And the Cool Mom Loses a Point

It is November 18th.  I come home from work at 7:30 in the morning after a 12 hour night shift, stumbling in, barely able to keep my eyes open, toss my hospital contaminated clothes in the hamper, throw on hubby's t-shirt to fall into bed with my two snoozing boys, hoping to get just one hour of sleep before they start their morning mommy face jumping game.  My hubby gives me a little extra squeeze with my good morning kiss.  I figure I must look be looking extra goood this morning in this baggy t-shirt and ratty hair topping off my day old make up face with huge dark circles peeking out just DYING to be the center of attention.  And then he whispers it.  "Happy anniversary, Baby."  How does a WIFE forget her anniversary??  Isn't that supposed to be something to look forward to every year?  Not only because I get to be a little spoiled but because I get to show my man how creative/ sexy/ fun/ organized/ pinteresty this cool mom can be!  Well, I blew it.  Unfortunately, I think I blew any chance of delivering an exceptional anniversary gift 2 years ago when I spent months planning, organizing, and putting together a very...special photo album for him...sexy even.  I was so proud of myself for having an idea and actually carrying it out IN TIME for our anniversary...now I guess I just consider November 18th to be this phantom date that will never arrive, like I have years before it will be here, like I have plenty of time to plan something great, even better than putting the sexiest version of myself in nudie mag form for his eyes only.  Not only does he remember the day, but he then presents me with two tickets to Chicago playing at the Kauffman Center here in KC in January.  Then, the cherry, an apology...for misplacing my anniversary card which I can only imagine its contents.  You see, this man of mine does not purchase a card because it is pretty, or because it has the correct occasion printed on the UPC label in front of it.  He reads the cards.  He finds THE one.  Whether it is funny or sentimental he will add whatever words he feels belong there to make the thoughtfulness of the card indescribable and turn it into a keepsake.  He is the only person who could ever give me a card that I will insist on keeping.  Now this is a big deal.  In fact, this is a true sign of head over heels love on my part.  You see, I do not tend to keep unnecessary things around.  I enjoy spring cleaning, sending full boxes to the goodwill, throwing out the clutter and welcoming the clean space.  Even my kids' artwork from school finds its way to the trash fairly quickly after the dooming ride home.  Now, I am not a complete evil queen, I have saved a few special art pieces, including a ceramic jewelry holder my oldest son made me for Mother's Day, and several paintings that he was particularly excited about when he brought them home to show Mom and Dad.  It's the ordinary, everyday crayon and scissor cuts that get the boot...much like the ordinary, impersonal cards.  But not my hubby's cards.  They change me.  I am excited to rip open those envelopes and read both his words and the ones printed on the card.  The ones I know he read first and wanted to share with only me. 

After he left for work that morning I scurried to the computer with "late anniversary ideas for him" on my googling fingertips.  I found a list compiled by no one under the age of 65 (their ages weren't listed, but the gifts gave it all away).  A photo frame with the anniversary date in the middle, a bottle with a love note shoved inside printed on a tea stained sheet of paper, a photo collage, a mixed CD, the painful list went on.  So apparently if you forget your anniversary, you suck, and your gift must suck with you. 

Do I retreat?  Do I accept the lost point?  Never.  When all else fails, you cool moms out there, pull out the best hand we have to play. Lingerie.

         

Facebook, I Can't Quit You

I am not part of the anti social media movement.  Facebook was so cool back when it was first created, now it seems like it's cooler to give it up.  The Facebook addicts have had an intervention, and it is making the rest of us who still enjoy a little facebook stalking once in a while look like gluttons.  No, the send-me-a-handwritten-letter-if-you-ever-want-to-speak-to-me-again post is at least another several hundred kid pics away for me.  I think what draws me to FB is the ability to share only the good things.  I don't post bad pics and I don't update my status on one of those Saturday nights curled up in front of the TV makeupless and feeling bloated and exhausted from working the night before.  I only share the stuff that will really make someone jealous!  Kidding, kind of.  You see, I am a little cool on my own, but Facebook gives me the ability to just float over any less-than-pinterest-mom details about my life.    

