Defining support.

Growing up, I was considered the listener. The friend who would listen and provide advice or just support...whatever made the most sense. I always believed that I was a great listener. But I'm beginning to have my doubts.

My husband had a rough day yesterday. And for the first time in a long time, he wanted to talk about it. And I was his listener. But as his story unfolded, I found myself reacting outwardly. I muttered under my breath; I made faces; and I didn't wait for him to ask for my opinion.

Eventually, he reminded me that we happen to share the same opinion and hearing me spout off is like going through all of his thoughts again...which ultimately reminded me that what he needed was a true listener. A true support system.

I sat silently for awhile and began to really listen. In doing so, I saw the hurt and frustration and sadness he was feeling. It made me hurt for him, and I began to realize that my opinion was void of any true feeling. It was more about what's right based on principal and not on emotion. I took the humanity out of it. And that's exactly what he didn't need.

By the end of the conversation and even today, I'm not feeling anger. I'm not looking for justice. I just want to provide some peace to my husband. And in trying to find a way to lend him some support, I feel like my hands are tied.

Maybe it's because the definition of support has become based on a physical act and not an emotional one. It's so much easier to take ourselves out of the equation and become doers rather than just listen and offer a hug or offer our loved ones some space and time to heal.

Needless to say, this whole situation has got me thinking of adding "Become a better support system" to my resolutions.

Here and gone.

I just realized today that I haven't written since the big day. I'm officially 30 and quite honestly my life has seemed to be so crazy that I haven't had time to dwell...

The truth is, I'm comfortable. I'm feeling pretty good about things right now and I feel like I have a clearer vision for what I want. I have a lot of learning to do and with help from the people I surround myself with, I hope to experience another 30 years of successes, failures, half-wins and whatever lies ahead.

A clearer vision...literally.

Thanks to my mom, I had the opportunity to attend the last home Husker football game this last weekend. The first thing you should know is that I haven't been to a game since I graduated from college. The second thing you should know is that, although I went to most home games in college, I remember very few.

Don't get me wrong, I have only one regret with those days. I remember going to the last Notre Dame game, and I remember that I couldn't see clearly. And it was all because I drank a little too much. And we left early to drink a little more. As stupid as it was, I cherish those days. The feeling of only being responsible for yourself and no one else. Of doing what you want, when you want and you're the only to blame if it doesn't work out.

But this weekend showed me something else. That I truly enjoyed the game. I loved hanging out with my mom while most of the people around us were drunk or had been drinking. I watched all four quarters of the game. Only got up from seat once. And when we left, I didn't have any sort of urge to hit the bars.

I think that's a pretty good sign that I'm ready to grow up a little and be more excited about having all the responsibilities in my life. It's nice to be needed...and these days I wouldn't want to have it any other way.

Oh...and the Huskers won. Perfect end to a perfect day.

Unexpected support.

I was reminded this weekend of how easy it is to feel forgotten about and lonely...and of how wrong we are. My husband surprised me on our anniversary with a birthday party. My entire family and most of my friends were there. It was pretty incredible. And my guilt complex immediately kicked in as they were singing the birthday song.

My guilt was based on the fact that so many had driven an hour or two. Many had to leave early for that same reason. And let's face it, the town I live in isn't exactly 'cool.'

But I soon realized that it didn't matter to any of them and they just wanted to make sure that I know they care. There were quite a few people there who I didn't really know if we had crossed that bridge to being friends from just acquaintances. It was by far the best birthday present I could ever receive...getting to relive a week the year I was 22 would be a close second.

So thanks everyone for loving me even if I'm 30 and tired and crabby...

I do.

Five years ago today I walked down the aisle of the church I was raised in and spoke those two famous words. And I can confidently say today that I was completely scared. I was unsure. I had doubt.

The first year was tough, not only because I got pregnant three months into our marriage. Not just because we bought a house. Not because we hadn't lived together before getting married. I think it was tough because I had a picture of what being married meant or should mean. And I was wrong.

