Rich Kid, Poor Kid...or my kid.

I had a playdate at my house a couple of days ago. This, in and of itself, is not really blog-worthy. What, you may ask, merits this as news? Only the obnoxiusly raging anxiety, that almost caused me to cancel at the last second. Almost all of my Melrose/Wakefield playground peers are nannies. I have, literally, only come in contact with a miniscule handful of stay-at-home moms in this area. Sufficed to say, my kid is the "Duckie" Dale in a crowd of Blane McDonoughs and it's really puttin' the spotlight on my ability (or inability) to "keep up with the Joneses". Anyhoo, there's the back story, onto the crippling anxiety. So, I have this playdate that's scheduled at the last minute, with this friend of mine who's a nanny. I've had many playdates at her ward's house and when I say house, I mean manor. I think my apartment could fit into their master bedroom...and that's another part of my anxiety. I'm a renter; a fact that I find to be a rather large obstacle in my kid's current, choosen clique. But again, I digress. There I am, running around like a mad woman in an attempt not just to clean, but to give my 6 room, 3 bedroom apartment the appearance of a palacial estate and for what? My friend, who's been to my apartment and could care less? Then I realize what I'm really agonizing over. I'm nervous that the three and a half year old boy we've gotten to know rather well, is going to take one look around this, "shoebox", his friend lives in and judge us or treat us differently. Imagine the humiliation surrounding that sort of fear. I mean, we do what we can to make sure our children have the best life and the most opportunities possible, open to them, but is it possible that our best will never be good enough? I can honestly understand how some families can go into hock, trying to keep up with people that will never care about what they may or may not have. It's a personal thing. It's a pride thing. Why can't I give to my kids the life that they see all around them? And let me be clear about this, I am in NO way implying that those who have more are MAKING me feel inadequate. I am simply stating and acknowledging that the inadequacy is there for me. Rich or poor, I think every parent I know struggles with this same self-scrutiny. But, when we're in Ev's friend's mansion, playing with his 500 wooden trains and I get asked a million times if he can "just have..." during the ride home, it breaks my heart. It breaks my heart because there's no way or reason to explain to him, that we just can't afford to give him the same things. I'd like to say that even if I could cater to his every desire, I wouldn't. Truth is, if money was no object, knowing what it feels like to have to continually say "No", I don't think I would chose to say "No". Call it spoiling if you need to, but I'd bet it's a great feeling to be able to say "Yes", whenever the mood strikes. Everytime I'm in this little boy's house or any of their houses for that matter, watching the kids play together like the best of friends I think, "I'm so glad they're too young to understand, what it means to have and have not." There will be a time when this will be very evident. When that time comes, I can only hope my son is strong enough to realize self-worth is free and more valuable than anything I could...or couldn't...purchase for him.

The "Bitch" is back...but she's not unpacking.

As my husband can and will tell you...and anyone within ear shot,with a pulse,I am a miserable bitch. And it's not just this morning, yesterday or last week, it's 24/7. To be more precise, I've been a negative,impatient,uber-bitch for 7 months=210 days=5040 hours. That's so much bitch. I'm happy to report that we are still married, though only in the sense that we don't want to be divorced. I have many valid excuses for the unwelcome return of "despicable me", not the least of which is sleep deprivation. It doesn't make it any easier for my husband or four-year-old to deal with the constant berating, but it makes me feel better to know that I am not completely nasty by nature. Sleeping less than 5 hours a night makes you feel many things beyond mere fatigue. I'm riding on a vicious wave of UN's; UNhealthy, UNmotivated, UNappreciative, UNdone. Mostly, my infansomnia combined with the UN's has made me realize I'm rather lost as of late, in this "suit" of motherhood, if you will. For the naysayers...love the kids, love the man, love the opportunity to nurture...blah,blah,blah. I'm not UNhappy with motherhood, I'm just finding it hard to breathe within it's bonds. Getting to know myself as a mother was an intense struggle and one which has made my maternal instinct become vampiric. I, hesitantly,invited it in and it's slowly sucking every other part of who I am from my soul. Syphon all the kid related topics from my mind and you're left with residual white noise. Like my synaptic transmitters are literally, immobilized by motherhood. I can hear and see myself becoming a very bitter, excessively negative person, who is not easy to be around. I am incapable of having a conversation without it turning ugly and I'm pretty sure I've found the source. Indeed,sleep can account for 1/4, but deep down I'm starving for ambition. I'm thirsty for purpose. I understand,taking care of my family is a great and noble purpose. And when I see my children accomplishing new things, I feel a deep sense of pride in them. My question is, when do I get to accomplish something new and feel that sense of pride in me? More accurately,something that's solely for the betterment and benefit of Marci?
My mom is an amazing lady. She is Stoneham. I can't go 5 feet into my hometown without someone asking, "Are you Sharon's daughter?" I'm always amazed with how many people recognize her and our family even outside of Stoneham. My admiration for my mother and all that she's built in her career, as well as within her family is immense. I always wonder what my children will think of me when they are my age, viewing me from the same place I view my parents now. What will I have to show them? I hope they'll think I did the best job I could as a mother, but what kind of example am I giving them as a woman? I'm taking back me. I know the other half is in there somewhere and my speculation is that she's asleep...like coma sleep. God knows she needs it! Rekindling my drive will probably be as difficult as losing it was, but I intend to scratch through this thick layer of matriarchal malcontent and bleed out the desire to challenge myself. I need to find it, not just for me, but for my children, who deserve more than passive resentment and especially for my husband, who loves me so much, but likes me about as much as I do, right now. Yes, the bitch is back, but I'm hoping to hand her some walking papers, soon!