Babies

If you don’t have your own children, how can you possibly know how to care for them?

I had a woman say something close to this to me when I was working at a day care a few years back (My version is nicer than her choice of words). And this is the ongoing feeling I get when I see certain women look at me or speak to me in that certain way.  As if I wouldn’t know how to teach their child something I went to school for just because I don’t have my own children. I’ve worked in nurseries, day cares, preschools, middle schools, high schools, colleges, and have been babysitting since I was 14 and there is always at least a few women who take that tone with me.

I know it’s a sticky subject to speak of, but as you get older there become two groups of women: those who have children and those who do not. And being on one side is seemingly superior to the other according to some groups of women (mostly in Westlake Village who work out at my gym).

Of course I don’t mean all women with children are this way and that all women without children feel the way I do. And I have not felt this in every place I have lived and worked as I have moved so many times in my life.

For the people who make those accusations and the people like me who are sensitive to them I feel there is one feeling binding us together: insecurity. I feel insecure because I am getting older and I want children. And should I have had them already? What have I done of substance in my life? Because isn’t creating life the most significant thing you can do?

And they feel insecure because they see me with only myself to worry about. I do what I want to most of the time. I took 12 whole years for myself while being in school. (Wow I’ve never looked at it that way before. Shouldn’t I be a doctor by now? If you’re thinking of the quote from the movie "Tommy Boy" you are my best friend and you are cool). Should they have done that as well? Should they have “found themselves” before they had kids?

These assumptions (and they are gross assumptions) are total bullshit. I am speaking bullshit. Writing bullshit.

Because you see what you look for. Our (my) reality becomes skewed because of our (my) situation.

I believe that everyone has a path (Oh lord how cliché is that?) and that we are all where we are supposed to be. I can’t have regrets, although they swirl through my head constantly, about what I have chosen to do with my life. And the women on the other side of the line shouldn’t either, the women in the “other group”. Because I have not “found myself” through grad school or spending time on myself. They have not lost years because they had children sooner than I did. Everyone has significance in the world no matter what it is they choose to do and create. (Copy write Hallmark 1997)

So why do I still feel like shit?

My best friend is pregnant and about to pop. I am so excited for this baby to enter the world. You have no freaking idea! We discussed her future baby boy’s name our first year in college in music theory class when she fell in love with the name. I can’t wait to be the crazy Aunt who tells him how weird his mom was in college. (Until he figures it out on his own. Sorry Michelle. He’s bound to find out sooner or later we’re all nut jobs.)

Anyhoo, we were leaving chorus at the elementary school where we work and we turned the corner and there were all these moms and they stopped their conversations to stare at my huge, pregnant friend smiling like drones. No one said anything they just beamed, cooed, and stared. And I’m all over here going, “Hi I’m the crazy single friend!” It really hit me that there is this huge club. A huge club of people that have been through something life altering that more than half of other people in the world, have not. Now I get what Dads feel like. There are probably cool membership cards and house rules and owls that send messages to other members. 

Am I jealous? Do I want to know the secret handshake? Hell yes. But am I ashamed I’m not a member and no one has taught me the theme song yet? No. Absolutely not.

It is quite remarkable the things that people say to you when you visit your hometown. People from church and high school friends you run into at Costco. It can happen anywhere. When you’re out and someone asks about your life and you say, “Well I’m graduating with my MFA in acting in the spring” and their response is “That’s great! Is there someone special? Are you married? Planning on a family?” “No, and not yet.”. Then you get THE LOOK. The head tilts slightly the left, the eyebrows come together, the eyes soften, and the lips purse together. “Don’t worry. It will happen for you.” Pat, pat on the arm.

At the time I was 28 and my inner retort was, “Who the hell said I was worried?”

Yes, this did actually happen to me. And not some old woman at church with a 1950’s frame of mind, but someone I went to high school with. In the late 90’s. 

Now I’m 30 and the worry is creeping in. But I have to stop it because this is 2013 and Mariah Carey had TWO babies at like….60. So I’ve got time.

I know that people just want you to be settled and happy. And I want those things too. But I’m not sad for me so you don’t need to be either. And yes sometimes I get angry. Because my life has been worthwhile and I have done things that I am proud of. I birthed an MFA. And if you were at CSU Fullerton you know what I mean. “Let it be born”.

