All the world's a petri dish

It’s been four years and two babies but I’m getting back on stage with my show. It’s a comedy, very Sex and The City, one woman, lots of lines, gotta look good, do a really good job, can’t phone it in show. I have 9 days until I go on, and my kids have been sick. I was going to spend all this extra time working on my lines, and of course, going to yoga every single day until the show to show the world “I still got it!” Ah, but I’ll be lucky if I shave my legs.
I guess it’s the weather. Or the fact that Nathan is in JK, and I’ve taken Jake to a couple of drop ins, and now both children have a fever. I haven’t been sleeping well, because I’m up with Jake. His nose is snotty and when he has trouble breathing he wakes up crying for me. So I slip myself into his bottom bunk and lay with him until he falls asleep. And then I spend a few torturous moments devising my escape- how to squeeze out of the bottom bunk without waking up either boy. And it just re-enforces my need to get to yoga. Sleek like a cat. Dave brought home some photos today. He took a roll of film out of his camera and wanted to see what was on it. Pictures from the summer. My birthday on the beach. I had quite the shock. I have a vision of me in my head- and what I must look like in a bikini. And then there’s the photos. I look like a nice barbeque chicken with a lot of extra meat. I’m not fat. I’m healthy. I’d be a good meal.
But back to my illustrious acting career. When Nathan was born, I was booking all my auditions. I think I walked into the audition room different from “before baby.” When I was just a regular person (ha!) I’d walk into that audition all ready and willing to please. When I became a new mom, I’d walk into that audition room with a real sense of purpose. Like “I have to go breast feed, did you want to hire me, yes or no?” It was like I flipped a switch, and became important, and had somewhere more important to be (with my newborn) and so everyone thought I was important too and wanted to hire me.
So, really, having children hasn’t stopped me from being a working mother. It has made me appreciate working more. Like a little vacation from my children. But I don’t want to have an understudy for my real role- as mommy. As I lay beside Jake and his snuffly nose, I realize that he is one of my greatest creations. He’s my audience. He’s my director. He’s my playwright. He’s my real work of art. And that snotty nose? Just a hack trying to crash an audition...

Take the "me" out of Bedtime!

Do you know where I am right now? I don’t want to tell you. I’m at a bar. It’s 6 30pm and I finished my corporate acting gig at 6, and instead of going home, I came here to a bar. And I’m drinking a beer. And I ordered a hamburger. Rare.
This is not like me. Listen, it’s not like the kids are home alone. Dave had to go to work for 5pm so we got the fabulous, amazing 25 year old babysitter to come for 4:30. And if I got home at 6 30, that would barely be worth her while. I want her to make a bit of money, so I figured I’d come here and write and get some me time. Okay, there’s a bigger reason. I want Maryjoy to put the kids to bed.
It takes soooooo long for me to put the kids to bed. Dave can do it in 30 minutes or less. A babysitter? They take one look at her and put themselves to bed. Me? It’s like a crime that they should be forced to sleep at all. It’s like I’m asking them to go to jail. Without a phone call. I’d like to take the "time" out of bedtime. And, actually, take the "me" out of it, too. 'Bedtime boys, say goodnight to me… me who is going downstairs to watch 30 Rock, finish the dishes (okay, we don’t have a dishwasher… yet.. what?!) and get at least two hours of doing whatever the hell I want and need to do'. But no. Bedtime with me and the boys starts at 7pm and ends somewhere between 10 and 10:30pm when they have finally given in and fallen asleep after about 2 hours of manipulating me from the bottom bunk to the top bunk to sleep beside one or the other.
I know I am an enabler. I was the one who had them in the bed when they were babies, respectively. And I am still the enabler, because I will lay down with Jake, then Nathan, then Jake, then Nathan, up and down the bunk like a servant. If they were my employers, I'd quit. Which I felt like I did tonight. I may be in a bar, but don’t think my Catholic guilt isn’t killing me. I might need another beer to keep me from going home before they have fallen asleep. Go Maryjoy!

Yummy Mummy Club

Another mom sent me the link to the yummy mummy club website. It's fabulous, has great contests, and is even publishing a funny article I wrote. (Okay, you may have read the same article here, but still!) Please join www.yummymummyclub.com You'll love it!

Mommy Loves The Boys

So, I'm married with kids now. My Sex and The City lifestyle days are behind me. No more bad relationships with immature guys. Wait. Did I mention I have two sons? Did you know that my two year old Jake and my 4 year old Nathan aren't that different from some guys I've dated? It's so unfair, because I did the whole "please a man and lose myself" thing and I thought I learned from it. But here I am, repeating old, self-sabotaging patterns with my boys. Well, the first step is recognizing I have a problem. Er, problems…

Here’s one problem I have. I tend to give in to my boys, because I want them to like me. What? I know! I'm their mom! They'll like me even if I make them do chores every day of their life. But I'm such a sucker for a cute guy, I'm all "Alright, have another cookie" because I don't want to be the heavy. Then Nathan has too much sugar, then he crashes, then he’s miserable and cranky. And I’m reminded of the time I lent my Freud’s Interpretation of Dreams to that cute guy and never got the book back. That “I should have known better” feeling. Note to self number 1. Have a back bone, even if it means some guy won’t like it.

