Checking out my Breasts

Now THAT title is sure to get me some spam.
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I turned 40 last Saturday. I'm not happy about it but I always knew it was coming, obviously. I always felt like 40 was so far away...

Turning 40 means I have to start getting mammograms. I'm not happy about that either but I do know it's for my own benefit. I was mentioning that to my mom, who's 78. She mentioned to me how funny it was, considering her doctor told her she didn't have to get mammograms anymore.

I was like... "what are you talking about?"

Apparently, when a woman reaches a certain age, they no longer need to get mammograms. I asked her why and she didn't know, that she was just told she didn't need one anymore. I don't know if it's because the risk of initial onset of breast cancer after age 75 is so low, but I sure hope that's the reason. Because of course my mind went to that place where they're telling me that a patient of advanced age has less of a chance of survival if they are diagnosed late in life... blah blah blah... and I told my mom, "THAT IS CRAZY - YOU KEEP GETTING THEM. FORGET WHAT THOSE DOCTORS SAID." My mom is a spunky 78 year old woman. It would not surprise me one bit if she lives another 25 years and when her last day comes, she won't go easily. She has never known an easy day in her whole life. She knows - heck, I think she created - the definition of hard work. My mom stays young by keeping active and, I'm embarrassed to admit, she can run circles around me keeping all my kids in line. She's an amazing role model for me.

So, I hope this year I won't be the only woman in my family getting a mammogram. That's all I'm sayin.

Breakfast

My day starts way before breakfast. I am usually awoken around 5am, when either Violet or Sally poke me to move over so they can slide into the bed next to me. No matter how many times I point to the pile of blankets on the ground and explain, "there's no room up here! Sleep down there by the comfy pillow," they don't care. They'd prefer 6 inches of mattress next to mama over 2 feet of space on the floor.

Once one of them (or, sometimes both) climb in the bed, the kicking and fidgeting and whispering and giggling starts. It's not the worst way to wake up in the morning, but since I usually don't get to bed before midnight that snuggle party just comes too early in the morning.

At 6am the alarms finally go off, one after another in various bedrooms. Someone hits snooze, someone else gets up and hits the shower. I look at the red numbers on the clock and make deals with myself about how quickly I can get up and get the kids off to school. If I really push the envelope, I get up at 6:30 and check who's doing what. I find someone still sleeping, someone else still in the shower, and someone on the couch, awake and wrapped up in a blanket, making no movement toward getting ready for the day. I think, for a moment, they are trying to hide in plain sight under cover of a blue fleece blanket.

I start right in. Get your shoes on! Eat your breakfast! Brush your teeth and put on deodorant! Where's your hat and gloves? Is your backpack by the front door? Do you need this math book for school today? Where is your lunchbag from yesterday? MOVE! FASTER!!!!

By now I'm cursing myself for sleeping too late. I'm counting the minutes until the bus will show up at the end of our driveway. I'm telling myself that tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow will be easier. Tomorrow I will have all my shit together. But wait, isn't today just a repeat of yesterday and the day before? My mornings seem to be on a continuous loop.

What do you want for breakfast? One wants toast with peanut butter. One wants sugared cereal. one doesn't want anything ... until 2 minutes before walking out the door. By that time I'm ready to poke myself in they eye. I'm wondering, Why didn't I buy that box of Pop-Tarts? Sure, they're filled with sugar and a terrible excuse for nourishment, but HELLO? Breakfast in 10 seconds, max. Sometimes I need that. No one wants the same thing. No one ever wants something easy.

Then it's on to making lunches. No mustard on one. No bread on another. Find an alternative for granola bars, since one person hates them and life is only fair if there are the EXACT SAME NUMBER OF ITEMS in each lunch box. Purple drink for one person, Red drink for another, Blue for the third. These are the facts that fill the capacity of my brain - not literature or history or current events; I know who likes ham and who like Cheetos.

Finally, everyone is bundled and backpacked and booted. Wait, there's 3 minutes until the bus comes. Can we watch TV? HELL NO YOU CAN'T - JUST SIT THERE AND WAIT FOR THE DAMN BUS.

On the one hand, I can't blame them for trying. On the other, they better learn fast which buttons of mine not to push. If momma ain't happy...

This Post is part of Mamakat's Writers Workshop

More

Over Christmas break, I got the luxury of some time by myself... in the waiting room of a physician's office. Having a UTI is absolutely NO. FUN. AT. ALL. While waiting to give a sample in the lab, I sat down and glanced at the (short) stack of magazine offerings: Road & Track, Working Mother, or Golf Digest. I don't golf. I do drive a car but I'm betting they don't cover Cheeto-laden minivans in Road & Track magazine. So, since I'm a mother, I figured I was half-qualified to read Working Mother.

Staying home with our kids has always been the right choice for our family and thankfully, it has always worked financially. I'm so glad I have had the opportunity to be a homemaker. But at the same time, I have always been keenly aware of the loneliness that can go along with having companions under 4 years old.

Reading the Working Mother magazine, I saw articles about women who were mentors to their peers, made time for developing their professional skills, and learned (and practiced) a healthy balance between work time and family time.

I suddenly thought, "who are my peers?" Gulp. Do I even have any? I don't think the grocery checker counts, even though I see her more often than I see any of my friends. I know I help my children and I'm proud of most of the decisions I make as a parent, but I have to ask myself, "Am I really developing myself personally or otherwise?" The skills I practice: folding towels. Organizing the board game closet. Making baloney sandwiches.

This introspective bit is probably born out of the time of year. The beginning of a new year always makes me, like so many others, think about my goals. I make new plans for the upcoming year but I also think about whether or not I reached any goals that I set last year (I didn't). Then I look back on the last 2, 5, or maybe 10 years and ask myself: how have I grown? Have I changed for the better?

I want to make the lives of the people around me better. I really think I do that. I know I have certainly grown as a MOM and WIFE in the past 12+ years. But what kind of example am I setting for my daughters? Am I teaching them that they when they grow up, they can aspire to be an amazing.... towel-folder? Or they can be really great at the concept, "go along to get along"?

I don't think my life is bad at all. I have a sweet, faithful, honest, and hard-working husband. I have intelligent, healthy, beautiful, friendly children. We have enough money to buy what we need, but not so much that we forget to be humble. And certainly, what I have is enough. No, it's more than enough. I just keep wondering if I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing with the gifts I've been given.

Sometimes I just don't know what I'm chasing.