Tonight was the last night of Chanukah (transliterations are so fun- I get to spell it differently each time!) and I was so busy with the baby - then starving and throwing food into my face, that I completely forgot to light the candles. I was folding my 800th load of laundry while watching the real housewives of OC (and actually, they aren't housewives -- most of them have jobs!) and totally enjoying not having anything due for tomorrow, when I realized it was 11 o'clock and no candles.
So, I lit them and watched them burn in the window, the light reflecting in the silver menorah, the whole house quiet and dark except for this beautiful, glowing corner. I was sad at first because Larry is at work and I wanted to be able to share this with someone. It's the only holiday we don't really get together with my family and Larry doesn't know the words to any songs so I never feel like I'm really celebrating it. Either I sing to myself or to the baby, but it lacks warmth -- plus, I'm a terrible singer.
But then, I thought, it's really nice to be alone, just meditate on the calm and the beauty, the contrast of the little lights shining against the dark. Whenever I'm alone, I am always busy, but perhaps it is important to also be alone and not be doing anything more than watching candles burn. No TV, no snacks, no books or chores or schoolwork or projects or internet or phone or even writing - just letting my mind wander, just breathing.
Yoga, which I miss dearly, has taught me the value of letting go and the finger trap mentality of life that always gets me into trouble --- the harder you pull, the more stuck you get. Winter is a time to slow down, to nest, to cuddle, to let go. I'm not sure if that's an official lesson of Hannukka (see!!!), but that's what I got tonight. I know there is an idea of being an empty vessel for God's will. Tonight, I am empty.
Chag Sameach, Hanooocka!
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Monday, December 10, 2007
ahhhh, couch!
It's been such a hard semester that I'd forgotten what my couch felt like against my butt, but this evening, my cheeks got a chance to reacquaint themselves with that lovely brown leather. Ahhhhhh. Hooray, I finished my paper! I am glad and I'm sure those of you who have had to listen to me list theories ad nauseum are glad, too. My poor mother - I actually emailed her a copy!!!!! Oh mom, you don't really have to read it!
Anyway, I printed it out and threw in some laundry and performed some other household rescue exercises that can only be done post DBT (that's Dylan's Bed Time) and then I was like, huh, it's only 10:30, whatever shall I do with myself. So i cut a gigantic piece of cake and poured a huge glass of wine and sat down in front of a Scrubs double-header. I lit a candle and felt no pressure or guilt whatsoever. I even called Larry just to gossip and find out how his night was going.
God, I have undervalued television. Maybe Larry's right. Perhaps we are due a flatscreen.
Or maybe I'm due a fabulous trip somewhere. To a place with cake and wine and good reruns. And sleeping babies.
Anyway, I printed it out and threw in some laundry and performed some other household rescue exercises that can only be done post DBT (that's Dylan's Bed Time) and then I was like, huh, it's only 10:30, whatever shall I do with myself. So i cut a gigantic piece of cake and poured a huge glass of wine and sat down in front of a Scrubs double-header. I lit a candle and felt no pressure or guilt whatsoever. I even called Larry just to gossip and find out how his night was going.
God, I have undervalued television. Maybe Larry's right. Perhaps we are due a flatscreen.
Or maybe I'm due a fabulous trip somewhere. To a place with cake and wine and good reruns. And sleeping babies.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
milk and brain cells
So, I handed in a story for class that we discussed today and no one liked it. My professor told me not to even bother revising it - it was that bad. So, ok, bruised ego aside, I can take that - I wasn't really that invested in it and they made very valid points. But what really freaked me out, is the way they described the main character in the piece. They said she was whiny and shallow and self-centered. They also said she had an unearned sense of entitlement that made her completely unsympathetic. Whew!
I am not upset because that's how people saw my character, but because the character was the closest one to me I have ever written. Of course, no one in the class could have known that and, of course, all my characters are me and not me. The story was about a mother whose friend's child gets cancer and dies. The main character feels trapped by her baby and actually feels jealous of her friend, something she can hardly admit to herself. I can say with certainty that I do not feel this way, but, oh boy do I know what it feels like to just want a day off from a job that has not one single day off ever. I was drawing on that feeling to write about a woman who resents that her baby keeps her from following her dream to open a photography studio.