Five years later, I can't guarantee we'll be together for fifty years, let alone five more. And I'm comfortable saying that. There's no pressure to make our marriage into a 1950's TV show. It just doesn't work that way and quite frankly I don't want it to. I like that we argue. I like having my own life outside of 'Corey and Tina.' And I think that makes me a better wife.

Today marriage means that I'm allowing someone to share my life with me. That I want to be a part of their life. We may not share every detail of our day or our dreams or thoughts, and that's okay. What matters is that we have a deeper love for one another that is unlike how I feel about anyone else. We choose to love eachother above all else and we have made a decision to put eachother first when it's necessary (and sometimes when it's not). My marriage is my two kids and my step-daughter. They are pieces of this bond and they remind me of my vows every single day.

I believe that we all marry for different reasons. We choose the person we want to 'spend the rest of our life with' for different reasons. And our love for that person changes and evolves as we change and evolve. And I honestly believe that sometimes what tears a marriage apart is the pressure we put on those vows and that day.

I learned a very valuable lesson during our Marriage Encounter weekend prior to our wedding. A couple said that we choose to love, and we make that decision, either consiously or not, every day. And now more than ever, I believe they're right.

Today I choose love.

Keeping it together.

Yesterday at an industry function, I was complimented on being very fashionable. I was flattered and appreciated the fact that I've heard it more than once...and it's always followed up by something along the lines of, "You have two small children. How do you get to work looking so put together every day?"

I never really know how to respond. I don't consider myself an overly organized person. I'm not the supermom who makes breakfast every morning and has backpacks lined up at the door, etc. And those mornings I do get up early, it's to run to help clear my head so I'm not a raving lunatic.

Comments like this have caused me to analyze my morning rituals in the hope of realizing that I am one of those incredible women who have it all together and are conquering the world.

But I'm not. I'm pretty average. I need exactly one hour and fifteen minutes in the morning to get myself and my kids out the door. I need to be able to flat iron my hair and change my clothes two or three times. And I need my husband to take my coffee and computer out to my car for me. If these things don't happen, I'm a wreck...if not on the outside, on the inside.

But I do appreciate people thinking that I have my life figured out and organized. The truth is, I like to leave my house feeling put together; it helps me maintain some feeling of youth and not run down by stress and the day to day drama. I do it to help convince myself that I've got it all figured out.

Happiness is not a fish that you can catch.

It's the line to one of my favorite songs. And I think it's pretty spot-on. But beyond the fact that happiness isn't really about luck, what does it really mean? Is there a singular definition or do we create it based on our life experiences, wants and needs?

If someone walked up to me today asking if I'm happy, I'm sure I'd say yes, although to what degree, I'm unsure. Looking in from the outside, I have all I could ever want or need. I have a terrific family...a boy and a girl and a husband. I have a nice little house in a nice little town. I have a terrific job that I actually have a college degree in. And I'm about 10 pounds shy of where I was the day I graduated from high school.

But am I beside myself with happiness-doubtful. Maybe it's the pessimist in all of us or the urge to achieve more, own more and 'be' more. For some reason I'm not really satisfied.

So what would make me truly happy? Beats me. Can you love something or someone even more? Probably. But you won't find out unless you try. And that seems to be where I'm at a crossroads with myself. Logically I should be happy and not mess with the perfect little balance I work so hard to maintain. But the adventurous, you-only-getta-experience-life-once side of me wants to venture out and push for more.

On the endless quest for happiness, are we wiser to be thankful for what we have an not risk losing a certain level of happiness, and just enjoy the ride...or should we go out on a limb for that chance to experience a level of happiness we haven't yet felt?

On second thought, it seems like it really is a fish to me...

Overcoming growth pains

I've pretty much always considered myself a passive-aggressive person. Maybe it's the woman in me. Or maybe I really am just a bitch, but I've never really had the guts to really open up about being hurt or confused or just really wanting to get to the heart of an issue. But even at nearly 30, I have an opportunity to change that. And I made a start, today.

This week has been a whirlwind. I got a taste of the old days last Saturday while tailgating with my 'old' girls crowd, which always gets me a little sad that those days are few and far between. Then there's all the work for a new account at work, which is hard for me in that I have confidence issues going into new areas. And I had three client presentations...a terrible internal creative review session...Oh, and don't forget the drama of hearing that two extended-family members were diagnosed with the dreaded H1N1 this week. Needless to say, I'm a little sensitive and very high strung.