Here’s another problem: I tend to put them first all, all, all the time. I need to go to yoga. I must go to yoga. Nathan and Jake want me all the time. I tell them the sitter is coming so Mommy can go to yoga. They cry. I don't call the sitter. I don't go to yoga. I burn out. I yell at the kids. If they were my boyfriend, I'd break up with them. Note to self number 2. Put myself first. At least some of the time. Like at yoga time.

My worst problem: I tend to change myself for the man. Why do I do this? When I was dating and it never worked. I would morph into the supergirl I thought the guy wanted me to be. Which I couldn’t keep up for very long, so we’d break up. Now with my little guys, I love them so much, so I am this supermom who never says no. And then I can’t take it anymore and I snap. Things like sleeping beside Nathan until he falls asleep, which I am convinced makes him stay awake longer. It only makes me more anxious because I have things to do. Or my never ending nursing of Jake. If I left it up to him, he’d be weaned after graduation. No! Mommy has to go to yoga! Get your hands out of my shirt! I love you but I love me more! (Quote from Samantha in Sex and The City). So yes, I admit I’m still relationship challenged. But with a little bit of backbone, and a lot of yoga (which is all about strengthening the spine… I see the connection), I am sure I can keep the bad boys addiction behind me… and raise good boys who treat women really,really well.

You're a Good Mom, Charlie Brown

I have three shows this week. Normally, I book a sitter for Monday night so I can go to my Monday Night Acting Group. It’s so good for me- actor turned mother who fears losing her identity since the arrival of her two beautiful dependents- to get out and do scenes with the other professional actors, weekly. But since I have three shows this week, I figured I’d skip Monday night tonight, and spare the sitter. The boys will have her for 3 nights. Let’s not make it four. And so it was me putting the boys to bed. As, in a perfect world, I want to always do. But it wasn’t so simple.
Tonight, Nathan did not want to wear any of the pajamas in his drawer. His favourite pajamas are probably still in the dryer and I simply told him to choose a pair from his drawer. He’s 4. He can do that. Jake, on the other hand, missed the window of opportunity to go down naturally, and was now overtired and when I put him to bed, he screamed for me… which was particularly hard to take, since Nathan was still not willing to put pajamas on and I wasn’t going back in to comfort Jake until Nathan was dealt with. (I know the books say to let them cry themselves to sleep, which I find hard to do. But then they learn to fall asleep on their own. But in other countries, babies sleep with their parents until they’re 3 or something like that, so I usually end up waiting until Jake is completely asleep before leaving his room).
Long story short, I yelled at Nathan. After I begged, pleaded, joked, played and counted to three about three times. Like, I really yelled at him to pick some pajamas and put them on. He still refused so I told him, fine, see you in the morning. I told Jake to go to sleep. I went downstairs. Nathan followed. I sent him back upstairs. He refused. I threatened to put him outside (terrible, I know). I went back upstairs and to my room. Nathan waited in the hall. I read a book. Nathan cried. I calmed myself down and went to him. He agreed to put on the Charlie Brown pajamas. Still angry, I scolded him for being so unreasonable (he’s 4… what am I thinking?) and I told him he would get no stories since it was by now 9 o’clock and too late for stories. I went to get Jake. I went back to Nathan’s room and told Nathan that I would read Jake and Nathan one story only. But from now on, Nathan was to listen to Mommy. Put on his pajamas when I told him to. (Was that it? The thing that made me so angry? I’m still upset). Nathan agreed and the three of us read a story. I told Nathan I loved him. He seemed good. Then he said: “Mommy, sometimes I’m mad at myself.” I guess he was regretting some of his actions. I told him I knew what he meant. And that I sometimes get mad at myself too. Sheesh. Like when I’m impatient and yelly. It’s been a long time since I’ve been so yelly. It’s because I have been going to Monday night acting group and it’s a good balance for me. But I didn’t go. And I didn’t go to yoga recently either. But I did kiss Nathan extra tonight, and I did tell him I was sorry.
So, was it a good thing I stayed home and put the kids to bed myself? Yes and no. No because I really lost it on Nathan, but yes because I am showing him I am serious and must be listened to. When I went to my room to calm down, I picked up a self-help book (I always have one on my bedside it seems, since beginning this whole parenting thing) and read that if you tell your children that you love them, that’s a good thing. So, I feel better. Now back to reading the other self-help book, on women reclaiming their identities after marriage and children. You see why a girl like me needs to get out…