When the class was discussing the main character, I could not help feeling bad about myself. I felt that perhaps I have been silly and shallow and entitled. Perhaps I was the one who has acted like I'm the only woman ever to have borne the burdens and sacrifices of motherhood. Perhaps I am the self-congratulator, the one who thinks everyone else in the world is just as interested as she is in every moment of her baby's life. I mean, of course I think my baby is the cutest - everyone thinks that of their own babies. What kind of mother would I be if I just thought he was fair to middling? I mean, he may be so as an adolescent or an adult, but as a baby? He's got to have some sort of chance in life - he can't even talk yet!
And yet, these are good things to doubt about yourself. Maybe I need to examine the ways in which I have been all of those things at different times. Maybe I have not been supremely right in all arguments with my husband, my mother, my friends. Perhaps, as I felt today, people from the outside have a completely different view of actions, rationality, psychology. Perhaps I have been a less good person/wife/mother/daughter/sister/friend than I believed. Perhaps I am a jerk.
Whenever I think these bad things about myself, I think how good it is for those around me to put up with me. I am embarrassed sometimes to recall all the times I've gone on and on to my husband or my mother or my friends. Why would I think anyone would be interested in these banal details of my life and how dare I present them as special? Why do I feel the need to give other people advice in terms of my own experiences? Can't I ever see them on their own terms? Why would I think that other people care at all? What about the big issues? Why can I not see beyond the narrow confines of my own small life? WIll I ever be able to do anything well or will I be a failure my whole life. Sometimes, I think life would have been easier psychologically as a charwoman. No it wouldn't - there goes my sense of entitlement. Even writing this blog is the essence of pondering my navel. It's not that cute a navel (though Dylan did try to nurse it today - but there I go again with the boring details). Ok, I'm ending before my brain fries.
I am not upset because that's how people saw my character, but because the character was the closest one to me I have ever written. Of course, no one in the class could have known that and, of course, all my characters are me and not me. The story was about a mother whose friend's child gets cancer and dies. The main character feels trapped by her baby and actually feels jealous of her friend, something she can hardly admit to herself. I can say with certainty that I do not feel this way, but, oh boy do I know what it feels like to just want a day off from a job that has not one single day off ever. I was drawing on that feeling to write about a woman who resents that her baby keeps her from following her dream to open a photography studio.
When the class was discussing the main character, I could not help feeling bad about myself. I felt that perhaps I have been silly and shallow and entitled. Perhaps I was the one who has acted like I'm the only woman ever to have borne the burdens and sacrifices of motherhood. Perhaps I am the self-congratulator, the one who thinks everyone else in the world is just as interested as she is in every moment of her baby's life. I mean, of course I think my baby is the cutest - everyone thinks that of their own babies. What kind of mother would I be if I just thought he was fair to middling? I mean, he may be so as an adolescent or an adult, but as a baby? He's got to have some sort of chance in life - he can't even talk yet!
And yet, these are good things to doubt about yourself. Maybe I need to examine the ways in which I have been all of those things at different times. Maybe I have not been supremely right in all arguments with my husband, my mother, my friends. Perhaps, as I felt today, people from the outside have a completely different view of actions, rationality, psychology. Perhaps I have been a less good person/wife/mother/daughter/sister/friend than I believed. Perhaps I am a jerk.
Whenever I think these bad things about myself, I think how good it is for those around me to put up with me. I am embarrassed sometimes to recall all the times I've gone on and on to my husband or my mother or my friends. Why would I think anyone would be interested in these banal details of my life and how dare I present them as special? Why do I feel the need to give other people advice in terms of my own experiences? Can't I ever see them on their own terms? Why would I think that other people care at all? What about the big issues? Why can I not see beyond the narrow confines of my own small life? WIll I ever be able to do anything well or will I be a failure my whole life. Sometimes, I think life would have been easier psychologically as a charwoman. No it wouldn't - there goes my sense of entitlement. Even writing this blog is the essence of pondering my navel. It's not that cute a navel (though Dylan did try to nurse it today - but there I go again with the boring details). Ok, I'm ending before my brain fries.
Monday, October 15, 2007
daddy works nights
so, here are a few things I don’t think you know about that are so cute. First, he loves his little Ikea star lamp on the wall. It has these little pinholes, you know, that let the light out and make bird V patterns on the wall and ceiling. As soon as I turn it on he starts laughing and hopping up and down in my arms and reaching for it. Tonight, I wanted to distract him, so I put him on the other side of his bedroom and turned it on and he crawled over as close as he could get and tried to climb up the drawers on his dresser/changing table. God it was cute.