Needless to say, I've done my share of complaining this week and needed some clarity.

And it came this morning around 8:30. A man I work with stopped in and just starting telling me about his week. About his frustrations and drama. About what he felt he needed to change. As he spoke, I began to see clearer. I realized that while I was feeling like he had failed me earlier in the week, he was actually just trying to figure out some things. He was feeling just as lost as I was. So to keep with the sharing atmosphere, I began expressing how I felt about him and his ideas and where he felt he needed to change.

I was completely honest and didn't sugar-coat things. I actually apologized for feeling anger toward him earlier in the week as it shouldn't have been directed his way. It was one of those great conversations where you realize you're not alone and that it's okay to feel angry or disappointed as long as you express it to that person instead of others who don't really understand the situation.

I feel lighter today. And as tired and drained as I am, I'm also feeling pretty inspired and energized by the whole thing. Maybe this moment of growth will open a whole new side of positivity in me so that I can spread the wealth instead of wallowing in self-pity.

A refresher course in friendship

This past weekend, I met up with my sisters and a friend to partake in an old tradition, tailgating for our local football team. Seven years ago, this was an every weekend event from September through mid-November. This year, it'll probably be the only one...(my how times change).

As my girls and I made our way to a local establishment to watch the game, we ran into an old friend of mine. More specifically, my college roommate from the dorms. We had remained in touch on and off over the years, however, she and her husband moved to the Twin Cities a year or so ago, making it harder to keep up on day to day life.

We immediately hugged and did the traditional girly squeals before she headed off to actually attend the game. After promising to meet up afterwards, we went our separate ways. Several drinks and a depressing loss later, my girls and I wound up at another traditional football Saturday site--an outdoor venue with a rockin' band. It was great and my roommate joined us. It was one of those rare occasions where you just pick up where you left off. No excuses or false promises. Just chatting about our lives today without spending time trying to recount old times just to make conversation. It was natural and easy and I truly appreciated every moment of it.

Our night ended and I haven't spoken to her yet, although I feel confident that the next time our paths cross, it will be the same. She's one of those rare friends we make that never judge. Never expect anything from you. And are just glad you can have fun and be there for one another when it's most important. These days we need people like that to remind us that true friendship still exists and can live through all the different phases of our lives.

Expectations

I've been involved in several conversations lately where the term expectations has seemed to become a major topic. Expectations at work, in our relationships, even from strangers.

I'd like to believe I have high expectations of all of the above. I would like to believe that everyone I work with cares as much as I do. I hope that my spouse and relatives are considerate of others and have some sense of wanting to help others and do what's right and fair. And I am really trying to hold onto the idea that even strangers are decent people and appreciate a helping hand from time to time.

But the truth is, as much as I hate to even voice it, no one really cares. I think it's once again a case of everyone being so caught up in their own agendas that we fail to recognize an opportunity to show common courtesy. A prime example is that one night last week, I was meeting my husband and children at a local pizza place. It was raining and my son was hauling around something like 20 paper airplanes...all of which he insisted go home with us. So I was frantically trying to put them in the car before going into the pizza joint when a few escaped me and blew across the parking lot. I scurried around in the rain, saved the planet from a few more loose pieces of trash and made it to the door in time to hold it open for an older woman who witnessed the whole thing. I smiled, embarrassed that she had just watched me race around in the rain in 3 inch heels. And she didn't thank me for holding the door. In fact, she seemed annoyed that I was standing in her way.

So much for having expectations.

But on a deeper level, I often question my expectations, or lack there of in my marriage. It's been pointed out to me that I often just continue to clean, cook and manage my household without much help. And instead of fighting it, I generally just take it because it's easier than dealing with it. I had never really considered that as lowering or dissolving any expectations I had, however, now I question whether or not I'm really living what I preach. And if I'm not, then does that make me weak or a team player?

There seems to be an extremely fine line when it comes to expectations and just plain old common courtesy. And the older I get, the more confused I am about which is which.