I Am Not My House

Ugh. I need to clean this place. Specifically do the dishes. Both boys are remarkable down for a nap at the same time. It’s just after lunch, and since everyone has a bit of a flu-ish stomach, lunch was half a bagel and some apple juice. Easy. And easy to convince the boys to nap today. We’re all feeling a bit yucky. I look around at what needs to be done, in the quiet of the nap time, and I am overwhelmed. But then a light thought comes into my head: I want to make a goal collage. And hang it over the couch. I know it seems a simple thought. And that’s what I need: simple. But I have been racking my brain to find the best piece of art to hang over the couch for a while now, and it’s stressing me out.
I think I am complicating things. I had been a renter for so long, that now, a home owner, I think I have to live in a perfect house with perfect decor, to maintain the value of the property. But, then I become precious about this house, and I sweat the small stuff, and I lie in bed worrying about the framed pictures and where to hang them. And then I look at myself in the mirror, and I sweat the small stuff with me, not just enjoying my good health and fabulous functioning. Lord, I am back to my pre-baby weight (sort of re-distributed, but I am back at yoga, and feeling fit) and I can carry around about 70 pounds of children at once, Nathan being about 40 pounds, and Jake weighing in at 30. Like this house, I’ve got good bones. God, I need to loosen up a bit! And the thought of a goal collage, with a dog, and a cottage and an Oscar Award, and a tropical vacation, all Elmer-glued to a big, purple piece of Bristol board, made me laugh. It made me relax. It made me happy. That’s what owning a home should do: make one happy. Not make one panic. I’m done with panic. I’m up with happy.
I read somewhere recently that our house reflects our inner thoughts. Ugh. Again, too much pressure. I give you that there is some wisdom there. I know that since my children were born and since my husband and I decided we needed to buy a house to give security to our children’s future (this is what happens when you have children… you are a bad parent unless you own your home) my inner thoughts have been a bit scattered. I want to simplify my inner thoughts. Just be happy. I want to simplify my home. Just be homey. The money will come to pay to mortgage just as the air comes for me to breathe.
I am not my house. I suppose I am and I am not. I am my children and I am not my children. I guess I decide. For instance, the moment the idea of the flu was uttered outside of Nathan’s kindergarten class yesterday, I empathetically watched him for any flu-like signs. And then when he got a fever, I immediately felt flu-like myself. I mean, I could lay down. Maybe I should lay down. But I want to get to that goal collage first. Just slap up a sign of happiness, like throwing on a bit of blush. And the dishes? I trust that they will eventually get done.
Thank you, God and The Universe, for this home, and for my health. I bless my healing and the children’s healing. And I give myself permission to love this house in whatever state it is in. But could you send us new windows and doors soon? (Did I mention we bought a fixer-upper?) Thank you! Maybe I need to add those windows and doors to the goal collage too!

Audition: Slave Girl to Past Lives

I said I’d start blogging. Well, that’s what my horoscope suggested I do. “If you don’t write your own blog already, start one now.” I’d hate to go against the stars. So I’m blogging. And what am I to blog about? My kids. Because they ‘re small, and they have taken over my life, and I worked really hard to find myself, and now, I think I’m lost again. And it’s because of the kids.
It’s like this. I’m in my late thirties (pretty late, don't tell the casting directors) and Nathan just turned 4 and Jake will be 2 soon. Mackenna, my step-daughter is 9 and a half, and is primarily with her mom. When she is with us she is a pleasure, but she’s a kid, too, so add some more time and emotional demands to the pot. I’m an actress. And a writer. I perform because I need lots of attention. It took me years and years to get to where I wanted to be career-wise, and I don’t want to let it completely slip because I had a family. But it’s hard. I go from obsessing over the audition for that new TV series, and then wondering if it’s okay for me to be gone for a week to shoot the pilot or if that would be a sign of a bad mother, to simply thinking only about the children, and then getting resentful at the end of the day when I have done nothing but food preparation, feeding and clean-up, carrying, nursing, soothing and reading, playing outside, and inside and on the computer and being patient with self-centred little boys.
In my attempt to retain myself, I have re-ignited my spiritual quest. I stumbled upon 10 cassette tapes by Joseph Campbell at Value Village today, as I was dropping off the high chair. Clearly a sign that the Universe is supporting my journey. I have begun reading books about past-lives, and this is an Earth school, and I got my palm read and apparently I’m meant to help people. My boys don’t like to fall asleep without me, so bed time is a long and delicate process. As I was cuddling with Nathan, waiting for him to fall asleep, I had this flash of Nathan and Jake being my captors in a previous life. You know, like I was some beautiful slave, and they owned me, and loved me, but wouldn’t give me my freedom. (Remember the slave girl and the master in Cecil B. DeMille’s The Ten Commandments?) Funny how lifetime after lifetime, I’m still being held captive by them. So, if the palm reader says I’m to help people, it’s clear that I should start by helping myself.
I’m going to start blogging. About suddenly being a Mommy. It really is so miraculous to have children, and everything else falls away as less important than these beautiful creations of mine. But it’s good for them too, to see me at my best, successful and self-assured, balanced and fit. I’m going back to yoga regularly. And I’m not going to feel guilty about it. And I allow myself to earn gobs of money doing what I love. Even if I have to be away from the boys for a 12 hour day once in a while to do it. They’ll survive. I love them so completely, but if I don’t love myself FIRST, then I’m not doing anyone any favours.
The beginning of that horoscope said “If today is your birthday: The coming year won't be quite like any other. Your dearest wishes, highest hopes and brightest visions will edge slowly but surely toward glorious fulfilment.” I’d better get ready. Cuz this ain't no dress-rehearsal...