Namaste = MomMustStay AWAKE!

soccer mom

WEDNESDAY (HUMP DAY)

What we won’t say. What we won’t talk about.  Fake it ’til you make it. Hmmm, sound familiar?  I can’t imagine that I’m the only person that sits here and wonders if I don’t belong.  Am I good enough?  Am I smart enough?  Is my diet organic enough?  Is my job career worthy?  Is my child the MVP at most of our games? It’s doctors that have to deal with their mistakes that cost lives – they don’t talk about it.  It’s the bullying in the locker room at NFL games – Incognito ring a bell? It’s everywhere.

Whether it’s a group of mothers talking about how…

meanmoms

– Organic is the ONLY way to feed your family while you’re struggling to afford generic mac and cheese…

– Breastfeeding is the ONLY option as you and your munchkin are recovering from yet another sleepless night after the 134th failed attempt to latch on. You waive the white flag, bust out the Enfamil Formula and leave the tears and hunger behind…

OR, maybe you’re making your way to a seat at the Women in Business Luncheon at the “W” Hotel and you’re taking mental notes of…

– Fancy Italian handbags hanging on the chairs of the attendees. I think I saw a Kardashian with that one on the cover of a tabloid. My Target bag is falling apart and filled with fresh  decaying fruit and used band-aids.

– UGH!!! My Wet&Wild nail polish is wearing off as I quietly scan the salad forks held by french manicured hands across the white linen tablecloth.

– Picturing the college degrees that are framed on the walls of their swanky downtown corner offices. I can see the scotch tape that holds up an MLS photo of my dream home hanging from my office wall. I’ve kept it as sales inspiration for roughly 5 years.

OR, you’re pulling into your neighborhood, waving as a good neighbor should and you’re…

suburbs

– Daydreaming about the marble foyer of hot yoga mom’s gated entry suburban home as you step over the pile of 32 pairs of shoes in your entry way…

– Wondering what the aroma of a home cooked organic meal made by the nanny smells like as you throw in a frozen Digiorno (hey, it’s not delivery!)

– What is it like to be greeted by the nanny as she presents hot yoga moms three lovely children, bathed and dressed in their according uniforms for ballet, traveling soccer, or insert any other sport that they excel in.  You realize that your child has been wearing the same socks for 3 days and the laundry in the chute (including the soccer uniform needed for today) has piled all the way up to the opening at the top of the chute.

laundry

– The nanny hangs the pressed private school uniforms as Mommy trots to the fridge to grab her organic tofu, quinoa, something or other to choke down before changing into her yoga gear and awaiting the arrival of her yoga instructor, Tyrel.  Her Christian Grey look alike husband is home to bring the ballerina and football stars to their sports as Tyrel rings the bell.  NaMaSte.  

yoga

NOTMYLIFE. How about MaMustStay AWAKE.  How bout that?  Extra shot of espresso, please!  GOD FORBID –  if she only knew that we ate McDonalds Happy Meals for dinner last night in the car. I was a rockstar, though. I rushed to pick up from daycare so we could head to the soccer field and not only was I only FIVE minutes past closing time at daycare, but we opted for apples instead of the the fries! VICTORY! I know, I know. Thank you. The applause is appreciated.

fast food

As we exited the drive thru, my Blackberry continued to notify me of the 14 emails I had received since leaving daycare and my Samsung Galaxy shouted about the 4 text messages from my husband, my mother, and two friends.  Juggling between my two phones, I chugged my latte. One of the few antidotes to keep me from the forbidden zombie stage. Praise the Lord for ESPRESSO!

