I Invented Motherhood

(tap, tap, tap) Is this thing still on?

2010-05-19T08:50:00.000-07:00

Hi!

Are you still here? Me, too! Well, I'm not here here, but I'm here, often here and very often here, too.

Did you miss me? I miss you!

If you're still here, won't you come over to my new place and hang out?

Here's what I wrote over there today.

+ + +

Right now, I am sitting on a blue couch in my home office. I am still wearing my pajamas even though it’s almost noon. I am listening to my children shuffle around, one fighting with her closet door, the other deep in a sigh.

Right now, I am cognizant of the clicking of my nails against the keyboard of my laptop. My hands are dry, reacting to the attempts at removing stains from my daughter’s school clothes. They are sticking to the computer, reacting to the change in temperature against the warmth of the battery. Right now, I am wondering if I am causing myself some kind of harm from sitting under the battery of a laptop. Right now, I don’t really want to find out.

Right now, I hear the sounds of the neighborhood, trash can lids slamming against their hard plastic basins, the wheels rolling against uneven pavement. I decide that these are the Wednesday sounds of working from home, but then acknowledge that it is merely my experience of the sound of this particular moment. A car passes.

Right now, I am concerned that if you are reading this, you are wondering, “What is the point?” I am wondering that, too. I hear a sound from above. Is it a bird on the roof or a rat in the attic? I am choosing to believe it is a bird.

Right now, I am missing my husband, for whom I’ve found a new appreciation since we now share the same working space, our home. I am grateful for the changes we have made in our lives that have taken us from working for employers to forming a professional partnership together and piecing together our strengths into a new collaboration. I am hoping he is able to surprise the children at their swim lessons later today. I am amazed at how much progress they have made in a year. I realize that I use the word “amaze” and its various forms ALL THE TIME. I consider that if there is a word to overuse, “amaze” is pretty cool, because it does reflect the awe with which I see the world and its infinite possibilities. Right now, I’m wondering if I’m sounding kind of woo woo. I use woo woo all the time, too. I am willing to be perceived as woo woo right now, but not always.

Right now, my stomach growled, but I know I am not hungry. I hear my son’s voice and wonder how soon the children will begin fighting over their game of Monopoly. I think about what it is to be the younger sister, and how kind her brother is to read to her instead of taking advantage that she does not yet read and making up rules to manipulate the game and her. I hear the tone of their voices change. I wonder if when someone is going to yell, “MOMMY!” I sigh and wait. I notice I am thirsty. My lips are dry, but not as dry as my hands.

Right now, I am hoping you are still reading because I think I’m about ready to make a point, though I am willing to believe that you will also get the point even if I don’t explain it. Right now is all we have. The story changes constantly, as does the mind’s interpretation of the circumstances. Right now, I have an instinct to push “Move to Trash” instead of Publish. I think there is a better way to make this point. I think I may write that another day. I consider that there are myriad ways to make the same point and that it is a point to keep making.

I hear the dryer beeping from the garage below. I am wishing that the laundry would fold itself and find its way to “away.” I consider if the children have abandoned their board game. I hear an airplane overhead.

Right now, I am scanning the page to see if these words are good enough. I feel an emptiness in my stomach when I type, read, and think about “good enough” because I know so many who believe they are not. Right now, I wish them the opportunity to see themselves as I do. My boy sneezes.

Right now, I feel the beating of my heart. I look down and notice how gently my pajama shirt rises with each inhalation and exhalation. I am thinking this is as close to meditating as I’m getting today. I look at the clock. After noon now, and still, pajamas. I love their colors, white, light pink, darker pink and a deep pink that verges towards purple, the pink of an accidental pomegranate stain but it’s not. I think my toes should be one of these colors instead of the Smurfy blue I chose last week.

Right now, I have copied a Note from the Universe that sums up what I want to say.

Karen, in the time that it takes you to read this short Note, you could have planted a new image in your mind (anything you like, ideally with an emotional charge); I could have reacted (realigning planets, people, and the sort), and the floodgates would’ve begun trembling violently as we’d have been drawn infinitely closer to manifesting the vision you’d chosen.

Fortunately, there’s still time.

Hot dog,
The Universe

Right now, I have just read this piece, and made some significant changes that you’ll never see. Right now, I am hopeful that something has connected for you, that you, too, notice how quickly your thoughts change and how much influence you actually have in being present to everything that is around you; to allow for the kind of thoughts that will help you to create the life you want, the kind that makes you almost embarrassed to talk about because it’s so good and so aligned with everything that matters to you. I think about what the world would be like if all the inhabitants lived fulfilled all the time. I wonder if writing this will be a catalyst for a reader to make a big change towards finding their own light.

Right now, I am satisfied that writing something is better than writing nothing. I hear the mail truck accelerating, then slowing to a stop nearby. Right now, I am amused myself at the passing thought of writing all of my blog posts like this. I remember that a prescription is ready at the pharmacy and we are almost out of milk.

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See, it's still me, just in a different location. Come on over, won't you?

This will be the last time

2008-12-07T18:55:00.000-08:00

It was almost a year ago that I wrote about one of those heartbreakingly-bittersweet parenting moments of my little girl growing up. And guess what's happened since then?

Guess.

(I bet you already know the answer, too.)

My kids are growing up and I am too.

* * *

The summer came and went. I started a new job and began carving out a niche for my new business. I also stopped writing about my kids.

See, the big one is reading now. Reading all by himself. The little one isn't far behind, I'm sure. They have relationships that are independent of me and I am spending more time independent of them. It feels less appropriate for me to meddle and report.

Besides, these stories were never really about them; they were, and have always been, about my changes as a person and as a mother.

* * *

This will be the last time I'm posting here at I Invented Motherhood. As you know, my return to work last year came with a lot of figuring things out, both personally and professionally.

I started working with clients this summer. Some are looking to make career transformations, others are women looking to figure out how to be professionals and mothers. Some are neither mothers nor professionals. A few need some help figuring out what they want to figure out, so that's what I do.

I listen and ask questions. I guide and support. I help people create the time and space to figure out what they want and then what they need to do get it, whatever "it" may be.

My "it" has changed, too. For as much as I love writing and sharing my stories, my focus is somewhere else. Writing here, pseudo-anonomously, doesn't make practical sense for me.

Come find me at Motherhood. Reinvented. I'm on Facebook and Twitter, too. Please, don't be a stranger.

* * *

In October, my baby girl turned four. (She's since asked me to stop calling her baby, but since she's four and also my baby that's simply not going to happen.) One day, she was in a toddler bed and the next, she was in a real big girl bed (the kind in which grown ups can also fit). I thought I'd be more sad, expecting a bit of misting up at the end of the baby era in our home and family.

Instead, I found myself caught up in her abundant joy of discovering the next great thing!

Then she asked me when she could drive my car.

How I'm Spending My Summer Vacation

2008-07-24T16:48:00.000-07:00

It is not lost on me, not for one second, that grownups are not entitled to experience summer the same way children are.

It's not bad, just different.

Regardless, summer is my favorite time of year. It always has been and will always be, no matter the circumstances. Not coincidentally, I've noticed that our adult summers seem to be filled with change and transition -- perhaps it is the excess of daylight that gives rise to added productivity.

What follows is a brief chronicle of our summer days and thoughts.

In June, we took our sort of annual trip up the coast of our fine state, this time ending up in Pismo Beach.

In case you're not from here, I'll let you in on a little secret...June at the edge of the Pacific isn't remotely warm or balmy. It's not the California you see on television or in movies. Despite the known "June Gloom," when the kids have a few days off, even if its chilly and overcast, we like to make the best of an uncrowded beach trip.

Even though it's cold, it's still very pretty.

We packed up our sand toys and headed even further up the coast to Monterey. Rafe and I had always wanted to see the Monterey Bay Aquarium and decided that we'd take the opportunity to drive a few extra hundred miles to pay a visit.

We took the scenic drive down Highway One back to our ~~resort~~ motel, remembering how stunning the rugged coastline is and also how our ~~difficult, young, tired, hungry, overstimulated~~ children aren't really interested in ~~never-ending lengthy car rides~~ scenic vistas.

On our drive back home, we made a quick stop in Santa Ynez to replenish the supply of our house wine (scroll down for the Pinot Noir), having had quite enough of the whine already in our possession.

The Santa Ynez wine country is our newfound oasis. It's an easy day trip and a fun place to spend an afternoon with our dear friends, drinking companions, and partners in mischief (who also happen to be Rafe's sister and her husband), Auntie Banana (happy birthday Auntie B!) and Uncle C (the monkey's uncle).

Every time we go, we see things we imagine the kids will love, but I've been reluctant to share this place with the children for many reasons, not the least of which includes my desire to enjoy my children's company and wine separately -- as much as I enjoy both, I cannot enjoy them simultaneously. Anyway, we thought the kids would adore the miniature horses, tiny equestrian specimens roughly the size of our dog, that we've seen time and again along the route to some favorite vineyards.

They were mostly indifferent. (I mean the kids, though I guess the horses were, too.)

We returned to life as we know it.

Though as it has been in the past, this summer has again found us in transition and making big changes. My husband left his full-time gig, his lengthy commute and his after hours consulting to become a consultant full-time, giving his expertise on his terms. When he explained to colleagues that he was resigning and moving on, he didn't describe it in terms of his career advancement or the pursuit of a new venture, he explained that he was changing his life. It is a wonderful thing.

Following closely in his shadow, I have also given notice with my transitional employers and will begin my dream job in a few weeks. In short summary: it's part-time with benefits, in an organization I love with a leader I respect and admire, and by the way, it's ten minutes from home. I am elated. Sometimes I skip to my car on my way out the door of my office. (Okay, not literally, but I've still got a week so it might happen.)

To get us through some of the summer juggle, the kids have been heavily enrolled in summer camp. They come home tired and dirty, pockets and backpacks filled with crafts and treasures.

We've still had time for some family outings (so much easier now with Daddy's flexible schedule!), some extra long play dates, a lot of picnic dinners, countless bubble blowing sessions and trips planned to amusement parks, county fairs and ball games.

In what I perceive as an homage to the many children who have summered before them, my little darlings have built a "clubhouse."

In case you can't read it, the sign states:
The people can come 6 and under can go in our tent.

Yes, my boy wrote this all by himself. My boy who will be turning six in a few weeks and entering the first grade (with his own desk!) in September. I am grateful that he has extended the "club" to include his little sister and to exclude the grownups (though I'm willing to wager that he'd extend an invitation to grandparents, and even a special aunt and uncle, if asked, tickled, or bribed).

Not every kid would.

And so, my dear friends and gentle readers, I am going to close the curtain on this blog. With a new job starting, children returning to school, trips planned and a desire to focus on my professional space, I need to store this blog somewhere between my high school yearbooks, my wedding veil, the umbrellas and wool sweaters. I will continue to write, though shifting my online presence towards my business. Though I'm not planning to cross promote, I'll point you towards the new space (if you haven't found it already) if you'd like.

It, like everything else, is a work in progress.

I wish you many days filled with bubbles, butterflies, and dreams come true.

Love,
Karen

Habit?

2008-07-07T20:22:00.000-07:00

I remember a time when my little boy was learning to speak. He would make his demands with a question: "Habit?"

In this instance, "habit" was toddler-ese for "have it?" meaning, "May I have this now please."

Depending on how you look at it, habit and have it are close enough in meaning -- in either instance, it is a way of communicating, "I want it, and I want it my way."

* * *

My girl was running me ragged with her bedtime circus. First, the sleepy friends, her plush accomplices, had to each say goodnight to her in a particular order, following the pattern of a story we must have read a year ago. "Who's nose and toes?" I'd ask, and she'd tell me which animal/princess/threadbare transitional item could "kiss" her before settling into its appointed location. Once we made it through their rotation, her covers were arranged just so, either snug as a bug in a rug or as loose as a goose with a moose (don't ask). Then we'd begin the water cup debate -- which one could sleep with her (and where), which one would probably spill, which one might necessitate a trip to the potty in the night. Then there was the music -- too loud, too quiet, and oh no, it's skipped to track two already and I need it to start at track one. Pleeeeeeeeease?

I'd finally have her in bed, having said the right words in the right order, and might settle in for a moment before her encore performances began, generally with screams from down the hall.

"I CAN'T HEAR MY MUSIC!"

"MOMMY, MY WATER SPILLED. I NEED NEW JAMMIES. I NEED NEW COVERS, AND THE FLOWER SHEETS, AND NEW WATER."

"IT'S TOO DARK."

If not assaulted with the screams, I was ambushed by the soft shuffling of her little feet padding down the hall to find me.

"Mommy, I'm scared."

"I need to pee."

"I can't find my blankies."

I would comfort her, set her up again and ask, no beg, for her to please stay in bed. My threats were meaningless. My pleas ignored.

The bedtime routine, aka bedtime the way I say it is, had been turned upside down. I was being played. I knew it and she knew it. I sat there with head in hands, continuing the game in exhaustion and frustration.

As I complained to my kind and empathetic friends, mothers with girls the same age give or take a few months, I was met with compassion, understanding, and a reality check: "You know you're being manipulated, right?"

Yes, I knew.

Of course I knew.

I knew and I played along fearing the consequences should I -- or she -- change the rules.

Bad habit.

I want things my way all the time and so does she.

* * *

In order to break the cycle, I introduced a new element to the game. The sticker chart. The good old-fashioned bribe. If she stays in bed at night, she gets a sticker. Five stickers earns her a prize.

Stickers and prizes and trips to the mall? How could she lose?

In the next round, she raised the stakes by getting up before dawn. I countered with a new requirement: a sticker was awarded for staying in bed at night and in the morning. Her response: cries in the middle of the night in addition to visits to my bed in tears and fear.

And when those stopped, do you know what happened?

I missed her. I missed being needed, missed trying to figure out what she'd do next.

I found myself making nightly visits to her room. See, she tends to fall out of bed, not always but often enough. I needed to check because I hadn't heard from her, and gosh, isn't she lovely when she's sleeping and not yelling?

A new ~~game~~ routine was established. Before I would go to bed, I'd slip in to her room to check on her: still covered? still horizontal? still breathing? still my baby? (ed note: I am no longer allowed to refer to her as "Baby," but that is another story for another day.)

Habit?

You bet.

If we were to interact post-bedtime, it would be on my schedule, not hers.

We were moving forward and for a time, all was right and good in the world in which we both slept uninterrupted at night in our own beds.

All was fine, that is, until one day when I commended her for staying in bed, for being brave all night by herself and for playing quietly on her own when she woke. She had made me so proud, being such a big girl and not visiting when she wasn't supposed to.

She smiled, happy and confident. "Now I don't visit you."

"But it's o.k. that you visit me?"

Well played, child. Well played indeed.

Reason #6,471, 962,012

2008-06-25T17:11:00.000-07:00

...that I love Target, summer and being a girl, (and still not in that order).

I'm loving dresses these days (this is an Isaac Mizrahi if you're wondering, I have no issue label-dropping Target Couture), especially when I find the last one in stock, on crazy sale, and it's in my size. (I'd link to Target, but being such a darling dress and on clearance, it's been wiped off their web site.)

I loved the dress all day, and got a ton of compliments. And then someone asked if I was pregnant.

That part I do not love about being a girl --a big iced tea and suddenly I'm expecting? Women with children should have the decency never to assume.

The List of All Lists

2008-06-23T22:52:00.000-07:00

It started innocently enough.

I mentioned to my darling husband how I admired his pursuit of his hobby (he plays poker), and how I'd love to have a thing like that in my life.

I'd love to have the kind of hobby/activity/passion/interest/focus he has and I'm sure I could -- if I only knew what it might be.

We started talking, and I started dreaming out loud.

There are things I like, I love, I enjoy. There are things I've wanted to try but never have. There are things I'm not doing, but I could and should.

I started making lists - big lists.