My high school class is having a bit of a time getting all 500 of us together for our 10 year reunion this year.  My killer instinct tells me it is because we all know we can't be present as live human beings AND in the form of the best out of 10 selfie shots with a blue glow filter.  And what would we talk about?  I already know who has kids, who has moved, who is married, who is divorced, who is pregnant, etc.  And if I DO see these people in person I have to pretend to be surprised when they tell me they have 6 kids, 6 baby daddies, never been married, and they've finally won their most recent hospital lawsuit so the Benz parked outside the trailer is finally funded.  I know all that already, and have been secretly judging this person for the last 10 years. I know the Facebook version of these people, just as they probably know the Facebook version of me.  I have developed secret Facebook mamma crushes from some very low key FB stalking (I could quit any time I wanted).  These are a few moms (and potential moms) who have inspired me enough, with a status update or a pic, to take a closer look at the facebook versions of them:

1.  If  Emily Rutter showed up to the reunion, I would b-line to find out what she's wearing.  She and Jolie Mckay are my very secret Facebook fashion inspirations. 

2.  Corinne Cox has become my green inspirado.  While she is not a mommy (though recent posts suggest this could be changing soon, love it) she loves the earth and all creatures in it.  She inspires me to live full, live green, and live with love in my heart every day. 

3.  And then there is Tiffany Trotter.  We could all learn a thing or two on how to put a nursery together from this pinterest princess mommy-to-be. 

My boys' nursery is an Ikea/thrift store schmorgasbord topped with an old diaper genie and a painting of an owl by yours truly.  The owl has one good eye and one wonky eye, with pencil outlines visible around the entire bird.  I have tried my hand at painting a few too many times.  A couple special gems were even featured in our bedroom...then demoted to the bathroom...then added to the unfortunate collection of handpainted wall art in the nursery...and now, storage, trash, or donated.  I don't know much about painting but it's fun to waste money and keep trying.  If Jackson Pollock can create an art movement with paint splatters, surely a little wonky eye isn't the end of my career.     

Maybe I'm not cool enough to quit Facebook.  It IS my goal to be the coolest mom I can be, but I simply can't give up something that is like an ongoing US Weekly issue about people I actually know.  It's too good.  I'll let you know when I'm hipster enough to cut ties, but for now, I will follow the ladies who inspire me, try to ignore the stories that depress me, post pictures of my boys to keep up with family, and share stretch mark and c-section scar bikini selfies to make someone jealous.   

The Velvet Underground is the Coolest. Here's Why.

The Velvet Underground is a completely killer 1960's rock band and crucial member of the F-List for several reasons: 1. They were waaaay too cool to have never had a number one hit.  2. Lou Reed on lead vocals (enough said)...no, not enough said.  Lou Reed was the coolest.  He was cool because he DID NOT care.  He did not care if he was cool, or innappropriate, or boring, he did life just exactly as he wanted to do it.  Lucky for him, he WAS cool, just innappropriate enough to get attention, and absolutely never boring.  (Cool mom, write that down.)  He really couldn't sing.  His vocals were all basically spoken.  But still, he spoke and meant them.  The subtle inflection in his voice when he sang doo da doo da doodadoo was his signature.  Velvet wouldn't be Velvet without Lou. 

And, the rest of the list:  3. Andy Warhol: producer  4. Nico  5. Pale Blue Eyes

Andy Warhol, who rings in at number 3, having produced the first Velvet records automatically makes the band worth a second look.  He was pretty weird, but very cool.  Warhol saw art in The Velvet Underground even when no one else did.  Warhol was far from being a mother, but he still provides inspiration to becoming a very cool momsie.  Cool mom inspirational goal: find beauty in something where no one else can, just like Andy.  I will start with finding beauty in my recent $50 hair cut which consisted of a lot of hair gel and a light dusting of about half of my split ends on the back of my shirt.  The "Diva Curl Cut" she called it.  More intriguing than effective.  And the reception/waiting area was very similar to a 1990's DMV.  I'll find the art in there somewhere, just give me a minute.      

Number 5, Pale Blue Eyes is a Velvet ballad that will make your heart hurt.  It's one of those songs that you can't help but play again and will still feel a little jipped when it's over.

Number 4. Nico and all her 60's glam.  Her voice is totally bizarre and fantastically mezmorizing.  I have a memory of sitting in my boyfriend-now-hubby's car, saying goodbye as I was about to leave town for the weekend.  We were listening to "These Days" by Nico on repeat.  It's funny how some memories become so significant to our lives, while at the time the memory is being made, its significance is overlooked.  This is one of those memories.  Every time I hear this song I think of that night, lingering for a long goodbye in the car, in the dark, and then getting out of the car with the song continuing on in my head, feeling his eyes on me as I walked away.  I don't think he knows this night still runs through my mind.  Nothing significant or "naughty" happened in the car that night, just us and Nico.

