My Name Would Become Legend…

This year, the little guy was Puss in Boots for Halloween. Weston still isn’t too keen on wearing true costumes so I went to homemade route again this year (he went as a deviled egg last year and a chick magnet the year before that). The majority of the items we had on hand (thank you to his cousin Alex for the cape) so it was an inexpensive and resourceful venture. Let’s just say that the hot glue gun came in handy this afternoon (yes, I am a last minute Halloween costume maker – don’t judge).

Both Clay and I participated in the trick-or-treating fun.  We left a basket of candy on our porch and joined some our neighbors. A huge thank you to Kari and Sean for supplying the wine and homemade beer. Have I mentioned how much our neighborhood rocks? We seriously couldn’t have asked for a better mix of people in our little court. Weston grasped the concept of trick-or-treating this year, so it was a blast watching him run (well, at least as fast as he could in too-big boots) from door to door with his friends.

Yes, my face is painted. In order to convince Weston that painting his face like a cat would the be coolest thing in the world, I painted my face too. Unfortunately, I used CoverGirl Outlast lip color on our noses, which I was unable to remove (not for lack of trying) by the time he went to bed. Fingers crossed he doesn’t have to attend preschool tomorrow looking like Bozo the Clown. Although, I am sure there are worst things to resemble on the day after Halloween.


Experiencing Another Natural Disaster

Watching the footage of Hurricane Sandy and her havoc on New York City and New England is just absolutely heartbreaking. We emerged unscathed here outside of Washington DC but the high winds and torrential downpour kept us on our toes.  Clay and I have experienced blizzards in New York, tornados in Oklahoma, and earthquakes in a variety of locations but Hurricane Sandy marks our first true hurricane experienced together. Our time in Raleigh, North Carolina and Clemson, South Carolina ensured that we experienced the outlying effects of other hurricanes but our current location is technically the closest we have lived to the coast, so we were new to true hurricane preparation.

The Federal Government and Fort Belvoir were shut down on yesterday and today so that means Clay was able to spend some extra time at home. We’ll take it when we can get it (which isn’t often)! This evening, we’re enjoying a fire while the little guy sleeps. What is it about burning wood that is so ridiculously comforting?

Drinks are included. Clay is sipping a Jack and Coke and I am enjoying a mimosa. Because there isn’t an official ruling body that says that Champagne and orange juice is for the brunch-crowd only. Right?

Here Fishy, Fishy, Fishy

When filling out immigration forms on my recent trip out of the country, I had to write down my occupation. Unsure of what to put, I scribbled housewife quickly so I could move on to the next section with my borrowed pen. Although looking back, I should have wrote stay-at-home-mom. Either way, I was unprepared for the slight pang of embarrassment that accompanied the task of answering the seemingly simple question. At least when I worked part-time in North Carolina and Oklahoma I could have answered editor or college instructor and still held on to the moniker stay-at-home-mom. But not now. In the eyes of foreign officials, I have no professional identity.

Clay often states that I am too hard on myself – that some of my goals are impossible for mere mortals to achieve, let alone little old me.  He probably isn’t too far off from the truth. Soon after Weston was born, I wrote how motherhood tested my confidence every hour of the day. For me, it wasn’t as simple as calling, “Here fishy, fishy, fishy.” And three years later, I am still Bert in the above scenario. For whatever reason, I have it set in my mind that if I am a stay-at-home-mom, I have to exceed in all categories of job performance, in addition to carrying business cards that read ‘Practically Perfect in Every Way’. This means that I end up feeling like an impostor 94% of the time.


I have to wonder if this is because I currently don’t have a professional identity outside of singing the ABCs and pleading with a preschooler to use the potty. Please don’t misinterpret this post as whining…after all, I choose to stay home. And whenever I browse job listings, I can’t bring myself to apply for a position that will take me outside of the home for a significant amount of time. I am just not ready…yet. I know I will go back to work full-time eventually. I miss it too much not to. But in the meantime, I am just going to have to find a balance between my expectations and reality. Any ideas?