Time to let go.

I have a mental list of all the things I wanted to change or accomplish around the time I turn 30. One, and perhaps the most significant, items on my list is to be more upfront and honest. I have a habit of sugar-coating things. Of forgiving too easily (in some cases). And just being too much of a wuss. And I had the most perfect chance. No, make that two chances to change this weekend.

My little family and I were at the mall Sunday afternoon and my step-daughter and I happened to be coming up some escalators at the most perfect time. When we got to the top, I had a clear, direct line to my college roommate-a woman who hasn't spoken to me since my wedding day.

As soon as we made eye contact, I turned toward the door of the store and started telling my step-daughter all about it. About how she hated that I got engaged. How she didn't want to participate in my wedding planning. And how she kicked me out of our appartment a month before the wedding. Still, after the wedding, I left voicemails. Sent holiday cards...even a birthday card.

And just about the time I got done with the story, we found my husband and children and turned to leave and there she was again. The difference is that I had plenty of time to speak up. To say Hi and see how she'd react. Seriously, it's been just short of five years. Instead, I froze up and just stared at her. I watched as she walked by within two feet of me. And I saw how she forced her eyes away from my stare.

I've been stewing about the ordeal ever since. With all the social media and Google, I know I could contact her. I could ask all the questions I have. But with her looking away, I'm guessing that's just another way she's letting me know she's not interested. She wasn't then and she's not now. So how come I can't let it go? How come I can get over stuff that really matters but I can't let go of a friendship?

So maybe instead of working on finding all the answers I just need to work on letting go. Closing the door to that chapter of my life. To some of the people that I cared most about. But in walking away, am I closing the door on that fun, spontaneous, and slightly wild girl?

I hope not.

The definition of loyalty.

In the many areas of our lives, loyalty seems to play a large, yet unspoken role. Our friendships evolve or dissolve based on the level of loyalty we feel either for or from a person we care about. The same is true with our jobs. If we feel good about the company and that we can trust that they're sort of looking out for us too, we're loyal to them. And in families, loyalty can make or break you.

So what if a family is torn or is in the process of being torn apart? How do you choose a side to be loyal to? You're all blood. You all have history. And I can't help but think there's always a certain level of care or love that just can't be completely crushed. If you choose a side, does that mean that you're choosing a side for your children as well, and in doing so, you're also eliminating the option for them to make their own decisions. You're preventing them from creating some kind of history or memory of these people you used to care about. And quite possibly ten years from now if you happen to share a story about those people, your children will have no idea who you're talking about.

It's incredibly confusing. Even more ridiculous. And just plain sad.

Parental Selfishness, Part II

My daughter will be a year old on Tuesday and so the question of whether or not we're having more kids has started creeping into conversations.

When I was pregnant with Cali, my husband insisted that this was it. He's getting old. We don't have any free time. We have no disposable income. The list went on. But at that time, I was enjoying being pregnant...being grateful to experience what only a few humans on Earth are able to do. I wholeheartedly believe that giving birth to another person...who is the perfect mix of you and your partner...is the single most amazing thing in the world. And I just wasn't ready to say that I was okay with never feeling that again.

A year later, 65 pounds of baby fat gone (wishing to get rid of 10 more) and I'm more torn than ever. But does that make me selfish? I know several women who wish they could have kids as easily and Corey and I did. I know even more who have gone through test after test and drugs and shots and all kinds of unnatural things just for a chance at being a parent. And here I am just worried that if I have another kid it'll take even longer to lose the weight. And I'll definitely have to cut back on shopping then. Forget about extra free time. Extra sleep. Maybe even a date night. But again, am I just selfish for worrying about me and my wants instead of taking one for the team? For taking the opportunity because other's can't?

Especially considering that now my husband thinks he might want another one...if only he would have been on this team a year ago...

Is it better to be different or average?

I've been thinking a lot lately about how where we come from and how our parents and the people that surround us influence who we become as adults. And how certain events in our lives help shape decisions we make. What I began to realize is how uninteresting my past is.