I started with things I want to try and to do. Then I thought about the values we have as individuals, as parents and as a family, and am working actively on incorporating those values into my daily choices. I'm feeling that fulfillment isn't about being busy or having things, but about experiencing my life aligned with the things I believe are Important (with a capital I). I'm not going to share here a discussion of my values, though I'm sure if you read me, you see a lot of them anyway.

I am a work in progress.

We happened to have our talk over drinks in the afternoon on the rooftop of a hotel in downtown Los Angeles. The hotel is conveniently adjacent to the stunning Los Angeles Central Library, one of my very favorite places in the city, if not the world.

credit: Helfy in HelfLand on Flickr

In my browsing, I found and borrowed Jill Smolinski's The Next Thing on My List -- the cover, title and description grabbed me, and I was not disappointed. I won't tell the story (read it yourself, it's good), but it tells the tale of the changes in a person following a life list.

A what? (I'll make it easy: read this article in the New York Times. Or check another great list from Maggie Mason at Mighty Girl.)

I wasn't thinking so much of creating a life list -- I wanted to get some ideas written down to keep my life in action, always moving forward.

It started as a list of 40 things to do before I turn 40, but as I wrote, I realized that some of these things are too important to rush. A bigger list begat the beginnings of my big list, and when I began sharing the list with my husband, it grew bigger, wilder, farther reaching.

publish an article in a national magazine
learn to dance
perform in a ballet recital
learn Hebrew before both children are fluent
finish Ellie's baby book
achieve perfect vision
(an elective plastic surgery I'm hoping insurance might cover but I'm not going to describe here)
fix my shoulder
teach Jake and Ellie (possibly also Rafe) to ski
rent vacation home in Santa Ynez
go to Catalina Island
rent a home in France and travel through France & Italy
visit Lake Como, Florence, Rome
write a will
have the flexible and fulfilling career of my dreams
launch my business, be wildly successful
learn to tell a good joke
get back to my pre-Ellie weight (for real! I mean it this time! no, seriously.)
catch up on writing kids' birthday letters
learn to take amazing photographs
go to Disneyworld
take flight in a hot air balloon
see Mount Rushmore
take kids to Israel (hopefully with their grandparents); hike Masada again
go to the Oscars (or a real Hollywood Oscar party)
take an extensive food and wine tour through Napa Valley
dine at the French Laundry
teach someone (not related to me) how to read
take a gondola ride in Venice
buy Murano glass in Venice
ride a donkey to the bottom of the Grand Canyon
attempt to surf (where the water is warm)
take a cross country road trip
attend Jazz Fest in New Orleans again
become a bat mitzvah
go on safari
see the pyramids
sail through the Greek Isles
summer in the Hamptons or Cape Cod or Nantucket
have an occasion to wear a ball gown
make a new recipe every week
try a new restaurant every month
take an annual girl's weekend - with friends or alone
sit with Ivy Brown on her stoop, drinking Abita beer, eating some kind of Kosher/Cajun fusion
ride horseback on a beach at sunset
own a luxury car without door dings or goldfish crumbs
see the American Idols in person
enjoy the view from the top of the Eiffel Tower
live life without cancer, heart disease or diabetes
maintain a kitchen adjacent herb garden
commission a piece of art
walk along the Great Wall of China
London: changing of the guards, crown jewels, tea, Harrods
whitewater rafting on the Colorado River
send our children to college without incurring debt
send our children to the best colleges for them
make challah from scratch
take a glacier cruise in Alaska
go to the Olympics
create or buy our dream home

It is a beginning and is exhilarating to dream in this scale.

I have a short list of a few local dance schools and need to coordinate my schedule for adult beginner ballet; I am more than half way through ordering the photos to complete Ellie's baby book (mind you, she'll be four in October and might finish it herself if I don't hurry).

Though I may be mostly dropping off kids at camp and running to work, people, I am going places!

What's on your list? Really. I'd love to know.

Martyr Mom is in the House

2008-06-20T10:04:00.000-07:00

(subtitle: untitled mommy blog post, part two)

So yeah, about that martyr thing. I should have seen it coming.

Honestly.

I'm not going to suggest that I've never been a martyr mom before, but it's definitely surfacing more since I went back to work last fall. Heck, I even blogged about it.

Oh, how I've mourned...(ed. note: blah blah blah) damsel in distress...(blah blah blah)"Woe is me"...I mourned for the loss of my freedom and for the sacrifice of putting my little girl in her preschool's daycare for many hours of the day. My free time is no longer free. It is a juggle and a race. Up before 6. Everyone downstairs and dressed by 6:45. Out the door at 7:15. Drop Jake at Kindergarten. Drop Ellie at preschool. Sit in traffic. Work. Race back for Ellie. Run errands. Pick up Jake. Think about dinner, going to the gym, and doing any and all that I'm not able to do that I didn't question a week before.

While I can poke fun it it, being a martyr mom is not fun at all. Here's what she looks like at my house - maybe some are exaggerations, maybe I wish some were, and I know she exhibits similar and different behaviors around the neighborhood. I won't go all out and label myself a Martyr Mom because that persona is only one of many different sides to me as a mother (and one of many stereotypes moms and women have to fight to break).

I'm not proud of it, but it's there.

(So there.)

the martyr mom is overwhelmed. She sighs. A lot.
the martyr mom is distracted. She cannot focus.
the martyr mom has difficulty making choices. There are so many to make!
the martyr mom is not organized. The house is cluttered. She thinks, "Why bother cleaning, if everyone's going to mess it up anyway?"
the martyr mom can't find things, but spends a lot of time looking.
she can't remember what she needed at the store so she either buys everything or nothing.
the martyr mom makes sure the family eats (but not herself - she's always snacking or grabbing something on the run), and there are more drive through dinners and store-bought, pop 'em in the oven meals. Not surprisingly, the martyr mom notices more TV dining and less time spent at the table.
the martyr mom coordinates the schedules of her kids but won't schedule time for herself - it's not that she can't, but she's decided what she needs to do at home is too important and can't imagine how the children will sleep if she doesn't put them to bed. She finds it hard to separate from her children and familial obligations.
besides, when the martyr mom does have some free time, she ends up doing stuff for the house and kids anyway.
in fact, the martyr mom has been in the habit of putting herself last for so long, she no longer remembers what she likes to do or how to have fun (real, honest to goodness fun) without her children.
and worse, not only does she not know how to have fun, she doesn't think her having fun is important.
the martyr mom thinks that she always comes last, but in thinking this, her bad time has become a priority.
the martyr mom is exhausted. Clearly, taking care of everyone else means she cannot take care of herself. She doesn't make time to exercise or eat well, and being so overwhelmed (all that sighing can be tiring you know), she stays up too late thinking she's going to do something productive when the kids are finally asleep, but usually ends up watching hours of bad television or playing around on the Internet - but she's not writing, she's just reading and feeling overwhelmed by so much information.
not a lot of what the martyr mom is doing feels like it's on purpose - things happen, but it's either rushed or not quite the way she wants, but she doesn't have the energy to fix it.
the martyr mom spends a lot of time thinking, but isn't communicating or solving problems. She's wallowing.
the martyr mom has a hard time saying no, even if she's fully aware that adding one more thing to her plate means less getting done well. She sometimes gets caught up in being needed and important, and would rather please other people than take care of what is most important.

The funny thing? When I'm not the martyr mom, when I'm sitting reading a book, or making dinner with my kids, or making lists, or getting a pedicure, or watching a non-animated film either (gasp!) by myself or (gasp!!) in the company of other grown-ups, I don't feel guilty. Not even a little bit.

It's a vicious cycle, this mommy martyrdom (and I found a great piece from The Washington Post written in 2005 that captures it all so well). While I realize it is self-imposed, it doesn't make it easier to break, especially when I'm tired (and yes, knowing full well I could just go to sleep after the kids to catch up). Getting over it, getting through it is a process just like everything else.

For me, the secret to success seems to come when I start writing -- lists.

...to be continued.

untitled mommy blog post, part one

2008-06-17T08:36:00.000-07:00

I didn't invest a ton of time trying to figure out what it would be like to be a mother before embarking on the great parenting journey. I always knew I wanted children in a generic sense, but I was never one to fawn over others' spawn. Even when we decided we wanted to try, I had a better picture of the mother I did not want to be than what would be real and true for me.

I couldn't imagine myself as the overly "attached" parent. I never intended to be a lactivist, baby-wearing, co-sleeping, organic food or nothing, plastic-toy eschewing, crunchy kind of mama -- even though I wore Ellie close to my heart well past when she could crawl, and had both children sleeping in my bed when they were babies because that was what worked. While I respect that kind of mother, it isn't me.

I could never be the extreme soccer mom. I don't over-schedule my kids, and make very deliberate choices to limit their activities, play dates and obligations to the pursuits and people they truly enjoy (swimming notwithstanding). I am not competitive about them. I participate in their schools, but I'm not an uber-volunteer. What's more important to me is making space for their free time -- to play, discover, create, dawdle and loaf if that's what they want. I also want them to develop a sibling relationship which is difficult if not impossible when the only quality time they spend together is in the back of the car. I'm not saying that we're not busy -- we are. But as much as I encourage their friendships and hobbies, I also want to be able to take a quick trip to the library with them or see what we find at the beach, together and alone.

I couldn't be the kind of mother who completely outsourced the care and nurturing of my children; notice that I say "completely" because I fully support having help to whatever extent a family needs to function --whether that is a nanny, a housekeeper, a babysitting cooperative, awesome and involved friends and family, day care, extended care, whatever. I'd lose my mind if the only absence I had from my children was at work, but I can not identify with people who never, ever see their kids.

As far as being a mother goes, I'm very secure. I know my kids, I know my boundaries, and I know what it feels like to be the kind of mom I want to be. I still operate under my personal parenting philosophy of guiding my children into situations where they can be successful (even swimming lessons).

When I did dream of these babies, decorating their nurseries in my mind, it never once occurred to me what it would take to preserve myself, to be a woman with children, not just a mother.

Despite my efforts, from time to time I notice myself becoming someone else I never intended to be. Sometimes I'm a martyr mom.

...to be continued.

Son of Marital Strife

2008-06-11T06:28:00.000-07:00

My kids love the iPod. (Technically, it's my iPod they love.)

When Ellie plays Mommy in any of her big plastic vehicles and she's driving, she's always picking tunes for her iPod (pretending, readers, my three year old does not have her own iPod!). In the real car, when she hears a song she likes she immediately asks me to put it on her list. She's also asked for familiar songs from television (giving my darling spouse another reason to take issue with our shared music library. "Honey, what is Barney doing in my car?") as well as songs she and Jake have made up themselves.

"Mommy, I want Jumpolia and Be a Little Rock Star on my list."

"You mean the songs you sing in the tub, Elle?"

"Yeah, those."

"Sweetie, I can't find those on iTunes."

(Not yet, at least.)

In contrast, and in typical firstborn, people-pleasing fashion, my boy recently created a playlist of his own. It is a list of songs he likes, I like, his daddy likes, his sister likes, songs he's heard in movies, and a couple that the thought he might like simply based on their names.

Jake's Latest List

Yellow Submarine - The Beatles
Blackbird - Sarah McLachlan
Night Train - James Brown
The Rubberband Man - The Spinners
Underdog - Sly & the Family Stone
Proud Mary - Ike & Tina Turner
Hound Dog - Elvis Presley
Upside Down - Jack Johnson
Talk of the Town - Jack Johnson & Kawika Kahiapo
All Star - Smash Mouth
Funkytown - Lipps, Inc. (coincidentally the first single I ever purchased -- and not because it was in Shrek!)
I Walk the Line - Johnny Cash
Papa's Got a Brand New Bag, Pt. 1 - James Brown
Mother Popcorn, Pt. 1 - James Brown
Stop this Train - John Mayer
83 - John Mayer
Ring of Fire - Johnny Cash
Under the Sea - Samuel E. Wright
Please Mr. Postman - The Marvelettes
Little Green Bag - George Baker

What's on your kid's soundtrack? What does it say about them?

Looking at mine, I see a fun combination of our family and one very cool little dude.

The Mermaid in the Back Seat

2008-06-10T06:54:00.000-07:00

A couple of weeks ago, I took a calculated risk. I took a risk with my little girl.

I guess I'm more into taking risks these days, especially when I feel reasonably confident in my ability to succeed or at least to quickly learn from the failure.

I've been stretching within my limits, growing as a grown up.

On any day of the week, I'd rather put myself at risk than push my children. I'd rather make myself vulnerable than expose them to something for which they are not ready. Still, sometimes a mom has got to try something to see if it's going to work, knowing very well that it might not.

* * *

"You know how you know I'm a good mom?" I asked another mother in the parking lot after drop off one morning.

"I already know you are a good mom," she quickly responded to my rhetorical question, "but what's with the doll?

"I'm a good mom because I'm now going to buckle Ellie's toy into the booster seat because I told her I would. And then when I pick her up to go to swim lessons, she'll see that her mermaid is all ready to go and maybe it will make the rest of the day go easier."

"Yeah. Good luck with that."

(She meant this about the swim lessons and my attempts to hedge the tantrum, not the actual logistics of placing a doll in safety restraints. )

Moms know these things. Moms know that sometimes you do things that are ridiculous because on the off chance that it will make a transition or trauma a little more manageable for you and your child, some stupid, impractical, foolish things are worth doing.

(And yes, I understand that the Mermaid meets neither the height nor weight restrictions to legally be buckled in the booster seat, though if it ever came up, I'd have a legitimate argument in my favor BECAUSE IT IS A TOY.)

* * *

~~Swimming~~ Life Lessons

Ellie started out excited about taking swimming lessons. She'd done a stint in the pool last summer in a Mommy & Me class, and told me she already knew how to swim.

I bought her a new suit to wear. She was ready, at least until we were within sight of the water.

I won't try to scare you with words about how much she didn't enjoy the first few days of her lessons, though I did tell a friend that Ellie's response felt like all four months of colic condensed into twenty minutes, wet.

It was an awful, miserable experience on day one.

On day two, I worked in bribes (thus the Mermaid doll, a ride on the carousel, and ice cream), even though the lessons were canceled for bad weather. Her behavior was worse at home, she was regressing in areas she had mastered. My independent little girl had become helpless and needy.

On day three, I took off work to be with her; Ellie and the Mermaid became inseparable (except, ironically, in the water). She kicked at me (Ellie, not the Mermaid), screamed, cried and begged to go home, to not have to swim.

On day four, she didn't cry. She only negotiated.

On day five, she wanted to be the first in the water.

Honestly, I was very close to pulling her out of the lessons and waiting another year. I'd have done this, except I saw her learning and having fun in the water. (Before and after, not so much.) I believed in the instructor and I believed in my girl. I also trusted the other mothers who had told me it might be like this and that their children still learned, and loved, to swim. They told me that by the end of the week, the screaming would pass and she'd be begging to be in the water.

They were right.

Lessons.

Risk.

Vulnerability.

Fear.

Trust.

Learning.

Support.

Success.

Reward.

Fun.

Swimming could be anything.

At the market

2008-06-09T11:01:00.000-07:00

I was tired. My husband had been traveling. The kids and I were ~~peacefully~~ co-exisitng. It was time for dinner, so rather than ~~improvise~~ fight with them, I took them to the market on our way home. In my motherly wisdom, I decided to let the children pick their own dinners.

Jake wanted a hot dog with a bun, broccoli and fruit. He picked fruit roll-ups for dessert.

Ellie wanted an avocado, black beans and cherries. Princess snacks (also fruit related) were her treat.

Mommy wanted wine and meat, both red.

On the way to check out, something caught my eye. It was ice cream. But how truthful did they intend the advertising to be?

Oh, it says "Double Churn."

I read it as "Double Chin." Quite a difference.

