I’m no good at faking it. This was painfully clear today. I was subject to one of those parental days of obligation at my kids’ school. They had a function. It’s a big to do, and pretty much everyone volunteers in some capacity.

Among the parents at the school, I am a complete misfit toy- I just don’t fit in! (See my recent post for details http://therapyfortena.blogspot.com/2008/05/i-belong-on-other-side-of-tracks.html: )

I don’t look that different, I mean, I’m presentable (when I want to be), relatively speaking- OK-, I showered. I’m somewhat normal, at least to outsiders, that don’t know my quirks and my hangups, I can hold a conversation- OK- I don’t stutter or spit when I talk.

I’m not one of those social butterflies. You know, the people that can slip into to any situation, any group of people, talk to anyone, never met a stranger, chatting it up , throwing their head back in laughter, yeah, I’m not one of those. I’m much more reserved. I’m the one that stands about 5 feet back and listens in. I’ve always been the type that had to be really comfortable to let loose and be myself. I have a knack for blending in- wallflower comes to mind.

Blogging has brought about another angle of my inabilty to fake. I have discovered many blogs. The witty and sarcastic ones have become my favorite. It seems like some bloggers can make anything funny! I have tried my hand at some humorous commentary in my posts, but it’s really not me. Who am i kiddin? It’s a trainwreck! I’m a total poser.

While commenting on a post by Huckdoll, I was reminded of another way that I am unable to fake it. I’m not cool or original. No matter how hard I try, I am dull and humdrum. When commenting, it’s well thought out and agonized over, it never just comes to me and if it does I second guess it. I am thoroughly analytical and let’s face it, that’s just not cool.

When I was in school I wished I was popular and outgoing. I wish I was the life of the party and could make people laugh. I wish I was cool- so cool that I didn’t care about any of the previously mentioned. I’ve always referred to it as being fake- not others, but me. If I were to be any of these things it would be forced and, to me, that would be faking it.

So I will stay true by myself here in my corner and write the occasional introspective post minus the lame attemtpts at comical interjection. I will continue to think far too much upon commenting and I will not be giving Huckdoll a run for her money in the coolness factor anytime soon.

I have a secret. I blog. Obviously, it’s not a secret to those of you on the “Anthill” or that may have passed by my blog, but to anyone that knows me in real life, it is a total secret. I’ve not told a single soul that I have been doing this. I am becoming oddly ashamed of my sneaking around.

I took it on as a way of therapy, journaling, if you will, to get things off of my chest. It has worked like a charm. I don’t feel quite as weighted down as I used to before I started spilling my guts onto the keyboard. It has helped me to, not only, not dwell on the negative, but it has forced me to focus and find the positive, the lesson, or the laughter in situations. What’s more, the comments that have been recieved are like little notes from my own personal Jiminy Crickets- offering wisdom, support, advice, and humor! Little did I know what would come out of this little private journey that I set out on a month ago.

“Blogging”, just a couple of months ago, could have been a bad word, for all I knew! We are not a technologically advanced family, by any means! Our computer is in a very public family area. It is primarily used for my e-mail, word processing and I help my kids research projects on the internet. I don’t allow them to join any of the popular “social networks” or surf the web.

My husband has touched my computer three times. My computer has crashed three times. This is not a coincident! He has wondered about my recent increase in pecking at the keyboard. I have just told him that I am answering e-mails. He would be very suspect with the truth. He is very over-protective and cautious. He works in law enforcement and his training has taught him that anything that has to do with computers is vile and driven by pornography!

Am I the only person that doesn’t have family and friends as a support system? Is it completely wrong to do this without sharing with anyone I know? Or is it just harmless, like writing in my journal?

Keeping secrets is such a burden. I know I’m not hurting anyone, I’m even doing myself some good. The way I look at it, I wouldn’t tell anyone what is happening in my “therapy” sessions, so this is no different, right? Maybe someday, I will have the confidence to let people that I know into my surreptitious life that is the blogoshere. Until then, I will lay on the metaphorical couch of Dr. Cre8buzz and pour out my random thoughts.

Mother's Day has always been just another Sunday in May to me and my family. I only have one memory of an attempt at doing something “special” for my mom when I was growing up and it isn’t exactly a Hallmark moment.

I rode my bike up to the local drug store to buy her a card and on my way home, the weather took a sudden turn and the sky became very ominous. Out of nowhere, rain and hail were whipping accross my face as I tried to walk my bike and the, now saturated, greeting home. It was so windy that the short walk was nearly impossible. Through my tears, I remember seeing our red , rusted ‘72 Caprice pull up alongside me to help me out. Sounds kind of sweet so far, right? Well, if my mom wasn’t an over-worked, over-stressed, under-paid working single mom, she might have taken the whole thing in stride and realized what a sweet gesture it was. But she was all of those things- so she wasn’t thrilled with having to load up my baby sister in a torrential rain storm to come and save me, and get drenched while loading my pink Huffy into the trunk.

