What would Judi do?

I posted a blog piece the other day on facebook.  It was titled The New Midlife Crisis for Women (http://www.oprah.com/sp/new-midlife-crisis.html).  I was fascinated to learn that I AM NOT ALONE.  I have become angry.  I have become motivated.  I'm on a mission. For what, you ask?  It's not really to find happiness because overall I'm a pretty happy person.  I am in love with someone who is kind and respectful to me.  I have two children who make me laugh.  A lot.  I have lots to be happy about. But I'm also angry.  I'm tired of knowing that my male partner is treated differently that I because of his anatomy.  I'm tired of feeling like my kids are going to have to fight the same battles my mother did.  Angry over SO MUCH STUFF.  So what is my mission?  It can't be to make the world fair.  That's not going to happen.  I don't want to learn acceptance.  I'm not entirely sure what my mission is.  Maybe it's to light a fire under my girls so

It's easy to stuck in self pity sometimes.  I don't often think why me  but I do often think enough! .  And then things happen to remind me that I am indeed loved and cared for. Today was a very good day.  It was a long day but it was good.  I was reminded why I actually like coordinating an event that makes my stomach hurt with nerves.  It makes my heart happy to see teams working well, having fun and ending with everyone feel positive about their day.  I watched people who make my interpreting heart happy.  So that was good. I was able to match Andrew's extra furniture with folks who needed it.  That's a big relief.  And it makes us both happy. I arrived home after a 13 hour day to find dinner for the next few days attached to my door.  I feel so very loved right now.  This is a massive help to me.  And lucky for me, I have friends who cook! And I'm oh so grateful I'm not in Florida with massive power outages and flooding, or in Mexico cleaning up afte

Twelve years ago yesterday I was diagnosed with a brain tumor.  The day, the events, the looks on the nurses' faces are forever etched in my head.  The tears my then-husband shed, my yelling at the doctor who didn't see me in person (talked to me on the phone) - it's all forever engrained on the timeline of my life. There are lots of days I'll never forget but only a few that I remember exactly by date: the birth of my children, my wedding day, the day he moved out, the day my mom fell - all left marks that changed my life. So, what's a dozen years?  I've done a lot in that time, though it's not really what I expected. I forgot to mention something important.  The "little something extra upstairs" was found because I had lyme disease (another fun chapter of my life that continues today).  The things that happened to me are likely caused by lyme, not my brain.  Important distinction. My kids were in car seats.  I lost my ability to control m

I was interviewed a few months back for an article on teens/tweens who color their hair for the Wall Street Journal.  I find it interesting that people find this a thing.  I've been coloring my hair pretty regularly (except during pregnancy) since I was 14. The interviewer was super nice.  I enjoyed doing it.  She asked me a question that made me think: Do you have rules in your house? Huh? Well, do you make your kids go to bed at 10?  Do you have rules about electronics? Oh, yeah.  My kids think I'm strict. Really? My kids go to be bed at 9.  There are no electronics at the dinner table.  We eat together.  We hug often. My kids refer to adults as Mr. or Ms.  I have lots of rules.  Hair isn't one of them. It got me to thinking about things and what other people might think looking into our family.  My house is unorganized.  I don't always cook the healthiest of dinners.  I'm a fairly unorthodox mom who is struggling to raise two girls who have self e

I have, by and large, stopped looking for and believing in signs.  My life is such shit right now that I can only think of signs as punishment.  Plus my very pragmatic boyfriend can always explain them, often in ways I don't like. This past week has been a tough week.  It's been especially rough as a daughter.  Yesterday, I left my mom's nursing home upset and angry.  As I was making my way home, winding through back roads, I found myself behind a pick up truck.  It swerved to run through all the big puddles.  I was immediately brought back to maybe age 5 or 6.  My mom would do the same thing.  I can remember opening the window and sticking my arm out to see if it would get wet.  I loved that my mom did that. I did that when my kids were young (and confession time: I still do it if I'm sure there's no pothole under the puddle).  They loved it.  It always made me smile and think of my mom. It's amazing how splashing through a few puddles can bring me to tea