* * *

Then I realized that I'd forgotten my stash of reusable totes in the car, and chided myself for the omission. I hate bringing home more plastic, but couldn't bear the thought of going back to the car with the kids, tired as I was.

The checker caught me, and I think tried to make it better by saying, "It's not easy being green."
I don't even think she was old enough to know Kermit the Frog.

Like I said, I was tired.

Word Nerd

2008-06-08T07:18:00.000-07:00

I remember the day Jake became aware of birds flying. He sat in his stroller, clapping his hands and grinning as he watched the tiny creatures land, take off, soar, then land again. It was like they were performing a show just for his eyes. The moment was filled with wonder and the amazement of learning and discovery.

I recall similar moments when he first caught a ball, caught a fish, watched bowling pins fall from his hard work (and honestly, watching a three year old bowl is hard work for everyone), and when he realized he was able to follow directions on his own to create and build Lego cars and complicated marble tracks. (Is the kid is an accomplishment junkie like his mama?)

Now, my child is reading and writing. Reading and WRITING. This child of mine, the one to whom I've read hundreds of stories in these last six years is now creating stories of his own.

So do you know what I did?

I showed him a special book I've held dear for a very long time.

I took him into my office, and took the dusty red covered tome off the shelf.

"Jake," I said. "This is a dictionary."

First, I demonstrated a point we'd been arguing - "brang" is not in fact a real word.

"Oh," he marveled.

"Mommy," he asked, eyes wide and with that knowing smile across his face. "Can we look up more?"

Curiosity

2008-05-31T14:03:00.000-07:00

Around here, however, we don’t look backwards for very long. We keep moving forward, opening up new doors and doing new things… and curiosity keeps leading us down new paths. - Walt Disney

I'm still busy, still moving forward, and still buoyed by your love and support, dear readers.

More fun and summer adventures soon!

xo,
Karen

Confidence (wo)man

2008-05-13T22:45:00.000-07:00

When I made my first attempts at going back to work last year, I felt like a fraud.

To say that I was anxious about my qualifications for paid employment after devoting five years to professional mothering is one of those ridiculous understatements people make, like saying it's cold out when in the midst of a blizzard. In Siberia. I was a mess of doubt, indecision and insecurity. I had tangled myself in the belief that my time off had made me irrelevant.

Irrelevant.

Can you imagine?

I felt insignificant.

As though my choice to be at home with my children did not matter.

As though the work I had done prior, the work I had done during, and the work I had the potential to do given my own growth and maturity as a person (who now also happened to be a mother), meant nothing.

As though I had somehow evaporated into a mist of motherhood.

I no longer mattered.

I managed to project all of the feelings of failure and doubt that came from taking time away from work and becoming a new mom and transported them five years forward to apply to any new situation where I was uncomfortable.

I was not relevant.

Though I had become the most important person in the world to two very small humans, critical to the operation of my family unit, integral to the service of mothers in my community, an essential part of my children's learning and the development of relationships and alliances that would provide the basis of their lifelong education and their abilities to contribute to the world, I was not enough. Being just a mother was not enough. Because I had not been paid for my work, I should not be paid for work, would not be paid for work.

I will not marginalize or diminish my internal struggle here, because I believe my experience to be common to women becoming mothers and mothers becoming working mothers.

Some choices are easy, others are overwhelming.

* * *

This suit is a costume. I am dressed up, but I am no more a working professional than Ellie is actual royalty when dressed in her princess clothes.

I wrote that in my journal one August afternoon, sitting in the reception area of a high-rise office tower in Beverly Hills, waiting for my first interview. It was not a job I was offered, nor one I would have accepted.

Realizing that, I knew I'd made progress.

* * *

Let us now fast forward to more recent days. I am back in the game - my game - though I am kicking myself for forgetting who I was, and who I am, through the transitions.

It only took me ~~37 years~~ 6 months (give or take) to find the confidence and strength to set foot on the path towards doing exactly what I want to do.

And what is that, you ask?

I've put all the pieces together, the sum of my experiences, and I am now creating a coaching practice to help guide women in transition, with special focus on mothers returning to work.

My vision is three-part. In addition to coaching individuals, both one on one and in groups, (in person and by phone), I will develop locally-based online communities where women who are re-entering the workforce can join in a conversation with working moms in traditional full-time occupations, as well as those working as entrepreneurs, freelancers, consultants and contractors. It will be a place to network, share resources to improve and enhance businesses, and will ideally create linkages for mothers to find more opportunities for flexible and family-friendly employment. Within these communities, I will identify mentor moms who are willing to share their experiences to support women who are considering new industries or directions towards personal and career fulfillment.

This is what I want to do.

I've passed the crossroads and have made a choice. The market is not saturated with me - at least not yet. I've dared myself to follow this passion and create this niche. As every day passes, I am more and more sure, and I'm happy. Because I am an optimist, I am convinced that this is not only worthwhile, it is also possible and important.

You know where I've been and now you know where I'm going.

I'm already on my way.

Speed Racer in Five Words

2008-05-09T20:01:00.000-07:00

Me: Hot Wheels meets Willie Wonka.

Jake: Best day of my life.

Are You My Mother?

2008-05-07T08:14:00.000-07:00

One of my son’s favorite bedtime stories at the moment is called Are You My Mother? If you’re not familiar with the story, it starts with a mother bird realizing that her egg is due to hatch at any moment, so she hurries off to get something for her baby to eat. The story is then told from the viewpoint of the baby bird who enters the world looking for his mother. He walks around asking every animal and thing he sees if they are his mother until he is finally returned to his nest and his mother returns to him with food. The baby bird knows and understands from his adventures in the world all the things that are not his mother and he is happy and comforted when he is home and under his mother’s wing again.

This story speaks to me as a mom. First, there is concept of the nesting instinct and the mother urgently preparing for the arrival of her baby. With both my children, I took great care in creating their little nests, choosing colors I thought would be soothing to them, beds that would cuddle them, and filling their rooms with toys and books that would engage and enrich them. I sat in those rooms before the babies arrived to inhabit them, imagining who the little person inside me would become on his or her own. Everything was clean and neatly folded in their drawers just waiting to become worn, used and outgrown. I wanted everything to be just so when my babies arrived, and though it didn’t matter to them if they slept in their new crib or a borrowed bassinet, these acts of preparation helped ready me for the transitions in our home and family.

The time we spend with our children as babies and toddlers gives them the ability to develop their independence and self-confidence. The nest we create at home is a safe retreat from the rest of the world. We invest time and money to make our environments free from as many dangers as we can imagine (think of all the pool gates, cabinet latches, stair fences, crib rails, outlet covers, etc. that you’ve installed and that have been installed in the homes of all families you know and multiply it by thousands!) so that our children may be able to explore and learn on their own. By the time they are preschoolers, they are more equipped to leave the nest, knowing how to behave around others, how to manage some of their feelings, and how participate with their peers and trust other adults. At the end of a busy preschool day, I think my son is happy to return to the comfort of what is constant and known at home.

It is my hope that my husband and I are effectively raising our children on a solid foundation of our values, beliefs and traditions so that they will not have to question their place in the world or who they are just as the baby bird who asked everyone around him, “Are you my mother?” only to be answered with silence or a resounding “no.” I want my children to always know, without a doubt, that they belong and are loved. Certainly, as teenagers they will have moments of rebellion and angst, but I hope that they will always find our home to be a safe nest, and that as parents we can continue to provide for and comfort them as they ready themselves to create nests of their own.

But really, the best part of the story is when the pages have closed and Jake turns to me, looks up, and says: “You are my mother and I am your son.”

* * *

I wrote this piece as a President's Message for my MOMS Club chapter's newsletter in September 2005. Jake was just three and Ellie was nearing her first birthday. I had considered it one of my better pieces, and one that I might one day submit somewhere for publication (you know, back when I was going to be a freelance writer, and before I understood that often you pitch stories before you write them). Anyway, it's yours now.

I'm not posting it for posterity, not even to make a point about my career choice. It's here, now, because it represents an evolution in my life.

The other night, Jake read this favorite bedtime story to me.

The things I didn't do

2008-05-06T16:34:00.000-07:00

One Friday morning in the month of April of the year 2002, I was thinking about work. Actually, I was thinking about a big problem at work, and I was also drinking a peanut butter-banana-chocolate soy milk smoothie, and doing these things concurrently while driving to an appointment with my obstetrician.

While on my way to see my doctor for a very routine visit in a highly uneventful pregnancy, doing my best to solve that work problem from my hormone-addled brain, and still drinking my smoothie, I failed to avoid a car that had stopped in front of me to make a left turn and I caused quite a commotion.

(I'm avoiding any legal descriptions here although the case has long been settled.)

I was fine, and my baby was fine, but my doctor was not fine.

He suggested that my work was too stressful. I was too distracted. I was lucky the accident wasn't worse.

"You need to leave your job," he admonished.

"No, there is too much for me to do. Now is not a good time."

"Which is more important," he asked. "Your job, or your baby?"

It didn't take much more for me to realize that he was ~~probably~~ right, and I called in with my notice that I would not be coming back, not at least until after the child had made his appearance.

Five and a half years later, I returned.

* * *

We made some changes at home to make my professional hiatus viable. In the months and years of my absence, I always knew I would one day make my triumphant return to the world of the employed, but I didn't know how or when. The time gave me every chance to consider the possibilities.

I swore up and down that I would never go back to doing what I had done. Ambition had fueled my moves through the ranks of the organizations I served, never staying longer than a few years at any one place, and advancing title, salary and the number of staff I managed at each location. By the time I settled into my new role as stay at home mom, I had managed thousands of volunteers and at least a hundred employees.

I was exhausted. I didn't know what to do with myself or how to spend my time, and I had months before my baby was due (and after he had arrived) to think. Alone. It was everything I had wanted, but nothing I knew or understood. I needed to focus and make a plan.

It was a good thing I had a lot of time, because I made a lot of plans.

* * *

First, I was going to go back to school to become a food scientist. I loved food and science, and had done really well in chemistry in high school. It would be great! But then I thought of my life, my interests, my nature, my work habits and decided maybe I wouldn't do well working in a lab.

But I loved food and science and people, and thought I could combine them and build on my counseling background in a different field. So enthralled with nutrition and inspired by the skills of the leaders who helped me lose weight after having my child that I decided I would become a dietitian. Maybe I'd even work at Weight Watchers while I studied. I went to an orientation at the local college and learned about the program (dietetics, not Weight Watchers), then I sat on my new materials for at least a year because I was pregnant again, and wasn't in the right place to be starting school. One day, I felt ready to think about it seriously and called to schedule a time to have my transcripts evaluated. Wouldn't you know it, the program had closed for the summer! I was too late! While I considered my options, I spent some talking with a new friend (with a baby the same age as Ellie) who was a dietitian and decided maybe I didn't want to start in a new field from the very bottom, going back to school, with two kids, and needing to work again fast.

All along (or at least for the two years while I was a new mom, expecting my second child, and President of our local group), I had been writing articles and newsletters for MOMS Club . Around the time when my term was up, I came across an article by Catherine Newman in Wondertime, and decided that this was the kind of work I should be doing - I could be a freelance writer! I sent writing samples to friends in the business, and I started a blog to practice my craft. I read other people's writing, poured over The Writer's Market, polished off my favorite pieces, and didn't submit a single one. Not only was I intimidated, the reality sunk in about the life of a writer - deadlines, topics I might not want to cover, a lot of work and not necessarily a big, reliable paycheck.

If I wanted to bring in an income without starting from nothing I'd have to do something radically predictable, and I decided to go back to doing pretty much what I used to do.

I spent the summer figuring out what it was specifically that I could do and was fortunate enough to have sufficient job offers. If you've been reading along, you'll recall that I went back to work in the fall at the same old place doing a new thing. It has been fine, but not great. It got me back in the game, and got me thinking seriously, and critically, about what it is I really want to do.

And now I know. I know with certainty.

* * *

Patient readers,

Thanks for reading along. It wouldn't make sense to tell you where I'm going if you didn't know where I'd already been.

More soon, I promise.

Music as Metaphor

2008-04-30T21:37:00.000-07:00

When I look back at 2008, I'm going to remember April as one of the best months of my life.

I have a lot to tell you, but I'm not quite sure how to put it all in a container. I think the best way to describe it is though another metaphor, selections from the newest playlist on my beloved iPod.

This music is my life.

What a Wonderful World - Louis Armstrong
True Colors - Cyndi Lauper
Shining Star - Earth, Wind & Fire
You Get What You Give - New Radicals
Respect - Aretha Franklin
Change the World - Eric Clapton
I Can See Clearly Now - Johnny Nash
Three Little Birds - Bob Marley
The Way You Do the Things You Do - UB40
Beautiful Day - U2
Sitting in Limbo - Jimmy Cliff
You Gotta Be - Des'ree
Upside Down - Jack Johnson
Here Comes the Sun - The Beatles
Kind and Generous - Natalie Merchant
Why Georgia - John Mayer
Every Morning - Sugar Ray
You Raise Me Up - Celtic Woman
Off the Wall - Michael Jackson
Let's Get it Started - Black Eyed Peas
Just Can't Get Enough - Depeche Mode
Good Riddance (Time of Your Life) - Green Day
All for You - Janet Jackson
Happier than the Morning Sun - Stevie Wonder
New Soul - Yael Naim
Don't Stop Believin' - Journey
I'm on My Way - The Proclaimers
These Are Days - 10,000 Maniacs

Put it all together, and it paints quite a picture.

Thinking it might be time for caller ID

2008-04-28T18:22:00.001-07:00

SCENE    INT. FAMILY DINING ROOM        DINNERTIME  

MOTHER is rushing between the kitchen and the dinner table. BOY (5) is playing Wii in the living room and has refused to come to the table, not responding to MOTHER'S threats that he won't be playing Wii tomorrow, either, if he doesn't come to the table immediately. GIRL (3) has woken up poorly from an afternoon nap and is crying at the table with regard to something unfortunate about her string cheese.

FROM THE LIVING ROOM:

BOY (O.S.)
But Mom, I didn't finish this level yet.


ANSWERING FROM ACROSS THE HOUSE:

MOTHER
That's too bad, it's time for dinner, then bath, then bed. You're done. Period. End of story.

BOY (O.S.)
(whining, demanding)
But I need to finish. Mom (said so that it sounds like two words).


The phone rings. MOTHER picks it up, assuming it is a call from FATHER announcing he has left the office and will be home soon.


MOTHER
(answers the phone, shouting)
NO!

(pauses)
Hello?

VOICE
(after a slight, subtle laugh)
Hey, Karen. It's [HER EMPLOYER].
I'm guessing that was for the kids?

MOTHER
(embarrassed, wincing)
Yeah, sorry about that, thought you were my husband.

MOTHER hurries to exit the kitchen into the yard, slightly more embarrassed now since she has just mistaken her boss for her spouse, to collect herself and continue her adult conversation.


EXT. BACK YARD, BIRDS CHIRPING, NOT CRYING NOR WHINING

(continuing to HER EMPLOYER) So, what's going on?

FADE OUT:

THE END

I know, but I said I'd probably never write another screenplay.

Taking some time for meme

2008-04-24T21:18:00.000-07:00

I've been tagged by both Working Mum on the Verge and Oh, The Joys for what amounts to roughly the same meme (though I'll merge the two, not to discount either one), and since I've been quiet this week, I'll give you something to ponder while I'm out and about doing my thing.

The Game Meme Rules:

The rules of The Game get posted on the beginning.
Each player answers the rules about himself [or indeed herself].
At the end of the post, the player tags five people and posts their names, then goes to their blogs and leaves them a comment, letting them know that they’ve been tagged and asking them to read his [or her] blog.

What was I doing ten years ago?

