The Mommy Hour

The Witching Hour is a term that was once used to describe the hours when black magic was at its best. It was later used to describe the time between midnight and three a.m.  I now believe these hourse to be  ' The Mommy Hour'.  Nothing supernatural here.

The Mommy Hour is the often the time between 9:30 p.m.-12:30 a.m. (give or take a few hours). After tucking the kids, and often the husband, in bed, this time is used solely for the mommy.  In fact, I write to you now in The Mommy Hour. The day belongs to everyone else. You  divide your time between work, home and family. Although there are periods throughout the day where a mommy gets time to herself, I don't think it's truly until this time where a mommy is most effective.

In the last half hour alone, I have been able to do more things than I could have done the entire day. I organized the kitchen, put away the toys scattered throughout the house especially the living room, grabbed myself a cranberry juice and pitched up a tent in my living room. No really, I did. (It was the cutest igloo/tent in the Kid's Dept. at Ikea. Room or no room, I had to buy it. Plus it was only $9.99) Now after the tent-pitching, it's mommy time.

During this time, I usually get a call or two from friends on my cell or an email, so not to wake up the rest of my household  (although my husband is usually up having his Daddy Hour too.) We don't make small talk, we just stick to the facts and plan play dates for the week.  The call is short and sweet, so that we can each get back to our own "mommy time."   (Now if I can just fall asleep at a decent hour, so I can actually stay awake at these play dates, that's another story.)

I'm starting to realize that I might just be nocturnal and that sunlight actually hurts my eyes. The only problem is that I have to be up at the crack of dawn when little man gets up, because although he heads straight to the TV, turns it on and props his favorite DVD in the player, he still has a hard time frying eggs on his own. (We're still working on this one, so that mommy can sleep in. Is two too young to be frying eggs?)

According to my friends, The Mommy Hour is mandatory for the sake of the family. If mommy doesn't have time to wind down, then there's no telling what will happen to her family the next day or if breakfast will even be served. This unwinding time also includes: cleaning up, preparing kids lunches, paying bills, returning emails, opening snail mail, and folding laundry among other things. I like to focus on the other things: just sitting and staring at the walls (which I can't do--I always need to be doing something and wall-watching doesn't work for me), painting my nails (because who has time for a manicure, unless someone is getting married), taking a shower or bath (because, yes, some days we go un-showered.)  Most of my freelance friends or On-The-Go moms (aka Stay at Home Moms) use this time to work, paint, write, create (whatever word you want to use). This is when I finally write without interruption, except for the occasional moments that I begin to drift of, other than that, I am good. I really value this time. I, as I am sure many moms, do.

So, after all the other hours of the day; the working hours, family hours, errand hours, avoidance of household chores and inlaws hours etc...it is good to know that there is a light at the end of the tunnel, and time for the Mommy Hour. Now if I could just stay awake long enough to enjoy it.

The Little Ol' Lady From Pasadena

I enjoyed some quiet time by myself at the food court in the mall. Just me, my Mediterranean salad, and a little old Japanese woman. Yes, you read it correctly--I ate a salad.

I promised myself to just sit still for a bit. (What? An unstructured activity? But what should I do?) So, I sat there alone in my thoughts: Should I have stayed home and used this time to nap like my husband and son?"...but I was interrupted by a little old Japanese woman.

"You look lonely," she said. "Ok, I will sit with you." I looked lonely? Had I subliminally asked her to sit with me? She responded as if I had asked her to. Was looking lonely synonymous with looking homely? What did she mean?

So, she decided to sit across from me, at the table I specifically chose farthest from the other tables. There must have been at least fifteen empty tables around us. I counted ten before she interrupted me. I wasn't sure what she was saying, but I smiled and nodded "yes." She was a sweet old lonely lady with a dark wooden cane in one hand. Her hair was dyed jet black and appeared as if she had it recently curled and styled (or she slept standing up.) You could tell by the lines on her face that she had seen many good years. You could also see sadness in her eyes, but she continuously giggled as she spoke, so I joined in and giggled with her. I don't know what we were giggling about, but when I realized what she said, I stopped giggling.
"Me silly woman. Too old to eat my food. It's falling everywhere." I didn't know how to respond, so I just focused on my food.

"Now, where was that Kalamata olive they placed on top of my salad?" I was determined to find it. Had I not been paying attention and swallowed it whole, pit and all? Just then, a tehina-covered lettuce leaf got stuck in my throat.
"Lady, you ok," she either asked or stated, I wasn't sure. I decided the latter and of course just nodded and smiled.

Our conversation continued. She made small talk. She told me she was from Pasadena originally, somehow her accent made me feel she wasn't telling me the whole truth. Then she said, "Mall not busy for a Saturday, huh ok." (Again not sure if this was a question or statement by the infliction in her voice.)
I replied, "No." (I'm not very good at making small talk.)

"You write lots. You have nice day," she said, as she got up to leave.
"You too," I replied overly ecstatic. I found my Kalamata olive, it had rolled under my plate.

That Which is Not Different

On a recent drive from Los Angeles to Temecula, I could have sworn I was having deja vu. Every few miles alongside the freeway, I would notice the same shopping center with the same stores. Target, Starbucks, Barnes and Noble...then a tract housing community and even a Westfield mall. Target, Starbucks, Barnes and Noble...tract housing...you get the point.

I had to re-sip my decaf Iced Latte with soy a few times, just to make sure I wasn't dreaming or in some sort of trance. Were we in the same spot we had been in all along? Were we driving in circles?
Nope...but how could I be sure? The sign finally read "Dorothy I don't think we're in Kansas anymore", aka "Welcome to Temecula" right after we passed...
...yup you guessed it: a Target, Starbucks, Barnes and Noble and tract housing community.

We continued our journey on to Wine Country. I couldn't wait....green hills covered in grape vines, just like those that I remember when I visited Italy. We were getting closer...I new from the sign up ahead that read "Wine Country ahead"...but not until we passed a Target, Starbucks, Barnes and Noble and TWO tract housing communities.

This is no joke!!!

When we finally got to the winery, I realized it was not even close to what I had seen in Italy. There were also two empty lots facing each other on both sides of the road.

I looked at my husband and said "you know what would be great here? A Target, Starbucks, Barnes and Noble and a tract housing community."
"But what would be across the street?" he asked.
"A huge parking structure to accomodate all the cars, of course."

We sipped our wine and toasted, "Here's to all that is the same."

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.