A Day Late, A Dollar Short

It wasn’t until two months ago that I learned Lululemon had replaced Hanes Her Way. And I still don’t know how to pronounce it.

Recently I attended a fancy wedding and had to text one of my girlfriends to ask if a deep v-neck dress calls for a long or short necklace. (If you care, the answer is long).

“Have you heard about this new thing, My Space?!” –me, last year.

Behind doesn’t even begin to describe me when it comes to fashion or new technology. It’s not because I don’t like to challenge myself or learn new things. It’s just that if I find something that works (flip-flops and no necklace or AOL Instant Messenger, for instance), I work it to death. Kinda like the adage, “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” but it’s mostly like the adage, “It’s just easier to maintain, maaan.”

I’ve been in the mom cave a bit too long, and without apology, the world and trends have continued to evolve without me.


Right before my tired eyes, my kids are evolving, too. Used to be that I couldn’t wait for the day when they would play together and have adorable conversations that would require subtitles if they were televised. That is exactly what they were doing this morning, and when I tried to join in the fun, I was literally escorted out of the room. My two-year-old took me gently by the hand, showed me to the door, and asked that I ” ‘tay down’tairs, peeze.”

Conjuring my best Stephanie Tanner here: how rude!

This summer, my son started swimming on his own as opposed to his previously-preferred wrapping his legs around my waist, effectively cutting off oxygen and blood circulation to my lower half. He’s so proud of himself in those orange swimmies, floating and kicking without my shadow lurking over him.

What is going on?!

Family was visiting a few days ago, and at the end of the night, my son hosted a jam session in the playroom. He gave his uncle a drum, his aunt a flute, his grandma a xylophone. I gravitated toward the sweet beats and just as I poked my head into the room, he cut the music faster than every director should have cut Keanu Reeves’s speaking roles: “Mom! You were not invited!”

Come again?

So I birth these humans, sustain their young lives single-handedly for their first year on earth, wipe their dirty butts, kiss their boo-boos, and THIS?! I get “you were not invited please stay downstairs?!”

StOp ThE iNsAnItY!

Logically, I understand my kids are stretching their legs and giving this independence thing a shot, and truly, I am grateful. I want them to be soulful contributors to society; not leeches who sponge off of me and my husband forever.

Emotionally, though, what the eff, kids?! I made you, now you let me join the tea party, dammit!

I don’t know that I’ll ever understand the need for jeggings, but I certainly see how this motherhood thing is going to play out: I give my heart to these small people who, in return, simultaneously suck the life out of me, yet make me shout for an encore. Imagine if a friend or my husband toyed with my emotions like that! A swift kick to the undercarriage and our relationship would be over. I don’t know how they do it, but kids have this magical power over us and despite it driving me crazy, I don’t want to miss it like I missed the L.L. Bean backpack craze in high school. I just had to have the Jansport…

Photo credit: Hammonton Photography via photopin cc

About StephanieJ

Read more of Stephanie's rants on her blog WhenCrazyMeetsExhaustion,
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