Married Female Seeking Adult Companionship

I think the tipping point was the birthday party on Earth Day this weekend. It’s not that I didn’t want to take Park, as a matter of fact, we had a wonderful time. It’s just that it occurred on Earth Day and there was a concert on the Mall that I traded in so we could go to the party. This was the second party that weekend, which was preceded by being the only parent that ever goes on my daughter’s field trips, and soon to be followed by another weekend of birthday parties and a class get together that I, as Class Mom, was planning. And that is when it hit me – my life can now only be measured by a cycle of play dates and parties.

Earth Day triggered it because my first Earth Day concert was in NY, when I was young and single and free to be out all day in the sun listening to music. I lived in Manhattan, so even if I had no one to hang out with – which was often – I could walk out the door and hit the park, or the museum or the movies. I could lay out on the grassy field near the Met and read a book; catch Summer Stage in Central Park or a cheap meal at Diane’s Uptown – all places that were just a few blocks from my front door. I could walk home from 42nd to 83rd street and find a million things to do on the way. And work? Work was hectic, but it was Africa, it was the Caribbean – a passport full of places and promises.

Now I have to schedule EVERYTHING. Even going into DC means consulting a train schedule and driving 15 minutes to get on a train station because in the burbs you just can’t hop around the corner to get on some form of public transportation, you have to PLAN. Gone are the “Hey girl, whatcha’ doing” days of spontaneity. It’s more of “What are you doing next week…oh wait there’s a party, ok, next Tuesday – sorry, can’t really do week nights.” Everything is around a school calendar – a spring break, a summer break, a camp, a dance, ice skating, swim or gymnastics class. And slowly, but surely, you just stop trying because it’s one more thing to schedule.

I really do love and appreciate my life – it’s just that every now and then I need to be an adult. Everything I do somehow relates to a kindergartener – my red lipstick that has always been my signature – now is only worn to the amusement of my daughter’s kindergarten class; dresses and skirts – can’t wear them as I need full body covering to roll, climb, leap or catch. Park told me the other day that my clothes are horrible and I really need to buy something new. Free time? I just want to sleep so I can be rested for the next kid’s activity.

Bottom line – I’m the activities director in the family. Larry does a lot but it doesn’t change the fact that Park is usually solely with me after school and on weekends due to his schedule. So when he does take her out for a few hours and “drops the mic” like “yeah, I rocked that, “I want to hit him in the head with a frying pan.

So to save my sanity, I have come up with a Return to Land of Adulthood plan. I’m letting Larry take Park to next weekend’s party, and when he gives me a few hours of relief, I am going to run with it like I stole something. I’ve already called my girlfriend to block the day to do something or nothing, as long as it is adults-only. I realize I must intentionally seek adult companionship if I want an adult life.

I saw the life I wanted to live before I got married and I have it and am grateful for it. Losing my identity as an adult wasn’t part of the vision, that’s just something I let happen. But just like the time a few weeks ago when I busted my ass for the first time in ice skating, I got up and returned to the rink, knowing that if I didn’t I’d never return, I’m treating my adult life the same way. I can’t let fear or complacency or resignation get the best of me, I’ve got to get up and get back into the rink before I end up in a clown costume somewhere – a relic of a mom who gave too much of herself! And although I love my daughter more than anything, I’ll tell her, when her big eyes fill with tears as I head out the door,” Mommy loves you so much, but NO KIDS ALLOWED.”

The Grinch Who Stole New Year's!

I really enjoyed the holidays up until New Year's. We kicked off the season with 22 people and Thanksgiving in Jamaica. It was a great way to get in the festive mood for the weeks to come. I rode that high through decorating for Christmas and hosting a dinner for 30+ people at our house. Last year we weren’t home for Christmas so this year I really decorated with two trees, poinsettias, and decorations of some sort in every room on the main floor. I was really in the spirit and it seemed like every day had a party, a get together, a lunch, a movie or a combination of the above. So it was good times – sort of.

My sister and her family were supposed to come into town but my nephew got sick so they had to stay home hoping to come out later. But there was no way my mom was going to miss Christmas at the house with Parker so she arrived Christmas Eve. I don’t know WHAT she caught from my nephew or on Amtrak, but upon arrival she complained about not feeling well, laid down on the floor in my family room and was knocked out for the night! Larry was like “What the hell did you do to her?” For the next week she coughed, blew her nose and primarily stayed rolled up in sheets, waking only to take medicine eat or force herself out to do something with us.

A few days later here comes Larry – he’s hot, he’s cold, his stomach hurts, his stomach doesn’t hurt, he has a headache – now HE was sick! My house went from holidays to The Walking Dead as they dragged, coughed and sniffled their way through the house, returning to the crypt after only a few hours up. All I could think of was how many blankets, sheets and comforters I’d have to fumigate when it was all over. But at least I had my little road dog happy and healthy to roll with me – WRONG.

Park had been so well through it all. She even survived the “too much jumping in her new bounce house upchuck” on Christmas Day. All was well – we went ice skating, to birthday parties – she was hanging with me. Until New Year’s Eve. I was determined that we not stay in the house with the sickos all day so at 9:00 a.m. we went to the public skate session again. But it was cold out – and despite clothes, a snow suit, a helmet and gloves, she uncharacteristically started to feel cold on the ice. Usually she’s begging to take her coat off. Now she was cold and wanting to leave early. By noon she was sniffling and her nose was running – son of a b*****!!! Now EVERYONE was sick!

I got her home and resigned myself to doing absolutely nothing for New Year’s Eve. My sister was going to try to come up but we had to put the kibosh on that for fear the cycle would start all over again. We didn’t have big plans but were at least going to get together with friends. Mom was pretty much in bed all day and Larry was a close second to that schedule. At 5:00 p.m. it was me, Park and every version of High School Musical on the Disney Channel. By 9:00 p.m. I figured what the hell, since we’re not going out and everyone is sick, I might as well start taking the Christmas stuff down. I snatched off every ornament and ripped the tree skirts off of the trees, dragged the greenery wrapped around the staircase bannister, threw the baubles and pinecones into a box, put the fake poinsettias in bin like a coffin – by the time I was done the only thing hint of the holidays was the two naked trees. Larry came out of his coma at one point and was like “What the hell happened?” Christmas – and every memory of it was gone!! I felt like The Grinch Who Stole Christmas and Larry was Cindy Lou Who going “Why Santy Claus, Why???!!!”

I wasn’t trying to erase the holidays but, since I wasn’t celebrating New Year's I figured I could at least be productive, clear everything out and start the year with a clean house! Then I could enjoy the what’s left of the holiday. I’d still have four days left - maybe everyone will have recovered by then and we can finish like we started – with a bang. But wait is that now MY throat feeling itchy???!!! Ugggghhhhhh!!!! Happy New Year!

