Wax On, Wax Off June 22, 2010

As a woman, there are many steps that we must endure to ensure proper grooming standards. We color, cut and treat our hair; we brush, floss and whiten our teeth; we spend tons of money on lotions, moisturizers and deodorants, and we spend a lot of time shaving, dying or waxing hair that is in places its not supposed to be. All of this is a complete and total pain in our rear end, but we understand these things are necessary in order to keep harmony in our society.

For years, I have avoided succumbing to one of the grooming techniques I mentioned above…waxing. And when I am talking about waxing, I’m not talking about the eyebrows. I’m talking about that ever so sensitive area known as our “bikini zone.” With summer among us, and many hours spent in a bathing suit, I’ve decided that shaving just might not be the best route to take in keeping that area nice and neat. We all know the major advantages of waxing over shaving – you can go weeks in between waxing where you could easily shave just about daily, and it also causes less hair to return when it grows back in. But my question is this…is enduring such pain for a little vanity worth it?

There is no reason for my waxing avoidance other than it scares the living daylights out of me. The thought of someone taking little strips of hot wax, pressing it on one of the most sensitive parts of the female body and then yanking with the force of a rabid ninja just seems inhumane to me. I can’t even imagine the offensive language that would fly from my mouth at the moment of skin-ripping, hair-pulling torture. To get an idea of what I am imagining this process being like, take a look at this scene from The 40 Year Old Virgin. I feel that Steve Carell so eloquently puts my sentiments into words.

I have friends that have tried to calm my fears about it, saying that if I can get a tattoo, I can get a wax. Now, I disagree with this theory. I have a couple of tattoos and the process of getting a tattoo is very different from having your pubic hair yanked out by its roots. Getting a tattoo is a much slower, much more precise, deliberate action. These people are artists and take great pride in what they put on your skin. A cosmetician that waxes your bikini area takes no pride in what they take off your skin. As a matter of fact, women pay premium prices for cosmeticians who spend the least amount of time ripping the wax from your body.

So, since I’ve decided to give it a shot, I’ve been asking my friends what they think is better: doing it yourself or paying someone to do it for you. There seems to be a split. Some people can’t imagine having someone else yank their hair out, others don’t feel they have the courage to do it themselves. I am looking for the least pain inflicting option available; if anyone has any suggestions or opinions, feel free to chime in. Between now and my next blog, I plan on giving it a shot, so any help and encouragement between now and then would be greatly appreciated.

Wife Swap or Coupon Swap? March 16, 2010

The other day, I was able to sneak ten minutes of TV while my sons were occupied in their rooms. I sat down with a load of unfolded laundry piled up next to me and turned on the boob tube. Of course, there was nothing of much interest to me on at 10:00 in the morning, so I just stopped at whatever looked somewhat entertaining. I thought it didn’t really matter what I was watching, because I knew it was only a matter of minutes before the thundering herd made their way back downstairs and demanded Ben 10 or Superhero Squad. So, I stopped surfing the channels on a show I had never actually watched a complete episode of, Wife Swap. “This could be funny,” I thought as I began to fold my kids’ mini-boxers.

Well, about 10 minutes into the show, I wasn’t laughing. Instead, I was so stressed out, I was actually waiting for the kids to come down and interrupt me. Most of you probably know enough about the show to know the basic premise, but for those of you who don’t, the object of the show is this – to throw a very comfortable mom/wife into a very uncomfortable situation. You take a type A personality mom and have her swap lives with a type C personality mom for two whole weeks. They are supposed to try to run the other contestant’s household the way she normally does in her house hundreds of miles (and sometimes many worlds) away. Expectedly, the basic outcome is nothing short of a total disaster.

As humans in a free society we are very fortunate to be able to choose the people whom we “do life” with. In doing so, there are many factors we look at in choosing these partners. Generally, you have many important things in common – similar values, similar beliefs, similar likes and dislikes, similar tastes, etc. Granted, I do believe to keep things interesting you have to have some small differences, but overall, the big things tend to match up. As evident by the contestants they choose for the show. The neat woman marries the orderly man. The dramatic woman marries the imaginative man. The outdoorsy woman marries the organic man. You get the picture. And through these alliances similar-minded offspring are spawned. (Disclaimer – I know this isn’t always the case. There are very successful partnerships that are made up of two polar opposites. And that is awesome!)

