Celebs and normal, everyday folk alike, are jumping on board of a trend that fascinates me- vow renewal parties. Heidi Klum and Seal have reportedly renewed their vows and put on a huge wedding-like shindig on their anniversary every year of their five-year marriage. Overkill or simply keeping the romance alive?

Having been married over eight years myself, I have definitely witnessed first hand the “for better or for worse” that manages to weave through the delicate fabric that is marriage. Every year for our anniversary, the Husband and I celebrate another year of wedded bliss by going away, at least overnight, sometimes for the weekend, and we park the kiddos gratefully, at Grandma’s. But, in keeping with the new Vow renewal trend, it seems that our annual jaunt to San Francisco pales in comparison to what some couples have planned for their vow renewal parties.

Is a vow renewal just another reason to be the center of attention and throw a big huge party, or is it a reward for having spent every day of your waking life next to a person who chews his ice so loud while watching t.v. that you wonder how it is that he has any teeth at all, for the past eight years? I’m all for throwing a party, buuuuuuuuhhh-lieve me on that one, but should you get to have a complete wedding do-over after only one, two, or five years of marriage?

My jaw was on the sidewalk as I listened to (okay, eavesdropped on) a mom at the park telling her friend all about her upcoming vow renewal party with her husband of six years- “It’s at the Biltmore in Santa Barbara, and we have 140 guests, and I’m having my second dress fitting at Nordie’s next Wednesday, and ‘my girls’ are flying down next weekend for a champagne brunch and bridal shower, then to have their final dress fittings…” wait a minute, I thought, you’ve been married for six years, you’re your having an enormously elaborate party, complete with seven bridesmaids??? Are you kidding me right now? I was even more intrigued, and tuned-in with my canine-worthy, bartender and mother hearing capabilities and listened closer, “We’re having the bachelorette party in Vail, and since there aren’t any strip clubs actually in Vail, we are flying these guys in from Chippendale’s to give us a private show….” SHUT the front door- you get to have a bachelorette party for a vow renewal? Really? I continued to eavesdrop, “we are having Spago cater the shower and the party, even though it’s going to be about $290 per person, it’s totally worth it- I mean, we have been married for SIX whole years!” Try eight on for size, girlfriend, I wanted to say, but instead continued my spy mission, “….and then my husband suggested Restoration Hardware, which I didn’t even know had a bridal registry, but they do, so we registered there and Williams Sonoma too…” Before I could grab them back, the words just came bubbling up and out of my mouth, “Are you kidding me right now? You have two gift registries for a frickin’ vow renewal? Who DOES that???” I said aloud. Whoopsies. The mom looked at me in utter shock and surprise, and there was nothing I could say, but yell accross the playground, “Alright kids, who wants to go get Dairy Queen?” As my kids came running to follow me like a moth to a flame, I quickly turned and briskly walked to my car.

That night, after three glasses of Chardonnay, and a couple, or nine, episodes of “Say Yes to the Dress”, I was still thinking about the mom at the park and her lavish, insane vow renewal wedding/party/overt display of wealth and/or debt up to her eyebrows, and I was definitely becoming more of a Bitter Betty with each sip. Tipsily, I called out to the Husband, who was in the garage tinkering on his latest remote control obsession, “Come in here for a minute, I wanna ask you something…” I yelled through two walls from the corner of the couch, where I had been watching bride after bride parade around in all of their lacy white and beaded splendor for two and a half hours. “You’re still watching that?” he says as he points to the television. Without answering, I blurt out “I wanna vow renewal, I mean a party for our wedding, you know, for our vows, a party with a pretty dress and crown and girls and champagne and stuff!” I slur, as he looks at me with an expression more blank than a sheet of copier paper. “You know, for our voooooowwwws!” Nothing. I continued, “I mean,like a wedding, but another one, a newer one, for the vows?” I was hazily trying to plead my case. With no response, and like he was backing away from a rattlesnake that he encountered on a hiking trail, he slowly backed away from the couch where I was sitting, then turned back toward me, right before he stepped back into his safe man-cave haven that is the garage, and calmly stated very matter-of-factly, “we already had a wedding- we’re still married, silly!” And with that my hopes and visions of a vow renewal party were dashed upon the jagged boulders of reality.

Though I’ve shelved the idea of a vow renewal party in lieu of a trip to Italy for our 10 year anniversary, though more likely, it will be closer to our 15th anniversary that we’re able to take on such an expense. But, in all honesty, there is still a small part of me that is wondering if vows really are like the brakes on your car, where it’s unsafe to operate your vehicle without having them changed at a certain point, and if you don’t, it can lead to drastic consequences, or is it simply just another reason to throw a party?