Dump Diver: A Husband, a Tooth and Sainthoood

Today my husband reached Saint Status. Parker has been saying that her tooth has been loose for a while now. At six year’s old, she’s had yet to lose them when all of her friends have lost theirs. Her annual doctor’s appointment showed that she’s grown four and a half inches this past year, jumping from the 48th to 70th percentile in height – a big leap for someone with gigantor cousins who have been in the 99th percentile since birth. She was on track with everything except her teeth and I feared she’d have baby teeth until 5th grade. Her doctor assured me all was well and then said “She’ll probably lose them all at once.”

Fast forward to today. I managed to complete my third ice-skating class without knocking any of my teeth out and Parker’s tooth started to wiggle a lot during her class. By lunch time at Panera, she bit down and it started to bleed. Parker, who had been anxiously waiting to join her peers in the toothless league, started wailing about wishing she still had all of her teeth – I think the blood freaked her out and she reverted to baby status hopping right onto my lap.

She calmed down long enough to tentatively get into the car and head to her friend’s Christmas party. By arrival she was back to normal showing everyone her loose tooth. I was frantically sending Larry texts about having to pull her tooth when she got home because I could not bear to do it. As I’m texting away Park comes over with a smile on her face and a conspicuous hole in her mouth – her tooth came out on her own! Problem was, it was no where to be found – I think she ate it with her pepperoni pizza.

I took pictures texting them to family members and she proudly showed her smile to Larry when we got home. Then she complained her stomach hurt and she had to go to the bathroom – and she had to do number two. Larry runs in there like a surgeon yelling back to me “get me some plastic silverware.” No… no!!!! I began thinking, do not tell me this man is going to dissect a bowel movement to find her first tooth. I thought, that is a saint; that is a man who worships his daughter; that is my husband! That’s the kind of man you want to marry: one who dives in a toilet just for a tooth. Five minutes later he emerged defeated with sweat on his face and a tightly wrapped plastic bag with plastic ware. The tooth was no where to be found.

As I screamed at him to double wrap the bag, Park complained again of her stomach hurting, at which point he yelled to me “You’ve got round two!” So much for Sainthood! I said a few choice words back to him and we resumed our very human lives – he ran back to watch the football game, Park celebrated her milestone with the Disney Channel, and I found another thing to write about.

Over Sold: In Trying to Protect My Daughter, Have I Made Her Afraid of Everything?

I try to be honest with my daughter about everything and that includes things that come on the news. I try to tell the truth in terms that a kindergarten student can understand, but I am starting to think I am over selling things.

When I see another poor young woman’s destiny lie in the hands of a psychopath who takes advantage of the fact that she is lost, has drunk too much, etc. I warn Park about the dangers of alcohol and drugs and how, although it is certainly not a young woman’s fault, crazy people will target your weakness and take advantage of a situation. Her take a way “Mommy, I don’t want to go to college because someone is going to force me to drink and I don’t want to!”

Every time she sees someone on a TV show who is sick or hurt she goes “Mommy are they dead,” because I’m always telling her about foolish acts that lead to despair. I feel like the father in The Croods, where every story he told ended with “.., and then they died!”

When I counsel her to choose a mate carefully and not tolerate anyone who hits, hurts or abuses her, her take-a-way: “I’m not getting married;” “I hate boys” or the latest “I’m going to marry Daddy.”

I’m proud of the fact that I’ve tailored a life that allows me to work from home and set my own schedule, giving me the freedom to volunteer at her school, take time as I want, schedule my day as I see fit and most importantly, be there when she gets home from school. Her take-a-way: “Daddy works, Mommy I don’t know what you do!"

When I try to convince her to be a big girl by ditching a bath and taking a shower, I show her by bringing her in with me to demonstrate how easy it is. Her take-a-way: She loves to shower, but ONLY WITH ME! So now she showers AND sleeps with me! Larry has her like Gulliver still in her converted crib-to-bed. Although, to his point, she still fits, I’ve tried to bribe her with a big girl bed of her own of which she informed me she will never sleep in unless it is in our bedroom. Who needs a house when we could have apparently gotten a one-bedroom apartment and been fine!

What I am actually attempting to do is to get her to make good decisions, to be wise about her choices and to choose her friends and situations with great care but sometimes I think I am having the opposite affect and will have a kid who never wants to leave the house.

And yet, when we are on vacation or playing with her friends she is fearless. She wants nothing to do with me – only stopping to ask permission to go with her friends, order food, or get back in the pool. I can go an entire day and barely see her! She’ll jump in ten feet of water, go down the gigantic water slide and is apparently so fast and fearless that she was asked to be on the swim team.

This is not the same little girl that comes home to me, that doesn’t want to marry, go to college or take a shower. This is an independent little spirit that runs the world when she is not up under Mommy. I guess there is a reason you kick them out of the nest, so they can make their own, hopefully wise decisions without a parent’s panic. That being said, I will try to think a little more before I speak. I will try to encourage her to fly not only when she is away from me but when she is with me; after all, with her in my shower and my bed, it is starting to feel a little cramped!

Ice, Ice Baby: Lessons from the Rink

Yesterday was the end of Park’s first session of ice skating lessons. She did a tester course in the summer but this was the real thing. For six weeks I have watched her attempts. When upright, she is a pretty fast skater – but she seems to prefer to spend more time rolling on the ice. I don’t know if she’s doing it on purpose but she seems fascinated with BEING ON THE FLOOR – and it drives me crazy. She doesn’t just fall, she lays there, studying the markings for the ice hockey games, feeling the cold on her hands, playing with whatever object the teacher threw out for them to retrieve.

I guess I want her to excel at this and she seems quite content to idle by, taking in the scenery as she occasionally listens to the instructor. Sometimes it’s a slow crumble down to the ice, sometimes it’s a spectacular crash. Each time I want to scream at the top of my lungs GET UP, but she’s quite happy laying there thinking about it. I don’t care if she is ever an athlete but to see her so comfortable at laying there drives me nuts. I like that we try different things – and she LIKES ice skating. After every class I ask if she is still on board, does she want to keep doing and it and she never hesitates to say yes. She even gave up dance classes to do this.

Maybe it’s me. She is clearly happy just being out there, enjoying the moment. I’m the one in conniptions on the sidelines. I’m thinking she’s complacent with being adequate and she’s thinking “yeah, more fun time (literally) on the ice.” I have been told I am a perfectionist. I really, really don’t see myself that way, I just don’t want to embarrass myself so I try to get things right. People say I am really smart – first grade at five, college at 20, masters at 22 – but it was only because I was rushing through school and wanted to be done early, so I worked at it – In reality I was really just a strong B, maybe at times B+ student. Maybe I just need to chill the hell out with my expectations for my daughter and for myself.

