Sunday, January 16, 2011

Obituaries and Shoes. A Story of My Life . . .

Wow, it is just now hitting me, that this is the worst part about being a Mommy. (As you know, I think there’s a litany of things that suck about being a Mommy. So, if I say it’s going to be the “worst”, go with God – it’s gonna be bad!)

Now, fabulous girls in your 20’s or 30’s, you may not relate to this, but anyone who gets winded walking the kids to school or orders Spanx in bulk is probably going to know just what I am talking about. I am at THAT middle age; middle age where I am obsessed with death.

Five years ago, I wondered why they even ran those Obituaries in the paper. Really, they could have used that space for another column of Dear Abby, or Ask Carolyn. You know, stuff that is actually interesting and relevant to my life.

Then a few years ago my eyes started to linger. These seem like interesting little narratives of people’s lives. Now? I read them compulsively.

If someone has passed away, you know from untimely accident and they are younger than I am, I feel that I’ve been given a gift: “I have gotten three more years than that Poor Sap.”

But this obsession with death, and the concern with exactly how much longer I will live, kinda affects my parenting.

Cuz it isn’t quite hard enough to parent, now I look at my kids everyday and wonder “Will I see them through to college?” Can I live until they have incorporated all the life lessons that Mommy has to give?

And then the question comes into play, what if I live a long life? How much therapy will they need if I live 30 more years? And do I have to pay for that therapy? College and therapy? Will this affect my future shoe budget? And at my age, can I expect to even need cute shoes much longer?

I know this is supposed to make me treasure all the moments we have together.

I do have a consciousness about remembering we’re in a golden moment in a golden period of our lives.

But that doesn’t mean I enjoy one fucking minute of The Witching Hour. (You wanna know about homework, juggling jazz, ballet and soccer check out. . .

Or the “She’s looking at me” “Make her stop looking at me!” Or the hysterical weeping over not getting their way every minute of every day of their lives.

I just want that weeping to be about stupid shit. Like an owie on their finger or the fact that we were out of hot dogs or the WII game is cheating. #again

Well, maybe I should stop reading the Obituaries. Hell no. Never gonna happen.

But I am probably going to buy some more shoes. Cute shoes. Cuz I’m an eternal optimist.


  1. I think my mother in law has what you have - only she uses this for evil. Like as an excuse (riddled with emotional blackmail) to push us for grandkids! I mean, she might die before we 'get on with it' ...

    - Kez

  2. Go get 'em, Dee. Buy them shoes!

    Seriously, I know what you mean. I think about stuff like that all the time. First the rookies are all younger than you, then the starters are all younger than you, then the veterans are all younger than you, then the retired players are all younger than you. Soon the coaches will be younger than me.


  3. AndSoIWasThinking - Hey, maybe I can use my death obsession with a way to further control my kids??? Nah - I'm all about getting them independent so I can have some PEACE AND QUIET in my house. LOL. Dee Dee

    Michael - Oh, I so get that thing, where I used to be the youngest, and now, gulp, I'M NOT!!! I hate that! To console myself I'm just going to give Zappos a little credit card LOVE! xxx Dee Dee


Tell me what ya think, babe!