Today we tried Cheerios again. On Saturday, I gave him some bits of apple because you were taking a while smashing his avocado and he was getting really fussy. I just had the apple in his little mesh bag “lollipop” and I cut it up right there at the table in your restaurant. I was excited because he was picking up the pieces and eating them on his own, and I even said, “Cool. Now, I don’t have to feed you anymore,” and that’s when he started choking. But tonight, I decided to give Cheerios another go anyhow. So far, he hasn’t been that interested, but tonight he dove right in and smushed them all up in his little gums and swallowed them almost without incident (he coughed once) and I could barely get his yams in. I was like, wow, the first time he actually eats them and he KILLS em – I had to get him a second handful! – but then I went to take off his bib and I realized most of them had ended up in a little cereal pool in his lap. Ok, so he’s not ready for a pie eating contest, but still, good show!
We met a Mexican family in the playground today. I used my rusty, barely existent Spanish to chat with the mom about her younger child, a baby just two weeks younger than Dylan. His name was Jhon – she pronounced it “Yan” and I kept trying to ask if it was Swedish or something, but apparently they don’t call Sweden Sweden in Spanish and I don’t know the Spanish word for that country. Also, I couldn’t remember the Spanish for love or like or anything, because I wanted to explain that Dylan loves other babies. He pulled himself up on Jhon’s stroller – he even climbed onto the footrest!- and was smiling and laughing and jumping up and down, grapping for the other baby’s head and hand. At one point, when he was pulling himself up, he grabbed Jhan’s little foot in its little red leather shoe and tried to eat it. I was laughing so hard!
Then he crawled all around and turned the knees of his baby blue pants black and was following around some big kids. First, they were on the swings so crawled right over and sat below them. They were about 9 or 10 and were so good about not hitting him or stepping on him. They were getting up a game of tag and I said to him to make them laugh, “What, do you think you’re going to play tag, too?” Then they went and stood in a little circle a bit away from the swings and don’t you know, Dylan crawled right up to them and sat down right next to their feet as if he really was ready to join the game. I had to swoop him up to keep him from being trampled. He’s quite the social baby. Remind you of his mommy?
Today we tried Cheerios again. On Saturday, I gave him some bits of apple because you were taking a while smashing his avocado and he was getting really fussy. I just had the apple in his little mesh bag “lollipop” and I cut it up right there at the table in your restaurant. I was excited because he was picking up the pieces and eating them on his own, and I even said, “Cool. Now, I don’t have to feed you anymore,” and that’s when he started choking. But tonight, I decided to give Cheerios another go anyhow. So far, he hasn’t been that interested, but tonight he dove right in and smushed them all up in his little gums and swallowed them almost without incident (he coughed once) and I could barely get his yams in. I was like, wow, the first time he actually eats them and he KILLS em – I had to get him a second handful! – but then I went to take off his bib and I realized most of them had ended up in a little cereal pool in his lap. Ok, so he’s not ready for a pie eating contest, but still, good show!
We met a Mexican family in the playground today. I used my rusty, barely existent Spanish to chat with the mom about her younger child, a baby just two weeks younger than Dylan. His name was Jhon – she pronounced it “Yan” and I kept trying to ask if it was Swedish or something, but apparently they don’t call Sweden Sweden in Spanish and I don’t know the Spanish word for that country. Also, I couldn’t remember the Spanish for love or like or anything, because I wanted to explain that Dylan loves other babies. He pulled himself up on Jhon’s stroller – he even climbed onto the footrest!- and was smiling and laughing and jumping up and down, grapping for the other baby’s head and hand. At one point, when he was pulling himself up, he grabbed Jhan’s little foot in its little red leather shoe and tried to eat it. I was laughing so hard!
Then he crawled all around and turned the knees of his baby blue pants black and was following around some big kids. First, they were on the swings so crawled right over and sat below them. They were about 9 or 10 and were so good about not hitting him or stepping on him. They were getting up a game of tag and I said to him to make them laugh, “What, do you think you’re going to play tag, too?” Then they went and stood in a little circle a bit away from the swings and don’t you know, Dylan crawled right up to them and sat down right next to their feet as if he really was ready to join the game. I had to swoop him up to keep him from being trampled. He’s quite the social baby. Remind you of his mommy?