So I’m putting my money where my mouth is – yesterday I signed up for adult ice skating lessons. I have been on skates three times in my life and each time I ride the side rail for dear life. But perhaps I need to learn like my daughter to be comfortable in falling; comfortable in letting go and not trying to be perfect or rush through just to get it over with. Perhaps I need to simply live in that moment right then and there and not worry about the next one.

The best thing about it – our lessons are at the same time. So instead of seeing Mommy focusing on what she is doing wrong she will see Mommy simply being human – stumbling, learning, trying,and not taking that imperfection past that one moment when it happens. Most importantly, she’ll see me falling, and perhaps, like her I will learn to just get up with a smile on my face and keep moving forward.

Oh No She Didn't

The other day I went on my third school trip in four weeks – this time to a museum. These trips always seem to fall on the same day Park has an after school activity. Since I was going on the trip she skipped the school bus. So I drove her 20 miles to school, went on the trip, drove her 20 miles back home, fed her, then left for ice-skating lessons. By the time we got home I was exhausted and I just wanted to rest. Park then asked if we could play. I’m thinking, isn’t that what we’ve done for the past 10 hours?! So I went into this diatribe about how it was a long day, all that we did that day, how I just wanted to rest and no we could not play together.

While I was talking, Park was writing in her notebook. After my soliloquy she paused and drew a big heart on the page and then asked how to spell my name. I was so touched as she wrote each letter thinking what a sweet girl I have. After she finished the last letter I said “Oh Parker!” And then she looked at me, took the pen and scratched my name out – slowly! And said “That’s what you get for not playing with me.”

This kid, like all kids, has no idea what parents go through – with my back still sore from my failed kick-boxing class, I planned three things around her birthday celebration, worked an event for my church and wrote a script. I’m friggin’ walking around like a question mark trying not to miss a beat for her activities. I walk around in my “I’m going to the gym” clothes while my body looks like I’ve never set foot in one. For me dressing up is putting on red lipstick, but the only people who notice are my daughter’s classmates who beg me to put it on when I visit. One of the few times I managed to throw on a skirt, my neighbor chastised me for still wearing a slip – that she could see hanging below my hem.

So I walk around in my mom clothes, accented by red lips, running around from one child’s activity to the next. When I’m not doing that, I’m working from home, trying to get it all done before she gets home. So, in a nutshell, my earth orbits around her sun, while she scratches my name out of a heart.

But I know she loves me and just wants us to spend time together. In a few years that won’t be the case, she’ll stop being so consumed in my world and run off to play with her friends – while I beg for time with her. So I’ll take the art work with a grain of salt and spend a little time on the floor rolling around – with my bad clothes, my red lipstick and my wild, expressive child in my arms.

Living Not So Well Lady: One Bad Day at the Gym

Every Wednesday evening I take this kick-butt cardio kick boxing class and every Wednesday I am very afraid. Our teacher is like a drill instructor and at 149 beats a minute without breaks, she tells us that we are her slowest class. Her class is HARD; let me put it this way – she trained in Tae Bo with Billy Blanks. She says she is a drill instructor and I am pretty sure she means literally as I certainly feel like I am in the army – and she definitely makes us drop and do push-ups.

I try to keep up by staying at the front of the room. I sweat, hop and pant my way through every step. We’re all moving and praying that she doesn’t see any one put their hands on their hips or we’ll all have to do 20 more of whatever we were doing. By the end of class I am literally stinking but I feel exhilarated. I feel proud that I once again made it through the class – it’s just not as easy as it used to be.

Last week I don’t know what I was doing or trying to prove but I think I jammed something – so much to the point that I felt like I was two inches shorter. I felt like I was in one of those Lifetime movies where “a freak accident leaves someone paralyzed” as I gingerly tried to maneuver around the next couple of days. Turning my head required turning my entire body in the desired direction; putting on shoes meant trying to retrieve them with my toes and tossing them up into my hands to put on rather than bending, and it felt better walking sideways rather than straight ahead. I felt really pathetic when Parker offered to help me walk! It has been a week and I am still walking tentatively and have not been to the gym since. I finally waved the white flag and made a doctor’s appointment for Friday. I thought this was something I could shake off with rest and taking it slow, but the old body doesn’t seem to recover like it used to.

In my 20s and 30s I lived on the Upper Eastside in New York. There used to be this gym called Living Well Lady right at 86th and Lexington where the instructors, all dancers, would smoke cigarettes, eat potato chips and sip soda while waiting for class to start – they were about a size 2. I was right along with them as I’d treat myself to a box of Entenmann’s chocolate chip cookies and a can of chocolate frosting as a treat for after step AND aerobics class. It was so easy to go from class to class, hopping, kicking and jumping and then eating a diet of chocolate, hamburgers and fries. I could do that with ease, stay a size 6, and hit repeat. Now I do a bad move in the ONE difficult class I take each week and feel like my body is broken!

What used to be cured with a quick rest now takes a week of monk like stillness to only slightly improve. Yesterday I made myself take a walk because you know at this age it takes one day to gain weight and one month to get it off. I was going so slow I felt like I was walking in reverse. But I trudged on – and I guess that’s the solution. Keep moving through it. I will never be that young girl flying through aerobics classes again – the veins on my hands and rings around my neck remind me of that. But I can meet myself where I am.

I’ll keep fighting the good fight, keep exercising and making doctor’s appointments so that I can recover from whatever trauma I inflict on my body and keep hoping that everything stays in place – at least until the next class.

The Apple Ain't Nowhere Near this Tree!

Let me tell you how I was in college – quiet. People knew me because I had a gorgeous 5’10” green-eyed sister whom everyone knew. But the same three or four friends I met freshman year, were the same friends I left with. Same with high school, three friends until the end. Don’t get me wrong, I had a LOT of fun with those friends, it’s just I was never the center of attention; everyone else was. My business partner always gets on me because I am never in the photos – I think I do it intentionally. I prefer to be behind the scenes and it’s worked out nicely for me.

I’ve made a conscious effort to tell my daughter to be an independent thinker, to walk to her own drum. I tell her about drugs, drinking and violence against women and to be responsible for her body. I tell her that she might see two mommies or two daddies and that love comes in many forms. She gets mad when she sees litter saying “Mommy, someone is being bad to the earth,” and I smile thinking “Good job mom.”

I want her to be a better version of me. I don’t want her to be a wall flower like I was, but she takes it to the extreme. It’s like she is the complete opposite of me. She’ll puts on shorts, high heels, lipstick and a wig and want to go outside. She mixes and matches her bathing suits, preferring to wear bikinis when she can. She begs me for lipstick and I visibly see her demeanor change when a boy is around; she gets all girly and silly and I want to scream “get it together!” You warn your daughters about little boys, but I have a feeling I’ll have to warn a few moms to protect their sons from my daughter. She can be raucous and loud where I was quiet and shy.