Ten years ago, I was newly engaged and planning my wedding which would take place in about seven months. I was working a new job, one I'd coveted from afar and found to be somewhat disenchanting upon my arrival, but plodded through nonetheless(and lived in an apartment just four minutes from my office!). I had just completed an intensive program of religious study. I was a few months away from a three week trip to Israel with my future in-laws and fiance. (I had also just met with a nutritionist to figure out how to lose the twenty-five pounds I'd gained in the early months of courtship with that soon to be husband of mine.)

5 Snacks I enjoy

1. Chips & salsa, hummus & pita, veggies & dip
2. Nuts
3. Fruit
4. Popcorn
5. Edamame

Things I would do if I were a billionaire

1. Fund my children's education, and also their children's education, possibly their children's as well
2. Fund education for children not directly related to me
3. Give generously, and anonymously, to causes that matter to us
4. Travel until it wasn't fun anymore

Five jobs that I have had

1. Ice cream scooper
2. Babysitter
3. Assistant to a Private Investigator
4. Attractions Hostess (that's ride operator to you) at Disneyland
5. My family had a bunch of chickens, and I sold the eggs to our neighbors @ $1/dozen.

Three of my bad habits

1. I'm messy.
2. I try to do too much in too little time, and am typically late because of it.
3. I'm a perfectionist.

Five things on my To-Do list today

1. Buy milk & eggs
2. Watch Grey's Anatomy
3. Confirm plans for Friday
4. Coordinate materials for new staff person to review for community event this weekend
5. Help Jake finish his spring break homework

Five places I’ve lived

1. Laguna Hills, California
2. Los Angeles, California
3. Hermosa Beach, California
4. Huntington Beach, California
5. Woodland Hills, California

Five books ~~I’ve recently read~~ I'm reading

1. Go Away, Big Green Monster
2. Goodnight, Gorilla
3. Back on the Career Track
4. Brother, I'm Dying
5. What Einstein Told His Cook 2: The Sequel: Further Adventures in Kitchen Science

Five people or communities I’m going to tag

1. LaskiGal
2. Ann(ie)
3. Liz
4. Crystal
5. Amanda

Eight Windows

2008-04-17T09:07:00.000-07:00

Oh, The Joys posted eleven windows to her soul.

I'd started my own list a month ago, inspired by Mighty Girl's List of 100 scenes she hoped she'd see as her life flashed before her eyes. But I hadn't quite reached 100 and it's been getting dusty in my drafts.

Not seven, not eleven, not one hundred, here are eight windows to my soul.

1. Watching the thunderstorms roll through the sky from our Miami Beach balcony one hot August night.

2. Choosing her first pink dress, minutes after we learned she was a girl.

3. Seeing his face as I walked down the aisle.

4. My hand against the worn stones on the wall in Jerusalem, seeing all the messages people had tucked in its crevices, knowing I wished for nothing, that all I had was all I would ever need.

5. Finding my name on the paper taped to the leadership office window of officers appointed to student government positions.

6. Walking around the gardens of the LACMA knowing I had to tell him that I loved him that day.

7. The view of the lights along the Champs-Elysees from the top of the Arc de Triomphe, (a place I'd seen only in old videos from high school French class and from a poster on the back of my bedroom door) after insisting we climb all the way up, in the rain, at night, because when was the next time we would be in Paris?

8. Alone with my newborn boy in the dimly lit hospital room, stretching out his tiny fingers against mine as I told him the stories of our family so he would know who he would be meeting and how very loved he already was.

What do you see?

If you join in on the prompt, add the links below to the bottom of your post. I'll add your link to my list, too.

jen with seven windows of my soul
Jessica with Eleven Windows
Tracy from Tiny Mantras
Defiant Muse from Musings...
LSM at Somewhere In the Suburbs

The Buttercream Remedy

2008-04-16T17:54:00.000-07:00

You'll trust me when I tell you, without giving any detail or explanation, that I needed to bake a cake for my parents last week. Some days call for a particular kind of celebration, especially when there is no way Hallmark could market an appropriate card for the occasion, and my parents had a reason to rejoice. In their honor, I decided to bake a cake.

I'm not your average baker. I'm worse. I've made some disasters in my time, some food chemistry experiments gone bad, and some ugly but tasty treats. Looking to avoid this kind of issue and working to keep special occasions special (and the focus off the detritus from my oven), I've taken to (gasp!) purchasing desserts and only baking the cupcakes that I've practiced and mastered (using the famous Magnolia Bakery recipe, give or take). The decision to bake a cake wasn't one made lightly.

I'm not shy about sharing my flaws and foibles with you. As readers go, I've found you to be very kind and understanding, so I know you'll recognize my challenge in having made up my mind to bake, recognizing that I am both a remarkably poor baker and a perfectionist! The idea of ruining another cake, when a cake was so very necessary, was almost enough to make me reconsider but ~~pigheadedness~~ resolve won the round and I baked. I made a chocolate cake.

As it turns out, the baking part wasn't so bad. The kids helped, and it was fun.

Assembling the layers and frosting the thing nearly pushed me over the edge.

I was this close (imagine the thumb and forefinger about a half centimeter apart) to putting out a distress call to my pal Ivy Brown because not only do her words give me confidence, I also believe in her ability to put a cake together better than my own. (Had I known my girlfriends L and Liz had graduated basic cake decorating classes, I'd have considered calling them, too.) But as stubborn and determined as I am, I forged through alone.

I. Baked. A. Cake.

And they loved it.

It was exactly what I wanted to make - a thoughtful gesture that was also delicious.

* * *

I'm learning some things about myself as I ~~age~~ mature, and one talent I'm cultivating is getting over myself, hurdling past my insecurities, fears and doubts simply by doing exactly what I want to do even if it means asking for help and possibly making mistakes. Baking a cake, knowing well that its perfect execution didn't matter nearly as much as the perfect thought behind it, was also a metaphor.

* * *

P.S. Another important life lesson I've learned: doubling the recipe for buttercream frosting enables one to hide a multitude of sins on a less than perfect cake.

Easy Vanilla Bean Buttercream (adapted from Cook's Illustrated March/April 2005)

Makes about 1 1/2 cups, enough to frost 12 cupcakes (but barely enough to cover two layer cakes)

10 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 1/4 cups (5 ounces) confectioners' sugar
Pinch table salt
1 tablespoon heavy cream

In standing mixer fitted with whisk attachment, beat butter at medium-high speed until smooth, about 20 seconds. Beat in vanilla extract at medium speed to combine, about 15 seconds. Add confectioners' sugar and salt; beat at medium-low speed until most of sugar is moistened, about 45 seconds. Scrape down bowl and beat at medium speed until mixture is fully combined, about 15 seconds; scrape bowl again, add heavy cream and beat at medium speed until incorporated, about 10 seconds, then increase speed to medium-high and beat until fluffy, about 4 minutes, scraping down bowl once or twice more. Add drops of food coloring to create the desired pastry palette.

Idealism

2008-04-08T22:33:00.000-07:00

Today, I went to work early to attend a meeting for one of the projects I am managing. We had called together all the heavy hitters to address the setbacks and slowing that has taken us off track. My job is to make sure the project completes on time and under budget. The way things are going, it seems unlikely to impossible, but I remain hopeful.

As the important and interested parties parted, I gathered my notes and files and asked one of our consultants a nagging question: Can we do this?

She responded politically: Ideally, she said, if everything goes well, we can meet our schedule.

Good, I replied. Because we're in the business of "ideally."

* * *

In my paid hours of the week, I work with a non-profit organization that serves mentally ill and homeless adults. Prior to my professional hiatus, I oversaw the agency's non-clinical operations, which included job training, the provision of two daily hot meals, and the administration of social and recreational classes, all with the goal of helping the people we serve to reintegrate into the community. Upon my return, I have worked in an entirely different capacity and towards more external pursuits; instead of providing and guiding direct service, my experience is now used in ways that remind our community, donors, and partners of why we do what we do.

I can see past the red tape, the bureaucracy, the seemingly arbitrary requirements and deadlines, because at the end of the day, when it does work out, a handful of people who have nowhere else to go will have a home of their own.

There are many deserving individuals, communities and causes to serve, and this one presents unique challenges. Mental illness, especially when combined with homelessness and substance addiction, is not a glamorous cause. The days are not easy for our staff or our clients, their problems are not quickly or easily solved. Sometimes the best work that is done is to maintain the status quo, and stability is seen as progress.

I share this not to solicit funds, empathy or awareness, but to explain why I remain an optimist.

If we have hope, we have something. "Ideally" is at least a place to start.

Very Good Advice

2008-04-07T22:10:00.000-07:00

In the sixth grade, I played (a very brunette) Alice in Wonderland in my school's musical of the same name. I will not elaborate here on the histrionics I employed in my pursuit of the part, though that is the part I remember most about it - not the flowers at curtain call, I remember the process of getting to the role I wanted.

Coming in close second in the memory of this experience is a song. My part (and you'll excuse me for a moment while I stumble over the word "my," for the part was not awarded to me, but to a classmate who graciously offered to share the part since there were two performances and she was a kind child while I tended towards, shall we say, petty and selfish, and did I already mention that I threw a fit when I wasn't selected for the role?) included a solo performance of a number called Very Good Advice.

I practiced intently, rehearsing diligently in front of the bathroom mirror to such an extent that I find, now twenty-five years later, the words are still seared upon my memory.

I give myself very good advice
But I very seldom follow it
That explains the trouble that I'm always in

Be patient, is very good advice
But the waiting makes me curious
And I'd love the change
Should something strange begin
...
I give myself very good advice,
But I very seldom follow it,
Will I ever learn to do the things I should?
Will I ever learn to do the things I should?

Music and Lyrics by Sammy Fain and Bob Hilliard

* * *

I will offer no false modesty. There are skills I have, gifts even, that are mine uniquely, that make me who I am. I am a good listener. I am highly resourceful. I am an analytical problem solver who will work with people to find the most meaningful outcomes to meet their intentions. I am intuitive and insightful. I am able to help others recognize their own talents and roadblocks. I have gone so far as to create a career around this toolbox of mine that I have been able to revive after spending my children's first years at home with them.

I also happen to give very good advice.

But I very seldom follow it.

I have been inching towards doing something new to combine all these things, and I am scared.

There. I've said it. I am afraid.

That explains the trouble that I'm always in.

I am trying not to let my overwhelming sense of perfectionism get in the way of my progress (and no, it's still not the good kind of perfectionism that would have me obsessively checking off my lists to accomplish every tiny milestone getting me that much closer to my goal that much faster), though I know it is. Perfectionism is a hard habit to break, even after becoming a mother and throwing it all in the air. I know that if I decided exactly what it was I needed to do, I would find a way to do it and be done, deciding that good enough is. But I am stuck in wanting to have every piece of it lined up just so before I feel I can confidently advance. There is safety in doing the same.

Be patient, is very good advice/But the waiting makes me curious.

I am undeniably patient (add that to my list of qualifications), maybe too much if that's possible. When it comes to my big little plan, I'm afraid if I sit on it too long I will find myself doing something else, something more known and tangible to avoid the risk. Yet every time I think of not following through, I shake it off. In every piece of me, I believe my idea is something worth doing and something both relevant and timely. I'm afraid if I don't do it, a world of opportunity would be missed.

(Did you notice how I keep saying afraid? I do.)

And I'd love the change/Should something strange begin

In my head, my voice still waivers on that last note.

Will I ever learn to do the things I should?

Page 123, 5th sentence

2008-03-30T08:20:00.000-07:00

Hooray! I have been tagged by Sass E-Mum of One Strangely Lush Mother to do a book meme - for some reason, she has assumed that I read more than nutrition labels and magazine articles about parenting.

This is about books. Like the stack from the library of which I read three pages of something each night before I fall asleep and then wake when my hands have relaxed and the book falls and whacks me on the nose, waking me to realize that I'm not actually reading when my eyes are closed. Those kind of books.

Anyway, here are the rules:

Pick up the nearest book of at least 123 pages.

Open the book to page 123.

Find the 5th sentence.

Post the next 3 sentences.

Tag 5 people.

The problem I'm having now is that among the destinations of my laptop's recent migration is my "office," and in my "office" is the children's library. There are not a lot of lengthy books in here in all fairness. The page count of one shelf combined barely hits 50 between Goodnight, Moon and The Little Engine That Could.

There are a few anthologies, and a classic. Here from page 123 of Shel Silvestein's A Light in the Attic is the 5th line and the ~~three~~ five that follow.

And add some color to the chipmunk's coat.

I paint the flamin' red on a Robin Redbreast,
I pour the blue on bluegills by the shore.
And when the firefly's dim
I splash silver paint on him,
And he shines more brightly than he did before.

It's from a poem called "The Painter," about the guy who gives gives each animal its unique markings.

The book was a gift from a childhood friend, it is inscribed "To my favorite friend Karen." This friend was the one who received pages of ill regard in my sixth grade diary for having the nerve to move away from my neighborhood. I don't know how I've managed to keep the book for as long as I have (going on 26 years here), especially when I think of all the other things I have cast aside over the years. I tried to read some of his poems to my children, but I think they were a little young to appreciate the wisdom and humor, but I'm betting Jake would enjoy them more now.

Rafe gave me a copy of Silverstein's The Giving Tree for the mother's day when I was pregnant with Jake. I dare you to finish the book with a dry eye.

Now, the fun part.

I'm tagging:

Adrienne from Max's Mommy because the woman feels about books the way others feel about shoes - you can never have too many. Plus, in the off chance that she hasn't had her baby yet, I bet she could use the distraction.

Ivy Brown from Ivy Brown's Stoop whom I hold responsible for the most recent addition to the books on my library pile.

Foop of One Swell Foop - she seems like the kind of person who might pick up a book or two.

LaskiGal who writes From the Cheap Seats and is an English teacher. If anyone's reading books these days, it's got to be her.

Amy of Waiting for ....? if for no other reason than the inspiration of this meme that I've been saving to do for just the right time.

ballerina girl

2008-03-27T06:08:00.000-07:00

ballerina girl, you are so lovely
with you standing there, i'm so aware
of how much i care for you
you are more than now
you are for always
i can see in you my dreams come true
don't you ever go away

-Lionel Richie, Ballerina Girl

Reason #8,987,653,712

2008-03-26T20:59:00.000-07:00

...that I love Target, spring, and being a girl (and not necessarily in that order).

Do you love my new dress as much as I do?

Type A at Play

2008-03-26T18:08:00.000-07:00

Who says you can't be a control freak and still be creative?

While Ellie painted and Jake drew, I stickered. (And organized the art supplies and the cabinet where they are found, then the items that were displaced when room was created for their tools and projects. I'm that kind of fun.)

You'll note, not all the letters are lined up exactly, that's how artsy I am.

(Until hours later when I find myself compelled to straighten them.)

What I Like About You

2008-03-24T22:30:00.000-07:00

You will forgive me if I am overly effusive about the school where Jake attends Kindergarten, but after a few tough years in preschool (and seriously, seriously, before you were a parent would you have expected the words "tough" and "preschool" strung together in a sentence?), when we see the kinds of extraordinary moments he has there, we are filled with every imaginable kind of parental joy and satisfaction. (Knock on wood.)

Jake was chosen as his class Star of the Week last Monday. By chosen, I mean to explain that his name was drawn from a box which held all the children's names, and his was one of the remaining three so the timing was somewhat inevitable.

When a child is Star of the Week, s/he brings home a stuffed plush star with googly eyes barely sewn on and ironed-on decals threatening to disappear at any moment of rough play. The star, called Starburst, is sent home along with a scrapbook and a note explaining that Starburst likes to participate in the family's activities, and won't you please create a page or two journaling your days with it. The following Monday, parents are invited to attend a Friendship Circle in which your child will share the glorious details of their week with Starburst. While it sounds entirely too precious, we do what we are asked because that is what we do.

Jake loved schlepping the toy around town, to the market, to Ellie's dance class, bowling, on a playdate, and for a haircut. When Starburst was in the car, he was buckled in a booster seat. At the end of each night, the star joined us for stories and slept in Jake's bed. We took our photos, created our pages for the album, and ended our happy week.