Yay! School starts for my kids in 2 weeks, one day, seven hours and 46 minutes!!!! Unlike a lot of my counterparts in our rather affluent area of residence, I have not had the privilege of having my kids in any type of summer program this year. I even entertained the thought of pretending that I was religious, maybe Catholic or Jewish-  just for a week, if it meant that my kids could go to free vacation bible school and give me a flippin’ break for a few hours. But, I bit the bullet, entertained, refereed and wrangled my kids for an entire summer, and lived to tell about it. We did have some really fun days, like the two days we went swimming at my girlfriends house, or the day we went to San Francisco and walked all over the city. We also did cool stuff like play on the trampoline in the backyard, and go on bike rides. I worked very hard on being “present”, and also at not screaming, “stop pestering your brother/sister!” at the top of my lungs, five times a day.

One day, at the grocery store, I overheard two women talking. Neither had one kid trying to hang from the door handle in the freezer aisle, while the other kid was precariously reaching for crazy straws and about to knock the whole shopping cart over, like my two kids were. They were carefree and kid-free, meandering aimlessly, and very trophy-wifely around the store. The perfectly coiffed and svelte blonde lady said to the chic-even-in-yoga-pants-still-perfectly-made-up-even-after-the-gym brunette lady, “I am SO ready for school to start! Between Sophia’s ballet camp, princess camp, math enrichment camp and get-ready-for-preschool camp, and Maddie’s little genius camp, gymnastics camp, and after-school-even-when-there-is-no-school-club, I am just so tired of my kids!” The brunette lady retorted, “RII-IGHT??? I totally understand what you’re going through! After we summer’ed in St. Thomas for three weeks, on the weekend of the last week, our nanny had to visit her family in Mexico, and we had to deal with our kids for two whole days THEN the entire flight home! Can you imagine? The nerve of her…” “Tsk…tsk…tsk”, the blonde lady answered as she shook her head in disbelief. I literally stood there, with my kids wrecking shop in the grocery store, and my mouth completely agape.

If you can afford to have your kids in all-day camps every day for three months, “summer” in St. Thomas with a nanny, spend your days getting your hair done, doing Zumba, tanning, getting mani-pedi’s, going to luncheons, and having your ass waxed, more power to you. In fact a small part of me is green with envy, okay, I am totally Gumby-green, I am so jealous. But, at the end of the summer, I can take a deep breath, march my kids to their first day of school, and walk back to my empty car with the satisfaction of  knowing that the three of us- we created memories, Man! We survived summer, we conquered the long, hot days, and my kids are still alive after three months of fighting with each other and whining to me that they’re bored. I have new badges to add to my ” mother-stripes” on my lapel. I should win some type of award for surviving a summer with no break from my 5 and 7 year old.

In fact, I have decided that I am grateful for my last summer with my crazy kids, before my little one goes to Kindergarten, and my oldest goes to 2nd grade. Yes, there were days I ripped my hair out (literally), tears were shed, wine was poured, and a Prozac prescription was filled, but my kids will always have the memories that we made this summer. I wouldn’t trade it to be either of the ladies at the grocery store… well, maybe just for one day.

The journey has begun… I am finally being certified as a birth and postpartum doula, breastfeeding coach, and childbirth educator, all at the same time! What is a doula, you ask? Well initially, it was a Greek word that literally translates to “female slave”- hmmm, I’ve always thought that was the direct  translation for the word “wife”? I digress… so a doula is essentially a labor companion and  support person for the birthing mother, and often helps the whole family after the birth, as well.

So- that is my new job description, in a nutshell! With a giant leap of faith, and a ton of learning and studying about amazing vaginas and uteruses, (is that the correct grammar? Is there a plural form, such as vaginai, or uteri? I guess I haven’t got to that part of the textbook yet?), it has been determined that I am a certified doula, that is, after I supervise two births.

Perfect! I have supervised two births- they are sitting right in front of me on the carpet eating Doritos for breakfast and watching “Yo, Gabba Gabba”! Certainly the fact that I directly supervised them emerge from my own body, then directly supervised the four stitches that followed (three from tearing, one ‘extra stitch’- a little postpartum gift from my OB), then I directly supervised months of swollen, leaky boobs and cracked nipples, and now I directly supervise the pervasive “muffin top” that I still blame on my pregnancy weight gain, from five years ago!

My rationalization sadly, did not convince the Board of Doula Certification, and in order to hold that coveted slip of paper in my hand, I must supervise two births, and in small print, the rules clearly say that they can not be of my own loins (in case you’re really sick of me saying ‘vagina’). This makes sense, of course- all professionals must practice before they graduate to having a practice of their own.  Hairstylists practice on doll heads in beauty school, doctors practice on cadavers, and doulas, well, actually, we actually practice on live, birthing mothers! At least until my invention of the blow-up pregnant and giving birth doll, complete with copious amounts of spilling bodily fluids, sharp-tongued obscenities recorded and played to an unnerved husband, and a slippery, screaming baby that emerges after 21 1/2 hours, is patented and marketed sufficiently, we are blessed to have living, breathing individuals on whom we practice our methods of labor support.