With this harmonious partner theory in mind, the show Wife Swap turns this theory on its ear. The show takes neat, disciplined wife and puts her in a house with disorganized dad and uncontrollable kids, and vice/versa. At the end of the two weeks, lessons are supposed to be learned and respect for their “real” moms renewed. Watching this process made me wonder why anyone would feel the need to be on a show like that. Why would you want to leave your comfort zone and spend two unpredictable, probably very trying weeks being the matron of someone else’s domain? I thought about it and thought of several reasons a person might do it. I guess its part being on TV and part a desire to feel needed. It is also an opportunity to step outside your box and stretch yourself by seeing things through someone else’s experiences. The show also feeds off the fact that sometimes people need a change of scenery to see how “good they got it.”

It made me wonder what “lessons” I would teach the family who was lucky enough to have me in their home for two weeks. I wondered what I would learn from another family that is completely different than mine. Would it make me a better mom and wife? Would I appreciate my life more or would I be determined to change it? I decided that my life may not be for every mom. I may be a little too relaxed or allow my kids to watch too much TV. I may not make up my beds enough or get out of my pajamas every day, but it works for us. Just watching those women try to change the mindset of a whole family was stressful. I think I will just stick with my perfectly imperfect home and, although it is interesting to see how other people respond to swapping roles, I think I will save my swapping for coupons!

Sweaty Palms and Stomach Aches – It Must Be High School February 25, 2010

I am fortunate to be part of the planning committee for my high school 20-year class reunion and have been spending a lot of time lately working on and thinking about this big event. This process has conjured up all kinds of feelings; feelings of big hair, shoulder pads, bad prom themes, Friday night football games, and MC Hammer. I don’t know about you, but for me high school was like an awkward, dramatic roller coaster that took four years to come to a complete stop.

My high school was great. It was a small school in the country and most of us came from families that didn’t have oodles of cash to buy designer clothes and fancy cars. The pressure to be Paris Hilton fortunately did not exist at our school. I am so grateful for that. I am totally convinced that at any other school, I would have been an instant outcast the minute I drove up in my white 1969 Chevy Nova Station wagon with no power steering, power brakes or FM radio. However, it was the total opposite. I was an instant hit at my school. Do you know how many teenagers can fit into a station wagon the size of a school bus?

Although my high school was no Beverly Hills 90210, we did have our share of pressure, some of it external, some of it internal. High school was the first time that I really had to “try” hard for good grades; late nights studying, project deadlines, homework and test anxiety were a big part of my daily routine. And if you were involved in any extra-curricular activities, that just added a whole other level of pressure to perform. Let’s not even talk about the drama that goes along with making and keeping friends and boyfriends/girlfriends! I also remember high school being a plethora of “firsts;” first bank account, first job, first kiss and new freedoms, i.e. driver’s license and first car. That’s a whole lot of major life changes in a small amount of time, and at a very young age.

Going through our yearbook and re-connecting with some classmates through Facebook, has made me a little anxious for some reason. I remember that quote from Shrek when they traveled to Worcestershire searching for future king Artie, “Well, my stomach’s aching and my palms just got sweaty. Must be a high school.” Not really sure why, but the more we plan the reunion and the closer it comes to fruition, the more nervous I become. I don’t remember having any major enemies or anyone I have to “prove” anything to, but for some reason I can’t suppress that sinking feeling I used to get before the first day of school; “What if no one likes me? What if I’m not cool enough? What if my bangs go flat?” At first I was thinking how much fun it would be to see all those folks I haven’t seen in 20 years, now I feel like I’m getting ready for the first day of school again! “What if so-and-so still doesn’t talk to me? What if I haven’t done anything impressive enough over the past 20 years? What if someone is mean to me?” Isn’t that the craziest thing you have ever heard? Here I am, a nearly 40-year old grown-up with knots in my stomach like I’m a teenager walking into the cafeteria for lunch on the first day of school.

