Just when I thought I was hip (just the action of going out on a Friday night with the girls and wearing heels will do that to you), I was reminded by the conversation at the dinner table that I’m actually not.
As the topic of conversation shifted from applying to private school (kill me now), to home buying (thankfully not buying any) we then started down the slippery (or scraggly) slope of the best techniques for hair removal.
Nothing says appetizing like hot wax, right?
How did it come to this? Discussing hot lasers over beet salad?
Things I learned: they now sell micro razors for bikini lines, and that my dear friend once waxed her arm hair. Ouch.
Things I also learned: There’s something bonding about the common suffering we, as women, go through to look beautiful, or bring lovely babies into this world. No one else can understand the beauty of a smooth armpit or the comfort of a baby sleeping on your chest. We can all laugh about the time we forgot to shave our legs when we went to the beach or when the kid spit up all over our “going out outfit.” (A.k.a. me last night)
There’s some point of pride when you’re brave enough to “take it all off” or endure contractions without drugs. And while I may not have been so hip to know about the latest techniques, I felt grateful enough to have friends who could clue me in a bit. That’s about as cool as the newest laser.
Every year I kvetch about the preparations for my son’s birthday and how I’m not going to go crazy with it all and EVERY YEAR I IGNORE MY OWN ADVICE. (Warning: overuse of the CAPS LOCK button ahead.)
It’s like I get amnesia every March when I start thinking about the birthday planning. Or maybe it’s that the relatives start asking me in November what I’m doing for the upcoming festivities in APRIL and I can’t help but get into hysterics. Remember? I have lots of relatives, none of which who live here.
This year, though, because of my frugalness, and because he’s only going to be THREE, I vowed to tone it down a bit.
Meaning of course, instead of ordering invites from my favorite website, I handwrote all THIRTY invites. (It’s called the “No Child Left Out of Birthday Parties Act” that our preschool class rigidly enforced. I was all for it until my hand ached so bad I had to ice it the next day. And realized it basically threw my budget out the window)
Thank you to @Uniball_USA for the awesome pen used to handwrite all invitations.
I did, however, come up with a brilliant idea for the aforementioned preschool class wherein all the moms pitched in $10 to avoid spending a ridiculous amount of money to buy 16 separate birthday presents (he has 14 friends outside of his class, what can I say?). This not only saved a huge headache from gift shopping, but it also allowed me to avoid getting my son a birthday present.
There, I said it. Everyone else’s kid got a box of Magnatiles, and we, cheap frugal parents that we are, are going to give him his old Hanukah presents that I forgot to get out of the basement closet in December. And maybe a $20 Little Tikes swing he HAD TO HAVE out of the new catalog.
He’ll never know what he missed out on until he can read this post.
I also decided to schedule his birthday party from the hours of 4-6 pm. This way, I figure, I can really cut down on the amount of food (food= MONEY) the adults will eat at the party. Because we all know how much pizza I we all can scarf down during those “lunch time” parties. (At 11 o’clock I can eat at least 4 pieces, hello!? They’re kiddie size.)
I figure those adults who want to join the kids eating dinner at 5 pm will really stand out. It just screams “I’m on kiddie time” if you can force your body to eat that early. I’m not above it (I usually start getting hungry around 4), but I’m thinking some others won’t admit that.
As far as party favors, go, though, I couldn’t totally skimp. But instead of ordering $100 worth of tchotke from Oriental Trading Company, I found these really cheap cute cups and plates from everyone’s favorite store, Party City. And because I gave them my email address, I got $5 off my total bill. And probably sold my soul to the devil.
I’m guessing for $1.99 a pop these aren’t BPA and lead-free. The kids will live.
This has gotta be the cheapest most hassle-free and fun birthday yet. At least for the neurotic Jewish mother living in a posh neighborhood trying not to look like a cheapskate set.
What happens when you take two 30-something moms and send them to the Coldplay concert? They fit right in. I’ll admit, I was little hesitant heading into last night’s concert. What with the fact that I haven’t gone to a big-arena show sober in quite sometime. I’m sure the last time I headed to the United Center to see a band, I really didn’t care about guzzling beer on a weeknight. But in the land of mom, nothing sounds worse that swilling multiple beers on a Wednesday night when the concert didn’t start until 9 pm. As my friend put it,
I’ll fall asleep if I have a beer right now.