We didn't know that the best was yet to come.

We arrived this morning to see our son at the front of his class, ready to share about his adventures with, and as, the star. He read his journal pages with confidence, showed pictures of his early years (you know, because at 5 1/2 you can hardly consider him a child anymore), and then his teacher introduced the beginning of the Friendship Circle.

In the class tradition, each and every child holds the star with great reverence and tells something that they like about the week's Star-child. Jake chose his best friend to start the Circle, and we sat, amazed, as each child spoke about our boy.

Some children were too shy to speak at their turn. Others rattled off a list. The girls praised his gentle nature, the boys admired his wackiness.

I found myself surprised and reassured by their insights.

They like Jake because ... he is sweet, he is silly, he is kind, he is a good reader, he plays with everyone, he is funny, he is nice, he completes all of his work, he is friends with everyone, he is crazy, he plays soccer, he has a big heart, he plays with everyone. His teachers each had a turn. They like that he always comes to class ready to learn, that he is speaking Hebrew, that he is always smiling, how he asks for help when he needs it, that he is sensitive and thoughtful, a good friend, and a good listener.

Ellie (demanded a turn and) said that he was a nice big brother.

We had a turn, too. Somehow I managed to speak without losing my thoughts in a puddle of tears.

That he is in a place where he is seen as himself, where he is loved and respected for who he is, where he has the opportunity to grow and learn, to be nurtured in our traditions and culture, is almost too much.

He is a classmate and peer, an active contributor in his own education, and one whose actions and character reflect well upon our community and school. His success may be a product our influence, but it is also independent of us.

My boy is growing up.

And yet, he is and will always be, my baby.

Three Beautiful Things

2008-03-18T10:34:00.000-07:00

You know how I love to ~~steal~~ borrow a good meme, right? One strangely lush mother posted her reaction to the inspiration of a blog called Three Beautiful Things and I will follow.

1. iTunes. Not sure which part I love more - the free music downloads on Tuesdays or the "Just for Me" recommendations. iTunes rocks.

2. Eucerin Plus Intensive Repair Hand Cream. There are two places in the world I could browse indefinitely - a drug store and an office supply store, either one will do (which makes Target a place I seek and avoid). In the recesses of my mind, I believe if I try enough products, I will find the perfect solution to whatever ails me, and with the constant hand ~~wringing~~ washing I do, I think I've found the answer. The stuff glides on, absorbs quickly leaving you able to open jars or sippy cups, and leaves me looking more youthful than reptile.

3. The Ocean. I don't love my morning commute, but I love the miles I drive along the coast every day. One can't help but look out and feel more peace in the world.

This, fair friends and kind readers, concludes my 200th published post. At the rate I'm writing, I'll hit 300 somewhere around 2011, but I'll still be writing.

Marital strife

2008-03-11T16:40:00.000-07:00

The night I met my husband ~~a million~~ eleven years ago, I found the one person with whom I have more in common than anyone else in the world, with one exception. We disagree about music.

A lot.

He was born and raised in the city, hanging out with his friends at the local college (which turns out to also be the university I would attend years later), at the same time I was living in the suburbs hanging out at the mall. While he spent his high school years in draaaamaaah, off winning awards in city wide competitions, directing serious ensembles and delivering monologues from King Lear (I kid you not), I was planning my school's fund-raising events from the confines of the student leadership office. We probably would have found each other cute but intolerable back in the day.

His musical tastes run deep. Mine are shallow. For him, music is the centerpiece. For me, it is as ambient as a scented candle in the corner of a room, most likely the room you're not in right now. The only area of our overlap is in the R&B/funk spectrum, though he leans the way of George Clinton and the P Funk All Stars and I'm more Kool and the Gang.

In our modern life, we've installed our own personal versions of iTunes to keep our music separate; for as much as I don't want to hear every single performance of every song ever recorded by the Grateful Dead, he could live without Madonna. It all comes to a head on the weekends when we drive in the same vehicle at length and have to choose our sounds.

* * *

Him: (Grumbling while flipping through my playlist, muttering something about "crap rock" and "bubblegum pop") You know, my iPod dies a little inside every time one of your songs plays. I think it's sad.

Me: You know what I bet would cheer it up? My iPod is having a party, and we're totally serving jello shots!

Tutu much

2008-03-04T21:13:00.000-08:00

On the phone, this afternoon.

Me: (casually) ...so, yeah, we've got Ellie's first dance class before you get home.

Him: (expectantly) Today? Did you get her one of those little outfits?

Me: (with some restraint) Well, I thought I'd see what the other girls are wearing, and I want her to help pick. You know she'll want to.

Him: She's going to look really cute.

Me: OHMYGOSHIKNOWICAN'TBELIEVEITSHE'SGOINGTOBEADORABLE! (Calms down) This has got to be the best part of having a girl.

Go ahead, I dare you

2008-03-03T18:21:00.000-08:00

(Dear Readers: I have a problem with the "Save Now" function of Blogger. I have a growing list of misplaced thoughts that started as something timely and relevant that grow dusty in my Drafts tab, the oldest of which is dated 11/5/06 - it's not likely I'm going to finish or publish, but you never know. Anyway, I started writing something a couple of months ago, and I can't get it out of my head. Now it's yours.)

* * *

I have never been a proponent of New Year's resolutions. I've only written them once, and that was in 7th grade. If I recall correctly, one of the resolutions was, "I will not be sarcastic."

Yeah. Right. Good one 1985.

I've determined resolutions are for corporate entities, boards, the United Nations, but not me.

I like goals, but I don't stick to them. I am a person motivated by end results, and feel that goals sometimes get in the way of progress. Besides, whatever you call them, goals, resolutions, plans, you're talking about the same thing: change.

I feel like if I'm going to get anywhere out of my comfort zone and into getting where I really want to be, I've got to do it one better. I'm not wishing on stars, or thinking about plans, hopes or dreams. I'm thinking about a dare.

* * *

There is a famous quote attributed to the Rev. Robert Schuller that has made the rounds of t-shirts, bumper stickers and paperweights:

What would you do if you knew you could not fail?

In my head, I'm flipping it over. What would you do if you knew you could, and probably would, fail? What if the trying and failing were more important to your growth than the achievement?

What if taking the risk were enough, so long as the trial involved something truly audacious that might end up filling your life with joy?

What would you attempt if you could muster up every imaginable bit of courage, enjoying not only the prospect of success, but also the novelty of doing something totally foreign and overwhelmingly exciting?

What dream would you try to catch on a dare?

What would you do if you knew you could fail?

* * *

Since going back to work in the fall, I've been stewing on a business idea. I've been thinking about it, doing bits and pieces of research, and testing out the concept on my friends and family. I poured my heart out to friend I've never met who believes in me so much that she's offered to help me make it come true.

I've even started talking about it with strangers.

There are days when I am filled with every confidence that not only should I be doing this, I should become one of the world's leading experts.

On others, I am overwhelmed with fear and doubt, which I then try to swallow or ignore knowing full well that I won't get any farther ahead by doing nothing but worry. And I happen to excel at worry.

I realize that the biggest step in moving forward is taking actual steps.

Sometimes the steps feel like leaps.

But each time I take one of these leaps, I feel like I'm getting closer to the dream. The dream, the dare, it's out there and it's mine.

I have arrived!

2008-02-26T09:17:00.000-08:00

I believe I have reached a new milestone as a blogger, and it's not that I am near publishing my 200th post on this blog.

I have been asked to ~~shill~~ ~~advertise~~ review a product. Me! Of all the bloggers in the blog-o-sphere. Me, with my dozen or so readers and sporadically intermittent posts.

My problem: I took a look at the item and reacted with snark, giggles and rolled eyes. And still I know that if I spent some time with it, I'd probably end up writing something lovely and touching and empowering because when given a glass, I'm still going to try to see it half full, no matter how tacky the cup or with what it is filled.

While some might look upon the invitation as spam, I'm taking it as a compliment.

But I'm not taking the product.

Pride and Joy

2008-02-18T16:08:00.000-08:00

There are moments and days when I am simply overwhelmed with affection and gratitude for my firstborn child.

It was not this morning when he and I outlined jobs he could do (and negotiated a sum to come from his savings) to replace something important he lost. That he has matured and takes his responsibilities so seriously is a wonder to me, but it was not the best part.

It was not at lunch, when we sat together playing games as a team, working cooperatively towards a greater goal that filled my heart.

It was not even when he stood at my side, perched high atop his step stool at the kitchen counter learning about fractions and chemistry as we measured and combined ingredients for chocolate chip cookies (a special project he picked for us to do together on his day off from school). I soaked in every minute watching him enjoying the process and outcomes of preparing food, and hoping that these times will set the stage for many meals we will create in the years to come. I almost had to pinch myself as he put dishes away, carefully placing the clean silverware into the drawer, exclaiming without any prompt, "I love sorting!"

The highlight was just after, when I overheard him asking his Daddy to help him with something in the yard, and Daddy deferred him right back to me.

Filled with awareness and with no hesitation my son responded, "Mommy can't do it right now. She's busy taking care of a few other things for us. It's gonna have to be you."

That's my boy!

Dreaming of John Mayer

2008-02-15T06:12:00.000-08:00

I've been having some strange dreams lately. I believe my dreams are a place where I solve problems and ruminate over the days' events, piecing circumstances together that would not have normally occurred. I wake and wonder what it all meant - it is sometimes transparent, other times a jumble of subconscious episodes that will soon dissolve like the sweetener in my morning tea.

Last night, my dreams were of John Mayer.

(Wishing I could find the photo credit for this amazing shot.)

Now, I've mentioned John Mayer here (also here before that, which links to John's now empty blog, though the same referenced post is still on his MySpace page if you scroll down and look for it), and there. And I am a fan of him and his music. I'll even admit to getting a little swoony over his words, both sung and on the page, but that's it. But it's not like I want to marry him. Far from it.

In the dream, we were sitting together watching the opening act for his show. I was trying to explain to him how I really liked him, but I wasn't the kind of fan who wanted to be with him, even though I think I might have been stalking him at his shows. He was flirting with me, and also the guy who sat on his other side, a friend I knew from work years ago. (My colleague and I happened to both date boys from one fraternity I haunted in college, so it is no surprise to me that we'd both be interested in John Mayer in the dream.) Anyway, then John starts singing that Rihanna song I've had stuck in my head since I heard it the first time last weekend, laughing about how Bossy nailed it in her post about the Grammy's, and I'm thinking, John Mayer reads Bossy, too!, and maybe if he's reading Bossy, he's reading other people I read, and maybe he reads my blog and thinks I am interested.

Oh, now I get it. I was back in sixth grade again and John Mayer was my not-quite-a-boyfriend.

I need to put the diary away now, far out of sight and out of mind. Unrequited love is not what I need to revisit from my youth.

Crossroads

2008-02-06T12:11:00.000-08:00

Kind readers,

As you know, I went back to work this fall. While it was not the easiest or most natural transition, it has proven fruitful and I have continued to be employed for twenty hours or so each week. I am happy to be working, but I have some issues.

1) When I am busy, I am happy and productive. When not busy (like during the long commute, when the work slows, and especially days where the kids are off school or home sick), my head fills with the many other things I might/could or should be doing both personally and professionally, and I am reminded of the things I need to feel fulfilled.

2) My current employment is temporary, like when the funding is gone, so am I, and that's okay. The job is a foot in the door, a slow ride up the on ramp. Regardless, I will need to make a change for the summer and early fall to accommodate my kids' schedules, and while it continues to be a fine and flexible position, I don't know that any job would be lucrative enough for us to consider outsourcing their care and coordination.

3) I believed I had a great solution, a place to take myself and my career that I had toyed with before but never developed.

4) Now that I'm looking at it more closely (a sick day, time to consider every possible option), I think the market may be saturated with people doing what I thought I would do. To begin, I would be required to earn a professional certificate, and in doing so the new direction becomes both time and cost prohibitive.

5) But if I do choose the path of advanced education, the application deadline is Friday.

Hands in front of me, I am weighing my options.

On the left, I have the new direction. I put application materials together, I take classes, I do professional development, I make the attempt to build something from nothing and I may or may not find career satisfaction and sustainability, but at least I've tried.

On the right, I take what I've been doing and spin it differently. I figure out the elements I love from what I used to do and what I do now, those things that kept me from pursuing the other direction in the first place, mix it with a broader professional network that is closer to home, and bypass the reinvention part, saving some time, energy and resources.

While I'll admit to being risk averse, I'm not entirely risk phobic. I will make a choice and follow through when I feel it is the best choice for me to take and I will move confidently in a new direction. I'm also overwhelmingly intuitive, and when the thought and possibility of doing a thing begins to make me feel ill and anxious, I need to stop and reexamine my motives.

Readers, what would you advise (especially you readers who happen to know more of the specifics)?

I value your insights.

Super (Slanderous) Tuesday

2008-02-05T06:02:00.000-08:00

From O magazine, February 2008:

[An excerpt] [f]rom Gaming the Vote: Why Elections Aren't Fair (And What We Can Do About It) by William Poundstone

Like consultants, negative campaigning is nothing new. In the 1828 presidential race, Andrew Jackson's opponents accused him of cannibalism.

The Whigs claimed that Democrat Martin Van Buren wore the finest ladies' corsets under his suit. He ate off golden utensils and spent a fortune on diamonds, rubies, French vases, and imported beauty creams, all charged to U.S. taxpayers. The 1844 race was enlivened by the interesting claim that Henry Clay had broken every one of the ten commandments. In 1876 the Republicans declared that Democrat Samuel Tilden had syphilis and was an unprincipled drunkard scheming to bring back slavery. Tilden's people then claimed that Hayes had gone insane and shot his mother.

In 1948 Lyndon Johnson, running for the Senate against Coke Stevenson, instructed a campaign worker: "Go out there and tell 'em Coke was caught having sex with a farm animal." The worker was aghast. "But you know that's not true!" "Of course it's not true. That's not the point. Tell it anyway, and make him deny it."

* * *

Dear Autodial Messengers:

Please leave me alone now.

I'm not fooled, and I'm not buying anything you're telling me.

I can read the facts myself and make my own decisions.

Calling me every ten minutes, especially at the end of my childrens' day, only makes me dislike your candidate and/or proposition, making me want to vote against him/her/it just for the intrusion.

Yours in democracy,
Karen

Hindsight

2008-02-04T13:40:00.000-08:00

I was volunteering at Ellie's school one morning, having the usual chat with another mom: name, how many kids, which class, where will they go to Kindergarten, where will they go to summer camp?

She had a boy Ellie's age and another a year behind Jake.

We chatted about the little ones as we continued at our task.

Then she asked a question I couldn't answer. She asked how I liked Jake's teachers from last year.

I thought. I considered. I paused.

That I didn't respond immediately in the affirmative probably said enough.

I double-checked my words before I spoke.

"My son was very well prepared for Kindergarten."

The other mom looked at me puzzled. She prodded. I responded as appropriately and dispassionately as I could, giving some information but no details.

She'd heard that the teachers were not the warmest, to which I added, "I just don't think they loved my kid."

* * *

A year ago, I was preparing myself and my son for the transition from preschool to grade school. There was truly no way I could be ready, it was a major milestone in our lives.

Honestly, it could not have gone better.

Half-way through the school year, I've had one teacher conference, two mid-term reports, a letter home at Thanksgiving, a holiday card, and a half-dozen e-mails back and forth with Jake's teacher about how well he is doing, what a wonderful addition he is to the class and the school, and how happy they are to know him. I recognize that some of the care and attention is unique because we've chosen to attend a private school, but sometimes, I just want to pat myself on the back for choosing such a good one.

