Mothering gene...

My mom wrote the annual Christmas letter recently, and it got me thinking. I'm going to use her own words to establish my point.

'Ah, the ever dreaded holiday letter, filled with the musings and celebrations from the Pottinger family. I told the kids this year that I was going to write one line, "Nothing has changed, see 2009 letter." Daniel and his girlfriend of six years, Amanda, have still NOT gotten engaged or set a date, Brooke and Nick keep talking about the next step but it seems to be one step forward and two steps back. Lauren is single and a workaholic. I have no grandchildren, (though I am lucky to have 10 great nieces and nephews, and two on the way) so I spoil my dog.'

Now, I know my mom loves me and my siblings. The rest of the letter goes on to say how great things are going in all of our lives, and is really sweet and well written. This is in no way about her and her desire for grandbabies. It's about me. Which may be the problem.

I have been told for years that I would be a great mom. I get along with kids, I have fun with them and treat them like mini-adults, and they seem to like me. I remember Thanksgivings as a teenager/early twenty something spent in the front yard with my young neighbors or relatives playing, while the adults would be inside. I was the babysitter to call in our neighborhood, and I would come with a box full of books, games, and costumes so that the kids would go to bed exhausted and creatively fulfilled. I took one of the kids I babysat trick or treating one year. His costume was Darth Vader, so I dressed like Princess Leia, buns and all. I enjoy spending time with kids and helping them to become decent teenagers who will grow into fantastic adults.

All that being said, I'm just not sure it's right for me. I have the inkling that I might enjoy it, and I understand that as a woman I won't know until it's happened...at least, that's what all my married/babied friends say. But the concept is a bit overwhelming to me even in the abstract. I would be responsible for a human life? A child which cannot defend itself and can't tell me what he/she needs? I can be honest with myself and say that I am a pretty lazy/self indulgent person. If I want to stay in bed til 11, I do. If I want to go to a movie, I'll take myself. I don't know about scheduling a whole day for another person, let alone myself. I look at all the moms in my life, mine included, and I wonder how they do/did it. They have a patience I don't see in myself. A selflessness that I don't know that I have.

So, it may be a wish unfulfilled for dear old Mom. She'll have to make do with grandpuppies, and I'll be the best darned Aunt on the planet. I'll always buy the loudest toys and give them the most chocolate and soda before I drop them back off at your house. I will give them the biggest and best gifts and be the one who is there when you get in a fight with them, to tell them the exact same thing you have been trying to say, but they'll listen to me, cause I'm "Cool Aunt Lauren.".

Beauty hurts...

I am an idiot when it comes to girly things like styling hair and make-up. I love buying products but can never seem to get them to work the way they are intended. Any time there is a major event that I am invited to attend, my little sister swoops in and takes care of things like curlers, eyeshadow, contouring, all that. I sang at a friends wedding...she swept my hair into an updo and added baby's breath. I participated in a Rock and Roll karaoke contest to win $10,000...she picked the tank top, cropped leather jacket, and black knee high boots. I went on my first date after a long time recovering from a bad relationship...she covered all my blemishes and gave me smoky eyes. She introduced me to skinny jeans and layering. She's really my guru when it comes to all things fashion or cosmetic.

Recently, I decided I wanted to try and be more...something. Girly, put together, professional. Any set of words that when stringed together would negate my entire college experience which encapsulated a lot of plain T-shirts, overalls and too light highlights. Something that would help me recover from 3 years of working in a Rock and Roll club where black eyeliner and teased hair with fishnets and micro mini's were the norm. I have always been a casual individual, but I felt the need to be an adult and look like a 29 year old woman with her life together (no need to mention the fact that I live at home with my parents.)

So, one morning, as I was blowing my stick straight hair dry with a round brush and mousse (which has been my "look" for the last 3 years), I noticed a large barrel curling iron plugged into the outlet. I flicked it on. Images of luxurious waves streaming down from the sides of my face with rays of light radiating from the red strands smoothed by the heat of the instrument that I would instinctively know how to use started flicking through my mind. I clicked off the dryer. I grabbed the iron. I pulled half of my hair (still partially damp as I don't usually blow the back dry) into a hair clip. "How hard can this be?" I asked myself, not realizing that a lack of sleep and caffeine were going to be my downfall on this day.

Hair, meet iron. Iron, meet ear. The scent of perfume mingling with burnt flesh is not an appealing aroma.

I burned myself on the first try. The hair I had so carefully wound around the large barrel of the curling iron had a slight curl in it...at the top, near the roots, where I had inadvertently crimped it. The ear was only a minor burn, but still smarted enough that it was a constant reminder throughout my work day that I had lost my woman card that morning. In the days since I have tried it again, and have gotten to a point where my hair at least looks like I TRIED to do something with it other than allowing it to plaster itself to my skull. Someday, maybe when I am older and able to multi-task/learn new tricks, I will be proficient enough to look put together. For now, I'll call my sister. Good thing she lives just down the hall.