But, we were in good company. Never in my life have I seen more pregnant women, grey hairs and all out PEOPLE LIKE ME in one place. You know you’re at an old people concert when no one spills beer on your purse and the faintest smell of a certain smoke makes everyone gossip in their seats.Â
Which was fine with me. Aside from a few lame-o guys trying their very worst pick up lines on my friend and I, (all I wanted to hear was the song “Yellow.” I didn’t want to engage in a discussion of the band “blowing their load early”) no one really bothered me and I walked out smelling fresh as an arena seat. I didn’t get to sit down enough, but I also didn’t get dirty stares when I rested my old legs after 70 minutes of standing.Â
I needed to conserve my energy for that long walk to my car. Which led to my house. And bed. Which I was grateful to see at 11:30 pm. Sorry, Pete. It’s too late for me to die before I get old. I am already there.
I’ve felt, over the last 5 months or so, that I’ve lost my blogging mojo. Since I left my job, I’ve been wondering just exactly what to write about. When I was working and writing, I felt comradery and sympathy from all working moms. I honestly never got into blogging for the community aspect, really. I started my blog because I like to write my random thoughts and wanted a place to document such experiences as this and this. I’ve met some terrific working mom friends along the way, and I cherish our relationships.
But now that I’m not working any longer, I’ve felt more comfortable with my “real life” friends, but less so with my online counterparts. Perhaps it’s that I no longer feel so alone and don’t have the same worries anymore. Whatever the case, I’ve been a little down about the blog when I really should be celebrating my self-imposed exile into SAHM-land.Â
This week, however, my hope has been renewed. It’s amazing what wine and good food will do to one’s mood. This week, I had the opportunity to attend a dinner and panel discussion put on by the amazing Maria Bailey. I dined in style (amidst freaky murals) with amazing women like Emily, Bridget, Steph, and Amy. I observed a terrific panel discussion (amidst babysitting for the cutest little peanut ever!) where smart women gave hope to continuing a productive dialogue between marketers and bloggers. I lunched with a new friend, who I know I’ll be sharing many more lunches with. And I went home yesterday afternoon thinking that I now know why many mommy bloggers savor their friendships of those they meet online. It’s not just because they can compliment you in person on your fabulous new diaper bag (thanks, Emily), but it’s because you all have a bond that goes deeper than just a playdate in the park.
We all put ourselves out there into the vast unknown of the world wide web hoping to be found. And yesterday I achieved that. I really felt like I finally belonged. Now I just have to figure out a way to get my sorry a** to BlogHer to see the rest of you all. Any ideas?
The thing I miss most about working is that I used to have something else to think about. Something I thought was more important than whether or not it was BS that the kiddie soccer program allowed there to be a “private” soccer lesson in lieu of the class they advertised. (The bitching got them to create a new class for my friends and me. Ah, my negotiation skills I learned on the job are paying off in the mommy world. Wait, is it the other way around?)
The thing I miss about working is that now I have to figure out how I’m supposed to fill a dreary, rainy cold spring afternoon. When I was at work, I could just schedule an afternoon meeting or something. I never had to think about my “summer schedule” being opposite from all my friends. Or that my son missed the cut off for drop-off summer camp (rue those April birthdays). Or the BPA-hype. Oh! The BPA-hype. Never in my life did I picture myself watching my son swing on gymnastic rings chatting with a friend about the dangers of plastic. The last time I worried about plastic doing me any bodily harm was when I was still using these. I’ve come a long way from ribbed, people.
I used to chat about the latest CEO scandal. Now, my afternoons are spent gossiping and quoting news sources about the Miley Cyrus incident. Seriously, I had no clue who Miley Cyrus was 6 months ago. Now, I’m questioning whether or not her “handlers” were complicit. I even roped my husband into the conversation. It’s his fault.
I push shopping carts with little plastic cars on the front where the kids sit around the supermarket in my sweatpants with my hair in a greasy bun where people smirk at me. I am not used to being smirked at as “that poor mom.” But I was so that poor mom today.
My calendar is now filled with people’s names and addresses for playdates rather than meetings and client calls. However, instead of blowing off a client ringing my line, I anxiously await for my phone to ring hoping for a shred of gossip or future planmaking. Then I gossip and remind myself that there have to be other things to talk about. Like Miley Cyrus. Or that crazy mom from the gymnastics class who lets her son run around like a maniac. Oh, wait. That counts as gossip.