I’m happy to say that all of my actual friends that have babies have never treated me like this. I’m especially thankful to my friend Keiko for letting me be a part of her son Julian’s life. She had Julian a couple weeks into our first year of grad school (talk about a freakin’ warrior) and she always made me feel welcome in his life. And she NEVER made me feel like an idiot or an inadequate human.   It is because of these friends that I did not want to write this. Because what you do as a mother is life altering and beautiful. Because you, yes YOU, have all been so wonderful in sharing your life and families with me. Even when I’m all cynical Liz Lemon over here.

                                      Baby Julian back when he was a baby. Isn't he the cutest?

                   

And here’s another thing: don’t we need more women who make their children a priority? And I don’t mean giving up their jobs. My mom raised me while working and getting and masters in education and look how awesome I turned out. (Note to self: find other example before publishing) But what I mean is that our children are getting left behind more and more. Let’s not even go there with education. So many kids are not loved enough or paid the attention they need and deserve. But to these women who schedule their lives around their children, plan and prepare for their arrival with such care and anticipation, and most importantly give them all their love I say, “You are kick ass ladies and we need more of you”.

So why even write this blog? So many women feel this way and they already covered every single minute detail of the subject in many, many episodes of Sex and the City featuring Kim Catrall and Cynthia Nixon. Because it’s something that hurts me, makes me angry, scares me, and makes me excited. 

I didn’t really want to write this blog because I know it could evoke anger, deep conversation which will happen on FB and that’s never a good idea, or I could hurt the feelings of someone I care about. Which is not my intent while sharing my thoughts and insecurities. But again if I’m afraid to write it I think that means I should. Although maybe I should invest in a journal to write in that I can burn later while doing a ritual, tribal dance.

Because let’s be real. When I have a baby, if I’m lucky enough, I’m going to change teams and be that bitch who says things like “You have no idea what it’s like because you’ve never had kids!” and “Talk to me after you’ve been up all night with 3 am feedings!” and “Burn the old maid at the stake!” So be looking for that blog coming to a theatre near you.

Asking/applying for help

This is actually difficult to write about. I thought I might not write about it. But like I said before the embarrassing and painful is usually more interesting than the happy and content.

I’ll start by saying I have moved around a lot this year. Well I guess only three times in 9 months which I suppose is a lot. I moved home to help my mom because I felt she was drowning trying to take care of my sick dad. But more on that later. Maybe.

What I’m saying is that I had no steadiness in my life. No steady job, income, day to day structure and the like. What was the most frightening is I had no steadiness in my mental state. The drama of my family situation and the inner demons were over taking me. Things were scary for awhile. I’m lucky because I did have steady love from my family and friends.

After working a minimum wage job, summer stock, and my dream role as the Baker’s Wife I was left with no next step. No other work lined up or real plan. I wasn't sure where I wanted to live. And I was broke. Here’s a tip: always save. I’m not saying I spent money on frivolous things. I did not do that. But the debt I accrued from being in school was always on my mind. Every. Day. So the minute I got paid I put ALL OF IT towards paying off my school loans. So in the end I had nothing for living expenses. I tried to figure something out. To get a job quickly. Here’s another tip: If you have a degree of any kind lie on your job applications. If you’re trying to get a day job and you have a masters or bachelor’s: lie. After much lamenting and wrestling with myself, I ended up in the Orange County government offices.

I sat in a dingy, plastic chair filling out paper work for food stamps.

This may not seem like a huge deal to a lot of people but it was one the most difficult, heart wrenching things I’ve ever done. I felt ashamed. I felt that I had let generations of my family down. I felt low. My eyes fill up writing this let alone living it.

A little history first. My parents were the first people to go to college on both sides of my family. Both worked all the way through their undergrad and put themselves through school. Their families were more than proud of them. They worked to get their masters while working full time teaching jobs and raising my brother. This was in my head while I sat in the waiting room.

The other memory and spirit throbbing in my head and heart was my grandmother. If you know me, you know her. I spent every Friday with her and learned a great deal of my life lessons and strength from her. She was one of nine children and lived through the great depression. She was sent away at 13 to work as a companion to a nice, rich older lady. She never finished school and it was her greatest sadness. She always strove to learn and teach herself. She taught me to appreciate my education.

My granny always prided herself on the fact that she never took government assistance. She worked in the fields, at a makeup counter, eventually owned a health food store, worked in departments stores; her life story could be measured and time lined by the jobs she had. She lived in shacks, other people’s homes, and a studio that had no bathroom so she had to use the gas station bathroom next door to freshen up.