I still try to sing the childhood songs I made up for her when she was a baby but she will drop me in a heartbeat for Ariana Grande or Iggy Azaelea. I put her in ballet and tap hoping to introduce her to dance. I didn’t want her in hip hop because I thought it’d be too grown. For three years I watched her clunk through some painful movements during recitals. She always got cheers for personality over performance. Yet, without a lesson she has managed to match the Ariana’s “One Less Problem” video in one attempt.

And don’t let her see another cute kid. When she went to my niece’s camp performance, Park was outraged when a cute little girl (who oddly enough everyone thought was her sister) performed and got attention, later telling me she challenged the girl to a dance-off and declaring “Oh – it’s not over!” She still brings this up, months later as if there is a dance-off waiting to happen. My brother-in-law still blames me for my nephew’s lack of coordination. I am the known non-dancer in the family – even my mother won a dance contest on the Katie Couric show!

When we go on vacation everyone knows her, certainly before they know me or Larry. She’s the kid people from Canada wanted to take photos with when she was a baby. When I go to her school, parents tell me even the older kids know Parker and she cracks them up. My daughter is a sweet girl but she can be wild and un-tame. She is that kid that always looks a mess at the end of the day as she comes tumbling off the bus. She is so unlike me – no one knew who I was in high school and this kid has eighth graders who know her name.

But I’ve decided that’s ok. Although I don’t see any resemblance of me in her, others do. They say they see it in her attitude, personality and actions – so maybe she is like the woman I’ve grown into as an adult. Sometimes I have to shake my head and go “where did this little girl come from,” and then she asks for a magazine to use the bathroom and I think, oh yeah, she’s mine!

School Trippin'

I have been waiting for two years to go on a field trip with my daughter’s school; a privilege that starts in kindergarten. I already had my police background check and fingerprinting done, which is customary these days and I was ready to go. I even thought of counter-actions I could perform to combat the death-stare Parker would surely give me if she saw me so much as talking to another child in her presence. I’ve had plenty of experience with that volunteering in her classroom – the cold stare, followed by the hung head, followed by tears; but I was ready to spread equal love while making her feel special.

The day before the trip the teacher told me that neither she nor the assistant teacher from their class would be going. I could have sworn I saw clouds cover the sky and a raven land on my roof as she said that! Was this an omen? Nevertheless, I was determined to carry on with a positive attitude.

Got to school and got a little nervous as one new kid pointed gun fingers at me. Another kid told the teacher and the student immediately put them back in his holster while others regaled me by telling stories of the guns their dads had at home. I guess she’s in a class with pro-NRA parents! Two little boys got the “you’d better behave or you will never go on a school trip without your parent personally bringing you” talk and I began to imagine a wild day full of me chasing kids through the zoo and quite possibly making the news.

All of the kindergarten students loaded onto ONE school bus. Well, I have not been on a school bus in decades and forgot all about that one seat with the hump on the floor – of course that is where I sat, with my knees to my chest, with two girls from another class who were clearly disheartened they had to sit next to an adult. Why wasn’t I with Parker you ask? Why wasn’t I with my darling girl who practically sits on my head at home, and who last year wouldn’t want me to so much as look at a classmate? Why she was in the back with her two girlfriends not thinking about Mommy being snubbed upfront.

We made it to the zoo and we were off! And while I imagined chasing kids across acres of land with some potentially ending up in a cage somewhere, our group was surprisingly well-behaved. It helped that the teachers were experienced pros. While I as a parent, always worried about how I was talking to someone else’s child was like, “Darling, stand over here; sweetheart, don’t do that,” the teachers had those kids in line in short-order with a few stern words and a look that seemed to solve any problem. My favorite line from a teacher that day was “listen the first time;” I have since used it 1000 times at home; obviously Park listens to me the 3rd or 4th time! The weather was great and it seemed as if all the animals were out celebrating – the lion pride, pandas, elephants, great apes – you name it, we saw it. One teacher had her Fitbit with her and we clocked 11,000 steps in about three hours, so there was a side benefit as well. Of course I got back to school and was so tired and exhausted that I went for McDonalds including the Oreo McFlurry with extra-extra Oreo thus negating every single step, but I consider it my reward for my effort – and I did get the Happy Meal which was probably on 17,000 calories vs. 25,000.

So the day wasn’t so bad after all, other than being really, really tired, we had a great time and I’d do it again, which is a good thing as the next trip is in two weeks!

Slow Jam the Mammogram

Slow Jam the Mammogram

Not that long ago I had a mammogram; that turned into a comprehensive mammogram that turned into an MRI. So you know when that happens you’re already as nervous as crap, and as my sister says, I’m a “pre-worrier.” I worry about things in the future – finding a Montessori high school for Park (who is in kindergarten), wondering if I’ll have to replace my bed when I’m older because it’s so high and I don’t want to break a hip climbing in; shoot, I even insisted on putting a full bath on my main floor in case I got too old or sick to climb the stairs and needed to live in what is now my office. That’s just how I am. I like to plan so I won’t be caught off guard and I guess I thought that included my health. So when they kept sending me back in for tests, I was trying not to go over the edge.

So I get to the place for MRI in time for my 7:00 a.m. appointment and they can’t find my referral. I hadn’t had breakfast as I figured I’d be in and out. Two hours later, I am still sitting there nibbling on two saltine crackers that a minister shared with me, trying to fight off a hunger headache while keeping my mind from going to defcon 1. When I finally get called in, I am hungry, tired and aggravated, THEN I discover they need to give me an IV. I HATE needles! But there’s more - after, they took me to this huge metal contraption where I am told I have to lay perfectly still, face down with the offending breast in a, for lack of a better word, hole, for a half hour so they can capture the image! Of course the minute they said something like that everything on my body started to itch and I wanted to sneeze. I knew this was going to be interesting. I got as comfortable as I possibly could and got ready.

But wait a minute – what’s that I hear in the headsets they put on me? Was that LUTHER, begging to “hold me tight, if only for one night?!” I was thinking, what in the world is going on? Apparently they pump in music to relax you during this stressful experience and we were about to slow jam this mammogram! Clearly, they hit the “black mix” button for no sooner had Luther left than Heatwave was loving me “Always and Forever.” It took everything in my being to keep from cracking up and/or waving my hand in air!

The whole experience took me back to the Wegman’s where I live where, while shopping you can hear Earth, Wind & Fire asking “would you mind, if I touch, if I kiss if I held you tight, in the morning light,” all while getting eggs! The DC-area can be a veritable R&B mix of music that you hear while doing basic errands - shopping, sitting at the gas station and apparently even when you get an MRI! For a half an hour I had my own little “Quiet Storm,” a veritable concert of 70’s and 80’s R & B music that calmed my fears, relaxed me, and actually gave me a few laughs.

