Table for One, Please

Two afternoons each week, I have four uninterrupted hours of child-free grown up time while my little darlings enjoy an afternoon at preschool. To top that off, the school my children attend is just far enough away from our home that journeying back after dropping them off is not the most convenient thing to do and, frankly, a tremendous waste of time and fuel. So, for the past few months I have taken advantage of this time by scheduling various appointments, grocery shopping, and just catching my breath - by myself. It's been wonderful. Silly me, I also assumed that it would be a great time to catch up with my girlfriends, many of whom are also domestic goddesses with small children. Small children who don't attend school the same days and times as my small children. Result: I don't actually see my friends any more than I did prior to preschool, although, any phone conversations we have are blessed with far less background noise on my end.
Now, I make a valiant effort at using my time wisely during these four hour chunks, but even the most dedicated meal-planner can only spend so much time at the grocery store. And who would have thought that you could actually get tired of wandering the aisles at Target, alone, with no tiny voices pleading for pretzels, water, or a bathroom break? Certainly not me, but alas, it's happened. So, now what? I'm alone, too far away from home to drive back and watch the latest DVR'd episode of Mad Men, and, (confession time) pretty much terrified of going into a restaurant or coffee shop by myself. I know it's ridiculous, but that's the truth. I've always felt that way and have always been embarrassed by it, so then my anxiety is doubled - I'm too nervous to go in and annoyed by my nervousness. I decided to tackle my issues by starting off small: a coffee here and there, then ordering a coffee and sitting down with a book or magazine. Feeling like I'd conquered the coffee shop, I decided the other day to have lunch by myself. Knowing that given the chance I'd over analyze the entire situation and wind up starving and sitting pathetically in my car, I pulled into the nearest restaurant, grabbed my book, and headed in for lunch.
Things are proceeding well; no one gave me any weird looks as I was seated and there were several other people dining by themselves. Okay, this is great! I order, take my time enjoying lunch and my book, and, really, am feeling pretty fabulous about the whole situation! Wow! I can really do this without turning twelve shades of red and feeling like a complete idiot! WooHoo! All until this: "Excuse me, MAM, are you...," and then I tuned out. And turned twelve shades of red. Oh no she di-n't. "Mam?" "MAM!?" REALLY?! Am I that old that I need to be addressed as 'Mam'?
So, I keep reevaluating my place in life as compared to the last time I did anything by myself, which was four years ago, before my little guys were here. Four years ago, I was still a twenty-something woman...and now, I'm not. According to one doctor, I'm now 'middle-aged' and, by the way, you can suck it, Dr. Gilbert, for that stunning revelation. But here's the thing, if being 'middle-aged' means being comfortable with who you are, then I'll take it. The twenty-something me still cared if the grown-up versions of the mean girls from high school liked me. The twenty-something me worried about a lot of things that don't need to be worried about. The woman I am now doesn't worry about those same things, at least not as much. I'm grateful for the twenty-something experience, and know that that time contributed a great deal to the path I'm now privleged to travel. Maybe my thirties will teach me how to enjoy time in a restaurant by myself. The point is, for the most part I know who I am and I feel good about it. No compromises, no excuses. No energy to be anything different! But, please, don't call me 'Mam.'

Where have all the fabulous shoes gone?

I had a rude awakening today. Some might call it an epiphany, but no, I assure you it was, in fact, a rude awakening. Get ready for it: My shoe rack has taken a dramatic turn away from fashionable and fabulous footwear to comfort shoes. As I stared, horror struck, at the rows of Dansko clogs and Privo mary janes, I couldn't help but wonder, "Where have all the fabulous shoes gone?" When did I turn the corner from "fantastic" to "comfortable, yet supportive?" As I crammed my post-pregnancy size 7.5's into a delicious pair of 6.5 animal print ballet flats with a darling quilted patent leather toe, I was forced to seriously take stock of my most recent personal style decisions. I'm not sure I like what I see. You see, I still take pride in my appearance - even though I'm bound to have some child-created gunk on me somewhere...lurking. I'm still the 'go-to gal' for my girlfriends and their personal style choices. I love fashion magazines and snarl loudly at anyone who tries to commandeer the latest Nordstrom catalog before I've completed my requisite quality time with it. But, it dawned on me that I had actually ventured out in public wearing trainers, that's right people, sneakers, the previous two days...and not done anything particularly athletic whilst wearing them. This is a problem. You see, I didn't even own a pair of sweatpants until I left my full time corporate job four years ago to fulfill my dream of being a full time mom. My family and my dream are now a reality, but my closet is home to at least half a dozen velour track suits and my shoe rack...well, we've already covered that. It's time to devote some serious thought to this awakening - join me while I open a bottle of Cabernet and indulge in a piece of 85% cocoa dark chocolate...wait, hmmmm....maybe there's another problem? :)