When I was little, around age 9 or 10, my mom bought me a bare bones, toy-like metal detector from Radio Shack.  It could find bottle caps, things near the surface of the sand and not much more.  We lived in Ocean City, NJ at that time and I had an ENTIRE BEACH  to search for buried treasures.  I loved it. Around that time, I met a little old man, Mr. Flannigan.  He really was little - I don't think he was much over 5 feet tall.  He had no teeth, unless he was taking his wife to dinner (then he put them in).  He wore the same exact thing every time I saw him.  He was dressed in a brown work suit - the kind mechanics wear.  He had the fanciest metal detector I ever saw.  This thing could find anything - and it did.  He wore a gold lion ring that had emeralds or rubies for eyes and a big diamond in the mouth.  He had all sorts of stuff like that. He took a liking to me.  He'd bring things up to the surface so I, trailing behind him, could find things.  Often it was coins but

I have been 50 for a week now.  Fifty.  5-0.  I never really thought about being 50, until I turned 49.  Then I thought about it a lot. My kids say I don't look 50.  But really, what does 50 look like?  Or, what's it supposed to look like?  I'm okay with how I look but I think I'd be okay if I didn't dye my hair, wear make-up or do whatever else I do.  Really, I've been thinking about what I've done with my life so far.  I told my partner that I felt like my life was passing me by and this was the year to stop allowing that to happen.  But then I thought about what I've done so far.  It's not a bad list. Ages 1-10:  I was a pain in the ass kid.  I was difficult.  I felt different, which I didn't like.  I had a not-normal family which made me feel like I was different.  I was also clumsy, which didn't help. Things that stand out in my memory: 1.  I learned to love the beach (or, more accurately, the shore). 2.  I learned that I didn&#

Saturday January 21 was a good day.  It was a good day to be a woman.  It was a good day to be politically active.  It was a great day to be a mother. I remember the day I realized my mom was a bad ass.  She had recently been diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease and was losing her ability to walk - but she wasn't giving up.  She came to DC by train and joined me at the Million Mom March.  She was tired of the random shootings (that was just the beginning of a terrible trend) and wanted to do something. Anything.  So she came to participate.  She couldn't actually march so we volunteered and worked at a booth.  She was a rock star. (Once I became a mom and then a single mom, I realized just how much of a rock star she is.  This was one of the first moments of recognition of that fact.) For those of you too young to remember the march, here's some info:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Million_Mom_March I've participated in protests when I feel strongly enough about

In some of the posts I've written but not published, I wrote about being an oreo.  I'm not fond of the term "sandwich generation".  I don't eat bread and it makes me think of bologna.  I prefer thinking of myself as the fluffy white stuff in the oreo.  One cookie is my mom and the other is my kids.  That works better for me.  It just doesn't feel better. I have spent much of the last 7 years or so choosing between my mom and my kids.  No, we can't do (whatever activity) because I need to check on my mom.  Or no, I can't go to cvs to get your endless list of stuff because the girls need (fill in the blank).  It's an awful feeling and one that doesn't improve with time. This week, all four days of it so far, have been different.  I deliberately scheduled a light week for myself.  It because lighter with a day of cancellations.  I like this.  A lot.  I'm a part-time everything this week.  And I'm happy.  So far, I've been able to:

I've taken nearly a year off from writing.  Well, that's not entirely true.  I continued to write occasionally.  I just didn't publish anything.  It all seemed angry.  I write this for several reasons but among them is the idea that if I were to suddenly die (not hoping for that), my kids would have something to look back on that tells them something about me.  I don't have much of that from my dad so I want them to have that for me.  Hopefully I'll live a long life and they won't need to read this to know who I am but in the event that isn't in the cards, there's this and I didn't want it to be angry. Lots happened last year.  I am raising two 15 year old girls.  They have presented challenges that I never imagined.  I think this is the hardest year so far.  There are lots of positive things but the moods, the language, the drama is overwhelming sometimes. My mother is still alive.  I think that's a good thing, but I'm not sure she does.