30-40 Yr Old Women & Our Lonesome Lives- It’s Not Our Fault

When I was younger, people in their 30’s seemed ancient. Boring. Out of touch. Out of style and I don’t know… MOM LIKE. Maybe it was the 80’s, but if you were a mom then, no one seemed to bat an eye at the gallons of kool aid you were consuming, appeared to pay little attention to waxing their nether regions before hitting the beach, and they just seemed exhausted all the time.

All of a sudden, I’ve found myself the tornado scene in the Wizard of Oz, and instead of waking up in Oz, I woke up in my mid-thirties wondering what the hell happened because I had turned into one of those thirty something exhausted moms. Full disclaimer- I have a special bathing suit for those impromptu beach days where I can’t pack all the lunches, beach towels, drinks and bags and then take the time to tend to anything bellow. This bathing suit is nicknamed my “mom suit”. Full coverage. Super sexy.

This girl literally used to be me. Except I was probably double fisting two beers at the time.

Actually let’s be honest, I wouldn’t be hanging out with that dude to the right with the face paint and wig.  WAIT,- wait, I take that back. Wig guy may have been crucial to my beer supply at this point, purchasing cocktails for me, so this scenario is completely possible..but I digress.

{Word of advice to the boys I’m raising who will one day find themselves in this situation: don’t buy a girl a drink unless its a sure thing… 99% of the time, you’ll waste your money on cocktails like this clown shown here  only to be thanked with a handshake while the girl moves onto the guy she’s been eyeing across the bar for the past hour.} I’ve seen it done a million times, and as a poor college student, I confess to this using this stunt once or twice myself  as well. Don’t waste your money on dumb girls, no matter how hot they are. Use it for college text books.  You’ll thank me later in life when you have a lucrative career and a beautiful wife.}

I’ve danced on bar tops. My girlfriends and I have worn backless tee shirts and low-cut jeans and way too much make up with cheap boxed dyed hair.  We’ve gone out to bars with $3 in our pocket and all returned home with a full belly booze.  We were on a first name basis with the police officer at our local bar and would occasionally be able to grab a ride home from him from time to time to save our tired feet from walking the few blocks to our DC apartment, probably peppering him with ridiculous drunk inappropriate questions the entire time.  I’ve had my share of fun.

Truth be told, I actually once got pulled over in front of the most popular bar in college just at closing time for turning right on a red light near the Capitol. It was 3am and I was picking up my friends from the bar after a night of studying. I had no make up on and was literally wearing my pajamas. I completed and successfully passed a sobriety test directly in front of the bar, as every one of my entire college class drunkenly emptied the bar, laughing and pointing.

At this point, this is typically how I feel when I go out. I HAVE TURNED INTO A MOM.

And most nights, I’ve got one foot in the door to this scenario:

What happened to the “cool me”? It’s gotta be in there somewhere. Actually, I know it is.  The problem now, is that I have two adorable little munsters to take care of, and my social life has dwindled down to about the excitement Blanche Devereaux- actually who I am kidding. I’m more of a Dorothy Zbornak.

There’s an epidemic out there. This effects all women in their 30’s. & 40’s  The problem is two-fold.  For those who have children, there seems never to be a free night to escape for a “girls night” or “girls trip”.  On those rare occasions, I’m always worried about drinking too much, because everyone knows that being woken up at 6am by a fueled filled toddler demanding TV, breakfast and to construct a puzzle all before 6:30 am with a hangover is nobody’s party.

I’ve polled my fiends who do not have children, and while they may not be getting a 6am wake up call, they are surrounded by friends who used to be their go-to-gal, who are now consumed with their family and children responsibilities.  It’s a shock,  and leaves both parties feeling very lonely to be honest.  The women with kids feel locked inside their houses, and so do the non parent women, because they’ve lost their friends who they used to go out with.  As  a parent, unfortunately I have to decline a lot of invites simply because I don’t have a sitter, I’m exhausted from working full-time, breaking up toddler fights, dont have enough time to get ready, or may not want to participate in the proposed event.  Dancing at a club until 2am? Girl, first of all, I own 1763 pairs of yoga pants, have nothing to wear and your proposed depart time is typically my bedtime, please dont take it personally!  My financial situation has changed too between diapers, wipes, prescription medication for random “viruses” these kids get and daycare/pre-school tuition, even if I could go, I’d have to sneak my own flask in my purse because this mama cannot afford $12 cocktails.