When it all came out in the wash, I was lucky - I had dense breasts – all of that for dense breasts! If I’m going to have dense breasts they could at least be large! Dense breasts mean a follow-up mammogram, which I had today. It is a comprehensive mammogram where they take about 107 images and have a radiologist review the results. No MRI, no IV, no music. I stared at the eggplant walls in dead silence, while they pressed my breasts into various positions. While standing there, I felt a sense of nostalgia for my MRI as I imagined being back in that room, with my headsets, Jimmy Fallon and the Roots in the background as Brian Williams starts with “Aww yeah…” - and I cracked a smile. Mammograms will never be the same again!

P.S. My mammogram was fine and I am back to regular screenings. To all my women friends October is Breast Awareness Month – get your mammogram!!!!

Flabby and Fabulous?

Went to my doctor’s appointment this morning and was so proud of myself as I dressed in my workout clothes which would serve the dual purpose of not adding more than one pound at my assured weigh-in, while also making it easy for me to jet to the gym immediately after. When my doctor first greeted me she said “I almost didn’t recognize you; you look like a teenager walking in here!” “Oh surely you jest” I joked as I floated into the exam room to defrock – still high off of her words. The doctor entered the room started her exam and upon closer examination said “Oh – you’re starting to get a little flabby. All of your weight is going here – as she gently grabbed my stomach – and look, it looks like your arms are getting a little soft; your legs are strong but your thighs look like they too are getting soft – you have to be careful about that.” Then she started detailing how hard it was to get rid of “turkey wings.” Did I say this was my OB/Gyn?! Yes, all of this was being told to me while my legs were in stirrups with strange metal objects being inserted in and out of me! I couldn’t exactly move, so there I was, held prisoner as the doctor gently expressed that I needed to go to the gym more often. I was embarrassed to say that I went quite often as it clearly wasn’t evident. She threw me a bone by saying “Your face hasn’t rounded out and you still look young, like you’re in your 30s” mind you, moments ago I was a “teenager” walking in her door; l guess I aged 20 years just by de-robing!

This was the same doctor that told me to get on the stick if I wanted another baby; because even though I had my daughter so late in life, my body was young and healthy and she actually thought I could pull it off if I tried. How did I go from that to “get thee to the gym” in one year’s time? Well, I didn’t think too much about it because you can be sure my butt was at the gym for two hours after that appointment. Fortunately I ran into an instructor while I was trying out equipment I hadn’t worked with since the millennium. She was also a trainer; after I told her what happened she simply said “You look good; we all have to work on something. You know what you have to do to get in better shape; you just have to make up your mind to do it.” And she’s right. It’s mind over matter; it’s making a decision to do and be better. It’s giving it a shot instead of giving up. I could have gone home and eaten chocolate after my flabby diagnosis – but I worked out two hours instead – and then had chocolate – ok, baby steps.
At least it got me thinking – and writing again.

Walking Dread: Putting Too Much on My Plate

I thought this was supposed to be my relaxation time. I am done with event season and pictured myself lulling through the days with nothing to do except volunteer at my daughter's school. So WHY am I working on a million things this week alone?! I've got a Halloween get together at my house Thursday, I'm speaking at career day for my daughter's school Friday and am producing a church event Saturday. Add to that writing a script for a friend's show, planning my daughter's birthday and getting ready to host Thanksgiving at our house - that's like what, six things between now and Thanksgiving - three of them being this week?

My daughter didn't have school today so I thought I'd take her to the zoo, but I ended up spending at least three hours trying to get this church event together. I am ashamed to say I said some awfully un-Godly words during those three hours including a few I made up. Parker kept asking to eat because she was hungry, and I kept saying "I"ll be right there" as the phone kept ringing. Finally she got tired of waiting and went to the fridge, pulled out the ham and cheese and said she was making her own sandwich. I even let her dress herself - it didn't bother me that there wasn't a lick of soap nor water on her body - at least she had clean clothes on and it was one less thing for me to do. Thankfully a little later my mother-in-law came by with my nephew - I thought letting them rip the house to shreds was a small price to pay for getting out to do some errands.

Came back to a still standing house and let Park have every piece of candy I could find as well as put on my red lipstick, so I could work on my presentation for her school. How did things get this mad? It's to the point where my business partner called me about something work related and I could barely return her call because of the personal stuff I was doing. I keep pushing my "I can relax" date back - first it was September after my last large event, then it was October, now I am looking at after Thanksgiving!

I'm falling off the wagon with my eating too - I see that scale starting to inch its way back up and chocolate tempting me again as if it were crack. I just can't do one cookie. One turns into 157. Last week I ran, I roped, I did floor routines and I STILL put on a pound - THAT is how much chocolate I am consuming. Not to mention I'm slipping back into staying up late - especially on Sundays - Once Upon a Time, Walking Dead, Talking Dead, Homeland, Masters of Sex - I'm DVRing stuff to watch later but later just becomes later on the same night. I was a zombie this morning, but I made myself run - even if it only keeps the weight at bay.

As I am writing this Park is screaming for me to turn a scarf into a dress as she disrobes and demands "no sleeves!" Took care of that and now I am counting the seconds until Larry gets home, after which time I will kiss him hello, go upstairs and zone out until tomorrow. It's his turn... Dammit - the dress fell apart, let me go search for a larger scarf!

Mom - There's Chicken in My Butt

Yesterday my daughter told me there was chicken in her butt - and she had no idea how it got there - and neither did I since we didn't have chicken that day. I didn't bother to look, I just assumed it was one of the many interesting comments she says in a day. I am constantly amazed at what comes out of her mouth and what she can get in to. This child is active 24/7 to the point where after swim class this man once said "Ma'am, I don't know if you have any boys but if you don't, that's your little boy right there."

I mean she jumps, she flips, she spins and I'm sitting there thinking, I am in my forties dealing with this - what in the world? She is up at 6:30 on weekends and if we let her, she'd stay up all night. She craves independence and kept telling my sister on a recent visit that if she was "a monkey and not a people" she'd be free to do what she wants and not have to listen to people telling her what to do. When I hold her hand she says I hold it too tight, when she dresses herself it typically includes seven skirts on her head - a pair of shorts, lipstick and boots and I'm thinking what in the hell will she be like as a teenager.

I spend my time running behind her picking up items of clothes, putting furniture back in place and being grateful that I can still cartwheel, hula hoop and jump rope - all things I have to pull out of my arsenal occasionally. At any moment I have to be prepared to run, jump, hide - whatever is required. Last week I played a serious game of tag with her and some friends she made on the playground while their much younger parents just sat there in amusement. I'm realizing I actually have more energy than some of the younger moms. Once I climbed to the top of a three story tree house with my daughter and a young mother congratulated me for being able to make the climb! Did she expect me to need oxygen at some point?

