So I was reading a post on the Suburban Bliss blog, and I was going to comment there — but I knew it would be too long-winded so I figured I’d start a thread here. Her post and some of the comments on it got me thinking.

Melissa talks about not feeling happy with herself after having kids and feeling like she had become her mother, and it really hit home for me. While I’ve been able to (so far) avoid the mommy blah’s pretty well, I wondered how I’m doing it. Because, god knows, I LOVE my sweatpants and oversized t-shirts. And how does one find the time to write everyday? Then I realized, it’s because I am my mother’s daughter.

Everyone’s mom is the best mom… but mine was truly amazing. She worked, raised two children, had dinner on the table every night when my dad walked through the door, volunteered at our schools, baked birthday cakes, decorated them, baked 5-10 different kinds of Christmas cookies every year, did all the laundry, darned socks, knitted, cleaned the house, attended every sporting event my brother and I participated in, the list goes on. She really did do everything for her family, often putting herself last.

It wasn’t until she lay in the hospital, having suffered a heart attack and still on a ventilator that she realized that she’d done everything but teach me the importance of taking time for myself. We talked a lot about ‘me’ time, and exercise, and eating healthfully over those next months before she died. And I promised her that I’d do my best to let the house get messy or the laundry lie in the basket if it meant I’d have time to take an evening walk or read a book. I remember she looked into my eyes and said, “I know you’ll try.”

So here I am trying and not succeeding very well at all. In talking with my best friend last week I found that I’m not alone – so I guess that’s good. But it’s certainly not ideal. We both realized that neither of us is taking time for ourselves on a regular basis. We can’t seem to sit down when there are things to be done. Stupid things, like going through the junk mail (because I can’t stand to look at the pile for another second!) L.A. Daddy often complains I take too long to do things. He’s right. I can’t do anything without being distracted by dirty dishes, toys on the floor, the empty cat bowl, and so on. I do the same thing at work – multi-tasking – there’s nothing that sucks up your time more. Yet I can’t just methodically complete one thing at a time. I want to do it all – and I just want everything to be done. So I can relax.

And just when I was feeling as though my life was spinning out of control I came across Emily Yoffe’s article “Why is me time such a big deal?” on CNN.com. She’s right on – and I know it. And maybe I’m not in such bad shape after all. Dangerously close, but not a lost cause.

I did manage to get L.A. Daddy to make the dinner for L.A. Toddler and I every night. I take an annual girlfriends spa weekend, I go to the gym, I scrapbook, I force L.A. Daddy to stop working and we go to the park or swimming with Emma, but… wait a minute? That’s not “me” time is it? OK…so “me” time is definitely a work in progress. Maybe I will take up a knitting class… there won’t be kids or husbands there – and I have to GO to the class… which means my messy house can’t distract me. It’s forced “me” time… but who cares? If it works, right?

Right?