Sometimes I Feel Catholic

I wasn’t raised by Catholic parents (although one of them has since converted…but that’s a topic for another post) and I’ve never been to a Catholic mass. What makes me feel Catholic is my sense of guilt, and I don’t think I’m over-generalizing here, since every Catholic I’ve ever met, practicing or not, wears guilt like a burka.

I feel guilty for the things I do, especially things I do for myself, like going to the gym, or spending a morning on the computer instead of tending house, running errands or planning my son’s birthday. I feel guilty for the things I don’t do, especially when they involve my children, like not signing them up for music lessons, not stopping by the playground more, not practicing greater patience or not planning my son’s birthday.

Catholic or not, guilt is just one of motherhood’s many veils.

Lately, I’ve been waking up at 4 or 5 in the morning. I can’t conclude whether it’s hormonal, seasonal, More

Happy Birthday from All Your Friends at Facebook

My birthday is on Sunday.

In the past—as in pick-a-year BC [before children]—I would have started celebrating five days ago, a whole birthweek leading up to that special day. Carte blanche to dine out, grab drinks with friends, pamper myself, get a pedicure, maybe even take a day off from work. Instead, this year I’ve been working overtime.

DH has been pulling crazy hours at the office, sometimes rolling in at 1 or 2am, then gone again right after breakfast. I’ve been dining in, drinking cough medicine alone, pampering my offspring and keeping my feet in slippers. Writing deadlines have eaten up all of my kid-free time and instead of getting a pedicure, I got pneumonia instead.

It’s a far cry from birthdays past and certainly nothing like last year, when at least I had a surprise birthday More

What if Chuck Changed His Name?

Tonight I took my kids to Chuck E. Cheese, that venerable institution of germs and grease. The place where a Kid can be many different kids: overwhelmed, undernourished, desensitized and overstimulated…oh, and did I mention germs?

So as I was observing my two-year old cower by the side of the rocking, monster truck ride and cling to me as we chose a booth frighteningly close to Chuck and his hip-hop band, I couldn’t help but wonder, what if Chuck changed his name? More

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