As she pulled up, she yelled at me about what I was thinking going out in those conditions. My tears turned from fear of the storm and my saftey to a crushing hurt to a “we’ll see if I ever do anything nice for you again” anger. There were words. I’m sure not kind ones and I was probably grounded for the ones I said. I don’t remember the specifics, but that was usually how things ended up in our house, so it’s safe to assume that I was grounded that Mother’s Day.

Despite our tense mother/daughter moments, and there have been many, my mom and I have always had a good relationship. We couldn’t be much more different, though. She can be meek and modest. She is a great listener and has a lot of wisdom and compassion to share, but is cautious not to overstep. She hates confrontation. She tries to put a “positive” spin on everything. She is the LEAST judgemental person I will ever know and gives everyone a fair shake. She is as smart as a whip-book smart, that is- she is lacking in the common sense department, but is the first to laugh at herself. She has an inner strength and tries her best not to care what others think of her.

Growing up, the house didn’t have to be clean, we weren’t expected to get straight “A”s, and we were taught to be happy for the roof over our head. She never tried to ”keep up with the Joneses” and she was sincerely happy for others’ gains- while we had to scrape to get by. Many of our meals were on a “help yourself” basis- cereal, canned goods, bologna sandwiches. On special nights, she would whip up scrambled eggs and french toast.

I am outspoken and often speak when I shouldn’t. I am opinionated and let my opinion be known. I am very honest, even when the truth isn’t pretty. I dwell on the negative and am ashamed of how superficial I can be. I want to be liked and care far too much of people’s opinions of me. I am a neat freak and strive to be June Cleaver. I expect too much from my kids and, although, grateful for everything I have, secretly always wish I had more.

So many of her qualities I wish I posessed, the one I’m afraid I do, is that we are both overly emotional and then live to regret it. I often find myself over-reacting and turning into Sybil over things that don’t go the way I planned. The daily stresses of my mom’s life during the bike incident caused her to react in a way that I’m sure she wasn’t proud of. I remember what a blow it was to me to make that attempt and it not be fully appreciated. I know the regret that my mom must have felt in hindsight.

My kids have “secretly” made me about 80 Mother’s Day cards for Sunday already. I have been finding scraps of paper, pen and marker ink on clothing and carpet, and my good stationary cut into jagged misshapen hearts all over the house for the last week. My initial reaction would be to yell at them for the mess, ruining their things and going through my desk and then feel bad later, like my mom did. Although I may not have been blessed with the attributes that I admire about my mom, I can take away a lesson from her in this and not let my stresses make me miss what’s important.

First, Let me put this out there: I’m not a perfect mom, never was, never will be- frankly sometimes, I am pretty second-rate.

I never frequented the playgroup scene- I tried. Initially, I must admit, it was so I could get out and socialize. When there, I realized they were too hoytie- toytie for me and I didn’t have the energy to be something I wasn’t just for a little conversation! Sometimes I feel that my last attempt at perfect momdom (so not a word) was when I breastfed my daughter. I did it for 13 months- I was prettty damn proud of myself, but she’s 3 now and I can’t ride that forever! Lately, I’ve been feeling like I need to step up my game.

Here are just a few case studies that are supporting my recent mothering inadequecies:

Said 3 year old is potty trained. Yeah! At first, her accomplishment alone was enough. I was proud of her, but quite honestly, I didn’t care if she peed and pooped in a plastic baggie- as long as I was off of diaper duty, I was thrilled! Three months later, she will still only go on the little portable seat (you know the kind with the cereal bowl underneath) because she is afraid of falling in the big toilet- even with one of those smaller seats. My gag reflex is getting the best of me lately when I have to dump the “cereal bowl” and clean it out! Beggars can’t be choosers, but come on, how long must this fear of falling in the toilet persist?

My 7 year old has allergies. She gets through the days fine. She could get through the night fine, if she would keep her head on a pillow. She likes to sleep laying flat, though- no pillow- which causes all this lovely drainage to ensue in her passages and she coughs up a lung! I went to fluff, fluff, and re-fluff (again, probably not a word) and prop her up a total of 10 times in 2 hours- she would slide down flat as soon as I turned my back. I felt like I was trying to manipulate the dead guy from Weekend at Bernie’s!