 

The Bathroom Academy Awards

I want to look like Scarlett, jam like Joan, cook like Julia, and write like Lena.  Ultimate cool mom combo.  However, I look a little like Joni Mitchell,

I know one chord on the guitar, enchiladas are my only specialty, and writing a novel or a full length film are at least 18 years away, depending on that third kid.  Cool, but not ultimate cool.  I am a mother.  I am always amazed at how defining that term is.  All the people I look up to and aspire to be more like will never make me feel like the perfect version of me.  The perfect version of me will forever begin with being  "mommy" to my children...and maybe my annual subscription to US Weekly.    

I always knew I was going to grow up to be that glamorous actress blubbering thank you's into the mic at the Oscar's.  I would practice my acceptance speech in the bathroom mirror multiple times a day, definitely frequenting the restroom for the mirror much more often than the commode.  I had two favorite scenes to perform; the first involved crying, a "gun" pointed at my reflection, and medium-whispered curse words aimed at my "captor".  The cursing was a must, of course because what other chance would I have to say the word "shit" semi out loud without consequence?  The second, as promised, was the acceptance speech, which also included excessive sobbing.  If I was really feeling it I would pin my hair up in a not-so-perfect french twist (because that was the most glamorous do of 1992), smear on some of my mom's blue eyeshadow and really get down on some serious waterworks.  I still struggle with the concept of time, so who knows how long the 7 year old version of me was ever really in there...long enough to thank my parents, my husband, who would have been Taylor High at the time.  He was my blonde-haired, brown eyed, totally serious elementery school crush.  Probably a repeat character on Swamp People now.  He made fun of me once.  I still had a thing for him after that, but was no longer a die hard band-aid.  Scarring though.  These are the memories that make grown ups go crazy and become drug addicts holding cardboard signs at intersections that say "Hungry" and "God blesses the generous".

Not to ruin the surprise, but I am not an Oscar winner, nor am I a drug addict or homeless, and only a little kick ass.  My Restroom Oscar ceremonies have been shaved down to the occasional Blue Steel look in the mirror, just to be sure I've still got it.  I am fully grown now, fully aware that the dream of winning an Oscar is long behind me.  Now my sense of hope, wonder, and possibility comes from my painfully darling kids.  Seeing my son realize that it's fun to have someone think he's funny, seeing him get scared of Scooby Doo characters, feel brave when he sleeps all night in his own bed, make up stories, ask me to make up stories under a tent of blankets, this is what gives me hope that good can win in this world of crazy, evil, maniacs.  I see the world becoming a better place because he's in it.  I traded my Oscar for he and his brother.  However, I must admit, whenever February rolls around and the Academy Award winners begin to spout off their "thank you's" and "dream come true's" I still get a little itch to slip quietly away into the bathroom for just a minute...oh, hell, Lord knows how long I'd be in there.     

How to Be a Cool Mom: Introduction

My inspiration to write a blog begins with my husband.  He inspires me and I inspire him.  He thinks I'm funny, sexy, uninhibited, a good mother, but most importantly, good in bed (in no particular order of course).  Life finds ways of removing all of these things from display sometimes.  Not usually all at the same time, but at some point, these qualities are overshadowed by bills, planners, doctor visits, worries about what this world is coming to, do we want a third baby, what am I going to wear to a much anticipated party when a shower has become the extent of my weekly beauty regimen.  So how do I hold onto myself, this fun, loving gal (not lady) that my husband thinks he has, all while maintaining a household, a job, and raising 2 completely gorgeous boys?  The answer, of course, as Regina George's mother so classily puts it: don't be a regular mom, be a cool mom.  Words to live by.  So I immerse myself in all the cool things I love. 1. Family 2. Friends 3. Food 4. Fashion.  This is my F list.  The rest of the list is less F-ie.  4. Movies 5.Writing 6. The Velvet Underground 7. Smutty magazines...let's talk about this one.  

I read Glamour and US Weekly.  I want to read books, I want to be able to get through a novel a week and expand my vocabulary and literary IQ, but the truth is, I am a child.  I need pictures.  I am way more interested in celebrity smut and Facebook, which is a quality, I think, my husband finds more amusing than attractive.  I am completely repulsed by reality TV, but am slightly embarassed by the excitement I feel when my man walks through our front door with a fresh US Weekly from the mailbox.  I read Glamour for the beauty tips, fashion, and articles (usually on the celebs that interest me).  Glorified smut really, but this is consentual, unlike the probing paparazzi that is US Weekly.  I feel more intelligent when I read it, warranted or not.

8. Fresh Air 9. Date Night 10. Color

The F's are my staples.  The F's make me tick, make me happy, make life mine.

Life is what this blog is inspired by. All the F's of life.  How to be a cool mom?  Inspiration, love, parenthood, real life, fantasy, stories, all these things breed confident women.  Because confidence is the coolest.