I love your body
Consider this an open letter. Consider this my heart. Consider this the smooth round cheek of my baby son when he's concentrating hard on picking something up and his lips stick out like little pickles and his eyes are cast downward upon his work. Consider this the wart on my husband's middle finger where it joins his hand and I love when I feel it tickling the inner pad of my hand, my breast, the hard line of my aging jaw. Consider this the smell of shampoo in the thick hair of my stepson, tousled so it shows that little streak of premature gray. Consider this the hot stars shooting out from my hips and buttocks after a hard, uphill bike ride, the raw cavity of my throat, glowing red, a heat wave around my head, the world still and solid once again below my feet. Consider this real.
Friday, July 6, 2007
My outer lip
I just emerged from my darkened childhood bedroom in which I just danced my beautiful baby boy to sleep to the tinny music of his mobile. What a love! Down in the basement of my parents' sprawling suburban estate my step-son is playing on his new X-box with his friend Phillip. They were such good boys tonight. They came to my grandparents' house and ate pizza (Phillip only eats pizza and fries, which I find kind of cute) and swam in the pool at their complex and then played at the playground and didn't complain about not having their video games or about being in their house of strange old people they barely know.
It's amazing how close I am at this moment, with the fireflies in the grass outside and no children playing stickball in the middle of the street, to the life I never thought I'd have. Perhaps because it is borrowed (we'll be back in the city as soon as my kitchen is done in a few weeks), it's not so terrible. Plus my parents have mega-cable. Very nice when breastfeeding.
So I just took down a post about all the anxiety my husband's job and spending habits are causing me. I actually only posted it because I never actually think anyone reads this stupid thing. But apparently, you do. I was shocked - shocked - to see that some of you have even posted comments! I was also thrilled because it's nice to know I am actually communicating with people. But I've always thought of this thing as more of diary that gets housed in cyberspace and I don't think I would have actually posted some of that dirty laundry had a I realized.
So, I took it down for that reason, but also because I feel like it's unfair to Larry. Everything was true when I wrote it - the anxiety, the anger, the hopelessness. But as soon as I wrote it down, most of that dissappeared. The events are there and the bank account is still low, but writing down my bad feelings has always helped me to overcome them.
And the thing is, I get it. I understand completely that my husband is absolutely drained after working for 12 hours straight on his feet without so much as a lunch break. I get that that's why he needs to smoke - to relieve stress and to stop working for 10 minutes. I get that on his days off, he can barely move, let alone wake up early and head out for an all-day hike. And I know why he bought Marley that X box - he wants to make up for not seeing him enough, for dragging him between so many houses and people, for more dissapointments than any 10-year-old should have to bear.
There is also one thing I didn't mention about buying the X-box. He called and asked me if he could buy it before he did. I didn't feel like I could say no, but I could have. And we have plenty of savings. I don't really want to dip into them and I think the Xbox is an extravagance that we shouldn't even consider if we can't afford to fix my car or go on vacation, but if he really feels like its that important for his son to have this, how can I say no? How can I? And, after all, it's just money. It means nothing. I won't even notice it's gone a year from now. And the two of them will enjoy it for much longer than that.
I suppose sometimes, I feel like Larry doesn't consider how I'm going to feel, but do I always consider his feelings? What about posting a mean entry about him? Is that kind? I always want him to show up with flowers or some sort of surprise, but I do remember what it's like to go to work (it wasn't THAT long ago) and just want to get home and hit the couch.
Really, I am just lonely and not lonely for people, because my friends and family are great and always around - which is a luxury he does not have these days. I am lonely for him. I just miss him. I miss being able to laugh with him because he doesn't get to do much laughing these days. But that's because of his schedule, not because he's a bad husband. It's because he's working hard, not out partying or seeing other women or even abandoning me for his buddies. My god, his buddies must think he's dropped off the edge of the planet. I never really thought about the fact that he not only gets no time with his sons, but also no time with friends or any of the rest of his family.
I guess there's this evil little part of me that just wants him to miss me as much. And I think he does.
If I were a kind wife, I would probably arrange some sort of guy party so they could all veg out on the couch together and make stupid boy jokes. If I were a wife that didn't think about herself and dirty socks all the time.
