Did you miss me? Hell yes, you did. And I missed you, too.
No, really, I did. I'm not playing you, boo. I'm not a drunk middle-aged guy at a bar feeling up your leg over those skinny jeans. (PS: most people old enough to go to a bar can't pull off skinny jeans anymore. I thought you should know so that you can reconsider your wardrobe choices. This public service announcement has been brought to you by me, The Maven.)
I've been so caught up in real life crap that I haven't given my baby any attention. I'm a neglectful blog mother. I wish I could say I was doing something made-for-TV-movie-worthy, like working as a high class prostitute while supporting my painkiller habit and go-nowhere acting career, but it hasn't been nearly that interesting. I'm more of the rock back and forth in the corner while twitching and mumbling under my breath because the real life kids are fighting way too much kind of blog mother.
Hard to get enough quality script material out of cowering in a puddle of my own tears. Now, if I had a crack pipe in my pocket we'd at least have a shot at getting on Intervention.
But I digress.
The kids are back at school and today is my birthday. It's like I won the lottery, but instead the gremlins aren't clawing at my pant legs anymore (not skinny jeans, for the record) and my husband bought me a Kitchen Aid mixer (yes, the kind I've been fantasizing about for years) and now we're broke. So not really like the lottery at all, unless it's the sanity/baking lottery.
I actually like the sound of that lottery.
I'm 35, and I've been waiting for this birthday for a long, long time. Why? Because this is going to be my year. Why? Because my late grandmother told me it would be, that's why.
Once upon a time, when I was about 23 and going through a hard time, my grandma held my hand and told me that I was going to be beautiful in every way at 35. I would be confident, assertive, and have a clear vision of what I want in my life. Basically it was a grandma-to-granddaughter pep talk, but I took it very literally. I decided a long time ago that this would be the year to start doing great things; to come into my own; to fucking shine.
And that starts today.
And, oddly enough, it's starting with a blog overhaul.
I've been posting on stay-at-home-mayhem for over four years now. I love this blog. But lately I've been feeling like I need something new and fresh. I was feeling blocked, and almost shut the blog down. True story.
I love writing about my little ankle-biters, but with all of them in school most of the week, I'm finding I have less to say on parenting and more to say on other things. So, instead of giving the blog up altogether, I decided a name change was in order. Same blog address (you're welcome), a broader range of content.
See, at my ripe old age of 35 and no longer suffocated by dirty diapers and blinded by scream-induced migraines, I've had an epiphany: There is more to me than simply being a mom.
I know, I know. Let that sink in for a minute. Try not to drop the baby while in shock.
I have a lot to say, and not all of it is about parenting. I've always tried to write about whatever is on my mind, but I felt kind of stifled by being deemed a "mommy blogger." I felt guilty writing about other stuff, like I was somehow straying too far from the theme.
Not that there's anything wrong with being a mommy blogger. Don't hate me, mommy bloggers. Don't throw all-natural bamboo toys at my gorgeous face. I'm not putting you down, I'm just branching out. In case you've forgotten, I have three boys. I'm not just a mommy, I'm a momzilla. So don't get all up in my grill lest I stomp the hell out of your proverbial Tokyo.
Anyway, this is a birthday present to myself. Happy birthday, me. I deserve this change. I deserve to love writing again, and it's been awhile since I've felt that way.
Must go cuddle on the couch with that handsome Geekster of mine. Not only did he buy me a mixer, but he's also making me popcorn and watching a show I like. And did I mention he's handsome? And that he bought me a fancy mixer?
Welcome, 35. We are so going to own this year. Maven, out.
No, really, I did. I'm not playing you, boo. I'm not a drunk middle-aged guy at a bar feeling up your leg over those skinny jeans. (PS: most people old enough to go to a bar can't pull off skinny jeans anymore. I thought you should know so that you can reconsider your wardrobe choices. This public service announcement has been brought to you by me, The Maven.)
I've been so caught up in real life crap that I haven't given my baby any attention. I'm a neglectful blog mother. I wish I could say I was doing something made-for-TV-movie-worthy, like working as a high class prostitute while supporting my painkiller habit and go-nowhere acting career, but it hasn't been nearly that interesting. I'm more of the rock back and forth in the corner while twitching and mumbling under my breath because the real life kids are fighting way too much kind of blog mother.
Hard to get enough quality script material out of cowering in a puddle of my own tears. Now, if I had a crack pipe in my pocket we'd at least have a shot at getting on Intervention.
But I digress.
The kids are back at school and today is my birthday. It's like I won the lottery, but instead the gremlins aren't clawing at my pant legs anymore (not skinny jeans, for the record) and my husband bought me a Kitchen Aid mixer (yes, the kind I've been fantasizing about for years) and now we're broke. So not really like the lottery at all, unless it's the sanity/baking lottery.
I actually like the sound of that lottery.
 |
| Owning this is the domestic equivalent of street cred. |
I'm 35, and I've been waiting for this birthday for a long, long time. Why? Because this is going to be my year. Why? Because my late grandmother told me it would be, that's why.
Once upon a time, when I was about 23 and going through a hard time, my grandma held my hand and told me that I was going to be beautiful in every way at 35. I would be confident, assertive, and have a clear vision of what I want in my life. Basically it was a grandma-to-granddaughter pep talk, but I took it very literally. I decided a long time ago that this would be the year to start doing great things; to come into my own; to fucking shine.
And that starts today.
And, oddly enough, it's starting with a blog overhaul.
I've been posting on stay-at-home-mayhem for over four years now. I love this blog. But lately I've been feeling like I need something new and fresh. I was feeling blocked, and almost shut the blog down. True story.
I love writing about my little ankle-biters, but with all of them in school most of the week, I'm finding I have less to say on parenting and more to say on other things. So, instead of giving the blog up altogether, I decided a name change was in order. Same blog address (you're welcome), a broader range of content.
See, at my ripe old age of 35 and no longer suffocated by dirty diapers and blinded by scream-induced migraines, I've had an epiphany: There is more to me than simply being a mom.
I know, I know. Let that sink in for a minute. Try not to drop the baby while in shock.
I have a lot to say, and not all of it is about parenting. I've always tried to write about whatever is on my mind, but I felt kind of stifled by being deemed a "mommy blogger." I felt guilty writing about other stuff, like I was somehow straying too far from the theme.
Not that there's anything wrong with being a mommy blogger. Don't hate me, mommy bloggers. Don't throw all-natural bamboo toys at my gorgeous face. I'm not putting you down, I'm just branching out. In case you've forgotten, I have three boys. I'm not just a mommy, I'm a momzilla. So don't get all up in my grill lest I stomp the hell out of your proverbial Tokyo.
Anyway, this is a birthday present to myself. Happy birthday, me. I deserve this change. I deserve to love writing again, and it's been awhile since I've felt that way.
Must go cuddle on the couch with that handsome Geekster of mine. Not only did he buy me a mixer, but he's also making me popcorn and watching a show I like. And did I mention he's handsome? And that he bought me a fancy mixer?
Welcome, 35. We are so going to own this year. Maven, out.