The Dangers of Coffee Shop Thinking

I'm sitting in a coffee shop attached to a giant bookstore, sipping a chai latte and reading a book I heard about on NPR a few days ago. There's a man next to me that may or may not be blind. He's carrying a walking stick and tapping it on the ground periodically yet he appears to be able to see, evidenced by his ability to retrieve his own drink without the use of his walking stick. There's a couple behind me busy on their computers and cell phones who look like they may be using the coffee shop as their office. It's pouring rain outside, as it has done for the past 2 or 3 days, apparently in defiance of the fact that we live in a desert. The rain totals over the past few days double the amount of rain we've received in the three years we've lived here. I'm not complaining, I love the rain. It is unusual though. But no more unusual than the fact I live in Las Vegas, am 39 years old (okay, 39 1/2), am raising two girls and am unemployed. I'm pretty sure my 6th grade essay on "What I Want To Do When I Grow Up" didn't include any of things, even the part about being 39 1/2 (which is really the same as 40 minus 1/2, which seems impossible).


The mom part I get. I love kids, sometimes I love other kids more than mine own, however. Not really but I have more patience with other people's children. When other kids don't listen, they are being kids and I give them a break. When mine don't listen, they are being brats and I get mad. When other kids spill on my couch, I smile and say it's an accident. When my kids do it, I yell things like "haven't I told you not to sit on the couch when you're drinking juice!" When other kids walk down the street to a friend's house, I think they're so independent. When my kids do the same, I swallow my heart and watch them from the front window for as long as I can.


The living in the desert part of my life is a head scratcher. I'm a beach girl, born and raised in Southern California and other than for 4 months in London and a few summers in Dallas, I had never lived further than 40 minutes from the beach and usually only 4 blocks. It's not even the beach, sand and the sun I love (remember, I love the rain) but it's the lifestyle. It's wearing flip flops and a baseball cap any time of the year. It's walking out your front door to the local coffee and bagel shop and seeing the same faces doing the morning crossword puzzle or feeding their dogs muffin crumbs and having the older ladies make googly eyes over your baby that you wanted to throttle last night when she wouldn't sleep for 3 hours straight. It's being able to hear your neighbor's muffled voices when they fight or laugh or have a party because the homes are just an arm span apart. As a kid, our living room window faced my friend's bedroom window and I could stand in my house, with the window open, and talk to her in her house. It was brilliant.


Having two girls is also quite plausible since once you've decided to have children the gender is basically a flip of the coin. Having two girly girls, however, is another head scratcher. I was/am a tomboy. I played soccer, softball, tennis and volleyball. I played Ditch'Em until I was 15 years old when I distinctly remember hiding in a shrub in my neighbors yard with dirt on my knees and elbows and thinking "I probably need to stop playing this game" and being more than a bit sad about it. I wore O.P. shorts and tube socks with the colored stripes on the top (more about this later). My first pair of O.P.s were bought at Goat Hill in Manhattan Beach. They were dark blue corduroy with the trademark wooden button. I was 6 years old and so proud to put them on that I wasn't even embarrassed that I had to wear a belt to keep them up. My pride was diminished, but not extinguished, when the older boys in my neighborhood teased me about that. Apparently O.P.s and belts don't go together. Try telling that to a 6 year old girl wearing her first pair!


Granted my girls are still young and I hold out hope that they'll find their inner tomboy but as of now they are all Princesses and fairies and rainbows (plus the occasional unicorn). My 5 year old, Ryan, wears only skirts and dresses. She hasn't had on a pair of pants, other than those that can be counted as pajamas, in over a year. "Pants are for boys. They're not pretty mom!", she insists. When I point out that I wear pants and other very pretty moms wear pants, she just kind of shrugs and says she'll stick with skirts. My 4 year old, Sam, is more open to suggestion. She even put on a pair of jeans the other day! She warmed my heart this morning when she said she wanted to invite a couple of boys in her class over for a play date because they like cars and she wants to show them hers.

It's not that I'm against girly girl things, in fact I've grown to embrace braiding their hair and putting their dolls to bed, but I just am not as familiar with most of these activities. I can't remember ever playing with Barbies or taking my stuffed animal dog on a walk or dressing up as Princess Ariel. I liked erector sets and MatchBox cars and games that included balls of any kind. I built elaborate scooters with my friend Patrick in his dad's garage. Our scooters had brakes and real steering and were more fun to build than ride most of the time. My girls seem to be cut from a different mold and I'm learning to love that about them.


The unemployed part I can guarantee you wasn't part of the plan. I loved school and generally excelled in most subjects. I was a quick learner, got good grades without having to try too hard and went on to college and grad school where I received my MBA. Prior to my current role as stay at home mom (although most moms can tell you that's not really an accurate description; for me it's more like "stay on the tennis court, karate dojo, go to the market and Target mom") I worked at an advertising agency, as a stock broker and then as an investment banker for 8 years. I was good, but not great, at my jobs but never found a perfect fit. When my second child was born and my husband started commuting from LA to Las Vegas, I called it quits figuring two kids under the age of 18 months was enough for awhile and I could easily return to work when the time seemed right. It's four years later and although the time has seemed right for quite some time, the ease of finding "the right fit" hasn't materialized as of yet. I feel my brain atrophying as we speak. It's so far atrophied that I'm not even sure atrophying is a word - I have to look it up. It is a word, yea! Score one for me.

It's not unusual for me to wonder how I got here, to be sitting in a coffee shop in the desert, waiting until school gets out so I can pick up my girls and hear how I really need to learn how to french braid their hair. (FYI - there are no pats on the back for learning regular braiding. Apparently that's a given like providing a bed for your child whereas french braids would be like providing them with a bunk bed). Shouldn't I be conducting a highly important business meeting or creating a flying car or celebrating the World Peace Treaty 2010 that I single-handedly negotiated amongst all 200 nations? I can't help but wonder, have I failed to live up to my potential?