I adore the teachers as they do my son. I am positively giddy each time they interact with my girl who will be their pupil in three years. The level of care my child and our family receives from this school makes it well worth the ridiculous sum we are paying in tuition.

* * *

Ellie's first teacher conference was last week. She, too, is loved and loves school. Her teachers are open and accessible and encourage her academic and developmental growth in every way. Miss L also made a point to tell me how well Ellie adjusted to my return to work, knowing with all certainty how my heart ripped in pieces every day I left my baby to discover that when all the other mommies came back, hers did not, at least not until later when all the fun had passed.

She then said something so perfect and poignant I feel we should probably all have it printed on our best baggy old sweatshirts and bad hair day hats, a bit of wisdom that explains why so many I know walk around with their version of The Look:

A mother is only as happy as her least happy child.

* * *

I don't know what it is about 2008, but I finally feel like I'm getting my groove back. We are settled into our lives differently and more solidly now. A lot of questions have been answered and we are moving forward. We know who are children are and who we are as parents. My children are happy and secure, and for once, I feel like I am, too.

If I had only known

2008-01-31T17:53:00.000-08:00

I've been friends with L and M since we were all eleven years old and in the sixth grade. If I'd known we'd still be friends today, I think I would have taken more photos of us over the years so we could look back and laugh at our leg warmer-ed, sweater-vested, prairie skirted, John Hughes movie watching selves.

Just yesterday, separately, they both passed along bits of information that gave me a great reason (as if I needed one) to think about the girl I was and the woman I am today.

From M came an e-mail with the wisdom of Maya Angelou:

"I've learned that no matter what happens, or how bad it seems today, life does go on, and it will be better tomorrow."

"I've learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way he/she handles these three things: a rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights."

"I've learned that regardless of your relationship with your parents, you'll miss them when they're gone from your life."

"I've learned that making a "living" is not the same thing as "making a life."

"I've learned that life sometimes gives you a second chance."

"I've learned that you shouldn't go through life with a catcher's mitt on both hands; you need to be able to throw some things back."

"I've learned that whenever I decide something with an open heart, I usually make the right decision."

"I've learned that even when I have pains, I don't have to be one."

"I've learned that every day you should reach out and touch someone. People love a warm hug, or just a friendly pat on the back."

"I've learned that I still have a lot to learn."

"I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel."

It was funny to me, because just hours before, L and I had been discussing our reactions to an essay she'd read in Nora Ephron's latest book, I Feel Bad About My Neck. She asked what I would blog about the life lessons I've learned?

You see, I try not to have regrets in life, but there are certainly issues I've reconsidered, wondering who and what I would be now if I'd been more aware, especially in my teens and twenties.

(However, remembering myself in my teens and twenties, there is no way I'd have been any more aware because I bore the daunting responsibility of never being wrong and also always being right. I'm thinking I have about ten years before it comes full circle and Ellie inflicts this on me.)

I may not be as wise as Maya Angelou or as witty as Nora Ephron, but I have learned a thing or two along the way.

No matter what it looks like on the outside, no one has the perfect family.

"Perfect" is overwhelmingly subjective anyway.

People who choose not to be your friend because you don't wear the latest fashions are probably not the kind of friends you want to have. This holds true whether you are twelve or forty-two.

Everyone deserves to be treated with kindness.

Your body never forgets, and will sometimes pick inopportune times to remind you that you should have lifted with your legs and not your back that time you moved into your first apartment.

If you break up with someone, and break up with them again and again, chances are, it's not a relationship that's going to last.

There is such a thing as love at first sight.

When picking a college major, don't be motivated by what you think will impress graduate schools or future employers. If every course you take and book you read in a subject puts you to sleep, think about choosing something else. If you're not sure, ask.

The boys who might have seemed too dorky to date in high school might still have been good friends to have, even if not boyfriend material. It probably would have been time better spent making friends than dealing with the complexities of relationships at such a young age. Besides, I've learned that a lot of these geeky boys end up turning into fine and interesting men.

If given the opportunity to study abroad or travel, muster up the courage to go, regardless of how homesick you might become or how frightened you are to speak another language or live in another culture. It will probably change your life.

Children do not need to be part of every decision-making process.

Let people you love know that you do as often as you can. If it doesn't feel right to say it, find a way to show it in a way that does, and say it regardless because people need to hear it.

Don't put cashmere in the dryer.

You can't control everything, no matter how vigilant or determined. Accidents happen. Still, prevention beats most of the alternatives.

Who you are is not the equivalent of what you have accomplished.

Self-respect is more valuable than all the external validation in the world.

What do you know now?

Pssst ...

2008-01-31T17:34:00.000-08:00

Hey, readers. You still there?

I've started on a new blog adventure, but this time, I'm not doing it alone.

I'm back to Weight Watchers and I'm telling all about it along with my friends from Get in the Car! and 15 Minutes of Peace at Life on 20 Weight Watchers Points a Day.

Stop by and visit, won't you?

Not quite a fairy tale

2008-01-24T18:39:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time, there was a mother who had a very sensitive little boy. The boy observed and interacted with the world in a way that was different than other children. Everyone who knew the boy knew he was smart and kind. Because he was her first, and because she was sensitive and bit different, too, the mother may have protected her boy a bit more than other mothers do.

The boy crawled, walked and talked just as he was supposed to. He started preschool. He learned shapes, colors and letters and made many new friends. His teachers loved him, and even though some days he would cry and cry, he continued to learn and was happy to go to school. No one understood why he cried so much, but they understood that the boy was good and would do things in his own time. His teacher once said about him, "There are enough followers in the world. Let yours take his own path." When the mother worried, the teachers explained that his behavior was normal and that they would take care of him.

The best friends he made were the ones that understood that even though some days were crying days, he was still a nice boy who shared, never fought, and loved to play with cars, trains and the tools and materials of construction. These friends also happened to have the nicest moms who understood what it meant to have a boy who was not exactly like the other boys.

The mother quickly learned that not every mom felt the same.

In fact, one mom made quite a few mentions, in passing of course, of how the boy was different, how perhaps the teachers were not helping him to manage his feelings and how the other children noticed and teased the boy, and that maybe the mother should do something about it. The mother was sad, and scared, and had many conferences with the teachers and administrators to discuss her special boy. As much as she wanted to believe that it was not the other mom's business, she had a lot of feelings of her own to manage and couldn't help wondering if maybe the other mom was right?

Days passed, and one sunny morning a group of the nicest children had a play date at the park. When the boy and his mother were playing, she accidentally knocked him into a tree and he cried. One of the special friends, perhaps frustrated from being in defense of him on so many other days, scolded him, "[Boy], STOP CRYING ALREADY!" The mother was quick to correct the child, "[Friend], he bumped into a tree and it hurt. It's okay for him to cry, and it's not okay for you to talk to him that way."

Caught by her quick reaction to correct another's child, she rushed to the other mom and explained apologetically what she had said. The other mom considered the exchange, reasoned that an apology wasn't necessary, that in fact, her child was out of line, and followed with, "But he does cry a lot. Have you had him evaluated?"

The mother was incensed. She was hurt and felt judged. She defended her child, her actions, justified all that she had done, and walked away. It was enough, the final straw. She decided that the two moms were simply not destined to be friends, that it was not her job to explain to the other mom exactly how and why she was wrong, and quietly hoped that the mom would not influence her child, the boy's friend, to feel differently about him.

She never had him evaluated. She discussed him at length with his teachers, his pediatrician, the school's director and an educational psychologist (who evaluated only his readiness for Kindergarten as required by his new school and not his bouts of emotional fragility) and they all felt confident that what was normal for this boy, while still not like other children, was nothing of concern.

Months passed and the boy matured. His crying days were less and less. While the mother continued to spend time with the mothers who understood, she still bore a grudge against the mom who so casually suggested there was something wrong with her child, believing that statements of that nature are both caustic and inflammatory. She remained civil and pleasant, careful to keep her feelings removed from the children's enduring friendship. As the children enrolled at different schools, and their younger siblings were in different preschool classes, she no longer faced the daily reminder of the other mom's scrutiny.

When the mother had at last let go of the once offensive incidents and her feelings of disdain for the other mom, the two met again. They hugged hello and goodbye, extending well wishes to each other's children.

The next day, the mother pieced together bits of knowledge from a vague but friendly e-mail from the other mom and an overheard conversation from the night before, and her head began to spin.

The other child of the other mom is a different kind of boy, too, but hers has been evaluated and won't be coming back to preschool right now.

How quickly we judge. How quickly we become victims, hurt and distanced. How quick we are to protect ourselves when perhaps we should have offered a listening ear or a helping hand instead.

How quickly we go from being wronged to just being wrong.

How quickly our idea of a happy ending changes.

In case of emergency

2008-01-19T20:24:00.000-08:00

I used to be afraid of emergency rooms.

I'd listen in awe and horror as I heard the tales of other families' ailments and woes, believing I alone could keep my children from harm's way. I wore my vigilance as a badge of honor.

Then I had Ellie.

She has dislocated her elbow twice, gouged her forehead on the fireplace, and just yesterday, survived her foot being near swallowed by an escalator.

She's fine. We're fine. Everyone is fine.

No lives have been altered or lost.

We're fine.

(Deep breath. Pause. Give thanks.)

Accidents happen. Real life happens. Accidents and real life happen after hours and on weekends. That's why we have emergency rooms.

I'm no veteran of this, but have learned a few lessons along the way.

You cannot prevent all accidents from occurring. That's why they are called "accidents." If you planned them, you wouldn't intend on anyone ending up bruised, broken, or bleeding, and you'd manage the event to take place during your pediatrician's regularly scheduled office hours.

Stay calm. No one is going to get better any faster if you panic or if you start taking out your anger and frustration on your unharmed family members. (I'm sorry, Jakey. I didn't mean to be angry and frustrated with you. I was just worried about your sister.)

It's nice if you have another adult around to help - especially if your spouse is the one seeking care or is out of town or at an unreasonable distance. Whether it is caring for your other children or you, it's good to not be alone if you can manage it. Auntie Banana has been part of our hospital outings a few times now, and has proven to be the perfect person to help keep me sane, field phone calls, and serve as an extra set of ears if I am unable to absorb all the important information given the situation.

If you leave your child in the care of others, you probably want to fill out a document giving your authorization for that caregiver to consent to your child's medical treatment. We've filled out these forms for our schools and summer camps, but should also have on hand for the grandparents who watch our kids, too, especially if and when we are out of town. (Here is where you can find this form for the State of California - I'm sure other states have something similar if not the same.)

Near my kitchen phone, I keep a list of all the phone numbers someone might need if they were in charge of my kids; it includes their pediatrician, their schools, our home and office addresses, all of our families' addresses and cell phone numbers. (When I fill out those medical consent forms, you can bet I'll keep them with this information sheet.) Speaking of phones, I try to always have my cell phone charged, or at least have a charger with me.

If you happen to be at home and have the wherewithal to collect yourself before a trip to the ER, it's nice to bring familiar items to amuse yourself and loved ones. When Ellie was being treated for her head wound, since it was close to her bed time, I brought a change of pajamas for her, a few of her washable sleepy friends and some milk for the ride home. When we speak of the time she had her head fixed, we talk about how I brought her blankies and puppy and played ring around the rosie with them on her hospital bed. I feel like I'm helping keep a tiny bit of normalcy and comfort in an otherwise grim setting. (Since we went straight from the mall to the ER yesterday, I didn't have time to stop for toys or other niceties, so we made do with treasures from my purse and Jake's backpack. We played a version of Memory with a series of wallet size portraits.)

Don't expect to feel normal even when the worst is over.

Today we are exhausted. Even a brief trip to the ER is at least a couple of hours spent in emotional, and sometimes physical, distress. We have debriefed. Jake understands what happened when Ellie and I went behind the closed doors. Ellie ~~understands~~ has been convinced that we will ride the escalator again, but next time, we'll be sure to stay in the middle of the step.

I understand that however watchful, wary and cautious I am, I cannot expect to prevent every fall or misstep. I want to, but I can't.

Ellie says she wants to be a doctor when she grows up. I hope that she chooses emergency medicine. She seems drawn to it already.

My Best of 2007

2008-01-17T13:34:00.000-08:00

Since you now know that I waited until 2008 to see the month ahead of me, I'm sure you won't be shocked to see that my year end recap is a few weeks late.

I ended 2007 with a shrug. I called it a status quo kind of year.

Nothing really changed for me, I thought, feeling like my biggest accomplishment of 2007 was clearing up my persistent adult acne. (Thank you Dr. Murad for selling your miraculous line of skin products at Sephora!)

I'd forgotten about how much I enjoyed playing tennis again this summer while the kids were both at day camp. How much I savored the five weeks with both kids otherwise occupied, 75 hours to call my very own. How amazing it was to see John Mayer in concert, especially as seen from the very last row with my dear Adrienne. I spent an afternoon with L for tea at the Ritz Carlton, a long lost tradition that we'd missed living across the country and having children. I'd forgotten my sense of accomplishment having joined a gym and ~~enduring~~ enjoying spinning, kick boxing, and strength training classes, rediscovering my inner athlete.

The year was full,with great days and big events. Hardly status quo at all.

We ate a lot of great meals. Jar. Campanile. Simon. The Restaurant at the Getty. The Four Seasons. Twice at Mario Batali's B & B in Las Vegas. Twice at The Hitching Post II. It's no wonder I'm still saddled with these last ~~5 or 10~~ few pounds. I ate a lot and it was good.

Rafe cashed in two poker tournaments and fulfilled a dream by playing in the World Series of Poker.

I started working again.

Jake learned to write his name.

He got his first bicycle and learned to swim. Finished preschool, and went off on his own to summer camp (going on a bus all by himself), then Kindergarten at his new school. He ended the year beginning to read and testing the limits of his first loose tooth.

Ellie potty trained herself. She started preschool and graduated to a big girl bed. She performed in her first ever school holiday show. She is an even more confident child than she was when the summer began (if you can even imagine).

I went away by myself. Twice. Once alone, once taking a plane (I hadn't flown since 2004) to be with old friends for a much needed girl's weekend. I don't know when I've ever spent so much time giggling.

Rafe and I celebrated our ninth wedding anniversary and went away without the kids. We discovered the Santa Ynez wine country. I'm drinking red wine like I was born to and not like it's given me migraines for the past 20 years.

Most importantly, our little family had a lot of fun.

We took two trips to Las Vegas.

(In August, the view from a monorail station looking towards Hooters)

(In December, checking out the casino action)

We spent a few days at the beach.

And when we got back, Jake was so tired, he had to hide from us to take a nap.

We took the kids on their first hike (Jake walked all 3 miles while Ellie sang along).

Had many visits to Disneyland.

And even took Jake on a subway to see a race.

We had the best time at a Dodger game, the kids' first, complete with peanuts and Cracker Jacks.

A few months later, we took the subway again to spend an afternoon at the downtown library.

We ushered in 2008 eating great food with a few of our favorite people, put the kids to bed and spent the rest of the night, until the wee, wee hours (a time of day I only otherwise see when my girl wakes me up to go pee) drinking wonderful wines and laughing.

Every year should be so uneventful.

I'm the kind of person ...

2008-01-16T17:59:00.001-08:00

I'm the kind of person who writes about how much she misses writing, then doesn't write.

I am a confessed killer - of chain letters and forwarded e-mails.

I've made a rule of not seeing a movie if I've read the book, with exception of the Harry Potter series which I've found to be faithful enough to the books that I'm not filling in the story before it happens.

I have a strong aversion to buying clothing at retail prices, except for my kids. I am the queen of the discount store, outlet mall, and clearance sale, but decided yesterday that I'm drawing the line and will no longer make impulse clothing buys at Costco. I think Tim Gunn would be proud.

I typically wait until one year ends and another begins to buy a new calendar.

I almost exclusively read non-fiction now because I cannot tear myself away from a good novel and I need my sleep.