I actually think I'm healthier than when I was younger. Waking up to an alarm clock everyday for the first time in 20 years so my daughter can make the school bus is daunting, but it gets me up and running and or jumping rope the minute the bus door closes. I can now run four miles easily - and I hate running, and jump six sets of 500 in less than 30 minutes. Last year when I drove my daughter to school, I got back into the habit of going to a gym on a regular basis as I needed to kill time until her half day pick-up. So for all of the lunacy I am in better shape for it.

But my daughter will still throw amazing zingers to knock me off my horse - like the time she cried when she realized daddy wasn't home, Mommy can't cook and she wondered who was going to feed her. Or when she simply yelled "I hate your work" when she saw me packing to go out of town. Yes kids have a way of knocking you back down to reality, but their honesty and clarity is refreshing and honestly, I wish more people had it.

So this week I expect to continue chasing after my mad-hatter, exercising to insure I'm up to the task, praying Larry gets home in time to make dinner and at some point, I am sure, find out just where that piece of chicken landed.

Mommy's Self Sabotage

When it comes to my daughter I am on point. If there is something I want her to do, I'll sign her up in a minute - dance, swim, gymnastics and this year we added chess into the mix. I worry about over taxing her and always give her the chance to opt out (except for swimming), but right now she truly enjoys it. People think it's a waste of money to have children travel so young, but I think kids absorb culture, etiquette and language simply by getting on the road. So she's had her passport since she was about a year and already has a few countries under her belt. I create books with airport tickets and photos to capture what she might not be able to remember. When it comes to school, we hit the library a few times a week and practice math, letters and reading. So when it comes to her I invest all of my time and energy.

When it comes to me - not so much. I can't figure it out. I can be extremely dedicated in getting something done for other people; I'm a hard worker and I like to get it done right. But personally I am a little lax. I start a blog - then drop it, then pick it back up and for the life of me can't tell people the correct way to access it. I joined Weight Watchers - and I've had success, but it seems like right when I get within one pound of their goal weight for me I'll eat a pizza capped off with a box of cookies, then I'm up three pounds. I'll start a side project and drop it. I'm a lousy friend - I don't call anyone nearly as much as I should. I'll go get my hair done and swear that this time I'll commit to keeping it nice and two weeks later I am in a pony tail. It seems like I'll commit to anything/anyone but myself or like I intentionally do something to get in the way of moving forward - why?

When I was in grad school my goal was to get to class, get the message and get out. I rarely participated or spoke up. After the first exam, I got an A- and the professor wrote me a note about not hiding my light under a bushel - but it didn't move me to speak I just completed the class with my A. When I volunteered for a reading program years ago, one of the older volunteers told me how great I was and that I should be in sales. He said he used to work in television and he knew who was good when he saw them. I looked him up and found out he was the former head of a major network. I did work in television but I never followed up with him. Chance to have lunch with a major sportscaster while working out of town - no thanks - had a plane to catch. Met a major R&B artist's team and got chance to hang out with them and see their show - again, no thanks, it would make me have to delay getting home. I get the chance to work with a lot of great people, but don't care if they even know my name, preferring to create in the background and letting my team take the lead.

I know I like to be in the background but it's like I intentionally avoid opportunities to be noticed. Or if I am, I put the light out - yet I expect my daughter to do it all. I know in life I have been successful and I am extremely grateful to have run a business for 20 years that's allowed me to travel the world and control my own schedule; to have a great marriage and a great kid. But I feel like I've avoided doing even more. I know women's magazines write articles about busy, over-taxed women learning to say "no," but I need to learn to say "yes" - to me. So I'll edge a little closer to the spotlight, slowly, tentatively, I'll creep toward the sun.

Well I'll Be...When Planning for Halloween Goes Wrong

Ok, I am a planner. I do it for a living, I do it in my personal life. I am always ready with a plan of action to prevent potential disaster. My wedding - didn't find a place until Halloween and was done with seating before my goal of New Year's Eve, despite the fact that my wedding was not until March. So when a blizzard hit the week of my wedding, I still managed to sleep on my wedding the day. The photographer was so shocked to see a bride so relaxed that she snapped a picture. School for my daughter - started looking for kindergarten schools back in 2010 or 2011 - she is the class of 2014. But along the way I tripped onto a great free school that started at pre-K 3 and goes to 8th grade, and we got in. So what did I do - I started researching high schools! I figure I have ten years to research and track the progress of schools I'm interested in and then figure out a way to pay or not pay for it. Back in the early 2000s when I was living in Brooklyn, I'd go to the gym to get my body in shape for when I had a baby - when I didn't even have dating prospects. People would ask are you married? "Nope." Are you pregnant? "Nope." But eight years later, I finally got there. Despite four hospital visits including landing in one after a hula hoop contest, getting hit by a car, and coming a month early, I delivered a healthy baby and only put on 28 pounds. Honestly I think the kid was just ready to get the hell out of my womb!

I just like to be ready. I don't like to be caught off guard, but if I am, I at least like to have a rehearsed plan of what to do. I've learned to let that go for the most part on vacation, although by the third or fourth day I start twitching if I haven't gotten around to some things that I wanted to do. I am a work in progress.

So this year I thought, why not get ready for Halloween early? I usually wait until a few days before and then get the house ready. We always have a few kids over to go trick or treating and I thought, why not make October Halloween month? So this past Saturday I told my daughter that we'd spend a little time getting the house ready. We went into the basement and pulled out the bins with our items. Nothing scary - just a few sparkly skeleton heads, themed tablecloths - not much. I left the skeleton and pumpkin plates, cups and napkins, the candy jars, grave stones and smoke machine alone. They don't need to come out until closer in. I just wanted to make it a little easier to get ready. But I was excited to share the experience with my daughter.

Everything for me is about giving her memories. We are not big on gifts or toys, but we like things that produce great memories, going to museums or plays, vacations and home memories like painting and decorating for the holidays. So we had a blast putting out items and pulling on cotton to make spider webs. Usually I just hang them in the entry to the dining room but this time I wanted to do the windows in the dining room and living room. We pulled and tacked and taped and the windows looked pretty darn good. We finished by putting fake candles in the haunted house, and sprinkling sparkly black and orange things on the table cloths. Satisfied, I went upstairs to get ready for a birthday party we were going to while I left Parker downstairs to watch TV. I'm upstairs feeling so ahead of the game, singing in the shower when I hear Parker screaming. I run out the shower to see what's going on and she's practically hysterical running up the stairs. I'm like "Parker, what's wrong, what's wrong?!" And she said "Mommy, I'm SCARED of the spider webs!" I thought, "Well I'll be damn - I just spent two hours putting these friggin webs up - with her help, so she KNOWS they're not real - and now she's scared of them?!"

