First time for everything

When I was a teenager, 30 seemed quite grown up and sophisticated. I knew some thirtysomethings and they really had it together. 30 was independence at its best. I'm 30+ with 2 kids, a husband, a 1950's tract house in a flat suburban landscape often cinematically represented as the epitome of dullness, 2 cars, three cats, and a middle class income. And I ask myself, "How did I get here?". I'm a stay-at-home-mom who in my teens and early 20's was wild and crazy and swore that I'd NEVER be caught dead in an environment that was anywhere near the type that my parents were raised. Now I'm one step away from the minivan (toyota sienna or honda odyssey?), girl scout cookie chairperson and hand making all my older daughters valentines. (June Cleaver, my hero). I love my family and actually enjoy the comforts of home. However, my question is, "How do I define myself outside of parenthood? Am I more than a Mom?" I have not found a career that inspires me and by the time I finally finish school I will be a grandmother. How can I write this without whining and self-pity? I have a strong opposition to blogging and the general look-at-me-ism rampant in American society. This need for attention and fame highlighted and intensified by, what? Reality TV? The Internet? De-personalization of communication (e-mail is the best way to get a hold of me...caller id....text msging)? Whatever. I don't want to buy into it, yet "it" is becoming more than a normal way of existing. It IS existence. So, here I am, beginning a blog, becoming a blogger. Becoming a contributor to the demise of all I held on to as belief. But this is not for you. Or you. Or you. This is for me. A search for "what's next" and "what else" and "where to". There's a first time for everything. Stuck in my stories of suburbia and motherhood, I forgot how to jump off the cliff. 1, 2, 3...splash!