It’s true. I’m like Uma Thurman!

Well, except for the perfect body, the international stardom, the fact that a movie star fathered her children and being engaged to a billionaire financier….Oh and also I don’t have a stalker. Unless you count the FedX guy who keeps trying to leave that package but I’m not home. Other than that, I’m EXACTLY like her. Know how? Mommy guilt.

Yep. Apparently Uma, with all her glamour and financial resources, still cannot manage to avoid the pitfalls of the “G” word.  

Uma has confessed that she found it really difficult being a mom because she felt GUILTY making time for herself.

“The chaos and the confusion – and also the loss of yourself,” Uma divulged.

“Any mother that doesn’t give herself up isn’t a good mother, but at the same time you can get to a point where you can’t reach the identity that helped you be stable in the first place – and that is quite a frightening feeling.

“I must have gone through years . . . of confusion. Guilty of being torn in half. Your happiness depends on… what’s your shame level today? What have you forgotten, what did you do wrong, what could you do better?,” Thurman admitted.

“I went to see a doctor a few years ago and he said, ‘I’m going to write you a prescription’, and I went OK, what’s he giving me a prescription for?

“And he wrote down on the pad: Hotel: one night a week.”

 

See? I’m just like Uma!  Well, except for the time and inclination to whine to a doctor about my feelings, the resources to stay in a 5 star hotel once a week to “get away from it all”, and the NANNY to take care of my kids while I do it. But other than that, I AM JUST LIKE UMA!

Wonder if gynecologists give prescriptions for Xanax?

 

Below is a picture of Julia in her Grandma Ada’s back yard in West Virginia. The picture doesn’t do it justice because, well, it’s an acre. When Julia (who was born and raised in L.A.) first stepped into it she said,”HOLY MOLY! Now this would be a good back yard for Friday Fun! We could do cartwheels and put up tents and have a campfire and roast marshmallows and catch fireflies…!”

For those of you who have been following the website, you know that Friday Fun is our weekly Friday get-together with mommies and kids in the neighborhood, where kids play like lunatics and mommies drink like well, mommies in desperate need of a cocktail…

You also know that we at MAMMAKAZE live in the Los Angeles area. And if THIS was OUR backyard, Julia would be leaning against a slump stone wall that was only 35 feet from the back of our house, our neighbor’s house (and everything they were doing in it) would be prominently featured in the background and any attempts at cartwheels might end with Julia SLAMMING HER FOOT against the air conditioning unit or another slump stone wall. Also, campfires are out of the question as we live in a high fire area and the insurance companies are still settling from the LAST wildfire. Although we did recently ROAST MARSHMALLOWS over a fire bowl I got from Target using a Duraflame Log. I know, LAME. And don’t get me started on the chemical hazards.

Nope, LA sure ain’t West Virginia. Know what we DO HAVE that West Virginia doesn’t have? Traffic. Oh and pollution.

And truth be told, beautiful oceans, mountains and deserts within an hour drive in any direction. Plus LOTS TO DO!   And most importantly– NO SNOW!

I don’t know what’s better for a kid. CITY OR COUNTRY. I DO KNOW Julia really enjoyed the different landscape. She marveled at the thunderstorms. Watched in awe as the fireflies glowed. And thought it was the coolest thing there was a creek in the yard! She was very relaxed and happy. Even though she didn’t watch TV for a whole week! She even CRIED when we left – wishing she could stay longer.  

WHAT DO YOU THINK? DOES WHERE A KID IS RAISED AFFECT THE KIND OF PERSON THEY BECOME? IS BIG CITY BETTER FOR ITS CULTURAL ADVANTAGES? OR ARE SMALL TOWNS BETTER FOR THEIR LAID-BACK AND UNHARRIED LIFESTYLES? COMMENT.

 

My perfekt husband Randy is my personal shopper. See, I HATE SHOPPING!  I know, it’s against everything womanly. One of the X’s must have fallen off my chromosomes. Or the shopping gene slipped through the evolutionary filter.  I dunno. But truth be told, I go into a store and am so overwhelmed by the choices, I FREAK OUT and leave after five minutes. If there are sales racks, I’m out in two. I’m like Robin Williams in MOSCOW ON THE HUDSON where he played that Russian sax player who defected to the U.S. and then hyperventilated in the supermarket, completely overwhelmed by the number of toilet paper options that faced him.

We joke that in some ways, Randy is the woman in our relationship. Before we were married Randy was the lone guy in a sea of women at the “Day After Christmas Super Sale” at 6am. He doesn’t do it anymore because since becoming a dad, sleep has become more precious to him that 75% off a Calvin Klein suit.

Anyway, recently I felt it was time to “refresh my wardrobe”. You know that feeling, right?  We all get it. One day you walk into the closet and the stuff that was perfectly fine yesterday suddenly seems so last year and so ready for Goodwill.

This of course meant GULP! shopping. I begged  Randy obliged me and came with me to pick out some clothes. This process entails him quickly scanning the racks, pulling out stuff, shoving it in my arms and waiting while I try it on.

So anyway, on our last shopping trip, I went to one of those little boutiques my friend Patrice told me about. You know, full of cute yet reasonably priced trendy stuff.

Normally Randy is spot-on in his choices. But this time, Randy picked out a pair of those JUICY sweat pants. The ones I see some of the moms wear at pick-up but I’ve never had the courage to pull over my Beyonce-esque bottom. I balked. He insisted I try them on (part of his campaign to help me become more hip). So I tried them. And all I could see was that they made me look more hippy—and I don’t mean in a granola kind of way. I told him they didn’t work for me. They only worked for those moms with yoga butts. I NEVER had a yoga butt. Not even BK (before kid). I said they made my butt look too big. And that’s when he said it:

 

 “THEY DON’T MAKE YOUR BUTT LOOK ANY BIGGER THAN YOUR JEANS DO”

 

Oh, yes he did.  It was innocent I assume. I HAVE to assume it because I’m too tired to figure out which CDs are mine and who’ll get Julia on Thanksgiving.

So I looked at him,  smiled through gritted teeth and JAMMED those freaking skinny ass yoga butt sweats back on the rack!

RANDY: I assume that’s a no.

ME: Assume everything’s a NO for the next few nights.   

 

I bought some tops.

Maybe next time, I’ll see if one of my girlfriends will go shopping with me. I know I can count on them NOT to be HONEST. Not where butts are concerned.