Mom in the Mirror

What a rare mood I'm in

Few days are perfect, but yesterday came awfully close. Here's why:

• I really liked what I was wearing; it was comfortable and felt like me.
• My hair was just right, not too short or long, too curly or straight, too messy or neat.
• Work was challenging, but I got it done.
• No one was mad at me or bothered by my stupidity.
• I had a fabulous lunch at a place I just discovered.
• I only rushed Colter a little while he was slooooowly doing his religious school homework.
• I finished my column on time and didn't hate it.
• I heard my favorite songs on the car radio.
• I was on time for the board meeting at temple.
• I returned home to a clean house and sleepy family.

It's almost like being in love ... with my life!

What song best captures the way you feel today?

Addicted to blogging?

Even though I quit smoking years ago, I'm reading a memoir called "Lighting Up: How I Stopped Smoking, Drinking and Everything Else I Loved in Life Except Sex."

I'm reading it for the same reason I read memoirs about food and eating. ("When Food is Love" is my favorite book on the subject.)

Addiction is addiction is addiction. So, while I don't smoke at all, drink much, or use drugs or food to numb myself or self-medicate, I am addicted to other behaviors.

I am addicted to:

• e-mail
• "Sex and the City"
• bookstores
• backgammon
• kissing my son on the nose

These all comfort me when little else will.

What are your addictions?

Notes from a trip

I've been on vacation from work this week and haven't sat down to the computer to write. But I jotted lots of notes on scraps of paper and postcards while we visited St. Augustine and Amelia Island. Here are some highlights:

• As we were leaving home last Sunday night, we talked about Terri Schiavo and the week ahead. I explained to Colter that she was very sick and that her husband felt it was time to let go, but her parents wanted to see if she could get better. Colter immediately said that her husband loved her and didn't want her to suffer. He said he wouldn't want to suffer before he dies. We talked about the difference between having a right to live the way we want and the right to die. We talked about family and whether it is defined by blood and/or by choice. We talked about how hard it is for parents to let go.
• I think there is a part of us as parents that hopes to give birth to ourselves. We hope for a second chance to grow up, to raise ourselves into better people than we've become. Imagine our surprise when we give birth to someone else entirely -- in ourselves and in this other being. The similarities sometimes hurt and the differences can be wonderful.
• What comes after "growing up"?
• Maybe my 40s will be about self-acceptance, moving from "who I want to be" toward "how I want to be."
• I often wonder, "When will it ever be my turn?" Maybe when I say it is?
• What stays with me: the tip I left that may have been too small (especially since the waitress's brother was also named Colter); the dad I spoke with during a birthday party then forgot to say goodbye to when we left; the moment I chose to compete rather than compliment.
• I'm always surprised to feel myself thrown down Maslow's hierarchy of needs. When our bank balance is getting low, or when I'm reminded of a time in my life when I was abused, I can go in a millisecond from the top of the pyramid ("need for self-actualization") to the bottom ("need to feel safe").
• Seeking serendipity: I like going to new places and discovering new things. Both cities we stayed in had bookstores and chocolatiers and lighthouses. I discovered new authors, chocolate-covered popcorn, and the view after climbing 219 steps.
• "We need to find our weaknesses outside ourselves, our strength within." --Anna Quindlen

One of the great things about vacations is that when they are coming to an end, the house is usually clean, my desk is in order, I feel like I've taken an emotional inventory and know the corners of my life.

One of the worst things about vacations is that just moments after they end, the house is a mess, my desk is piled with bills, mail, magazines that won't capture my attention for weeks, and I feel like the corners of my life are dusty again.

What are your favorite and least favorite things about vacation time?

Writing elsewhere today

The end of 40 by 40 is posted at DotMoms, and I've written "Much ado about the FCATs" at Tampa Bay DotMoms.

Evolution by the cup

I remember when Colter was first born and drank from me. Then, he sucked on a baby bottle. I will never forget when we were weaning him and he pounded on the kitchen cabinet that housed his bottles. Next came a sippie cup and, eventually, plastic cups. We have such a collection of restaurant kids' cups, for years he has poured his own juice into those, even though he could use a glass. But now, he's wanting to use coffee cups for his lemonade. Why does it feel like he's one drink away from beer mugs and shot glasses?

Bad news first

Last Friday, Colter called me after school to tell me about his day. He said, "I have some good news and some bad news." I said, "OK, give me the bad news first." There was a long silence. Then, he reminded me there was good news, too. Yes, I said, I can't wait to hear it, but give me the bad news first. After another long silence, he did.

I realized after we hung up that it was difficult for him to reverse the order from: good news, bad news.

