Playdate time. Where's the wine?

Ahh the playdate.  Specifically the playdates that my 3 boys have with my BFF Beth's 3 boys.  For a grand total of 6 boys.  That is a lot of boys.  Plus now we've each added a puppy to our broods.  So 6 boys plus 2 puppies.

Our boys are pretty close in ages - mine are 10, 8 and 3.  Hers are 9, 7 and 3.  Whenever we have playtime after school, we fantasize that the kids will all play peacefully downstairs while we moms quietly sip a glass of wine watching Oprah.  Though we are now resigning ourselves to the fact that getting our boys together means that neither of us will get to complete a sentence, the wine will be guzzled and we will be lucky to catch Oprah's ending credits.

Case in point, today.  Beth made cookies for an after school snack.  Beth's boy #3 (BB#3) walked around the kitchen with his 2 cookies on a plate that slid off so my dog ate them, sharing them with Beth's dog.  Then my dog grabbed my boy #2's (DB#2) cookie off the table because he didn't sit down fast enough.  The dogs then romped around the kitchen for a while all sugared up.  Then DB#3 had some bathroom time but forgot to point his thingy downwards so his shirt, pants, socks and undies were soaked, along with the bathroom floor.  Then Beth's puppy tinkled all over her bed in the kitchen. Then they all wanted to go outside which meant suiting up in snow pants.  Add to that the noise of 6 boys and 2 dogs, and well you get the picture.  We didn't even get the chance to turn on Oprah.  Forget the wine.  We were together for 55 minutes.

Last summer we came to a rather sad conclusion.  It appears that whenever we all show up at our local playground, all the other kids seem to disappear.  We must look pretty scary, invading the playground with the normal wild screams of boys on the loose.  But sure enough, we noticed a trend.

Beth summed it up well though.  "Hey," she whispered, "let's head over to the playground in the next township.  No one knows us over there."

Next summer we might not be so lucky.  Our reputations - and noise - may precede us.

This tough broad's new name.

Since I became a stay at home mom, or family manager, or home CEO, or whatever I want to call it on any given day, I've really struggled with my identity.  Before kids, I was slated for a great career in corporate America with a generous salary and recognition for my work.  Now, after kids, my home is my work place and my days are filled with laundry, cooking, cleaning, child care and the occasional Panera trip with various mom friends. 

Thanks to these Panera trips, and three babies that unapologetically changed my metabolism and body structure, I struggle with my physical identity as well.  I carry around an extra few pounds, and thanks to mass media and women's magazines that tell me over and over again how to lose weight, sometimes I think I never will be comfortable in my own skin.  I thought my marathon training - all 400+ miles of running over 18 weeks - would get rid of my jiggly bits.  Well, I have muscles of steel now, but the jiggly bits remain firmly - or un-firmly, as it were - in place over said muscles of steel.   

I've had an ongoing battle in my head for years - should I get rid of the extra 20 pounds or finally accept that they are part of me and embrace my body?  This body that has given birth to 3 boys - naturally, without so much as an advil, one baby at 10 pounds (!), all born at home?  This body that spent 6 years nursing my babies?  This body that provides a safe and nurturing home for my family, 24 hours a day?  And of course, this body that can hold my fair share of Woman Warrior martinis? This body has more strength in it than I ever thought possible.  I never thought I'd ever run 5 miles, let alone 26.2.  But here I am, running mile after mile after mile, and thoroughly enjoying it. 

I had a moment of clarity while running this past weekend.  My BFF Beth joined me for a couple of loops at the park during my short, comparatively speaking, 14 mile run.  I had my typical long run attire on - capris, running skirt, tank top, visor and pigtails.  (Yes I'm 41 and run in pigtails.  I LOVE it!)  The path encircles numerous baseball fields. It was opening day for the local men's league and there were a lot of fine men pitching and hitting and running.  And of course they checked us out as we ran by.  I felt a little self conscious, thinking about the muffin top and jiggly bits, and Beth and I had our usual conversation about body image.  Then she said I was like a roller derby girl.  At first I was aghast, but then I pictured a roller derby girl.  Strong and tough.  Physically and mentally.  No skinny legs for those gals.  Tattooed.  Check, have one of those (now you know mum, I have a tattoo)  Bright colored clothes.  I always run in bright pink. And lip gloss.

Hmm, maybe Beth is on to something.  Maybe I just need to look at myself differently.  Not as a runner who has a few pounds to lose, but as a strong woman who is one tough broad.  But in a nice way, of course.

A cool name is a must for a roller derby girl.  I've been calling myself a muffin top marathon mom, but I need something much edgier than that.  So I thought of the tattoo on my right shoulder.  I designed it myself and I'm proud of it.  It has three thistles, one for each of my boys, and represents my strong Scottish heritage.  And the thistles are pink, of course.  The leaves of the thistles form the shape of Ohm, a very meaningful symbol to me from the time I spent living in India. 

So now when I run, I'm the Pink Thistlenator. 

Step aside, skinny girls, I'm coming through.  Jiggly bits and all.