It’s frustrating; and I can see if from both sides. 

Making new friends is not much easier. I feel like I am on some dating site. I recently messaged a mom I know from daycare and literally said “You seem cool…our kids get along… do you want to hang out sometime?”  Talk about awkward.  This is what my life has come to.

I recently had an old friend call me out of the blue to see what I was up to that evening. She doesn’t have kids, knew my husband had planed a night out and simply said “I’m coming over with a bottle of wine tonight after the kids go to sleep I know you can’t get out of the house but we are going to HANG OUT.”  She had no idea what this meant to me. It was so good catching up with her and having a nice “girl’s night” even if it was at home.

I’m going to start making an effort to make more plans, invite people over and actually DO SOMETHING.  My same girlfriend who came over with wine just talked to me about a weekend away… and I’m seriously considering it.  After years of sitting at home alone, I deserve some alone time WITH OTHER ADULTS.

(Gramma, Gigi, Dear Husband…. any weekend work for you for me to run away for the weekend???) I love my family and children more than anything, but mama needs a much deserved break!Mom Vacation





I Need a Vacation From My Vacation

The baby suddenly grabbed my cup of wine and I watched as it spilled in slow motion, all over him and me.  We were on a plane with 115 other people, I was covered in pinot noir and my baby smelled like a winery. Jack thought it was hysterical as he laughed and laughed.  Maybe he likes wine as much as I do?  As I squirmed in my wet, wine soaked pants, I didn’t laugh.  I did, however order another drink, because it was only 1pm and I had already felt like this day had lasted a lifetime.

When I got home from vacation, the wine soaked picture never made it to my Facebook album that I uploaded. With my decision to post only the cute moments on social media, I was aiding to to perception that this whole parenting thing is a piece of cake. Believe me, you don’t want to see the pictures I didn’t post, but at the same time, you should know that not everything is shits and giggles all the time in my household. Well actually, I take that back… there are a lot of shits going on. A lot.

So in the interest of full disclosure, I feel that I must share that when I recently posted my pictures from our family vacation to Florida, I failed to mention the fact that every picture shared was taken on the first day we were there and the airport on the way home.  I don’t have any “postable” photos for the rest of the week, because, truthfully, the rest of the week fucking sucked. I should have paid attention to the signs, but I chose to ignore them.  How was I to know that we were about to embark on the worst vacation luck one could ever have? Jack, my 10 month old, had caught the stomach bug and had been throwing up continuously all week long prior to us leaving for Florida. He finally seemed to be feeling better a few days before we left and we were all looking forward to a week to get away from the puke and piles of snow and relax by the pool in the warm sunshine.

That didn’t happen.

SATURDAY MORNING: It was a record -13 degrees that morning and we woke up to find that our pipes had frozen.  I handled the kids, while my husband ran around with a blow torch, trying to figure out where the freeze was.  The entire house smelt like burnt hair from the blow torch and as the minutes to departure dwindled down, the more uneasy he became.  “Are you fucking kidding me?!” I could hear him yell from the basement. (We’ve entered the phase of parenthood where we have started to have to watch everything that we say lately. Ever since Ben surprised us by declaring “Oh, Shit!” When he dropped his sippy cup on the floor,  there has been a lot of s-p-e-l-l-i-n-g going on in my house.) We try our hardest to watch what we are saying. Sometimes we are successful, other times we are not.  While the frozen pipe debacle was going on, I realized that Ben was limping with a huge bluge in the ankle of his footy pajamas. As I slowly unzipped his PJs, I found his naked bum staring back at me.

Ben is not potty trained, and therefore, should never have a naked bum anywhere except  in the bath.

The poor guy had a full diaper wrapped around one leg and an entire legfull of poop on the other side, mashed up his leg and everywhere in between.  Yes, not only did his diaper fall off, but he had shit himself. I closed my eyes and very loudly yelled in my head “Are you fucking kidding me?!” We had 30 minutes to leave for the airport and I still needed to throw him in the bathtub and figure out how to wash all the shit off of his pajamas before we got in the car.   I didn’t have enough time to run the washing machine and contemplated just throwing the entire pajama set out.