Nothing overly traumatic has happened to me. Sure, I was sexually harrassed in high school and now realize that I should have handled the whole thing differently. I just wasn't very strong then. And yeah, I was always too intimidated by my father to really talk to him and get to know him as a person and not just my father. Don't forget the DUI. Now that event is still very vivid and I do feel that the way I view my family and my former friends is a reflection of that situation. Even when I say how lonely it can be to be a mother, nothing is as lonely as being alone without a car, without a friend, and three jobs. I take full responsibility for my actions but where was everybody? Seriously, it's like everyone that should have cared turned their backs. Where they just too busy, or just too ashamed? I'm sure I'll never know and I'm sure I'll never really forget. (But I do feel the need to amend this statement by adding that in both the sexual harrassment situation and the DUI, one person stepped up to defend me and to be there at two of my darkest moments. And I'll never forget that either.)

While it might seem like a few very defining points in my life, compared to pretty much everyone else in my life, I feel average. I feel petty. And a little ashamed for ever feeling like I was dealt a less than stellar hand. And while knowing that I've really had it pretty easy should make me feel better and more fortunate, somehow I feel more like a poser than ever before. Is being average boring or something to be proud of?

Making Time

I have daydreams sometimes about life without babies. When I could pick up and go at a moments notice. No planning. No extra bags. No snacks. Bliss. However, what I've recently realized is that while my schedule does center around the daycare's business hours, it's really not a great excuse for not taking a call from a distant friend or grabbing coffee with a friend. Because the excuse, "I just don't have time," is really a frame of mind, not a scheduling issue.

I may be a little slow but it really didn't dawn on me how much I was using the phrase. I don't have time get together with X. I can't possibly squeeze in a conversation with Y. I barely have time to get my laundry done, etc. The truth is, I'm busy. But I'm not too busy to stay connected. I choose to make time to run. I choose (or rather am forced) to make time to keep my kitchen tidy. I choose to make time to flat iron my hair every day. So why is it that we all use time as an excuse to shut out our friends and family? Why is it so easy to say we're too busy for the people who matter the most?

I keep hearing this excuse from the people in my life, regardless if they have children or not or whether they live a hundred miles away for twenty. It's like we're all so focused on the day to day that we forget about the big picture.

I've been using this a lot lately to explain where I'm at in my life: when I'm on my deathbed, what do I want feel about the way I lived; about the decisions I made and the priorities I set. And I can tell you that ever since I've been asking myself that question, I've enjoyed life a lot more. And I think I may even be a better friend, mother and wife because of it.

We're never too busy. We just choose to be. Life is about choice...did you choose your chores over your friends today?

Career vs. Job

I have a small confession to make. I have often told people that I have a career and my husband has a job. And it took awhile for me to realize how much this offended him. And I'm finally beginning to realize that I'm wrong.

To me, I have a career because I have a college degree...a degree in advertising, which is the industry I work in. I've been working in advertising since the day I graduated and I've never really thought seriously about abandoning the industry (and 'wasting' my degree). I'm passionate about what I do. I enjoy spending free time researching what other agencies are doing; learning about what companies are looking for a new agency and why they selected a particular group. One of my favorite hobbies is sitting around talking about advertising and what I'm working on (the good, bad and ugly). So, to me, this is a career.

My husband doesn't have a college degree. In fact, when he first went to college, he studied something completely different than the industry he's working in. He doesn't really like going to work. He has terrible benefits. He's doing manual labor at 35, and complaining about how much his body hurts all the time. And he seems to not really care about where he's working as long as he's making the most he can doing what he's doing. So, to me, this is a job.

But what I have failed to acknowledge is that he's been in this job over a decade (maybe more like 12 years). He knows a lot. He's always learning. He's respected by everyone he's ever worked with. And just because he doesn't like to talk about it all the time, it doesn't mean he's not interested.

So my lesson here is that there will always be people around who don't absolutely love what they do. And I shouldn't judge. I should just feel fortunate that we both have jobs/careers.

A New View on the Past

I've often wanted to go back to college for a week. Not to take classes but to bask in a world with very few responsibilities and even less cares. As I remember it, that was the last time I felt in complete control (or enjoyed the feeling of being out of control).