I am only scratching the surface of her life. I don’t mean for this blog to be about her hardships. She would not want me to write about them. But all of these harsh facts about her life were flooding through me as I filled out my lengthy application for government assistance.

In a room where I was the only white person and I’m making a non kosher guess, that I was the only person there with a higher education. As I felt the weight of my family history in my chest and on my shoulders I began to crumble in that room. As much as I didn’t want to I began to cry. Silently tears rolled down my face as I thought of all my family members who worked so hard to make my chances better than theirs. And what had I done with all of the opportunities I had been given?

As one of my favorite childhood movies Milo and Otis played on the screens, I looked around the room at the people I was with. A lot of teenagers with kids, people who didn’t speak English, people wearing dirty clothes, and a bunch of screaming babies. One of these things is not like the other.

I felt that I had failed. I wondered what was education really worth? Was it selfish of me to pursue my education in the arts when I knew the outcome would most likely mean debt? Where was God in all of this? Had I strayed from the path? Did I make incorrect choices and now my life is adrift because of it?

I may not have been the only one thinking of these things in that office. I kind of think I was but you can’t judge people from the shapes their faces are making. What I do know is that I was the most dramatic about it as no one else was crying into their papers in shame.

The wait was 2 hours long. That’s a long time to sit and blame yourself. I talked to my mom and she was the angel God put her on earth to be. She assured me that I had worked hard my whole life and I needed help, “…which is what this program is for. You’ve had a job and paid taxes since you were 15. It’s ok to ask for some of that back if you really need it. Just think of the tuition increases while you were in grad school to make you feel better.” She joked. I choked out “I love you” and hung up.

Deep in myself I know my Granny would support me and tell me she loved me. Even though this day was incredibly hard and shameful for me the good part was that I felt her close to me. I felt her in the air around me as I went through the day. So I have to give thanks for that.

After meeting with my appointed government worker and making it through the meeting with only tearing up (if the tears don’t come out it doesn’t count as crying. So say I.) I was approved and was on Food stamps for the minimum requirement of 3 months. I really am thankful because it helped me when I had absolutely no money, no hope, and thousands of dollars of student loans staring me in the face.

Until now I haven’t told anyone I was on food stamps. Not even my closest friends. I was and still am ashamed. I know I shouldn’t be, but I am. I want to stand on my own two feet. I want to put all of God’s gracious gifts including my family, friends, and opportunities such as education to good use. I’m still floundering and flailing. But I am making rent, food, gas, and student loan payments. I have several jobs. None of which are my dream job. Which can be defeating at times, but I know I will find my purpose. I have to keep working, be honest, be loving, be grateful, be thankful, and be faithful. 

Cliche Love Blog

Happy Anna Howard Shaw Day!

I wanted my first blog to be a topic about some huge life struggle I’m going through. Something deep. Something Chekhovian. This past year has been a difficult one for my family and for me personally. I could and probably will write about that. But what I’m going through at the moment is dating. I’m 30 and for the first time really dating. So I’m going to write about that.

I have a huge confession to make. My name is Molly and I am a (semi) willing participant of online dating. I really can’t believe it. I used to make fun of all the losers who were so desperate they turned to an online service to connect them with potential matches. I used to feel such pity for women who got to their 30’s and were still single and even more pity for those who resorted to online dating. That would never happen to me.

When I was 16 I made my life plan. Ambitious for a junior in high school, but I knew what I wanted. I would go to Cal Lutheran University, major in music, date a nice Lutheran boy, graduate, get my teaching credential, marry said nice Lutheran boy, and then teach high school choir. Of course we’d buy a house and have kids. All by the age of 25 or 26.  It’s a nice plan. A plan that lots of people I know followed. But it didn’t work out that way for me.

In my life now, I don’t meet a lot of men my age. I work part time at a gym that is exclusively for women. I thought of a “bring your unattached male friends, sons, and brothers to the gym” day but my bosses didn’t go for it. I help teach band twice a week at an elementary school and while some of their dad’s are extremely attractive most of them are unavailable. I am a singer at a Christian Science church. No.

Another force pushing me towards online dating? Two of my closest friends have met their significant others on a dating web site. One of them just got married the other is engaged. And they are super cool people and not lame at all. And they met the most wonderful people online. So now I’m getting warmer.

There was one last deterrent standing in my way from online dating. Murder. I was sure I was going to agree to meet up with someone and despite my best efforts to avoid it…I was going to be murdered. Meet up in a public place they said. Meet during the day they said. Don’t get in a car with a stranger they said. Little did they know I watch way too much Law and Order: SVU and know how smart serial rapists and murders are.

