Birthday Discombobulation by Liz

I've always had a love/hate relationship with my birthday.  Love the anticipation, hate the possible letdown.  And even though I'm not one of those people that needs a huge celebration each year,  I still always dread the inevitable birthday discombobulation. From the L&L  dictionary:

Birthday Discombobulation(birth-day dis-come-bob-you-lay-shun) The heightened sensitivity that one's birthday won't be the best day of the year.  Usually associated with erratic behavior, tears and possible temper tantrums.  Can be intensified by "milestone" birthdays.

C'mon, admit it-you've all had this at least a few times. Especially as more birthday candles keep mysteriously appearing on your cake each year. (How am I thirty-seven already? And when did all these damn wrinkles show up?)  For me, Birthday Discombobulation (or BD as I like to call it), usually starts a few weeks before the big day.  And it's often triggered because the Type A'er in me really, really wants to be in control  what we do that night.  Which should work out fine, right?

Well it would, except for the fact that there's a super secret sensitive beyotch lurking inside me that wants my husband to:

A) Read my mind about what I'd like to do.

B) Then plan it exactly the way I would.

And most importantly:

C) Buy me a gift that I didn't ask for but have always secretly wanted (mind reading also comes in handy here...).

Should be a piece of cake, right?  Um, no.  Not really.  The reality is that many of us make it impossible for our significant others to succeed in pleasing us on our birthdays.  In fact, last year, I had a MAJUH BD meltdown over a necklace (long story!  But you can read about it here).

And the lesson learned from that fiasco?  If you want to have a fabulous birthday, you need to cut the people around you a bit of slack. Well, okay, maybe that's what I should have learned. Because, here we are, less than one week from my bday, and I can feel the BD trying to take hold of me again. And I.  Must. Fight. It. Off.

They say self-awareness is the first step.  And now that I know this sh*t is about to take over my birthday again, I've developed a four-step BD avoidance plan.

Step One: Tell the hubs where I want to go to dinner that night. You know, somewhere fun, but not too loud, but not too quiet, that is really chic, but also not too expensive.  Somewhere with enough beautiful people to make me feel cool about being there, but not  so hawt that I feel fat and old. Oh, and no, I don't have anywhere specific in mind. See? I made it easy.

Step Two: Upgrade from birthday happy hour with the girls to full night GNO.  Well, okay, maybe my super fabulous friends put this into effect.  But either way, birthday GNO is the BEST! Say it with me: G-N-O, G-N-O!

Step Three: Fly your best friend in. Well, okay, maybe Lisa is already flying in that day for something else. But I'm going to pretend it's just for me.

Step Four: Realizing what a complete ass I sound like when whining about BD. And the fact that my husband practically needs a Xanax prescription each September to get through this time?  Not cool.  (In my defense, I do RAD stuff for his birthday every year!  So at least I'm not a BD hypocrite.)

Now I'm clearly ready for birthday success, right?  The first hurdle?  This coming weekend with the hubs. And I can just feel that THIS will be the year that I conquer BD.  And if for some reason I don't, well, I'll drown it in Grey Goose.

And since it's almost my birthday, I feel like giving something away.  How about two signed copies of our debut, I'll Have Who She's Having? It just won best debut novel over at Chick Lit Plus! Leave a comment here to enter and I'll choose a name on Friday night.

And to all my fellow Libra's, here's to BD-free birthdays!

xoxo, Liz

Mommy Monday- Yes or no to GNO? by Liz

Girls night out. Three beautiful words that always seem to light up the faces of whoever utters them.  Back in the day, it meant putting on your favorite pair of Seven jeans and going on the prowl for Mr. Right-dancing the night away at your favorite club and eating Jack in the Box at three in the morning.

And when I did find Mr. Right,  I was so smitten that I was willing to gain seventy pounds, not once, but TWICE in order to bear him two children.  And somewhere along the way I started saying N-O to GNO.

At first, it was because I was pregnant for what seemed like three years straight.  During which time I would only stay up past midnight when I was rocking a screaming baby.  Or cleaning their throw up off my pajamas. Or trying in vain to fall back asleep after my little darling crawled into our bed, giving me approximately three inches of space. (WHY do they always come to my side?)

And let's not even bring up those last ten pounds of  baby weight that was still firmly cemented on my body, making a mockery of me each time I dared try to squeeze into one of those old GNO tops that still hung in the back of the closet.

But something happened when my youngest turned two.  Finally able to get a good night's sleep, I  found the energy to care about more than how I could manipulate my daughter into picking the shortest book on her bookshelf to read that night or how to get my son to eat something other than pasta. And the baby weight?  I went on Weight Watchers and rid myself of that damn muffin top that had been plaguing me each time I shoved my ass into those Seven jeans.

I was back, baby!  It was time to get my GNO on.

I had GNOed sporadically during what I like to call the "battleground years".  But each time, all I could think of was the hell I would pay the next day.  That it would take me a week to recover from staying out too late and having a cocktail or two.  Or I'd be so tired that I'd almost fall asleep in my champagne, barely able to hold up my end of the conversation. And while my husband and I attempted to have a date night each month, I found myself daydreaming at dinner about getting a hotel room by myself so I could sleep in peace for a few hours.

Thank God those days were over- I had finally reached the promised land! Well-rested and sporting my pre-prego jeans, I was ready to take on the world! 

Happy hour? Bring on the half-priced appetizers!!

Friend just got dumped and needed some girl time to recuperate? I'm your gal! 

Want to celebrate your latest promotion? I'll have the champagne waiting!

The world was my oyster once more.  Or at the very least, I was going places where they served oysters instead of chicken strips and fries.

And it was about so much more than just having a glass of wine.  It was about reconnecting with the person I was before I had kids-the one who used to play tennis, read three books a week and was the life of the party. And cultivating all those beautiful friendships again that I missed so much. (There's only so many poo-poo and  spit up talks people are willing to have with you!)

While I love my kids and feel incredibly blessed to have them, I'm not ashamed to admit that there's a part of me that misses my pre-mommy self. And even though  I'll never again be the girl who dances on the tables, (long story!) I  like to think that by making time for myself every so often, I'll find a nice middle ground that both myself and my family can live with.  Because I don't believe that being a great mom means you have to give up who you used to be or the friendships that keep you grounded.

So next time you're invited to GNO-don't say N-O.  Remember that Mommy needs some me time too.  I'll see you there-I'll be the one toasting you from across the room.

Do you make time for yourself?  Leave a comment and be entered to win one of FOUR copies of Irene Zutell's breakout novel Pieces of Happily Ever After, an intriguing story about a mom who struggles to find herself after her husband dumps her for an A-list celebrity.

xo, Liz