Hi.

Welcome to my blog! I started this blog because I miss writing. And I miss being creative. And this is how I'm choosing to spend my very limited "free"time these days... writing about things that matter to me and are worth all of the fucks that I have to give. 

A Valentine To Yourself!

A Valentine To Yourself!

This is my first blog post because I stopped giving fucks about whether or not to write a blog and so here I am, doing exactly that.  There will be cussing. There will be moments of me pontificating about random shit until I know for sure what the fuck this blog is about. But for now…

I’m a wife to a super hilarious and thoughtful hubby who is really good at being a husband and parenting and psychotherapizing troubled youth (his chosen profession), but epically bad at remembering where he put his glasses; a mom of two hilarious and unabashedly happy boys (ages 2 and a half (J) and 9 months (S)) who are the two loves of my life (next to my hubby of course,) and I work in the entertainment industry as a producer of varying degrees and talents in reality TV.

So what I’m saying is, I really should be sleeping, or having more sex with my husband, or prepping baby food, or my lunch for work tomorrow, or figuring out our meals for the rest of the week, or sleeping, or folding laundry, or anything other than writing a fucking mommy blog but like I mentioned in the first sentence I stopped giving fucks about what I “should” be doing.

Today is Valentines Day, and it feels like an appropriate time for me to do this. And also to mention how much I care/don’t care about Valentines Day.  I care because I like love and sure presents and flowers and a nice dinner are cool--who doesn’t like that? Also now that I have kids, I get super cute presents that are made even more awesome because their teachers at day care/pre school made them and not me. And they tell me adorable things like, “Happy Varantines Day, Mommy!”

I don’t care because I’m that mom who sent my oldest to his Valentine school party with a non-decorated red gift bag full of Finding Dory Valentines that I stapled (to be fair, J “helped” me staple) little sheets of stickers to. I hated that I had to do that much. The whole time we were stapling I kept thinking, “Why can’t we just give the stupid Valentine card and be done with it?!” But I also cared that I had to do it because how cute and fun they get to exchange Valentines!

In other words, I’m struggling to accept the reality that I am a Mom who works. And sometimes I have time to be a Pinterest mom, and most times I don’t. The priorities of keeping my children fed, healthy, loved, and thriving take precedence in my life. The priority of making time to create 20 adorably crafty one of a kind Valentines with matching snacks took a major back seat. And I don’t care anymore. Or at least I’m trying very hard not to care. Because to me, this is not important. I’m not saying it shouldn’t be important to someone else – I’m just saying it’s not my thing.  And I don’t want it to be my thing. In fact, when my boys get old enough to understand, I’m going to teach them to raise their hands the minute their teacher announces a class party is coming up, and proudly volunteer me to bring plates, cups, and napkins. Because I can buy that shit on Amazon. 

Tonight, as my son showed me all of his “stuff” (his word) he didn’t seem to care what the cheap after-thought bag looked like that held it. Or even what he got. He just liked the feeling of being loved as represented by all his “stuff.” And sharing that love with me was a highlight of his day. We blew bubbles together, peeled stickers and stuck them on each other, and he ate all of his broccoli so that he could eat the cookies one parent stuffed with their kid’s Valentines. (For purposes of not being a lying asshole – he showed me all his stuff via Facetime while I was still at work, and we blew bubbles and peeled stickers the next morning because that’s the reality of my working life world.)

So why the fuck am I writing my first post about and on the topic of Valentines Day? And why am I talking at length about the Valentine party guilt I’m trying desperately not to feel and yet still felt and carried around all damn day?

Because I’m practicing. I’m practicing the subtle art of figuring out what is important in my life and what isn’t. What requires my attention and what won’t. Where my energy will be spent and where it shouldn’t be.

Last night I made an agreement with my husband that I will get 45 minutes of uninterrupted time in the morning to exercise at least two days during the work week. Specifically to leave the house and go for a run. No babies. No interruptions.

This morning, at 6 AM I was alone walk/running (it’s really more of a fast walk/slow jog) to the sunrise and listening to Justin Bieber. Judge away. But his shit is really fun to run to. It was... peaceful. Zen. Unlike what the rest of my day will be like. I negotiated another day like this in two more days. I’m aiming to negotiate up to three morning’s a week.  This probably also means I’ll be having more sex too which is part of the negotiating tactic but hey! That’s not a bad thing either and it’s a win for one of my other priorities which is, spend more quality time with my husband!

But this morning I was able to welcome a little bit of the person I was before I became a mom. A person I barely recognize these days and have to fight and negotiate to be able to find time to be alone with. I got that. I made that a priority. That’s something I care deeply about right now.

And that’s also why now, after everyone has gone to bed, and my husband finishes watching his basketball highlights instead of going to bed himself – I’m writing this. Because one of the things I was before I became a mom, was a writer. I moved to Los Angeles to pursue a career in exactly that. And after a significant break up in 2009, and then a significant awakening in 2010 (as a result of the breakup), and then meeting my husband, and moving to Santa Clarita, and changing careers to focus on reality TV, and then getting married, and then having our first child, and then changing focuses once again within the reality TV world, and then getting pregnant again, and then having my second child…somehow through all of that, I’d lost this piece of myself. And I missed it.

So here I am, writing a love letter to myself. To remind me of whom I was and to hopefully encourage the kind of wife/mom/producer/person that I want to be or as my husband calls it “A Valentine to yourself!” Happy Valentine’s day, ya’ll. Hope it was as nice for you as this one was for me.

Sick Day

Sick Day