But then I weighed my options: being murdered by a possible love match or being murdered by a life of loneliness with my cats and hair scrunchies. I decided to take a risk and go with the former.

So I’ve been “dating” online for a few months. I have only been on two dates. But in this short amount of time I have discovered the many do’s and don’ts of online dating. Because I am gracious and awesome I will share some of the Do’s and Deal Breakers with you.

If your profile picture is of you with your shirt off especially while you’re in a bathroom or pool: that’s a deal breaker.

If you’re profile picture is you doing a keg stand or double fisting it at a club: that’s a deal breaker.

If you’re profile picture is of you smiling happily with a woman who you obviously are/were involved with: that’s a deal breaker (and you’re kind of an idiot).

If you message me this “ :) ” and this only: Deal breaker.

If you message me “Let’s meet up tonight. My place?”: Deal breaker.

If you message me “Look no further! Your prince charming has arrived!”: Deal breaker (especially when you’re 50+).

If the first thing you ask me is my favorite position: Deal breaker. That’s a second date question.

Here are some things that are super cool and will impress me:

Read my profile.

Open with an actual question.

Spell things correctly and use decent grammar.

I’m trying to think of more do’s. But sadly that’s it. It’s pretty simple.

I know that I sound all cynical and like I'm 30 years old, but the things people write in a message or have on their profile is incredible. Sometimes downright offensive and/or laughable. I’m sure on my profile I sound like a prude, overly sensitive virgin who wears a fanny pack for a purse so I have no room to judge.

Here’s the bright side: I have met some really nice people on the site. So we’ll have to see what happens. While it can be extremely frustrating, nerve wracking (those first meetings are completely awkward), and depressing at times, I have to at least pat myself on the back for being brave enough to try. I can’t sit around whining that nothing ever happens to me if I don’t put myself out there to be available for great things to come into my life. And you never know, in a year or so you may see me on the TV dancing across a blank white back drop with my new fiancé who is a doctor who loves to cook, loves cats, and like me is embarrassed he owns Justin Bieber’s acoustic album.

So to complete this love blog I want to wish you love. If you have found your love, appreciate them. If you are still looking, keep the faith. And always remember the love of your family, friends, and pets.

I also want to leave you with my favorite love song (possibly favorite song period). This will be played and sung at my wedding whenever that happens. I love it because it's simple and what I think love should be. 

30 and Blogging

cli·ché

 noun \klē-ˈshā, ˈklē-ˌ, kli-ˈ\

Definition of CLICHÉ

1

: a trite phrase or expression; also : the idea expressed by it

2

: a hackneyed theme, characterization, or situation

3

: something (as a menu item) that has become overly familiar or commonplace

www.merriam-webster.com

"So, you're 30 and you're starting a blog? That is so cliche." -Me

I've been thinking about starting a blog for some time now. On my bookshelf in my room at my parents house, I have at least 7 journals I started at various times in my life that I never kept up with. I think the longest journal I have is from 5th grade. I only kept with it for a few months, but I go back and read that journal often and laugh and smile at the former version of myself. I want to have something that I look back on and read years from now and hopefully, smile. But let's be real; I'll most likely cry and cringe.
When I think about myself blogging I think of adjectives such as "lame" "old maid" and "banal". What is going on in my life that I could possibly write about? My friends have blogs that I love to read to keep up with their family, job, and life in general. But when I think of myself writing one I think, "why?"
But the truth is: I have things to say. We all do. I used to say them on Facebook. Some people still do. I no longer think that is the forum to write and debate. I think it's a place for Pentatonix videos, 30 Rock memes and anything cat related.

I used to have a safe place to speak, listen, write and read. But I'm no longer at PCPA and I'm no longer surrounded by Andy, Ben, Brian, Jocelyn, Kari, Keiko, and Paul 23 hours a day in grad school. I keep most of what I think and feel inside these days and there are times I am sure it's not healthy.

My PCPA Family

My Grad School Family (minus Kari. Did we really get through three years with no group photo?)

So I'm going to write and share mostly for myself. If you want to read it: that's great. Thank you for taking the time. If you don't: that's cool too. If you want to be an asshole and argue with me about what I write: please don't. If you want to discuss what I've written and share your thoughts: that would be awesome.

So here it goes. I hope I can stick with it and don't chicken out. I think 30 is going to be a good year. Things are lining up for old Liz Lemon.