I think that I had my mid-life crisis about six years ago. You know, the whole what have I done with my life, existential woe is me, raising my children just doesn’t cut it kind of thing. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. I am over that. I get the importance of what I do. Even if there is no weekly pay check to tell me how important I am the very fact that I can’t go to the washroom without someone looking for me tells me that what I do is important to my family. A pay check would be nicer, but I’ll take what I’ve got.
So here’s the thing, I feel like I want change. No, I want CHANGE. Maybe it has to do with my attention span – not the longest. Or maybe it’s a premenopausal kind of thing (and yes my doctor told me that I am PRE menopausal). I want an adventure. I want us to go somewhere and start all over again. Did I say us? I guess I don’t want so much change. We have to go somewhere that has good public schools, good universities, where the kids won’t have too much trouble making friends, where my husband can work-I know that he will not want to start over again, but this is my fantasy. Somewhere that the weather is not too hot. Forget the tropics. Forget the States I love our government and our somewhat socialist system ( I just lost any American readers that I may have). We need to go somewhere that my kids will be safe. Sorry, but I don’t trust the anti-semitism in Europe (I just lost any European readers). That leaves good old Canada. The west coast is too expensive and the east coast while being my favourite place to visit in the summer has winter weather that I don’t want to deal with. Everywhere in between is well, in between. That leaves Ontario. I grew up in Toronto and have fallen out of love with it. It’s too much. Too much everything (did I just lose any family that reads this?). So I guess that this is where I’ll stay. Close enough to those I love and far enough from the daily headache.
What can I change? I cut my hair off in the summer before Israel. I don’t know why I try to grow it every couple of years – oh yeah, that change thing. I coloured it differently for fall, darker and more red just like the leaves : ) I’ve started running again, even meeting the girls at the Y on Tuesday mornings (we’ll see how long that lasts). The only thing left is my name. I have a perfectly fine 1960’s kind of name. If you knew it I bet you could think of at least 5 other women in my age range with the same name. I think I want to be Lola. Lola is fun. Lola is a little sexy. Lola does NOT check for lice in strange kids’ hair. Lola’s husband looks at her with a dazzled, ‘I can’t believe I was lucky enough to get her’ look on his face every time she walks into a room. Lola’s kids know how lucky they are to have this exciting vivacious woman for their very own mother. Lola’s friends are thrilled to see her because they know the fun begins when she’s around. Lola does not have to be a show girl does she? Can’t Lola be a mom? This Lola can. Lola is not afraid of heights, enclosed spaces, something happening to her family, the decline of the world, the rise in anti-semitism, kids getting to bed on time and waking up on time or anything else for that matter. Lola is a force to be reckoned with. A fun force to be reckoned with.
Crikey, (Lola says crikey) I think I have to stop reading trashy novels and have a girls’ weekend or something.