But I received a little wake up call this weekend. I was rummaging around my storage room and ran across three completed journals, beginning from my high school days through my first job offer after college. I hesitated before opening any of them. I remember very vividly how I lived back then. And while I appreciate my momentary craziness, I wasn't sure I was ready to revisit it. Especially from the voice of the crazy lady.

A day later and I had read or at least skimmed all three books. Wow. I didn't know anything. I didn't understand certain feelings. And thank God I didn't do half the stuff I said I wanted to. Like any typical girl, 90 percent of it was about guys. An obvious waste of time. And the other 10 percent was about where I was going and what I was going to accomplish and no one would stop me, blah, blah, blah.

While I'm glad I'm not that person anymore, I still feel as though I may have failed that crazy lady. I gave in to being comfortable. To not taking any great risks. I gave up on being that spontaneous, fun and confident young woman. And I'm not sure I'm any better off. (although maybe my family is)

What's really important?

My family and I just returned from our second family vacation this summer. We spent four days with my side of the family at a remote reservoir in Northwestern Nebraska. It took the entire drive out there to start to unwind and let my mind wander. I think it was the sandhills...with random trees and houses and hay piles sporatically placed that got me thinking about the big picture.

You know, the 'what's this really all mean' thought we all have from time to time. I always believed that I belonged in a big city but to be honest, I haven't felt more at home and at peace with myself than I did in this desolate place. Where the people didn't care what you wear or what image you portray or how much money you make. It was truly beautiful and I envied each and every one of them.

So now I really am sad to be back. Sad to be feeling the stress of a full time, corporate America job. The stress of raising a family and trying to make a marriage work peacefully. And I'm really wondering where my place is and what I should be doing. To be honest, I'm really confused and I'm not sure I'm all that happy. But how do you know how green the grass is on the other side if you're too afraid that the pasture you're in now is as good as it gets?

Mirror Image

I've been spending more time really watching my son lately. He's just shy of turning four. Has huge, heart-melting brown eyes. Eyelashes that go on for days. A smile that's like a warm hug. And since the moment I met him, he's been mine.

But he's growing up and sure enough, he's into cars...okay, so he's really into hot rods. And when I stepped outside last night, he came to stand between my husband and I and I quickly realized that, like his father, his hands were oily and dirty. At least one of his legs had a big grease smear. And he smelled like sweat. It was the official sign that he's becoming a boy. A part of me cried silently while another part of me celebrated.

And so this feeling of being two people in a single body continues to grow. I'm extremely sad about 'losing' my babies but at the same time,

'til Death

My husband and I have been planning our 5-year anniversary, which is really our honeymoon considering we bought a house instead of going somewhere exotic five years ago. And I do think about this trip every day. I'm excited about getting away. I'm looking forward to the quiet. And I'm scared about spending seven days alone with my husband.

You see, we haven't had a date night in ages. We don't always have a million things to talk about (except for the kids), and I'm not even sure we really understand one another all that well anymore. So my expectations are for us to spend the first few days unwinding and the remaining few days really enjoying being ourselves-stress free.

But what gets me even more as we approach the five-year mark, is how much I still love him. Looking back, I know I was a crazy fool to get married after dating for just six months. I know we rushed into it. I know we didn't necessarily know each other or share the same dreams. And I knew that I had a habit of falling out of love, or at least interest, very easily and very quickly.

And yet here we are, and I still get excited about running into him during the day. I love getting little calls about nothing...secretly hoping he just wanted to hear my voice. I love those moments he touches me on accident and my skin tingles, and he doesn't even know it. And I adore laughing with him...for no reason or for something our children did.

A few years ago my mom explained to me that as we get older in our relationships, the love evolves. So while you may believe you love that person more, more than likely, it's just that what you feel has evolved. Your appreciation has grown. You've matured together and have helped shape who the other has become. At the time I didn't understand, and I'm sure I still don't completely, but I do feel or love has changed...has matured. And has become something I hope never fades. For all his faults and my own, it's a beautiful relationship, and I truly believe I'm a better person for knowing him.