Apparently, I was a horrible teenager. My 13 year old son is now giving my mom what she always wanted- paybacks. As if the constant talking back and rolling eyes weren’t enough, yesterday he brought home his mid-quarter report: 2 “D”s and an “F”! A good, patient mother might have tried to find the reason for the plummeting grade report- not me- I cried! I also threatened military school, took everything out of his room except his mattress and a sheet, and e-mailed his baseball coach to tell him that he wouldn’t be able to play this season. Did I over-react? probably. Do I regret it? Not really.

Essentially, I’ve been losing my marbles and my patience all over the place. My compassion is wearing thin. I’m hoping it’s just a phase and for my kids’ sake, I’ll get back to being that mediocre mom I’ve always strived to be. Or maybe I’m just not cut out for this mothering thang, after all!

I’m wondering if there is a point in a stay at home mom’s life where your nurturing instincts just fly out the door. Where, even if just a little, you feel a bit of resentment to your own loss of life? Where it finally dawns on you that not getting paid for all this crap you do, really sucks! If so, I’m at that point.

For me, I’ll call it the “10 year itch”. I have stayed home with my kids for 10 years and, although I wouldn’t take it back for the world and I think that we are all better for it, I am counting down the days until I can feel like a grown up again! Showering on a regular basis, wearing clothes without elastic, having real face to face conversations with other adults- not at the school pick up, and no more slave labor are all things I’m looking forward to. I do plan to see it through, though- so I’m looking at 2 more years until my daughter is in Kindergarten. (At which time the anxiety of getting a job and being a real grown up again will set in- yeah neurosis!)

My husband’s dad died early this morning and, as I’m writing this, my kids came home from school with sweet notes to put in his coffin: Grampa miki I will miss you. I am glad you are with Jesus. Sharing with me that they didn’t have “intentions” today, but they told all of their friends to pray for him! Um, forget everything I just wrote, I guess I’m doing OK!

We have had a bit of stress going on at our household (if you would like details-visit my blog http://therapyfortena.blogspot.com/ - I could use the supportive comments during the trying times).

It’s official: I have become domesticated. I suppose I was aware of this by the fact that:

1.) I am a stay at home mom to four kids

2.)I love to clean, bake and garden

3.)I don’t go to movies- and I watch far too much television

4.) I don’t get out much without kids- maybe to a PTA meeting once a month

5.) My idea of a good night is watching American Idol with my family and a bowl of popcorn

The thing I wasn’t aware of, is how that can be taken as a negative to those in the outside working world that have actual “jobs”. It became strikingly clear to me this weekend.

I hadn’t kept in touch with any of my friends from high school. I was afforded luxuries that they weren’t. I was able to go away to college, get an education, sow my wild oats and live it up. Shorlty after my return, I was able to start a career, got married, and had my first child. I have always felt lucky for the way my life has worked out. I feel fortunate that I had opportunities growing up and that I have been able to make the conscious choice to be a stay at home mom for the last 10 years.

Two of my best friends, on the other hand, were from large families of modest means and their lives took different paths. They spent much of high school working and babysitting to help out their families financially. One had a child at 18 years old. The other was involved in a bad marriage just after graduation and eventually left him to become a struggling single mother. Neither attended college and both joined the work force right out of high school.

I recently contacted these old school friends. This weekend we got together for a visit. It is the first time we have seen each other in 18+ years! I wasn’t nervous- it didn’t even cross my mind. I expected the night to be a fun night of reminscing.

The discomfort of the evening was deafening. Not only did we NOT have anything in common, we disagreed on every subject. Both of them are working moms. They go out for happy hour every Friday. They go shopping without their kids. They allow their kids stay up at all hours on the weekends. They buy clothes, shoes, and jewelry for themselves.

There are followers and leaders. In our group of friends, I was the leader. The one that made the plans, the crazy one that was always ready to go out and be the life of the party. My talk of my kids and domestic issues, I can say with certainty, disappointed them.

Since I have taken on this role, I have befriended other stay at home moms (and dads). I now know why. The issues that I deal with are trivial and mundane to working moms, but other stay at home moms get me. I usually feel somewhat proud to announce my home status- some would consider it an admirable decision to make. This weekend, I felt I had to defend my choice.

I think they judged me for the complacent homebody I had become. I don’t want to say I judged them for their inactivity in their kids’ lives or their overactive social lives, but maybe as a defense mechanism, I did a little.

Putting it all into perspective, though, I realized that they were now getting their chance to live it up. We had really just switched roles. Although I felt thoroughly defeated with our lack of connection and their depiction of my “boring” life, deep down, I was glad for them.