Echos of former dreams.

I'm listening to some of my favorite arias. From Lakme, La Traviata, Madame Butterfly. . . my throat aches. It's a feeling I've always had. I hear this beautiful music from these amazing, powerful, delicate, controlled voices and I LONG to be able to do that. Longing to the point that I physically and literally feel it in my throat. For my short stint in college I studied vocal performance and had a voice coach. She had me doing some things I never thought I could do. I loved it. I lived it! But I think that part of the reason I quit college was that I knew early on that I didn't have "it"- that natural, amazing talent that the professional opera singers have.

I have two hopes for the next life: one, to be free of the disease that has so affected my life (more on that another time), and two, to be able to do with my voice what I feel in my heart musically.

Self Doubt

I'm in a position that I think a lot of middle-class SAHM's find themselves in: more bills than money. Plus, I've been going nuts stuck in this house day in and day out. Matt doesn't want to go anywhere when he gets home, and I shouldn't be out spending money, so there it is.

I found something that (hopefully) will solve both those problems. I signed up to be a consultant with The Body Shop at Home. I love the products, I have lots of experience in sales, a good amount of knowledge from my dermatology assistant days, and it will get me out of the house. So I've been ALL fired up and dreaming of making a fortune. Or at least enough to pay off hospital bills and the credit card.

I filled out the paperwork. $250 up front for the starter kit *chaCHING!*. Sent it in. Realized all I have is mom clothes< like yoga pants and t-shirts (okay I have other things, but they're all about 2 sizes too small since I had the baby and I'm having a hard time getting the weight off). Went shopping, in clearance aisles mind you, but found some clothes and shoes to the tune of about $50. *chaCHING!*. Realized my kit won't have everything I need, so contacted the company's printer and order business cards, a self-inking stamp, magnetized name tag, some labels with my name to stick on the product. With shipping, $88. *chaCHING!* Realized I needed some promotional items to give to the people that already agreed to book some parties. $13. *chaCHING!* Realized I needed some sample packets to give out with the invitations to my business launch. $10. *chaCHING!*. So I'm what, $411 into this? That's a lot of money when there are already wolves at the door and you're in the red.

$411. I HAVE to make at least that much this month. At least. Actually, another $100 too, because the hospital is fully expecting me to make a payment that size next month.

So, the fire and motivation is giving way to doubt. Can I do it? Maybe I'll suck. No one else will want to book parties. No one will buy anything. We'll be even more in the hole, and I'll have to find an outside job or something to get out of it.

My sponsor says I'm more motivated than most and she expects me to be successful. She has been, after all. Well she's also very cute and charismatic, and I feel like another frumpy, overweight housewife who has lost the capacity to express herself in any way. I'll get up there and stumble my way through the presentation and that will be it. No sales, no bookings.

My husband is excited because he thinks I'll do well. Unfortunately, that puts more pressure on me, because I really, REALLY want him to be proud of me. If I fail, I don't know what I'll say to him.

I guess it's time to pull myself up by the bootstraps and hope for the best. Anyone need body butter?


(BTW, thanks to my buddy Keri for giving me my first sale!)

Macho Poodle

Macho Poodle

The night wars.

How is it that a three-year-old who can't tell time knows exactly when 8:30 hits? She goes from a relatively calm little person to a whirlwind of energy and mischief right about then. Sure, we do a bedtime routine. We discipline with the Love and Logic method. We try to keep things mellow in the evening. But, as I type, she's been lying (or not) in her bed, one hour post-bedtime-routine, yelling and singing and carrying on. I know she's tired. I know I'm tired.

So once she finally goes to sleep, after stalling in every way she can think of and wearing her self out shouting every song she knows, it's time to get the baby to sleep.

Pretty easy, usually, but she has super radar.

Yes, that radar that tells a baby when Mommy and Daddy are about to have "grown-up" time.

Invariably, when we're absolutely sure that both girls are fast asleep and we fall into each other's arms (more like collapse into eack other's arms in a combination of fatigue and longing for the newlywed years), Super Radar kicks in. It waits until things start getting fun. Then the little grunts start (not from us, from the baby!). The grunts escalate to louder complaints, which, left unanswered, go to full-blown insistance that the grown-up fun stop. Now.

*sigh* Maybe tomorrow night, dear.

Where to start?

I used to journal every day. That was before I met Matt and I really had no one to talk to, and an awful lot of time on my hands. I met Matt just over 7 years ago. Has it been 7? Or forever? Either way, it's been a very, very long time since I've done anything like this.

So where do I start?

I guess I'll just do what FlyLady says (does anyone ever stick with that? I mean seriously, who wants to Windex their kitchen sink 500 times a day?): she says start where you are.

So here I am. I'm 26, married for 6 years, I have two kids. Sounds pretty mundane. Feels that way sometimes.

Just recently, I've decided that I'm too wrapped up in my family. I don't mean that I'm giving up my responsibilities here at home, or unappreciative of what I have. Because goodness knows, I love my family more than anything. But somewhere in the last 7 years I settled into the moulds of Matt's girlfriend, then Matt's wife, then Abby's mom, then Anna's mom. For a long time I forgot that Jennifer was in there somewhere, and I'm ready to find her again. My family will be better for it too. Just since making the decision of finding my way again, I'm much easier to live with, I think.

Frustration has a way of suffocating the passion out of you. Existing, rather than living, makes the kind of naggy, angry, overbearing housewife and mom that sitcoms are made of. I've watched myself become that person for the last several years, and recently came to the realization that I don't want to be that woman that I watch and pity on prime time TV.

So I'm going to start getting out. I'm doing things that I like to do again. I'm taking care of myself again (makeup? Skincare? Clothes without elastic? We're falling in love all over again). I'm starting a business. I'm starting a blog. I'm feeling better already.,

Another Mom's Blog

Whether anyone will actually read this, I don't know. Will I ever tell anyone about it? Maybe. Probably not. Really I just need an outlet, like most people I guess. A place to put my thoughts down on paper. . .er, computer. . . so that I can see them in front of me, step back, and watch them weave together into a larger picture that makes some kind of sense.

This is another Mom's blog.