SATURDAY AFTERNOON: The trip to the airport and through security was a breeze. I had been anticipating a mess, traveling with 2 under 2, but somehow it all worked out. Things were looking up, or so I thought.  We had been on the plane for about 3 minutes before Jack decided to have a complete meltdown. Our plane taxied on the runway for 45 minutes before actually taking off and Jack screamed every.minute.until.we.were.in.the.air.  Our faces flush with embarrassment, we decided to order a cocktail to relax.  Jeff got a Bourban and I opted for my go-to red wine.  I had about two sips of my drink before Jack decided to grab it.  Ben’s action in this family photo pretty much sum up the rest of the plane ride:

SUNDAY NIGHT: We had been in sunny Florida for approximately 24 hours when I realized that I had gotten my period… a week early. I didn’t have anything with me, and no means to get to a store. I was stuck with texting my Mother In-Law for some help, since she had the car.

Little did I know that my mother in law didn’t have her phone- she was out and my sweet 70 year old, very proper, father in-law, Lou, was receiving my texts. As soon as she walked in the door, he relayed my 911 messages in an embarrassed and esasperated tone: “Where have you been?! Alyson got her period she needs you to take her to the store right away!!” It was if I had been texting that my right arm had been cut off and I was in a dire emergency. Awkward.

MONDAY NIGHT: Ah Monday, night. Monday night was when the trip really started to get fun. Ben started repeatedly throwing up. All over me. All over the bed. All over the bedroom. I spent the night washing the sheets, the blankets and lysoling the entire house we were staying in.  Exactly how I had planned on spending my vacation… cleaning up more puke.

TUESDAY: Ben had made a miraculous recovery and was acting like his chipper old self. I chalked the puking incident up to him eating a bunch of vacation junk and we headed off to the petting zoo.  We were at the zoo for about thirty minutes before he started throwing up again (luckily not on any animals).  I also noticed that the skin around his mouth was irritated. I figured it was from getting sick and kept an eye on it.

WEDNESDAY: Puke & More Puke. Rash continued to get worse… bubbling now. Something was definitely up with this “rash”.  It was 83 degrees and sunny. I stayed inside with a whiney, sick toddler all day watching daytime television because we didn’t have Wi-Fi access for the ipad.  With each day that passed, I could see a little bit of my mother in-law die inside. The real victim of this entire trip (besides Ben, of course) was her. She had been dreaming of vacationing with her darling grandchildren for years before they were even a twinkle in anyone’s eye.  Plans of Disney and swimming in the pool in Florida with the kids is something that has been discussed long before my husband and I were even engaged. I know she had been looking forward to this for a very, very long time.  This trip had totally not met her expectations. I feel badly about that.

THURSDAY: The rash around his mouth was full blown and something I had never seen before… bubbling and raw.  This rash was definitely something separate from the vomiting.  We decided to take him to the walk-in clinic.  We were in the car for about 6 minutes before he puked all over himself, the car seat and the rented car.  I didn’t bring a change of clothes for him on the trip to the doctor.  I put the sweatshirt I was wearing on him to stifle the puke smell, as we sat in the waiting room for three hours, full of 35 other sick people, stinking like vomit and waiting for him to see the doctor. He was promptly diagnosed with impetigo and given some antibiotics for the rash and anti-nausea pills for the vomiting.  Impetigo is a lovely staff infection that you can get when bacteria enters an open wound. On the start of the trip, Ben had a small cut on his lip.  The cut, combined with his incessant toddler need to put everything in his freaking mouth- including something disgusting in the airplane I’m sure, was probably where it probably came from.

FRIDAY: Jack woke up at 4:15am… for the day.  Therefore, I woke up at 4:15am for the day.  It was an extra fun little bonus to round out the trip.  As we said our goodbyes, my mother in-law looked sadly at all of us. “I hope you remember the fun times we had” she squeaked out.  I think she was so afraid that we had such a hellish trip that we would never want to come back.  All I said was that I needed a vacation from my vacation… and I meant it. We headed home, back to the frozen tundra. As I boarded the plane, I suddenly remembered something… those stinky pajamas that had been soaking in my laundry room sink for the entire week, just waiting for me to return. FML.