I don’t need to go to bed so early anymore because I don’t have to get dressed until 10 am if I don’t want to. I forget that my working mom friends still go to bed at 9 pm, though, and call them too late. Heading to Starbucks for my chai tea is my morning meeting. I even started talking to the baristas out of boredom. And I don’t even have the petty cash to waste at Starbucks anymore.
The thing I don’t miss about working is that even if I got to think about conference calls and writing plans, I wasn’t doing it happily. I’m happy most of the time staying in my workout clothes all day. Hey, at least I got to workout. Sometimes I feel like a walking cliche, but at least I do it with a smile on my face 99% of the time. Sometimes I think I need a life, but then I look at all I’ve done today as a mom and I’m pretty satisfied with the one I have. Greasy hair, bad gossip and all.
In trying to figure out the best way to make, contact and keep new SAHM friends, I have to remind myself that everyone’s communication preferences are different.  My preferred method of communication is still e-mail – a holdover from my working mom days. But e-mails are harder to come by and typically the slowest method of communicating with an SAHM. (Unless such SAHM has a BlackBerry, and although the devices are picking up in popularity with the mommy-set, they’re still few and far between in my circle of friends.) So that leaves me with two options of communication: calling by phone or sending text messages. If I could avoid the phone I would. Thus, if given the option, I’d rather text first and call later.
But texting is a very different animal than e-mailing as I’m finding out the hard way. An incident earlier this week has left me with a sinking feeling about creating, sustaining and maintaining friendships through text messaging. Have you ever sent a text you regretted?
The target of my regrettable text probably knows me by face but not by name. She’s another SAHM in Chicago and we share certain things in common – yoga classes, mommy classes and courteous waves in such class parking lots. Perhaps one day we would be friends if put in the right circumstances. Like, what if by chance we were vacationing at the same place in the great state of Colorado? I could have tried to let this coincidence occur randomly and see if by chance we’d pass each other on the vast slopes of the mountain, but due to my lack of impulse control (remember these boots? yeah, I returned them, ok, moving on…) I decided to contact this almost-perfect stranger and send a little electronic envelope her way.Â
Texting rule #1: only text people who you are sure will know who you are when they receive your text.
It took effort for me to figure out her number (I’m really not going to go there because it pretty much makes me seem the world’s biggest stalker) and more effort to figure out how exactly to word a 50-character count message to someone I barely know from someone she likely doesn’t remember.Â
Texting rule #2: if you can’t articulate what you want to say in a text by using acronymns, don’t send it.Â
But it all seemed so funny and random at the time. What are the chances that two moms from Chicago would have their children signed up for the same ski school program many miles away? I mean, I saw her kid there (and scanned the sign in sheet for pertinent information, g-d I’m such a stalker). This coincidence NEEDED no, DEMANDED to be documented. So I did it. I rewrote the message several times and when I landed on a version that I thought was the least-SWF-ish I hit send.
Texting rule #3: if you think your text reads like it’s coming out of nowhere, then it probably is.
Crap. Crap. Crap. What did I just do?
It felt so normal to send a text to a person I know by face but whose number I was guessing. It seemed funny to bring up a silly chance encounter in 25 words or less via a little silver device. But I knew that when I didn’t hear from her for 24 hours that the damage had been done. After two days went by I tried and tried to “recall” the text. Did you know that you can’t do that? I didn’t until this week. By yesterday, I knew all hope was lost. My text fell into the dreaded “who the F is this?” category.
Texting rule #4: if you don’t hear back from a text within 30 minutes, consider yourself text-less.
Problem is, I’m kind of addicted to my new BlackBerry Pearl and because I’m really not getting as many e-mails as I did when I was working, I like to have a reason to use it. (Yes, I’m a tech geek just like all these other women, shoot me.) I like the triple-beep noise the device makes when I recieve a message back. I like how much easier it is to use Smart-type than a numerical keypad to type the letters. I like the immediacy and impersonal-yet-really-personal nature of the beast.
But when you text on a whim to a number you’re not sure will recognize you, you must be ready to face the consequences that the text might vanish into the technology abyss of the trash bin. And if you’re trying to make new friends by this easy-but-dangerous mechanism, you might think twice before you hit the little green send button or you’ll get yourself a great case of text message remorse.
Texting rule #5: When in doubt, become friends first, get the number via normal means and just pick up the phone.
Tag: text message, mom friends, SAHM friends
———————————————————————————-
Cross-posted at the Chicago Moms Blog, where I know my text messages would be recognized.