The tricky part for a new doula, is finding these willing participants. There is a super cute preggo mama in my Zumba class- I have often thought about how to approach her to offer my services. So far, my idea goes something like this, “Hi, you are such a beautiful pregnant woman!” I would chime cheerfully, “Here’s my card- I would love to volunteer to support you in the birth of your baby!” I would say with confidence and poise, until she pauses and looks at me a little funny, then I would explain, “I’m not a stalker, or obsessed with pregnant women, well actually, I sort of am, which is why I chose my profession- not being a stalker, but more like a pregnant-woman-obsesser, well, and a baby-obsesser too. But, I’m not a weirdo or anything.  Plus, because I’ve been trained to handle all birthing situations, you won’t have to be embarrassed at all if a little something comes out while you’re pushing your baby out- ’cause I’m totally trained to handle that kind of stuff, because I’m a healthcare professional! I am so open-minded, that even if you don’t shave your down-there action, I would never judge you- let’s face it- it takes a contortionist to weed-whack down there when your 9 months preggo! Even if you can braid it- I won’t say a single word- I won’t even think of making up song lyrics like, ‘do your pubes hang low? Do they dangle to and fro…. can you tie ‘em in a knot, can you tie ‘em in a bow?’- isn’t it funny how sometimes songs can just get stuck in your head?   Soooo- when are you due, again?”

Still practicing my approach…

For all of us mamas who gave up illustrious careers to become stay-at-home mothers, it may be a fantasy to go back to the bustling business woman that you were before. In my case, I was a manager of a $9 million menswear division for Nordstrom in Los Angeles. I wore a designer suit and high heels, and matching bra and panties every single day. I had coffee breaks in the mornings, and lunch meetings in the afternoons. I was sent to meetings in Las Vegas, Palm Springs, and all over Southern California. I had an office, I had “people” that I was in charge of, I had reports and numbers, bar graphs and pie charts, and most importantly, a very thick employee discount at Nordstrom!

But, that was ten years ago. Matching bras and panties haven’t been a part of my wardrobe in so long. The only thing I could do matchy-matchy with is a black bra and my black Spanx with the hole in the waistband. Nothing like the gorgeous, intricate Felina underpinnings of my past. And the term wardrobe is used quite loosely- more like pile of yoga pants (all black), bra-top camis, and velour track suits that are easy to snatch off of the top of my dresser (or the floor), in my disheveled rush out the door to get my kids to school on time. I can’t remember the last time that I had a “coffee break” without one or both of my children running all over Starbucks, asking for another chocolate milk, or more “shell cookies.” I haven’t been in charge of $9 million worth of inventory for a long time, that’s for damn sure! But I have been in charge of selling a house we couldn’t afford, doing our taxes and managing a mountain of debt. I haven’t had “people” in so long that I surely wouldn’t remember how to manage them! Unless you count the little people that I currently manage, but I somehow don’t think that “If you call your brother a jackass one more time, you will not play wii for three days!” is very effective in the workplace.

Alas, I have come to realize that the power business woman that I once was, is very likely just another chapter in my book, but the question of “what now?” remains a very real one. I don’t regret my decision to give up my fashion career for motherhood. Sure, I may not run huge seminars, take clients to decadent restaurants in Santa Monica, or attend meetings in buildings who’s address contain the words, “Wilshire Blvd.” But, I have run a couple of Daisy-girl troop meetings, I was in charge of our class auction basket last year, and I know where  every McDonald’s with an indoor playground is, within four cities. For now, I’m just trying to think of how to make that look enticing on my resume…

Last week, we had the priveledge of having an extended tour of a firestation. A customer of mine heard about my (Son’s) obsession with firemen and firestations, and offered for us to come visit at his. So, we took him up on it, and it was one of the funnest day trips I’ve had with my kids!

Clayton checking out the exercise equipment

"Driving" the fire engine!

Just in case you’re wondering why my kid is wearing pajamas- it was pajama day at school that day, and I was in such a rush and so excited to go to the fire station, that I forgot to bring her a change of clothes. Bad Mommy.

The kids got a ride on the golf cart- I did too! I jumped off just to take the picture!

Avery was running all around, and tripped and fell head-first into a mud puddle. She gets her gracefulness from me...

Me with my little fireman, and one mud-soaked Avery

My favorite Fireman- Fireman Dave

So, I don’t have another visit lined up to a fire station anytime soon, but in case you are thinking of coordinating one, let me know! I’d be more than happy to help chaperone…