We spend so much time during our high school years trying to impress others or perform at a certain level that most of the thoughts of those years are wrapped up in insecurity and self-doubt. Although I do have a lot of good memories from that time and made a lot of good friends (some of whom I still keep in touch with), its still hard not to think about those days with a little twinge in my stomach. I am sure this nervousness is just the overreaction of a worrisome old woman and the reunion is going to be a blast! Guess we’ll see!!

PS – Don’t hate on the big hair in the pix!

The Real Housewives Get Snowed In February 3, 2010

It’s day number six of The Middle Tennessee Winter Storm 2010. For a housemom like me, this could be just plain torture. When the announcement went out that there was a winter storm predicted for our area, I knew then that this could be a long week. As most of us Middle Tennessee moms already know, if there is even a threat of snow, we might as well get the babysitters lined up (for the real housewives who work “outside the house”), stock up on snack foods and apple juice, and prepare to fill the day with fun, interactive, learning activities. (Yeah, right.)

Usually, when we get the “snow scare” we get a few centimeters of mediocre snow, miss a day of school and then everything is back to normal. This time, we woke up to an actual blanket of snow. White as far as the eye could see. We were all so excited! “This could be fun,” I thought to myself.

Well, I was right. It was fun. Daddy came home from work early and we all bundled up and headed up the hill with the rest of the neighborhood. After a couple of hours of some totally gnarly sledding, our clan trodded back indoors for hot chocolate and some quality snuggle time. Feeling all domestic, I even attempted to make some homemade chocolate chip cookies that well, didn’t turn out so great. Let me just say that replacing vanilla extract with “mapeline” does not make for a good cookie.

It was kinda cool being “snowed in” for a couple of days. We’d play in the snow for a while, come in and warm up, and do it all over again. After the kids went to bed, the hubby and I would snuggle up on the couch with a hot toddy and watch a movie. We’d all sleep in and not worry about making up our beds or washing our hair. Then, the weekend was over…and reality struck.

Having no nanny that I could turn to, I began to panic. Daddy is going back to work and I was flying solo. I would have to come up with a day full of stuff that did not include being outdoors since all that beautiful snow was now a wet, slushy mess. The pile of wet and dirty snow clothes that we have been bundling up in for the past couple of days had turned into a mountain the size of Mt. Rushmore, and I was really beginning to regret my decision to “do the dishes later.”

So, the first day went by and it was actually bearable (after I took a couple of ibuprofen). The kids didn’t rip each other’s heads off and I was able to make a dent in the mountain of dirty clothes that had piled up on our bathroom floor. The second day, however, was a different story. A different story because it was Mother’s Day Out day.

The reason why this was difficult was because on a normal Tuesday, I would be up early in a jolly good mood getting both kids ready for school. Oldest kid would catch the bus, then shortly thereafter, I would drop the youngest off at his Mother’s Day Out program, and the rest of the day was mine. Even though the kids weren’t total hellions the day before, I was still in desperate need of some “me” time. I’m not talking about the “spa” kind of me time, but the kind of me time where I can stop long enough to hear myself think. Just a little time where no one is asking me to do something or pulling me every which way. Alone time, my time to do whatever I want.

Its hard enough to make time for all the things that are important in your life – couple time, friend time, spiritual time, family time, errand time – that any time to yourself almost feels like a waste. Mom’s are notorious for guilting themselves into exhaustion. Having a lump of time to just be alone almost always comes with a feeling that you “should be doing something.” So, we tend to forgo our alone time and fill it with endless assignments. Over the years, however, I have found that I crave time to myself almost as much as I crave time with my friends or alone time with my husband.

I really value those Mother’s Day Out days. A little alone time is just what you may need to recharge your batteries, to be able to face the day with an enlightened view. Sometimes I have to reduce my alone time to just a few calm minutes in the bathtub or forty minutes on a treadmill, but its enough to clear my mind and enjoy some quality peace and quiet.

Although the snow was a cool, beautiful treat, this real housewife is ready for some serious “me” time. And ya know what, after six days of being “super mom” with no break, I’m not going to feel one teeny tiny hint of guilt. Cheers!