Ever since I started the Ultimate Blog Challenge, some new readers have complimented me on my blog name and wondered how I came up with it. Well, here is a little history behind the name:

One night, I was parked in the high school parking lot waiting for my daughter to finish track practice. She had already sent me a text me earlier informing me to pick her up. My phone pinged with a text message. “Where r u?” she typed. “I’m parked across from the tennis courts.” I reply. “K” she types too preoccupied (or too cool) to type in the “O” A few minutes passed and I was concerned she couldn’t find me. I checked the time on my phone and sent a brief text to someone else. When I looked up, I saw Jenna’s long, blonde hair draped over her bright, blue backpack. She was walking in the wrong direction.

So, I did what any mother would do. I jumped out of the car, waved my arm in the air and yelled –“JENNA! I’M OVER HERE!” Now, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you the look of sheer humiliation on her face as she made her way towards my car. She opened the car door and I barely got out an apology before she laid into me about how parents should be seen and not heard.

As I tried to apologize yet again to the slumped over figure beside me, I had a thought. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a manual to advise me on how not to embarrass my daughter in broad daylight in front of her friends in the high school parking lot? A parenting manual would prevent so many “mom-fail” moments like this one. Without said manual, there is no sure-fire, 100% effective, 24/7, 365 days a year guide to raising children in the 21st century. My son and daughter amaze me every day. It is truly an honor to watch them grow up and be a part of their lives. I only hope I’m not screwing them up. If I do, I’ll help pay for their future therapists. Don’t you think there are times when a life manual would be totally awesome? I could have used said manual as a road map following my college graduation. With my liberal arts degree in hand, the only advice I had to go on was to follow my passion and find a way to make it into a career. Life is complicated. And let’s face it, we are all just winging it in our own spectacular way! A manual would be nice, but none of us have one. Thus was born the name of my blog – Life Without A Manual.

• Comments Off on How I Came Up With My Blog Name

Teaching my daughter to drive is not how I thought it would be. Initially, I was so excited that she reached this milestone. I’ve always been a strong proponent of her gaining new life skills like cooking a meal or taking more responsibilities around the house. And I thought I would be the best parent to show her the ropes, but ever since she received her permit I’ve learned otherwise. My husband is a much better teacher than I am. He has taken her on the turnpike, the highway and in the city. He has her driving in the rain and at night. He hands over the keys with much less trepidation than I do. For me, it has absolutely nothing to do with her and everything to do with me and my ever persistent anxiety. She is an excellent and careful driver. I know this. Even the driving instructor that we hired from the local professional driving school said she is a natural. This briefly reassured me but then I decided, he didn’t give birth to her. So his opinion, while valued, is irrelevant. My head tells me she knows the mechanics of driving a car and the rules of the road, but my heart keeps attacking me with a terrible case of the what ifs. What if a deer comes out of nowhere or a child chases a ball into the street? She doesn’t have the experience yet to expect the unexpected. And then my anxiety goes into overdrive. Like it did the other night. “What do you mean I can’t drive?” she said. It was a perfect fall evening and we had a short and very familiar distance to go.I had no good reason except that local weatherman Bill Henley said it might rain. Apparently, I put a lot of trust in Bill. Exasperated (and rightfully so), she took her place in the passenger seat, slammed the car door, scrunched into a tight ball, iPhone firmly in hand and that incredulous teenager look on her face. “I just want to drive somewhere and not have to worry about you getting us there.” I told her. Which by the way is the wrong thing to say when you are trying to raise a confident driver. “This is ridiculous. You know I need 20 more hours before I can take my test. How am I going to get them, huh?” I stayed silent letting the latest Taylor Swift song coming from the radio fill the void. “Are you even listening to me?” she asked not willing to be ignored. “Do I have a choice?” I sighed. At this point, I briefly considered pulling over and switching places, but I couldn’t let her drive mad. Could I? No. My father always said never drive angry. Meanwhile, she was furiously texting what I can only imagine to be something like “My mom is being a total bitch. It’s so unfair.” In a quieter and slightly calmer voice she asked, “Will you let me drive home?” “In the dark?!” I replied instinctively, not really meaning to say that out loud. Clearly, that was the wrong response.

• Comments Off on Handing Over the Keys

Every morning, I arrive outside the locked door to my office and have to stop in my tracks and hunt down my pass card to let myself in. I know it is in one of three bags that I have with me at all times – my purse, my tote and my lunch. The question is – which one? Usually, I can weed out the lunch first. Unless I had very little sleep the night before, there is no way I would ever put my pass card next to my turkey sandwich. That leaves one of two bags – both of which are stuffed with all kinds of crap. And to make it worse – I have a makeup bag and a nice size wallet. Basically, the damn pass card could be anywhere. This is when I get frustrated and proceed to unpack everything from my bags onto the lobby floor. So, if you ever see someone dumping the contents of their purse (and tote bag) on the ground muttering to herself wondering why she puts herself through this every day – that would be me. And to add to my embarrassment, a colleague will eventually show up see my mess, smile and let me in. Why can’t there be one big bag for all of my stuff? And why can’t that bag be large enough for my work folders, hairbrush and Kindle? And why can’t that bag cost less than $75. And why can’t that bag be one that is available in black, gray and navy – ooh and maybe an awesome red to stand out when I’m feeling particularly fashionable. Where is that bag? It is a quest I am willing to go on for all the women in the world who are just like me. Anyone? Anyone?    

• Comments Off on Today’s First World Problem