Divorce and The Name Game

What's in a name?

Growing up, I liked my name just fine and would contentedly scribble MAK in 90s-style bubble letters on scraps of paper during boring classes (I'm talking to you, pre-calc!).  Other than that, I didn't give MAK any thought. Monogramming wasn't big then either, so I only had my initials inscribed on an L.L. Bean tote for my first year of teaching...it's like a rite of passage in the profession. Anyways, other than old scraps of loose leaf and my school bag, MAK was a non-issue.

Then I got married.  I loved my new name--it really rolled off the tongue and I adored my symmetrical initials-MAM. It was a monogrammist's dream.  Most importantly, I like all varieties of M&Ms and I took it as a sign from the universe that all that lay ahead for MAM was sweet, sweet love.

Since we know that my marriage imploded (I'm really holding back on dropping candy puns), four years after I'd become MAM, I stood in a depressing, taupe-colored court room, and asked a gruff, impatient judge permission to become MAK again.  Once I swore not to embark on a life of crime with my former name, or that I didn't have outstanding debts as MAM, he signed an official document, shoved in into his clerk's hands, and sent me on my way....divorced and in name purgatory until I could go through all the rigor-moral of changing my name (again). For months, I strolled around with two identities....just like Batman.  EJ was only a few weeks old and I couldn't find a second for myself, let alone time to haul it over to the DMV and Social Security Office.

Immediately, I started going by MAK at work, which was awkward, considering I worked with children who knew me by a completely different name.  My twenty students finally got into the MAK habit, only to look perplexed when former or younger students shouted and waved to MAM.  To add insult to injury, I had to drop "Mrs.", which parlayed into a confusing time referring to myself as "Miss" until one of my highly-intelligent (read it: smartass) students informed me that only girls under 18 can call themselves "Miss", and I was certainly "not anywhere close to 18."  I still don't know if he's right, but I was publicly shamed into believing it.  So, I was Ms. MAK by day and then Mrs. MAM on my license, at doctor's offices, the bank, etc. It always took me a good two seconds to think about what name to use or sign, depending upon where I was.

A few months later, I'd gotten into a grove with the whole mom thing, and MAK was feeling natural again.  Most importantly, I was feeling strong and decided that it was time to truly leave the past behind. Aside from all the government employees wishing me a heartfelt congratulations on my wedding and new name (before looking down at the divorce decree I'd handed them), it was a painless process....a mere couple of hours of my life.  But the outcome was momentous.  When the government gave me MAK back, something clicked for me.  I got an official do-over...and even have the piece of paper to prove it.

And until I figure out what I want to make happen with my old/new name, I'm going to monogram the shit out of stuff.

Toddler Scraps

I am a child of the 80's, so I will never forget that leaving food behind on my plate somehow affects African famine.  Growing up, uneaten heads of broccoli and stray macaroni noodles pushed to the side of my plate called for me to be reminded about the starving children in Africa.  My father would shake his head as he scraped leftover foold off of our dinner plates (my mom cooked and he cleaned up), and I just knew I was letting the children down. If my family and I were out at a restaurant (The Ground Round perhaps), and I didn't want to eat my last chicken tender, "We Are the World" or a Sally Struthers commercial would always come on in the background and I would then dutifully choke it down.  Food should not be wasted...think of the children.

These childhood experiences, coupled with my dessert-lovers' belief that baked goods are only really good on the first day, has made me a proud member of the clean-plate club.  Unless I am really REALLY full, I leave no morsel behind. It's the least I can do.

As a mom, this mindset has proved problematic.  Now I not only have to worry about offending the starving children with my uneaten food, but my son's as well.  And, since my toddler doesn't know about world hunger yet, his finicky-eater, two-year-old-self is perfectly content leaving A LOT of food behind on his plate.  And sometimes, I daresay, he doesn't even attempt to eat ANYTHING in front of him. What waste! So, I have selflessly taken on the roll of the family dog and I now eat all of the table scraps in my household.

The other day, my boy dumped half a bag of mini Lorna Doones on the floor and ran to the other side of the room to build blocks.  I quickly went over to the mess, and rather than sweep up the crumbs or make it into teachable moment about cleaning up after ourselves, I quickly picked up all the cookies and ate them. Phew, crisis averted.

In fact, my altruism has shown up a lot since my son started eating solids and I continually find myself having to right his food karma whether it be by eating the last spoonful of applesauce, half a fish stick, the bottom of a cupcake that he licked the icing off of (you don't leave cake behind at a birthday party!), cold mini blueberry pancakes, leftover oatmeal, 1/3 of a warm cheese stick, veggie straws that have fallen under the couch, and so on.  Don't even get me started on how he only eats the middle of bagels and bread and my stomach has become a pit for leftover crusts!

Now, as my clothes have become tighter, I'm faced with a dilemma.  I can't keep eating all of my food and his.  Although I could help the economy by buying a new larger-sized wardrobe, I'm trying to be fiscally responsible, so I've decided this: I will make and serve EJ's meals first and see what he doesn't finish. Then I will decide what's not totally gross (he has started picking his nose), and see what I can do.  If he miraculously cleans his plate, then I can go on to happily blend my kale smoothies and eat my ice cream (sharp contrast, I know) and not further contribute to the world hunger problem.   I'll let you know how it goes, but for good measure, I'll be increasing my contributions to our school food drives and running a 10K for hunger in the fall.  I anticipate needing to put a lot of good food juju back into the universe for this child.

Junebug

Well...it's been a while.  A week turned into two, then three and four, and then I just decided to take the whole month of June off from writing.  It WAS a busy month, but I really think I was being a brat because I entered a writing contest and didn't make it past the first round.  I mean, they were looking for people with a huge online following (people with more than 11 twitter followers like myself...who have tweeted or twatted or whatever more than 6 times), but I took it personally and subconsciously decided to pout for a bit. I'm a self-saboteur that way....if I can't do it perfectly, why even bother?

So there I was, chugging along in June, not bothering to write about any of the funny/weird/happy/sad things I was encountering.  I'll show you, contest judges, silent brooding gets you far!  I had a girls night out a (well, a girls evening out...dinner was at 6), and after some mild debauchery (that sensibly ended in time to catch the 11:37 back to the suburbs), my friend said, "you HAVE to write about this!"

"Noooo," I replied, "I'm not doing that anymore, I think.  There's noooo point to it...it's not like I'm helping anyone or anything, and my life is soooo not that interesting.  The whole thing is dumb."  And then I crossed my arms and dropped the subject.  If I could've whipped my thumb out and sucked it, I would have.  Wah wah.

Anyways, I see now that there is both no point and every point to doing this.  Life is funny, weird, happy, and sad and I have access to a keyboard.  So, mama's back.