We make it through the maze of BMW’s and Benz’s in our Chevy Sedan and find a space at the end of the West lot. Scrambling to get my daughter changed into her soccer gear in the back seat of a sedan is like trying to situate yourself, your toddler, and belongings into the stall of a public bathroom at Target because SHE HAS TO GO>>>>> NOW!!! Why must they make the stalls so small yet leave the aisle of size zero bikinis so large?  Getting those soccer socks pulled on to her feet is the equivalent of benching your own weight, if you ask me.  It’s a task in that small space. Can I ask why outdoor sporting areas haven’t yet thought to have locker rooms?  C’mon!  Help a mother out, here?!

public restroom

We stumble through the parking lot and onto the fields.  Is it E5 North or W5 South? Oh, Heavens to Betsy. should’ve thought of that prior to parking.  Digging in my purse to find my Gmail calendar and look up the field number is just like geo-caching with no GPS.

purse

Yahtzee, got the phone.  Wait.  Negative, Captain.  That’s the blackberry business calendar, not the Galaxy with your PERSONAL calendar.  Search #2 ensues.  My fingers push through wet wipe containers, lip gloss, pens, coupons, sticky notes, a banana (I have been TRYING to eat breakfast in the morning), a pair of nylons, receipts, a Yoda doll, squinkees, and BINGO, my Samsung!  Okay. Calendar… scroll down through my 68 events I forgot to dismiss…

MEETING:  Soccer GAME, Field East 1 North at 5:15PM (bring picture order form)

Yep.  You guessed it.  Thank God I’m not looking for a plot twist here because I would’ve failed at that, as well.  We are on the opposite end of the field.

The journey to E1North begins.  My 21″ heels (Ya, I know, I’m exaggerating, but they make me feel as if I’m on stilts and that my foot is being squeezed into spanx that are 3 sizes too small) dig in to the soccer field and I wonder if I could turn this walking around the field in heels gig into a legitimate business.  Their lovely quarter of the field has been aerated as we made our way across it.  Mental note to jot this down into one of my smart phones as a business idea.

high heels grass

I drop the folding chair, certain that I have sweat dripping from my face and that my feet are about to break out of my heels.  If I wasn’t wearing a pantsuit and 21″ heels, I would have these parents convinced that I was a coach running up and down the length of the field with their children.  My purse, her water, my latte, 2 cell phones, blanket, soccer bag, situated and I’m finally ready to sit down.

Coach walks towards me. I’m sure he’s on his way over to compliment me on the amazing job I’ve done aerating the field and then my memory knocks me over like it’s Ray Lewis or something.  I know what he’s going to say before he even says it.

ray lewis

He smiles,  “Do you happen to have your picture order form with you?  They are due today.”

I know he is smiling but in my head all I see is Chucky on the field, extremely angry and disappointed at such a forgetful mother.

angry john gruden

As I race through my mind to try and recall if I filled the darn thing out…Okay. That’s a lie.  I know I didn’t fill it out.  It’s on the kitchen counter along with the pile of other stuff that needs to be gone through.

I tell him that I think it’s in my car.  I get up from my chair and at this point, truly think that I should make a call to the owner of the arena/fields to see if I can earn a living aerating this field.  I walk over to the car knowing full well that it’s not in  here and wondering why I didn’t just fess up and tell him I forgot about it.

Today, I know why.  These white picket fences that we’ve built seem all too familiar in my circles.  From at home mom’s to career moms to doctors to football players. Can we PLEASE be real with each other?

Feeling the need to seem like I have it together all the time got me to one place.   A nervous breakdown.  I’ll walk you through my journey as I continue with this blog and my book.  I really want to share this with you.  I’m opening my heart and I’ve evicted my closet full of skeleton tenants in hopes that instead of judgement and pity, we can share some empathy and compassion for one another.

I want this blog to serve as my way of keeping it real (that sounds soooo 90’s Fresh Prince of Belair, doesn’t it?) and hopefully my honesty can help at least one person feel that they are not alone.  I wish I could somehow change the world and start a movement and that’s what I aspire to do. This is my first step.  Please share this with your friends and family if you feel it is share worthy.  You never know who might be playing hide and seek behind the white picket fence.  They might need someone to show them there is life beyond the fence.

Breaking down the posts of these white picket fences.

KEEPIN' IT REAL

KEEPIN’ IT REAL

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2 thoughts on “Namaste = MomMustStay AWAKE!

  1. Very powerful post! I’m not a mom, but I think your story captured the stress and chaos of trying to be perfect–the perfect parent, wife, friend, and employee. I look forward to hearing more about your journey!

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