am not going to sing it! It's like singing "the Hokey Pokey" at the end of every class. "Now everyone join in." So, I put my right arm in, and once again, by the second verse....I'm singing. What? They got me again!!! Then class is over I get up to roll my purple yoga mat slowly. I feel as if I'm a fly moving through molasses. I feel everything is happening in slow motion. I put on my shoes. (which takes great effort) So, this is what it feels like to be calm? I head out to my car with a new attitude. Carefree! I decide that I am not going to let anyone or anything bother me today. I'm not going to swim against the current. I am just going to be at peace - always. I smile. I get in my car and head out of the parking lot. Just as I am ready to make the right turn, a teenager on a bike runs the light and cuts me off. I slam on the brakes and lean in on my horn. I angrily bite my lip to avoid cursing at the guy. He stops his bike, turns around and flips me off. What, now it's my fault!!!! And just like that....my yoga practice is gone, until tomorrow morning.

Just in case you are interested in the lyrics to the song...I have included them below:

You put your right arm in,
You put your right arm out.
(Oops...not the Hokey Pokey)

(Don't laugh when you picture me singing this at the end of class...)
May the longtime sun shine upon you
All love surround you
And the pure, pure light that's within you
Guide your way home

Namaste!

Highlights of My Day

You know what THEY say. THEY are always saying something. A talkative bunch THEY are. They say we are never happy with what we have. If we have straight hair, we want curly hair (flashback to bad 80's perms...EWWWW) (I almost posted a scary pic of myself with 80's hair, but had second thoughts. Some things should be left to the imagination.)

If we have dark hair, we are not sure what color to change it to, so we put in multiple colored highlights. Lighter ones, no darker, wait...a little lighter. Ok...a few blonde ones and some brown ones....

My hair started to resemble that of Rainbow Brite's (another 80's flashback). For those of you who don't remember her or for those of you born in the 80's (geez, I'm old) See pic below:

There were different versions of her with funky red and rainbow colored highlights. (I'm getting off subject here), but that's what my hair resembled with all the touch ups. So after careful review of myself in a mirror (which I don't care to do often), and feeling inspired by my fellow brunette icons: Sex and The City's Charlotte, Mila Kunis, Catherine Zeta Jones and Mary Louise Parker, I visited my local Rite Aid, spent a whopping $9.99 on a bottle of Dark Brown Loreal Preference Hair Color and poured it on. Within minutes, twenty five to be exact, my highlights were gone and I was back to my old self.

I'm not sure if that is a good thing or not...but it works for now...'til the next visit to the hairdresser or Rite Aid.