While I refer to my children my their given names on my blog, in real life, each is known by at least a dozen nicknames.

Jake is: Jakey, Jakes, Bug, Bunny, Muffin, Monkey, Mister, Big, Thing One, Love, Brother and Sweets.

Ellie is: El, Ellie Belle, Belle, Belly, Lala, Lolly, Lollipop, Dolly, Baby, Baby Doll, Princess, Little, Thing Two, Missy, Pretty, Sister and also Sweets.

I never forget a face. You'd think this would be a great feature, but remembering people you've met or seen only once makes me feel like some kind of stalkerish freak.

I have a hard time passing up a good meme, even if I've already done it, and especially when I'm not tagged.

Write Now

2008-01-10T20:38:00.000-08:00

I love writing. I love putting my thoughts to paper or screen.

I love the process of writing, how it helps me to think differently, how it helps me to see something maybe I wasn't ready to see, or something I already knew deep in my heart.

If I'm not blogging, you can assume one of several things might be happening:

1) I'm really, really busy. Too busy to think. Too busy to make the effort.

2) I'm a mess of emotions. I know what I'm thinking, but worried that I will offend or reveal too much. I'm worried I will discover something I'm not ready to face, and that putting the thoughts into text will push me into action even if I'm not ready. I'm worried I'll be judged poorly.

3) I read pieces that others have published and deem my writing as less. My struggles are not as deep. My stories are not as profound. Does the world need to hear of how my children bicker, how tired I am, or how I can't make it to the gym when there is so much pain and turmoil elsewhere?

4) I read my own writing and wonder how I'll ever be able to write better, how could I top such extraordinary prose with the current contents of my cluttered mind?

5) I am feeling conflicted about a choice I've made and have already written about ad nauseam. Do I dare drone on and on about an already well worn topic, boring my dozen readers?

If you've missed my writing, you can be sure that I've missed your reading it even more.

I still have a lot to say, so just now, right now, I'm writing.

Though it was written in 1991, and maybe it's just a product of my advanced age, this still feels timeless to me. Take a moment right now and please do enjoy a little Van Halen.

Mo Chuisle

2007-12-14T14:25:00.000-08:00

My Ellie is not the easiest of children.

My pregnancy with her was riddled with little dramas - never about her health, but first of her existence (blood tests initially showed negative), then later, of her gender (bad technology left us wondering). She was a week past due when I was induced for a VBAC; the only straightforward part was the twenty minutes of pushing to her delivery.

Within two weeks of her (late) arrival, she began our semester long education on colic.

When the midwife remarked on my child's absence at my post-partum checkup, a time when most new moms can't wait to show off their sweet sleeping cherubs, I explained that I needed the break from her.

I wept, telling her of the screaming, the endless nights, her inability to be consoled, and how I simply didn't know what else to do (an unfortunate experience for any mother, one that Paige told of her own colicky girl so poignantly).

She looked at me with kindness and understanding and said, "It's hard to bond with a colicky baby."

An understatement to say the very least.

Ellie's 1st Hanukkah!

At six weeks, we discovered that if swaddled, cozied up in a sling, rocked, shushed and swayed at the right intervals for an appropriate duration, she became tolerable (at small doses).

I reasoned that she didn't believe she was ready to be born; she didn't choose it, maybe it wasn't time. Since she didn't know how to soothe herself, being close to me - to my heart and the sounds of my body - was enough.

It had to be. It was all I had left.

All I could give her was my heart.

+ + +

Right after her third birthday, she decided she was ready for a Big Girl Bed. In her crib (the same bed, but with a side rail), she slept all night. Dry. No little dramas.

In the Big Girl Bed, she is up, SCREAMING, once, twice, sometimes three times a night. She needs to pee. She's fallen out of bed. Now she can't find her bed. She's had a bad dream. She can't find her blanket. She's lost a sock. Is it morning now? (She asks this whether it's 8:30 p.m. or 3:30 a.m.)

I do what I can.

I find what is missing.

I tuck her in tightly.

I try to give her every security that she must feel she has lost.

Some nights, she asks for me to hold her. I spend a few minutes in either her bed or mine and we lay chest to chest. She has again found a way to be close to my heart. She still needs this from me and though I'd never ask, sometimes I need it too.

+ + +

Like the chorus of a song you can't forget, I keep thinking about a piece I read of Catherine Newman's at Wondertime. It's not so much the entirety of what she wrote, it's a few words she included from a friend's e-mail written about his own growing children that are stuck in my brain:

"There WILL be a day when they don't want to be carried up the stairs … But the idea that the last time will go unmarked and slip away without being cherished just made me so sad."

Her last day with colic, her last night in the crib. Had I known how quickly it would pass, maybe I wouldn't have rushed through her babyhood wishing her older and less dependent. How I'd miss the routines that gave us the smallest shards of sanity during her colic. How I'd long for the feeling of lifting her growing body, then placing her down gently in her crib at the end of each day. Those days are gone. I keep the pacifiers (out of sight and out of reach) that we collected from around the house almost two years ago when she gave up her "night night," not expecting that she'd use them again, but stunned that she never asked.

One day, she won't ask for me either.

Today she does, and it is that which I cherish.

My heart is full.

"Mo chuisle" literally means "My pulse", but can mean "My love" or "My darling".

It's a term of endearment taken from the original phrases "A chuisle mo chroí", or "Pulse of my heart".

The movie Million Dollar Baby incorrectly spells "Mo chuisle" as "Mo cuishle". (Source)

Does anyone have the number of a local exorcist?

2007-12-10T14:15:00.000-08:00

It must be getting better, I reasoned in my head. I'm starting to sound like Pollyanna again.

"Well, at least we didn't get pink eye!"

It's a toss up (and I mean that rather literally) between which birthday celebration was worse for me: last year, when Rafe had an emergency appendectomy or this year with Ellie vomiting all over my special day.

Better after the bug, we took her out for Jake's school Hanukkah show the next day, only to quickly remove her when a rash began spreading across her little body.

At least we have a booster seat in each car!

Rafe stayed at the show with Jake while I called the doctor from home. Ellie simply had an odd reaction to something on her clothes - naked, she was fine.

If that wasn't bad enough (at that point, the appendectomy was still winning), as Ellie recovered, Jake's complaints worsened. Saturday he was diagnosed with an ear infection and bronchitis. Then he got that stomach bug. And since he couldn't keep anything down, my boy and his daddy spent Sunday in the ER to determine if Jake would need an antibiotic injection and IV fluids (he didn't); while they were there, each had a chest x-ray to learn that they both have a mild case of pneumonia.

At least it's just the walking kind of pneumonia! (Or as Rafe calls it, "working pneumonia.")

Bringing Ellie back to school after her brief hiatus, we learned that while we were out, several classmates were sent home with conjunctivitis. But not us! We were home sterilizing every surface and washing every set of sheets we own.

Being home with sick kids has meant being out of work, too.

At least I'm saving on fuel and daycare!

Thanks Again

2007-11-27T17:30:00.000-08:00

I drove by a church on the way to Jake's school this morning. Flashing in bold red letters on the sign out front was a statement: "Give Thanks Every Day."

Thanks are not just for Thanksgiving, I inferred, not when you remember, not when it's expected, nor only when it's convenient.

I read it as a directive. Give thanks every day.

I was reminded again by a co-worker a few hours later. As we chit-chatted about the long weekend he said, "I'm just blessed. Every day is Thanksgiving for me."

I don't know the circumstances of his life, but I know that his employment in our office is a transition to help him get back on his feet from a place I can't imagine.

I was humbled. And so very grateful.

+ + +

A few years ago when Jake was in preschool, as an introduction to the holiday his teachers asked for what he was thankful. Thoughtful as always, remembering that his Mommy had not allocated time or groceries to put together a proper lunch that morning and instead (gasp!) purchased his lunch from the school, he gave thanks for Macaroni & Cheese.

+ + +

This year, Ellie shared in her preschool class that she is most thankful for giraffes. If pressed, she'll tell you that actually she's thankful for giraffes, zebras, lions and bears. And tigers. But mostly giraffes.

+ + +

Upon the wall outside Jake's Kindergarten class were drawings the children had made in honor of the holiday. Here is the one my boy made:

You'll note that the prominent figure at the left of the page is his representation of me - pretty close on the hair, don't you think? I believe that Daddy is to the right, and the figures below might be Jake, Ellie and the dog, but I'm not sure which is which.

Take that Mac & Cheese.

+ + +

I am thankful that my little girl has the luxury to be thankful for zoo animals, that she does not wish for food on the table or a roof over her head.

I am thankful that my boy has grown from appreciating lunch to love, that more than toys, games, amusement parks, or a new bike, he chose to express his gratitude for that which I, too, hold most dear - our family.

I am thankful for my husband, my hero, who humors my whims, offers unfailing support of my dreams, and after all these years together, still makes me feel the same as when I fell in love with him.

I am thankful for our families who shower our children with their time and affection.

I am thankful for the schools we've entrusted to educate our children. I am pleasantly reminded, more often than I'd even ask, of what great choices we've made.

I am thankful for our health, our home, and for all the love and laughter in our lives.

And yes, sometimes I am also thankful for macaroni and cheese.

Giraffes, too.

Monday (Photo) Meme

2007-11-26T21:23:00.000-08:00

Ann(ie) posted another meme, and I'm following in her footsteps (and posting an abbreviated version of the original).

If you want to follow the rules, type the answer to each question into a Google image search, then pick an image from the first page of results.

(If you're like me, you'll want to find the best pictures, not necessarily the first pictures, and you'll do it from Flickr, making sure to give credit where credit is due, and you'll spend more time on this than you'd planned (ahem) a few hours ago, and give up and go back to Google Images because Blogger is making you crazy with the Flickr photos and you'll reformat and realize that it's time for bed.)

Maybe you'll play along?

1. Age at next birthday

Aisle 37 Originally uploaded by mag3737

2. Place I'd like to travel

Venice, Italy Originally uploaded by abmiller99

3. Favorite Place

Hawaii Sunset Originally uploaded by Jefe June

4. Favorite Objects

5. Favorite Food

nobu: tuna tataki with garlic and ponzu sauce
Originally uploaded by justydrink

6. Favorite Animal

That's our dog, Daisy

7. Favorite Color

Lime Green
Originally uploaded by gbalogh

8. Town where I was born

Huntington Beach

Originally uploaded by andy castro

9. Town where I live

Topanga & West San Fernando Valley Sunday Drive

Originally uploaded by Rockin Robin

10. First job

Fallen Ice Cream Cone
Originally uploaded by Andy2003

11. College major

12. A bad habit I have

How it looks: the answers

2007-11-20T20:17:00.000-08:00

I don't blog so often anymore.

It's not that I don't have ideas. As I make the drive every morning, my head is filled with titles and quips.

I wrote a bit about the confusion and concerns of starting a new phase in my life. I wrote it with the intent of posting the questions one day, and my answers the next.

It's now something like two or three weeks later, and the draft sits as a shadow over my creative process.

Reading it over, it seems indulgent. An exercise in self-discovery, truth and realization that no one really needs, not even me.

I'd told the truth about going back to work, but I hadn't told the truth.

I was relieved, grateful, and happy to be working. Yet every day for the first week, I cried with frustration, boredom, guilt and exhaustion.

I tried to figure out exactly how many days I would need to fulfill to meet the terms of my contract.

One day was so bad that I turned around and went home.

I bet you know what happened next, right?

I had my day off and while I wandered about, doing the things I'd done so mindlessly in the weeks prior as a lady of leisure, and I knew the truth.

I missed working.

I missed feeling valued and productive in a way that being a stay at home mother had not fulfilled me.

I can be good at being both a mother and a working woman. The two are not mutually exclusive.

(Damn you Mommy Wars for making me doubt myself.)

As you'd all prepared me, being a working mother involves a lot of juggling, organization and determination.

It also affords me tremendous perspective on how I spend my minutes, regardless of whether or not I am paid for my time.

I know now that no matter how Ellie protests about her extended days at school, she adapts.

I know that I need to eat a snack mid-day otherwise I have a hard time focusing.

I know that no matter how tired I am at the end of the day, if I don't pack up lunches and backpacks for everyone the night before, the morning rush is terribly unpleasant.

I know that even with proven shortcuts, I have to allow myself a lot of time to get from place to place. Sometimes I'm early, sometimes I'm late. Rarely do the shortcuts save me time.

I know that with their teachers and grandparents, my children are in great care whether they are with me or not.

I know that I can do this now.

How it looks: the questions

2007-11-06T08:21:00.000-08:00

When I was tottering at the precipice of working and not, I struggled constantly. For months. Just as it was hard for me once to imagine life with a child, it became more impossible to conceive of a life with children and work.

I'll admit, I've had it easy the past five years, at least easier than some. I'm not suggesting even a tiny bit that being a full-time stay at home parent is just sprinkles and frosting, but it is not the same as trying to manage the demands of a family along with the needs of an employer.

I'd ~~whine at~~ ask myself and my husband, "How will it look?" I had no idea how the juggle would manifest itself - would I keep all the balls in the air, or would they be hitting me in the head and bouncing off each other in the least graceful and productive way?

Would I work part-time or more? From home or on site? Commute or local?

How would the children manage? In a very short time, Ellie went from no school, to three hours, three days a week, to three hours five days a week, to six hours five days a week. Would this be okay? Would it change her? Would I be able to be an active parent volunteer? Would I get to know the families in each child's class, or would I miss out on all of the chats and coffees of the stay at home moms with their kids on a shorter schedule?

Would I have time for myself? The gym? Keeping house?

Would it be enough? Would a part-time salary, offset by the added expenses of daycare, make a difference?

Would I be enough? Had my motherhood hiatus made my professional skills irrelevant? Could I do part-time work and still make a meaningful contribution? Would I feel good about doing less?

I didn't want to write about it, didn't want to share my anxieties and fears, even though I've learned that many former professionals have the same feelings about the same transition. I was stuck in it. I needed answers.

I started applying for jobs in May. The first two were part-time freelance positions in the non-profit sector for which I was moderately qualified.

I heard nothing until I heard that I'd not been hired. (Note to employers: if you never contact a prospective employee, I don't think you need to send out a super formal and nice rejection letter. If you never called, and we never met, I'll go ahead and assume I didn't get the job.)

I changed my resume, applied for three more jobs, was offered two of them, accepted one, and still didn't know what to expect. But at least now I knew my skills and experience were still marketable. I applied for another that didn't work out, and started networking as I had never networked before, and accepted a viable offer.

With the biggest piece of the puzzle in place, the rest of the details would follow.

And follow they will, but first, I have to drop Ellie at school and go to work....

No Mo' NaBloPoMo

2007-11-01T22:53:00.001-07:00

...at least for me. Not this year.

I took part in the challenge in 2006 with only a few months of blogging under my belt.

Some things I wrote, I loved.

I explained how I Invented Motherhood. Then another blogger reviewed my blog during NaBloPoMo and suggested I use that very phrase, "I Invented Motherhood" as a more fetching blog name instead of its birth name, Jakelliesmom.

I still well up when reading some. For others, I wonder what possessed me?

I shared more about myself, my family, my loves, than in any other month.

I also told more about my early years than you probably wanted to know. (I also tend to do this, you might have noted.)

I still have drafts of posts I never finished. Maybe that will be my BloPoMo instead?

And though I specifically stated (and if it's published on the Internet it must be true, right?) that I wanted to sign up for the challenge again this year, I have neither the time nor the energy.

I applaud those who do, and look forward to reading their entries this month.

(P.S. Hope you enjoyed the clip show!)

A brief parenting exchange

2007-10-30T08:12:00.000-07:00

The other day, Jake and I were at the local market. We'd just come from a birthday party, and enjoyed the special alone time that comes rarely for a firstborn child, especially when their younger sibling is so very loud and boisterous.