But for as long as I can remember, I have wanted my bad news first. I like to get it out of the way, know what I'm dealing with, and then enjoy the good news with no aftertaste. In fact, whenever I receive good news it's hard for me to enjoy it, since I feel conditioned to wait for the bad news that often follows.

Which do you prefer to hear first, good news or bad?

Boxers, briefs and bras

Last night, as Colter was going to sleep, he started scratching around his underwear. There were no visible bites or irritations, but he was uncomfortable. So, I told him we might try boxers instead of briefs. He said, "No, I'm not wearing boxers. Y wears boxers."

"How do you know he wears boxers?" I asked.

"Because X was teasing him at school and said, 'I see London, I see France, I see Y's underpants.' And he said, 'I don't wear underpants, I wear boxers.'"

"Oh," I said.

Colter paused. Then said, "I wonder if any girls in my class wear bras yet."

"They're too young to wear bras, Colter."

"Do you wear bras?"

Uh-oh.

Like father, like mother, like son

Gary has been away this weekend, so Colter and I have been relaxing and eating badly. Tonight, I microwaved a Kid Cuisine for his dinner and was stunned to hear him ask for ketchup to put on his macaroni and cheese. His father puts ketchup on macaroni and cheese, and my father put ketchup on macaroni and cheese. But I have never seen Colter do it before. Ewww.

My only consolation is that this morning, when we were leaving for Sunday School, Colter took a book with him in the car to read during the half-hour ride. When I told him he'd earn lots of TV time (he gets extra TV for time spent reading), he said, "I'm not doing this to earn time, I'm just reading this for fun." Like mother, like son.

How is your child like and unlike you?

Reopening the "ex" files

I like to think of my exes in the past tense -- mistakes made, bodies buried, lessons learned. But recently an ex-boyfriend e-mailed me after decades of silence, bringing back memories and the ultimate unanswered question: Why wasn't I the one?

As soon as I received his note, I told my husband about it, and he immediately imagined this old boyfriend was happily married. I resisted. "No way," I said. "I'd bet the house on it. This guy will never marry anyone. He couldn't commit."

Guess what? One wedding and two daughters later, he's as committed as they come. He just couldn't commit to me.

And why should he have? I was in college, unformed and needy with a capital N. Insatiable in my appetite to learn who I was by looking at myself through someone else's eyes. Never satisfied with what I saw there.

It all makes sense now, of course. But at the time, all I could think was: What am I doing wrong?

I spilled a lot of tears and ink over that question.

I agonized and analyzed every look, every gesture, every word for a sign: When did I lose him? At what exact moment did passion turn into indifference?

"Sex and the City"'s Carrie Bradshaw captured it best, after her boyfriend broke up with her on a Post-It note. "Men can get out of a relationship without a goodbye," she wrote, "but apparently women have to either get married or learn something. Why are we in such a rush to move from confused to Confucius?"

If knowledge is power, then I had to know what went wrong so I'd have more power to make it right the next time around. I had to walk away with more than a broken heart.

I wanted to turn myself into Ms. Right so that when my ship came in, we'd sail straight to Honeymoon Island -- or, at least I'd sense it veering off course.

And in my next relationship, I did turn myself around. I was hypervigilant about my independence, ruthless about maintaining my identity. In fact, I didn't need my boyfriend at all. Which is probably why I broke up with him after a few months.

We stayed friends, so I know he didn't spend much time asking himself what he did wrong. He was smart enough to know it wasn't about him. And the truth is, it never is.

Relationships don't end because of one person or one wrong move. They end because they were never intended to last. Just as the clothes I wore in high school no longer fit, and the summer job I had would no longer sustain me, the boys and men I once knew were in my life to be outgrown.

They were with me as I tried and erred, as I failed and succeeded. They showed me who I was and who I wanted to become. They helped me learn to love and hate and to laugh and cry and to understand the difference between fate and fantasy.

So, thank you. Thank you Bruno and Jimmy and Mitch and Dan and Steve. Thank you for preparing me, so that I'd know when the real thing came along -- the easy guy, the one who always makes me laugh and almost never makes me cry. The one who loves me with his whole heart and holds nothing back. The one who is safe and exciting. The one. The one who didn't make me wonder whether I was the one for him.

This LifeFiles column originally appeared on about 70 TV station websites managed by Internet Broadcasting Systems.

40 by 40, part 3

I can't even finish my list of 40 things to do before I turn 40, let alone accomplish any of them in the few months I have left. I only made it to number 20 on my list. I'm not sure whether I'm sublimely satisfied with life or completely unimaginative. Either way, help me out: What are some things a person should do before turning 40?