He said to me a few weeks ago that I was the only reason he was able to hold this job- that without my support he'd have to quit. It made me feel so good. Maybe that just has to be enough for now.
It's amazing how close I am at this moment, with the fireflies in the grass outside and no children playing stickball in the middle of the street, to the life I never thought I'd have. Perhaps because it is borrowed (we'll be back in the city as soon as my kitchen is done in a few weeks), it's not so terrible. Plus my parents have mega-cable. Very nice when breastfeeding.
So I just took down a post about all the anxiety my husband's job and spending habits are causing me. I actually only posted it because I never actually think anyone reads this stupid thing. But apparently, you do. I was shocked - shocked - to see that some of you have even posted comments! I was also thrilled because it's nice to know I am actually communicating with people. But I've always thought of this thing as more of diary that gets housed in cyberspace and I don't think I would have actually posted some of that dirty laundry had a I realized.
So, I took it down for that reason, but also because I feel like it's unfair to Larry. Everything was true when I wrote it - the anxiety, the anger, the hopelessness. But as soon as I wrote it down, most of that dissappeared. The events are there and the bank account is still low, but writing down my bad feelings has always helped me to overcome them.
And the thing is, I get it. I understand completely that my husband is absolutely drained after working for 12 hours straight on his feet without so much as a lunch break. I get that that's why he needs to smoke - to relieve stress and to stop working for 10 minutes. I get that on his days off, he can barely move, let alone wake up early and head out for an all-day hike. And I know why he bought Marley that X box - he wants to make up for not seeing him enough, for dragging him between so many houses and people, for more dissapointments than any 10-year-old should have to bear.
There is also one thing I didn't mention about buying the X-box. He called and asked me if he could buy it before he did. I didn't feel like I could say no, but I could have. And we have plenty of savings. I don't really want to dip into them and I think the Xbox is an extravagance that we shouldn't even consider if we can't afford to fix my car or go on vacation, but if he really feels like its that important for his son to have this, how can I say no? How can I? And, after all, it's just money. It means nothing. I won't even notice it's gone a year from now. And the two of them will enjoy it for much longer than that.
I suppose sometimes, I feel like Larry doesn't consider how I'm going to feel, but do I always consider his feelings? What about posting a mean entry about him? Is that kind? I always want him to show up with flowers or some sort of surprise, but I do remember what it's like to go to work (it wasn't THAT long ago) and just want to get home and hit the couch.
Really, I am just lonely and not lonely for people, because my friends and family are great and always around - which is a luxury he does not have these days. I am lonely for him. I just miss him. I miss being able to laugh with him because he doesn't get to do much laughing these days. But that's because of his schedule, not because he's a bad husband. It's because he's working hard, not out partying or seeing other women or even abandoning me for his buddies. My god, his buddies must think he's dropped off the edge of the planet. I never really thought about the fact that he not only gets no time with his sons, but also no time with friends or any of the rest of his family.
I guess there's this evil little part of me that just wants him to miss me as much. And I think he does.
If I were a kind wife, I would probably arrange some sort of guy party so they could all veg out on the couch together and make stupid boy jokes. If I were a wife that didn't think about herself and dirty socks all the time.
He said to me a few weeks ago that I was the only reason he was able to hold this job- that without my support he'd have to quit. It made me feel so good. Maybe that just has to be enough for now.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Wardrobe Complications
So, I always knew I'd need a separate wardrobe for pregnancy and with maternity clothes so cute these days, I was totally looking forward to that shopping spree. By my third trimester, I was, of course, sick to death of maternity wear, especially the pants that never stayed up and especially because the wardrobe consisted of so few choices, since I only bought a few things. At the end I told anyone who would listen how I couldn't wait to get back into my regular clothes.
So it was a major dissapointment to realize that, having gained 40 pounds, I was not going to fit right into my "regular clothes." I refused to buy more than two pairs of pants two tops. That combined with some super stretchy long t-shirts and an old pair of fat jeans lasted me all spring. Eventually, I began to shed the weight. I am now 12 pounds from my old weight and the baby is three months old. I swear, next time I will only gain 25 pounds, I absolutely swear -- no cheese doodles! I finally fit into my larger jeans and can just barely zip my smaller pair. But now I have a bigger problem. I suddenly realized I have only two pairs of jeans!