I spent the rest of our time gently guiding her away from the front of the house until we left for the party. For dinner last night we had to convince her to sit in the dining room as she was still afraid. It's now Monday and I am STILL averting her eyes from those two rooms! Let me tell you something - those webs are staying up there until Halloween if it kills me. My mom, who I get it from, is already planning to come up before Thanksgiving to help me get ready for Christmas. So I still have my schedule, but maybe, just maybe, next year Halloween will start a little later!

Breaking Bed: Getting My Daughter to Sleep in Her Own Room

I admit it; my daughter is almost five years old and still sleeping in our bed. We've made progress over the years, but were back to square one after I went away for work. Although I no longer travel often, when I am gone it is usually for more than a week. So I left last year and when I returned my daughter and husband made it clear that they had their own routine worked out - which consisted of her being in our bed, snuggled up like a cat at the top of our head board. At first I protested, but when my husband said "It's the only time she's closer to me, than to you," I relented. It was true - during the day, when not in school, Parker is literally up under me. If I go upstairs, she follows, if I go to the bathroom, she follows, it's to the point where my husband has to divert her attention so I can sneak a break.

So for the past year, every night she begins by coming into our room going to Larry's side of the bed (as she learned long ago that not even a crying child wakes me once I am out)crawling onto his back where she'll rest for a bit and then work her way to the head board. But she moves through the night and it seems like we make every position of the alphabet over the course of the evening. It usually ends sometime around 6:00 a.m. when without fail, one of those moves results in a swift kick to my bladder - which gets me up for the day.

Yet, I resigned myself to this being the way of life. Plus, I did like waking up to her sweet face each morning and was amazed how she automatically slept in the same position as me or Larry. But this Saturday, I was watching Dr. Gayle on CBS and the segment happened to be on kids sleeping with their parents. Dr. Gail Saltz (whom I love)mentioned how it harms a child's self-confidence, makes them less independent and basically, in my mind was counter-productive to all the benefits I felt I was giving her at her Montessori School. So that was it. I announced to Larry "starting tonight she's sleeping in her own bed." Dr. Gail promised if we tough it out for a week, we'd be golden.

That night we put her to bed and I told her she would not be allowed to sleep in our room. It started out okay but then the all-night pilgrimages started with her coming to our room, being sent back and coming back again - but I stuck to my guns. Nights #2 and #3, the poor thing gave up on coming to the room upon waking up and just started howling. That of course sprung Daddy into action - he ran into her room and found her crying - not in the bed, but in a corner behind the bed saying "I'm scared, Daddy." At this point I wanted to hunt Dr. Gail down so I can sit in a corner in her office and scream. I felt like a horrible, mean shrew, inflicting torture on my child - my mother and husband agreed - with Larry cutting me mean looks in the morning and my mom reminding me that we slept her in her bed every night until we were 11 and we turned out ok - but I stuck to my guns. Last night I told her that her pom-poms served double duty as a mechanism to swish monsters away and to use it if sh felt scared. Then I went to bed. I woke this morning with a hopeful smile on my face and asked my husband "Did she wake up? I didn't hear her cry." Of course she did - and of course he came to the rescue. Apparently, although she may not yet be able to sleep through the night, I am handling it better every day. And the way I see it, Daddy can still be the hero swooping down to rescue his princess. I'm going to give that another week because princesses should learn to rescue themselves!

So we'll see how it goes. I must admit, I miss her in our bed. I feel like I am letting my baby go - I already lament the fact that at almost five - she only has 13 more years living with us before she heads to college. It seems like it's moving so fast. I kick her out the door each day to be independent, I always remind her that "Mommy is not going to be around to do things for you all the time so you have to learn to do them for yourself," yet I love when she sits in my lap, grabs my face in her hands, or runs to me each day when I pick her up from school. I know this is more about me than about her. I want my baby, but I also want her to be fiercely independent. So we start with bed - and then we'll move on slowly, on to life.

Move the Crowd

Spent my Mother's Day weekend taking Park from her first performance ever - at a nursing home; followed by her her participation in the town parade, her first performance at the town festival, and swimming class. I have to admit that at first I was overwhelmed. I didn't grow-up doing all of those things, and the Bronx certainly didn't have any town parades that I was aware of! Getting to rehearsals on time, doing quick costume changes, applying make-up, doing hair, (since they rejected my Cell Block H look, I've learned to nix the corn rows and get her hair into a ponytail at the top of her head), and running from one location to the next was at first intimidating. But somewhere along the way I got into it. These are the experiences that will shape her life and build her confidence. At three she has been in a parade and performed on stage; she has sung in front of her church and is comfortable being in front of people.

At first I tried to play it cool with the performances. At the nursing home I kind of laid back watching, trying to be the calm, relaxed parent. But by festival time I realized she needed to know we were there, supporting her, loving her and being proud of her. So as she entered the stage, I shouted her name, blew kisses and made sure she knew Mommy and Daddy were there - and that little girl - the tiniest one up there, sought out our faces and began to smile and dance. Now she didn't know all of her steps and tended to stay stock-still at the ones she forgot, but some how - with her round little belly, covered in purple, she managed to move the crowd - and mommy and Daddy's hearts.

Pictures from Cell Block H

Today is picture day at my daughter's dance school - why is dance so much more elaborate with everything?! With gymnastics, on the last day of your six week session they throw a medal around your neck, put you up on a few blocks and parents are free to point and shoot - the end. With swimming - why you just get in the water and 30 minutes later, you get out. With dance there's picture day which means you are paying for costumes, buying make-up and almost knocking yourself unconscious trying to spray paint shoes silver in your garage. There's also the performance at the nursing home, the town parade and two school performances. I had no idea my daughter would be on tour when we signed up for this. Honestly, I don't care if she ever dances or flips on a competitive level - I just want her to have creative exercise after school and classes are a great way - some of them just come with so much.


Anyway, as I was doing Park's hair this morning I looked at the picture instructions and they said "anything away from the face," which may sound easy to some, but not for me. I am just not good at doing Park's hair. There have been days where I have sent her to school with one style only for her to come back with another - courtesy of a teacher who had mercy on her - or me! Her hair isn't long enough to get into a bun and can barely make a ponytail - it's beautiful, brown fuzzy hair that just does not "lay back." What could I do?


Well, I went with what never fails - cornrows. But, because I also am not good at that, all I could so was do eight braids going straight back on her head - she looked like she was on her way to take a prison mug shot and not a dance school photo! But what could I do? I just have to rely on the cute-factor!

To make matters worse, I won't be there to get her ready. I have a client call that won't allow me to get her dressed and to school in time for the photos - so my husband has to do it. Business is slow; two weeks ago I didn't make a call because I took my daughter to see Mary Poppins (well worth it), but I didn't feel right about missing another call so soon. That means Larry has to get Park dressed, stick a crown on her head and apply blush, eye shadow and red lipstick! I pray that some mother or teacher has pity on him and helps him out.


