As many of you know, I’m the new “Mom Blogger” for Indy’s Child magazine. If you haven’t seen their site, I’d run over right now. There’s a lot of good stuff… and some pretty cute kids. But if you miss my posts over there, you’ll be able to find them here, too. (And no, they didn’t get the latest poetic beauty. My writing for them will be a bit more refined. A bit.)
Most of you already know me, and many have already heard this story. But for those of you who are new to the veiled narcissism known as my blog, here is my first post for Indy’s Child Magazine…
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Hello, Friends. It’s nice to meet you. Thanks for inviting me in. Did you mention there was wine? I’m both honored and thrilled (and I must admit — a wee bit nervous) to be Indy’s Child’s new “Mom Blogger.” Before we begin, however, I’d like to introduce myself and my favorite blog subjects.
But first, scoot a little closer because I have a secret to tell you.
When I was younger, I dreamed of boardrooms and power suits. I thought day and night about the career I would have, the people I would lead, the wads of cash that would inevitably result.
I planned the decor for my condo in some fast-action town. New York? London, perhaps? My furniture was going to be sleek, angled, shiny. My closets would be crammed with swanky high-heeled shoes and a matching handbag for every evening gown.
So what does that have to do with my secret?
In all my childhood dreams, being a mother never factored in. It wasn’t part of the future I’d planned, wasn’t a natural step on the ladder I was envisioning.
But four short years after graduating from Ball State University (Go, Cards!), I was happily married to my beloved high school sweetheart, Chris, and we were living in the middle of rural Indiana on a farm that had been in his family for over 100 years. There was nothing angular or edgy about any of our furnishings. The lace curtains blowing at our oversized windows were, in fact, the antithesis of urban hip.
Oh, and we had our first baby.
The first of four.
In five years.
When the first EPT came back positive, we were both a bit taken aback. “What now?” we asked each other. And the obvious answer? We raise them. We love them. We take care of them. But first, we had to name them. And buy diapers.
In 1996, we welcomed Samuel Joseph, a 10-pound, blonde-haired, blue-eyed beauty who was, of course, perfect in every way. He was obviously gifted from the beginning with his superior sleeping skills and his ability to spit up — ad nauseum (no pun intended) — with projectile force and impressive distance. I was a little “over the top” as a first time mother. A little anxious, a little neurotic. A little. But I’ll save those stories for later.
Next came Augustus Charles (Gus) in 1999. Our red-headed miracle baby — the one who decided to live when everyone else wasn’t quite as convinced. In his overly theatrical way, he made his entrance into this world with great fanfare and drama. And we are so grateful that he chose to share his stage with us.
Mary Claire made her debut in 2000. Swathed in more pink than Pepto-Bismol and hormonal from day one, she stole our hearts with those baby blues and her happy-go-lucky grin. Someday, she hopes to steal Justin Bieber’s heart with those same feminine wiles. I hope The Biebs enjoys a hearty rendition of “The Rose.” Because Bette Midler’s classic is one of Mary Claire’s all-time angst-inspired favs.
George Anderson rounded out the quartet in 2002. The quintessential baby, he cut his teeth on Guns ‘n Roses instead of Barney, grew up sipping Mountain Dew out of his big siblings’ cups, and will probably be sneaking out of his room at night before he hits double digits. Smart, sassy, precocious, overindulged Baby Geo — our caboose.
My beloved hubby and BFF, Chris, moonlights as a Renaissance Man. He cooks gourmet dinners, tutors our children in complex second-grade math problems when I’m in over my head, repairs XBoxes and washing machines, and can still make me weak in the knees. By day, however, he’s a public school administrator who is currently finishing his doctorate in educational leadership. Someday, he’ll probably rule the world. He’s just that cool.
Over the course of the last fourteen years, when I wasn’t changing dirty diapers, mixing formula, freezing breast milk, digging my way out of mounds of dirty laundry, or logging miles on the Suburban, I’ve been writing. All my life, I have written. With pencils, pens, crayons, lipstick, eyeliner, a Brother Word Processor, my trusty Macbook. From technical writing to copywriting to blogging to fiction to memoir, I’ve logged miles upon miles of the glorious written word.
My first book, “Table for Six: The Extraordinary Tales of an Ordinary Family” was released in January 2011. My next novel, “See How They Run” is scheduled for release in The Fall. (Very vague, I know. I don’t like the pressure of an actual DATE. Someone might just hold me to it.)
So, that’s us in a nutshell. We’re your average Midwest family of six humans, two lovable dogs (Maggie and Lucy), and one stinky guinea pig (Newman). We run our kids to lacrosse practice, to softball practice, to basketball games, to Subway (far too often). We sing, we dance (mostly in the kitchen), we tend to be a bit sarcastic. We love and honor our extended families and hold our dearest of friends close to our hearts. We believe without question that being nice always trumps being right. We spend too much money and care less about it than we probably should. We eat too many Thin Mints (but for a good cause, of course), and we tend to run out of cereal and toilet paper. (But Miracle Whip? We’ve got that to spare. Come on over if you need to borrow any.) Sometimes, I drop the F-Bomb. (Okay, more than sometimes.) It’s years of Catholic repression bottled up in me, I’m sure.
My life is blessed beyond measure. It’s a wild, tumultuous and constantly-changing ride, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Welcome to the roller-coaster.
Now buckle up and hang on. And for God’s sake, please don’t vomit.