I know that might not seem like a huge problem. After all, I've had two pairs of jeans for years - a casual pair and a "Saturday night" pair. (I had that old pair of fat jeans, too, but they didn't count because I pretty much used them for painting in or cleaning the basement and chucked them as soon as my real casual pair zipped up.) It was never really a problem, but that was when I could only wear jeans in the evenings and on weekends. To work, I wore slacks and skirts. Now, suddenly, I find myself living in a jeans, t-shirt, and shorts kind of world. Mine is a world of sweat, spit up, and breast leaks. Every day the effluvia of my child find their way onto my clothes. Although I have never been a big clean freak, showers are now my favorite time of day. Whereas I used to wash my clothes after several wearings, now I often have to change several times a day.
I have to say, it was kind of a thrill to find myself in front of the graphic T shirt display at Old Navy, a location I always avoided in favor of the sweater set aisle. It made me feel young to dress like a teenager again. I can't even remember when sneakers and flip flops were my staple footwear. The last time I was out of work I still got "dressed" every day, but suddenly, I can barely manage to change my earrings every few days, let alone organize outfits. Plus, almost every day in the city means miles of walking and pushing a stroller. I had no idea that motherhood was so physical. The thing is, I spent my 20's contstantly trying to find a job that didn't put me behind a desk all day. I was miserable doing that unsuccessfully for 8 years. Now, it looks like I've finally found that job - only I don't get paid for it. It feels good to go to bed tired from a hard day's work, but not zombified by having stared at a computer screen for hours and hours.
But I do miss my wardrobe. I never get to wear my red, high heeled sandals. I sometimes stare at my closet and stroke my beaded evening camisoles. And I am still waiting to squeeze into the pencil skirt larry bought me the day after our wedding, the only week in my adult life that I weight less than 130 lbs.
There has to be a mix, right? A job that includes quiet work and physical activity, a life that includes work and family, a wardrobe that includes tank tops and kitten heels?
So it was a major dissapointment to realize that, having gained 40 pounds, I was not going to fit right into my "regular clothes." I refused to buy more than two pairs of pants two tops. That combined with some super stretchy long t-shirts and an old pair of fat jeans lasted me all spring. Eventually, I began to shed the weight. I am now 12 pounds from my old weight and the baby is three months old. I swear, next time I will only gain 25 pounds, I absolutely swear -- no cheese doodles! I finally fit into my larger jeans and can just barely zip my smaller pair. But now I have a bigger problem. I suddenly realized I have only two pairs of jeans!
I know that might not seem like a huge problem. After all, I've had two pairs of jeans for years - a casual pair and a "Saturday night" pair. (I had that old pair of fat jeans, too, but they didn't count because I pretty much used them for painting in or cleaning the basement and chucked them as soon as my real casual pair zipped up.) It was never really a problem, but that was when I could only wear jeans in the evenings and on weekends. To work, I wore slacks and skirts. Now, suddenly, I find myself living in a jeans, t-shirt, and shorts kind of world. Mine is a world of sweat, spit up, and breast leaks. Every day the effluvia of my child find their way onto my clothes. Although I have never been a big clean freak, showers are now my favorite time of day. Whereas I used to wash my clothes after several wearings, now I often have to change several times a day.
I have to say, it was kind of a thrill to find myself in front of the graphic T shirt display at Old Navy, a location I always avoided in favor of the sweater set aisle. It made me feel young to dress like a teenager again. I can't even remember when sneakers and flip flops were my staple footwear. The last time I was out of work I still got "dressed" every day, but suddenly, I can barely manage to change my earrings every few days, let alone organize outfits. Plus, almost every day in the city means miles of walking and pushing a stroller. I had no idea that motherhood was so physical. The thing is, I spent my 20's contstantly trying to find a job that didn't put me behind a desk all day. I was miserable doing that unsuccessfully for 8 years. Now, it looks like I've finally found that job - only I don't get paid for it. It feels good to go to bed tired from a hard day's work, but not zombified by having stared at a computer screen for hours and hours.
But I do miss my wardrobe. I never get to wear my red, high heeled sandals. I sometimes stare at my closet and stroke my beaded evening camisoles. And I am still waiting to squeeze into the pencil skirt larry bought me the day after our wedding, the only week in my adult life that I weight less than 130 lbs.
There has to be a mix, right? A job that includes quiet work and physical activity, a life that includes work and family, a wardrobe that includes tank tops and kitten heels?
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