So my daughter will have prison hair and red lips - I really don't know how the final pictures are going to turn out, but I am sure it'll make for an interesting photo!

Mommy's Day Out

I was so excited this past Saturday. I was going to hang out with my friend in DC as she looked for apartments in the Eastern Market area. I had already told Larry that he needed to find someone to watch Park and that we would be leaving early. I got up that morning excited and ready to go. Larry had a game so I still had to get Park up, dressed and fed, but I "whistled as I worked" because it was a gorgeous day and I was free to enjoy it unencumbered. No bringing the back pack filled with snacks, milk, and a change of clothes; no making sure the right stroller was in the trunk and not the one my husband broke, whose metal rod has to be jerry-rigged to stay in place; no portable potty that I have to pull over to use after passing three bathrooms and my daughter swearing she didn't have to go. Nope - the day was all mine. As I was leaving, trying to run out the door while tying Park's shoe, she asked for a popsicle and I said "You're going to have to learn to open the fridge and climb up there yourself because I'm out!" I yelled upstairs to Larry that I was leaving, closed the door and looked through the glass only to find Park looking back at me through the glass crying her little eyes out. But it was 84 degrees and I planned on enjoying my well-deserved time; so I pushed the image out of my mind, knowing she'd be okay hanging with "Aunty Dawn" for the day. We got into the car and headed into the city and the day did not disappoint. We saw about five apartments and then sat down to eat at Montmarte, being sure to sit outside so we could people watch as we dined. And of course every last thing about being outside reminded me of Parker - the nice weather: I thought about how she would enjoy being out here with Mommy; little girls walking by: any race, any age, reminded me of something my girl would wear or do; little boys running: reminded me of how rough and tumble she can be; even the meal reminded me of our last visit to the same restaurant with her and how I had to keep her from flipping over the table. Simply put, being without her made me think of her even more. Even as we visited more apartments that afternoon I imagined what bedroom Park and I would be staying in when we visited. My husband teases me. He says I don't really hang out with anyone. I beg to differ. My sister is my best friend and I hang out with her when she comes to town; we talk pretty much every day and vacation together with friends, I have some girlfriends in the area who I see occasionally and then there are the Mommies I have met through Park. But the reality is, most of my days are spent working here from home and hanging with Park. I don't think it's crazy or lonely, I just want her to be a part of all of my experiences - whether it's a sunny day outside, a weekend activity or a vacation - she rolls with me. And when she is not there, I imagine what she'd do if she were. As much as I relish the "me time" I wonder if I am cheating her out of an experience she will enjoy. Now, she is not "up-under me" every second. If it's a weekend I always make sure we have something to do so we don't drive each other crazy all day; some days she practically has to drag me down to her play room because if I watch another episode of "The Fresh Beat Band" I may walk out on a ledge - although she'll let Daddy go down there and watch whatever he wants on the other TV, Mommy has to sit at rapt attention in the same room; and when she gets home from school, I practically have to pry her from sitting on top of me for the first hour she gets home. So I do appreciate the space between us, I just really like the closeness too. As I look at my calendar for the week, it's mostly filled with her appointments: gymnastics, tap & ballet; two doctors appointments, Mary Poppins, two birthday parties and a swim class and let's not forget church on Sunday. But the next week looks promising. I just have to remember to schedule in some time for me - and then wonder how much Park would enjoy being there!

Miss to Ma'am

I just finished working out - something I used to do for enjoyment is now an obligation. For years I was the one who never looked her age. As a senior in my Catholic high school, the Guidance Counselor stopped me one day for not having on a uniform as a freshman(a privilege only granted on Fridays to seniors), before she realized I was a senior. I started college at 17 and graduated at 20, so as a junior I was often had the age and looks of some freshman. When I started my business, I'd have to wistfully reflect on something I did at my first job "years ago" so the clients could start mentally calculating my age and know they weren't talking to a high school kid with no experience.

I remember going to my first job and ordering a corn muffin about the size of my face with extra butter every morning; then topping it off with a Hershey Bar with almonds and soda for a snack. Those were the days I could hang out until 4:00 a.m.and turn around and do it all over again. Those were the days when I stared blankly at a woman who commented on my size and said "See - you're not a double digit girl" I had no idea that she meant clothing size.

Exercise was fun - something to do! There was a gym franchise around the corner from my house, on 86th and Lexington, called Living Well Lady, where you'd find the teachers, who were actually dancers, outside on their breaks smoking cigarettes, eating potato chips and sipping soda! Everyone took for granted that they were young and would always look "this good."

I guess I took for granted that I would always look young. Don't get me wrong - I still look young for my age. But the reality is, I look young-er than my age and that is the difference. No matter what routine I do, there's no mistaking that I am solidly middle-aged! No one will mistake me for 20 or 25 anymore. Instead, it's a compliment when they think I'm 35. No one will call me "Miss" anymore; I am firmly in the "Ma'am" category.

I used to be one of those women who said "I'll never dye my hair; when the gray comes, I will wear it with pride and style." Now I try to think of which hairstyle I can wear to cover the increasingly evident gray strands until I can get them colored. I used to say, "Oh I'm still trying to lose the baby weight." Well the "baby" is almost three and a half years old and I am still trying to lose those last six pounds! Once scoffing the idea of Spanx, I reach for them every time I put on a dress. And I have crossed the line into a double-digit girl. I have seen my body go from size 6 to size 8 to size 10.

My 30 year old neighbor, who has son older than my daughter, just celebrated her mother's 50th birthday. I am three years younger than her mother - yet my daughter is younger than her son! That is the funniest thing - in my circle in NY it seemed an anomaly to find a woman who was married with kids before 35. I can name ten women off the top of my head who were married after 35. Now, several of the women I meet here in the DC area with kids my daughter's age, are any where from 10 to 20 years younger than me!

But having my daughter allows me to walk in both worlds. I am forced to climb and run and jump and leap because being the mother of a toddler demands it and I enjoy having younger friends who I am wise enough to know that I can learn from as much as they can learn from me. But I hopefully also have the benefit of my life experiences.

I can honestly say there is not one bone in my body that longs for those younger days. There are some things that I "know for sure." I know that when I hear Adele's gorgeous ballad "Someone Like You," I absolutely cannot relate because I know that at almost 39, I married the right one for me; I know my worth when it comes to my work and my talents and no one can make me think otherwise; I know that, while a few pounds heavier than I was 20 years ago, I am still an attractive, happy and satisfied woman; I know that a song from Biggie or Jay Z will still make me jump out of my seat despite my father's wondering if I'll ever outgrow hip-hop; I know that my daughter is the best thing that ever happened to me and makes weight and age mere things to ponder, but never dwell on.

So I am have to turn in my "Miss" card but I know, with every day, every experience, every creaky body exercise move and every gray hair that sprouts, I have earned my "Ma'am" card and I plan to rock it with pride.