Parental Selfishness

I hate myself a little tonight. I finally had a good, busy day at work after an uphill battle that seemed to be taking forever to reach the peak...the recession is in full swing. Needless to say, I was exhausted mentally and really feeling pretty tired physically (I got up at 5 this morning only to go lay in bed with my son).

Caden wanted to play outside from the moment we got home; that is, after he was informed that we got home too late to watch Curious George. It was drizzling. Dad came inside to relax. And baby sister was having a rough night.

Finally, knowing that I needed to get out and run a few miles since I failed to get outside earlier, and knowing that only bad parents have their children watch TV all night, I went out with my boy. All he wanted to do was swing-which is amazing. He finally has the foot kick mastered. He loves to go high...and can do so without sliding out of the seat. I'm proud and yet still very anxious to have some 'me' time. So I ask if he can swing alone for awhile so I can go run. He's fine with it and is playing happily as I walk away. Myself, I'm feeling guilty and evil and yet a little relieved all at once.

My jog kind of sucked. I got a side ache after about a mile and a half. And I began to worry about him getting caught in the swing or falling from his fort...or something worse. So after a brief two miles, I headed home. He heard me coming and hollered for me to join him over by the fort. He was examining bugs and having a great time...again, I felt a great sense of guilt. I can choose running over my son and he still gets excited to see me.

I guess I don't really understand how, as children, we can be so accepting and now as adults we're so focused on ourselves? I find myself wanting to escape a lot lately, and it's horrid but the honest truth. For as genuine and caring and unselfish as our children are, I'm still craving to be alone. To figure out who I am at this stage in my life...and it makes me wonder if I'm better for it or worse...

Getting Comfortable In My 'New' Skin

Driving home from work today I felt something I don't really remember feeling before. My day wasn't overly special, in fact, I felt as though I had failed a little at my job today...but when I picked up my kids and my son's Toddler Gram said that he had gone potty like a big boy all day. That he was still wearing the same training pants he had on that morning when I dropped him off, I was beyond proud. I was thrilled. I was happy. I honestly believe I felt glee.

I've never considered myself a real soccer mom. I don't shop at mom stores. I don't base who I am on my children. But today was a little different. My son had accomplished something I was beginning to think was impossible. And he did it without someone telling him to.

And after I let him have ice cream before dinner to celebrate, I sat and watch him. I witnessed my son grow. I saw him take one more step away from being a toddler and a huge leap toward being a young boy. And it was really beautiful.

And I felt glee for the first time in my life. And it was amazing.

Tantrums aren't just for toddlers

I often find myself telling my husband that I need a break. From him. From the kids...from this little domestic life I've helped build. He usually looks at me like I'm crazy (which at that point I probably am) and let's me go...for an hour or two.

So this time I got a little help. My mom, two sisters and I planned a shopping day-a return of the annual sidewalk sale-in our hometown. We got a babysitter for three of our four children (the baby had to come with us) and we were off. It was a beautiful day. Good conversation. Lots of shopping. Like any other time we get together, it went by way too fast and we were left with untold stories, clothes we wished we would have gotten and a few too many calories. But we were relaxed and refreshed.

That is, until the next morning. Mom and I ran back into 'town' to hit a store I don't have access to here. This time, because men cannot watch two small children while they watch TV, both of my kiddos came along. Normally, this is no big deal. I have great kids who love to shop. But today, both were in need of more sleep. Their own beds. You get the picture.

My son and daughter both rode in the front of the cart...and he was either grabbing her arm or yelling in her itty bitty 9-month old ears or taking toys away from her the entire time. I tried patiently speaking to him about his behavior. I raised my voice slightly. I put my eyes four inches from his and clenched my teeth. I squeezed his arm so that I wouldn't cause a scene but he'd get my point...finally, in the juice aisle and in front of about 10 people, I broke.

Still clenching my teeth and with eyes the size of golf balls, I let out this strange scream/groan mix and told him I was done...as I turned to give myself a time-out, an employee came over and starting talking to my son. She gave the impression that she was afraid I was going to hit him. She gave me the 'you're-a-bad-mom-and-I've-figured-you-out' face and eventually walked away.

