I used to answer to the name “Elizabeth,” then “Lizzy,” then “Liz.” Eight years ago, I started answering to the name “Mommy” or “Hanna’s Mom,” then “Ellie’s Mom,” and most recently, “Chloe’s Mom” or “That Lady with the dirty mini-van.”

Somewhere in this loss of name has arisen an identity crisis of sorts. As someone’s Mom, I stopped worrying about my own likes; long walks on the beach, a fantastic glass of red wine, a book made for t.v. movie I could really sink my Fruit ‘N Nut bar into.

I thought long and hard en route to the store for Zoobles about how that list, along with my name has changed in the past eight years.

In the “likes” column:
 
Long drives to swimming lessons

Cheerios in a small container

Partially frozen juice boxes

The feel of finger paint squishing across the kitchen table

iCarly marathons

Snow days!

A good, lift-the-flap book.
 
Dislikes….crust

Not only has my name changed, even my husband calls me “Mommy.” My likes and dislikes are more in line with an eight year old than someone in their, ahem, early thirties.
 
Sometimes when I’m feeling like an adult, on a day when I dress in something other than pyjama chic meets yoga clearance rack, I realize volunteering for a class trip doesn’t make me an ass-kicking business woman. It’s contingent on having kids and specifically having kids in that particular school and classroom I have offered my services. You might show up showered, shaved and looking the part of Principal but the reality is, you’re a meagre sales rep for club parent and not invited to the school because of your outstanding achievement as a bus escort.

 Eyebrows, hair, jeans–yep those look like they belong to someone’s mother.

 My goal for 2012 is to find my name, draft a new list and make a long overdue trip to the store for a new pair of jeans.