Yes, I felt bad. Yes, I was exhausted...and yes, I wanted to run away for a week or two and come back as though nothing happened. But my tantrum ended right then and there when my son looked at me with his huge brown eyes and pouty mouth and said: "Mommy...i really don't like her."

His innocence and brutal honesty save me every time.

Is it possible to feel too much guilt?

I've always felt a certain level of guilt throughout my life. When I was a kid, I felt a little bad that my oldest sister had to make the mud pies for my dolls and I...she didn't want to be a mom. I felt guilty every time my parents faught. Surely they would have nothing to argue about if it wasn't for their kids screwing up, right? After I was convicted of DUI, I felt guilty for being so stupid...or maybe for being caught. Because the million times I had done it before that, I don't remember feeling all that guilty.

Until the last few years, I have dealt with my guilt. It was always there, but tucked away and virtually forgotten until something else to feel guilty about came around. Now, I feel guilty for a million things. They haunt my dreams at night, and clutter my mind all day. Worst of all, they're constant...

I feel endless guilt because:
1. I'm married and no longer want come and go without checking in on my husband
2. I have kids and want to be with them every chance I get
3. I have a full-time job that I love but yet feel like I'm missing out on some of the best days with my kids
4. I don't live minutes away from my parents or in-laws...makes it hard for grandparents to come watch their grandchildren play sports, be in plays, etc.
5. I fantasize about living in a 'big' city and living my original dream
6. I daydream about walking away from my career and seeing what else is out there
7. I can't give my kids the hottest toys, electronics...
8. I can't financially support my husband so he can chase his dreams
9. I didn't move to Portland with Wendy after I graduated from college
10. I can't open up to my dad...about all I want for him and all I wish he would have done for me

People around me say I should let it go and move on. You know, the "Life's too short" mentality. Or there are the mom blogs that say you should find balance...is that even possible? All I know is that this could be my biggest hurdle as I close in on 30 and work toward letting go and moving on a better person.

Evolution of Friends

I'm not sure if it's my mood today or if this is a sign of what my blog might become, but I've been haunted by a few things over the years. And the hardest to let go of is the role each of my bridesmaids play in my life today. Are we crazy for thinking these are the same women who will be there for us down the road? Let's take a look at where mine sit just shy of my five-year wedding anniversary:

1. Matron of Honor: My oldest sister plays a larger role than she did. Although we may never have nor will sit and giggle about boys or gossip, I know she'll be there if I come right out and ask her to be.

2. Maid of Honor: My middle sister. She has played the role of best friend since we got mom to buy us Heather and Amy at Skagway. And she's the last person I expected to drift from. As much as I hate that our dream of living next door to each other in south Lincoln fading away, I still hope that we can one day get back to where we were, or at least appreciate how our relationship has evolved over time. She probably knows me or knew me better than anyone and I do feel a little void in my life where she once was. My biggest fear is that my marriage is to blame for our separation.

3. My Step-Daughter: She's 16 now and doesn't need me to be a mother. I'd like to be a friend but somehow the issues I have with both her father's and mother's parenting styles get in the way and make me feel like a shallow, horrible person. If you haven't caught this yet, our relationship is struggling for no apparent reason.

4. My Best Friend from High School: She lives states away now but every time we speak or email, it's like nothing's changed. We still laugh about nothing and love one another.

5. My Sister In Law: Amazingly things are about the same. We're friends but haven't really crossed that line into being close. I'd like to be but let life get in the way of making an effort to get together for coffee or playdates.

6. My First Job Best Friend: She's moved on by now as well. We don't talk as much. Definitely don't go out as much. But she's consistent and there if I need to vent or laugh or drink (and yes, I believe we all need a good friend to drink with)

7. My College Best Friend/Roommate: Yikes. It all started with a shopping outing after class and we were inseparable for four/five years. Then she met a guy...and I met my husband...and I got engaged...and all she could say was how nice it was that we could share a bed on a big family vacation. Haven't heard from her since my wedding day. We still live in the same city but I'm not even sure what I'd say at this point if our paths crossed.

So my big question is: Should I blame my marriage for wrecking some friendships?