We were a picture of parent/child bliss. I held him in the biggest hug as we waited for our turn to check out. He played with my hair and covered my cheeks in kisses.

An older woman was behind us in line. Speaking to my boy, she remarked on how much we clearly loved each other. Jake squeezed me that much tighter.

I turned and smiled as she told me what a lovely child he was. I agreed, and thanked her.

She mentioned, as many people do, (especially the ones with grand, and great-grand children of their own), how quickly this time goes by.

"I know," I said, reflecting on how time has indeed flown, how it seems like just yesterday when he slept in the crook of my arm, and I'd gaze at his tiny features, amazed at the miracle of life.

They are so sweet at this age, you want to eat them up, she suggested.

I nodded, knowingly.

"Then when they're 15, you'll wish you had."

Coming of Age in the '80's

2007-10-28T11:50:00.000-07:00

So inspired was I by Ann(ie)'s post about her love for all things '80's, I couldn't help but follow. I started a lengthy list of the times, the music, the movies, the world in which I lived.

Then I stopped.

Anyone who grew up in the '80's is going to have a lot of common pop culture references. But this is my blog, and coming of age in the '80s, a girl between the ages of 9 and 19, the '80's were all about hair, makeup and fashion.

With rainbow ribbons in my hair, 1981

The time started innocently enough, what with the rainbow shirts, ceramic heart pins with my name above the rainbow, and anything else you could affix with ROYGBIV.

I think I wore them roller skating.

I went through preppy - collars up, sweaters around the shoulders, shirts with a variety of animal logos. I coordinated anything pink with green, wore canvas espadrilles and carried a monogrammed handbag. I wore designer jeans - Chemin de Fer were popular at one school, then I changed schools and wore what those girls wore - Gloria Vanderbilt, Jordache and Sergio Valente. Guess? jeans were the palest, faded blue and wouldn't have been right without the ankle zippers. I only had one neon shirt and acid washed skirt, but wore them proudly with a neon pink hair scrunchie. I wore prairie skirts. Leg warmers. I layered multi-hued socks (to coordinate with my over-sized sweaters from The Limited). I stuffed my shirts with removable shoulder pads. If there was a trend, if it was featured in the ad pages of Seventeen magazine, I followed it.

I had big hair. Big, big 1980's hair. You'll remember, hair products were not as varied as they are today. I didn't use gobs of Dep or gallons of Aqua Net in my fine hair; instead, I permed. With the chemical damage came some unusual hair colors, and I even tried to lighten it on my own with lemon juice, not resorting to the spray on peroxide highlighters that my blond friends used.

That's some big, damaged hair!

Now bigger, and even more damaged!

Along with the big hair came big makeup. I liked matching my eyeliner and mascara with an accent color from my outfit, like the green glitter from my Winter Formal gown, circa 1988.

If wearing a patchwork pastel skirt, I'd mirror the pattern and colors on my eyelids. (I believe I may have been known for this.)

As the 1980's ended, I graduated high school and left for college. I had my last perm in the spring of 1990, and began keeping my hair it's natural color and texture that summer. Gone were the days of vibrant mascaras, I hardly wore makeup at all in college, and switched out my Laura Ashley sailor collared floral dresses for more minimalist black. Times changed, and so had I.

I'll still call some of the music and movies of the time among my favorites, but I definitely left that bit of style in the past.

Lowenstein

2007-10-22T12:21:00.000-07:00

I am a working mother.

I have a job now.

I have to repeat it to myself because in many ways, it still does not seem real.

In the end, it all happened rather quickly. After months of interviewing, getting jobs, turning them down, and not getting other jobs, I got a job. I knew about it on a Friday afternoon, waited a few days for details, (of course still wondering if they'd changed their minds), then got the call that said, "Can you start tomorrow?"

I did.

It's been a week.

I was, and continue to be, filled with mixed emotions.

First, I am happy to be productively employed. Though I swore I'd never go back to that job, I actually didn't. While I am working for my most recent employer, I am doing nothing like what I used to do and it is a nice change, both from my former career and from stay at home motherhood. The people are friendly and familiar, and have been flexible and accommodating with my needs and schedule. It is an ideal on-ramp situation.

But I have mourned. Oh, how I've mourned. (If you happen to be like Auntie Banana, at this point of the story, you'll want to place the back of your forearm across your forehead, all damsel in distress like, and say something appropriate like "Woe is me.") I mourned for the loss of my freedom and for the sacrifice of putting my little girl in her preschool's daycare for many hours of the day. My free time is no longer free. It is a juggle and a race. Up before 6. Everyone downstairs and dressed by 6:45. Out the door at 7:15. Drop Jake at Kindergarten. Drop Ellie at preschool. Sit in traffic. Work. Race back for Ellie. Run errands. Pick up Jake. Think about dinner, going to the gym, and doing any and all that I'm not able to do that I didn't question a week before. This is what people do. This is what I do.

By the end of the week, I had come to accept my new lot. I am a working mother. I need to work. I want to work. I am working. I began to relate differently to the other mothers, the working ones, as a new initiate into an established sisterhood. Its doctrines include:

Yes, it is hard; and,
You do what you have to do.

In many ways, it feels as foreign to me as it was to become a mother.

+ + +

At the end of each working day, I am grateful. My focus has changed. I'm not angry or sad, thinking about the drive, the struggle, the juggle or the sacrifice. I think about why I am working, why I do anything at all.

Rafe. Jake. Ellie. Daisy.

Family.

Home.

These are my reasons.

They are my loves.

I am reminded of the closing words in The Prince of Tides:

At the end of every day I drive through the city of Charleston and I cross the bridge that will take me home. I feel the words building inside me, I can't stop them, or tell you why I say them, but as I reach the top of the bridge these words come to me in a whisper. I say these words as a prayer, as regret, as praise, I say: Lowenstein, Lowenstein.

Rafe. Jake. Ellie. Daisy. Home. Family.

Love.

It is why I do what I do.

Dear Three

2007-10-21T22:05:00.000-07:00

Dear Three,

Well look at you, riding in on your rhinestone dappled unicorn, passing under rainbow arches, through clouds of ladybugs and butterflies. Aren't you cute? When I knew you before, I had a little idea of what you might be, but Three, you are so very different as a girl than as a boy. Three year old girl, princess of pink and purple, you are a delight.

You are counting, and you pretend to read (though if I know you, Three, I know that what appears "pretend" is based in some truth, because you recognize words, patterns and letters enough to figure out that a certain combination of them creates your name). You are telling jokes. The jokes, they don't make a lot of sense, but you understand comic timing and want very much for them to be funny which actually does makes them a little bit funny, even if they're not exactly jokes. People generally understand you when you speak, and though you are stubborn and very opinionated, you are becoming reasonable. Yes, I called you reasonable. Can you imagine? (You know, after Two and all.)

You are busy, a little flurry of activity. You have routines, and you have mastered several skills. What you haven't mastered, you are fiercely determined to learn. When you learn, there is no one more proud than Three. The joy you express is limitless. You are still cautious, and you still look to your closest people for comfort and support, but you are now enjoying some earned independence.

The thing I love best about you, Three, is that you understand. You may not like everything, but you connect cause and effect. Honestly, after Two, I appreciate a little pause and reflection. You have preferences, and you notice and appreciate that others have opinions as well (also a nice change from Two).

You are charming and kind. You show empathy and concern. Your exuberance is intoxicating. I wish I had your energy, Three.

I understand that you may not be like this for everyone, Three, but I like what you've done for my little girl.

Looking forward to a wonderful year.

Love,
Karen (Jake and Ellie's Mom)

Happy 3rd Birthday to my sweet Elizabeth Rose!

Little toes

2007-10-10T10:51:00.000-07:00

"But I don't want to go to the gym," she whines. This is the latest in her ongoing list of demands one afternoon. Not only does she not want to go to the gym, she does not want to go home, wear shoes, put her skirt back on, or pick up her brother from school. These are not your decisions to make, I tell her as I place her in her bed for a few minutes to collect herself.

From down the hall, I hear her strong but tiny voice still making a case for all that she refuses. Her objections soften until I hear nothing but the familiar shuffle of Lego blocks from the other room where my boy is beginning a project.

I tiptoe towards her room, not wanting to surprise her awake if she is, in fact, asleep. I peek around the edge of the doorway to see my beautiful girl curled in a corner of her crib, toes pushed through the slats to dangle off the edge. Her skirt is flung to the side, her socks are across the room, and she rests in a delicate slumber.

I settle in to watch her sleep, cautious not to make a noise. It is all I can do not to kiss every single toe, but I wouldn't dare wake her. Stolen naps like these are few and far between.

She's right, I concede. The gym can wait for another day.

The List

2007-10-09T13:23:00.000-07:00

It was December 23, 1995 when I walked away from a very long and mostly troubled relationship just five months shy of getting married. I composed myself enough to call my parents from a nearby pay phone to let them know I would be coming home to stay for a bit, and soon after I arrived, called my friend L whom I knew would also be home with her parents for the holidays. My parents comforted and welcomed me, offering to take care of everything, whatever I needed; L was the same. After joining her family for dinner, we took our leave and closed the door to her room as we had done many times in the many years of our friendship, and talked.

Well, we didn't just talk. We discussed strategy and created an action plan. Having both survived a few dating missteps, we didn't want history to repeat. We each made our personal version of The List, writing specifically and exactly what we were looking for in a future partner/soul mate/husband (and we both married a few years later, within months of each other). My List was somewhere between three and four pages long. (Both sides. On legal paper.)

As I began to date, The List became rather useful. I'd return home after a lovely evening out to review each prospect - how we talked, how I felt around him, and what I'd learned about him - then compare it to The List. (I only wish I was exaggerating this.) It helped me to keep focused on my goal, and not be swayed by every emotion and nuance that I'd missed in the years of the bad relationship. My List became a bit of a legend amongst my friends, ("How does this one rate?" they'd ask), and while some of the qualities I sought were rather basic ("Must be computer literate"), The List served as a helpful guide and reminder along the way until I met my beloved (who happens to be practically perfect in every way, except for a couple of very negotiable items from The List).

What does this have to do with anything, you might ask?

I decided that with regard to my employment situation, I would be wise to make a New List.

While spending some quality time moping and obsessing about the bad jobs I declined, the seemingly appropriate jobs for which I was rejected, and wondering what I might do next, it occurred to me that I have not been very clear in my search. While not entirely desperate, I've thought about earning a modest living doing things I might otherwise not consider. Egg donor or surrogate? Among other things, I'm too old. Nit picker? Why, yes, I am detail oriented. To pick lice? Gosh, not really interested in bringing my work home with me. With a little help from Google, P.I., I decided to not apply to work with the guy who's turned over a new leaf after being indicted or the woman who is in ongoing litigation with an allegedly cult-like religious group. While it may be difficult to find the right thing, it would be more difficult to do something wrong.

When you are following your heart, no one tells you to settle.

I started thinking about the New List to define my career objectives, to find work that is:

challenging, but not impossible
involved creatively in problem solving, but not problems that are only solved directly or indirectly with fund raising
flexible/part-time, starting at about 20 hours a week with the potential to evolve into something flexible/full-time in the next three years
related to a cause I find meaningful and relevant
local, does not involve a lengthy commute or extensive obligations to travel
able to compensate me at a rate that actually is commensurate with my work experience
personally engaging, allowing me to collaborate with other professionals

It is a much shorter list than the other, but this is work, not love.

I decided that I want to carve out a niche for myself, and I want to be a non-profit consultant. To start, I'd just need one person to hire me. Just one.

I had the beginnings of my New List in mind when I got a call from a former employer who has asked me to work with him on a project for the next few months. Though details are pending, I did buy a few new outfits to replace my stained capris and t-shirts.

I will be working.

It is a start.

When one door closes ...

2007-10-04T08:07:00.000-07:00

If you're keeping track as I am, I've now been through four interview processes, have yielded two job offers, and am still unemployed.

As a refresher, a couple of weeks ago, I was offered a job which seemed like a great job which then very quickly turned out not to be. I realize I may not have afforded my readers with great detail about this, but I will sum it up as a classic "bait and switch" scenario. While briefly disappointed at the outcome, I was relieved to have knowledge about my ex-potential future employer and to get out before it turned into something unfortunate, or worse, ugly. There were some red flags, big flashy crimson flags that I conveniently ignored because it seemed the right thing and a good fit, but when presented with a turn of the truth that made a statement into, well, how do I say this nicely, an out and out lie, I was happy to walk away.

As that door closed, another very quickly opened. I began networking, asking anyone I knew if they knew people who needed what I do. Someone did! Two days after I turned down what I thought to be the perfect job, I interviewed for an EVEN MORE perfect job! Sure there were a couple of concerns, but this job really was going to be PERFECT!

I am Interview Girl, able to woo potential future employers with my fancy education, powerful work experience, and inexpensive black suit!

Just as swiftly as this new door opened, when I turned around, it squarely hit my backside on my way out.

I got the call yesterday afternoon, a call I anticipated would be good news. When I heard the tone of consolation in the voice I'd been waiting to hear all day, I knew I was being handled.

"First, I want to tell you how much I enjoyed meeting you."

Crap, I thought, and I knew it was over. The perfect job with it's convenient location, impossibly ideal hours, the pinnacle of my education and expertise, was going to someone else. I set down the phone, and for the first time in my job search process, I cried.

This kind of rejection is new for me, overachieving perfectionist that I am. Rarely, if ever, do I invest myself so fully in a process not to reach my desired or intended outcome. I'm good at reading situations, am very intuitive as information is presented, and generally have a sense of if something will work for me or not.

Frankly, I'm a little stunned.

I'm also feeling a bit lost.

When I set out on this quest for part-time employment, I had a solid idea of what work I could do, work that would work for me. Now, I'm not so sure. I'm reminded of this scene* from Say Anything in which our hero defines his career path:

*If you're not up for watching the clip, the memorable line is:

I don't want to sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career. I don't want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold, bought, or processed, or repair anything sold, bought, or processed. You know, as a career, I don't want to do that.

There is a whole lot that I don't want to do, like start a job that cannot be done or work for someone who tells me one thing one day and its opposite the next. I don't want to commute for several hours a day, nor am I interested in sacrificing my time with my children to barely pay for their care.

I don't want to start over, and I don't want to do what I did before.

I don't know what to do.

I know I'll do something, and I wish I knew what it was, but right now, I just don't know what to do.

That was FAST!

2007-09-24T16:23:00.001-07:00

I just resigned from the shortest job I never had.

I am a woman of principle.

Hear me roar!

A Wrinkle

2007-09-24T08:04:00.000-07:00

Choosing to go back to work after this significant hiatus means a lot to me. I will be bringing in an income again. I will be a different kind of role model for my children. I will be contributing to the community in a way that is personally meaningful and fulfilling, not just for what I've done as a mother. It is an exciting time for me to pick up a part of myself that I stored away more than a few years ago, and I'm curious to see what this working mom can do.

As I exchanged communications with my future employer last week, I realized that the choice I made may not be the right one. There is some confusion, perhaps a misunderstanding, but the deal I accepted does not appear to be what is now on the table.

Before the offer had been made (while I was still waiting for an answer), I feared starting over because I thought it meant that I had failed - failed myself for believing so much in a good idea without seeing the bad side and ignoring some red flags, and more importantly, that I had failed my husband and family. If this job didn't come to fruition, I'd be three strikes and out. It would be an indication that my grand idea, to work from home, do something important, and still be a present and active mother to my children would not come to pass. With the offer came relief and elation. For 24 hours, I felt I had won.

One great feature about going back to work at this point in my life is that I actually am older and wiser. I've been very clear with prospective employers that I know my strengths, of what I am capable, and offer a different kind of perspective and composure than I did before having children. Unfortunately for my future employers (and this part I didn't mention in the interviews) is the flip side: I am also very clear about what am and am not willing to do for a job, and if pushed, I will always decide to do what is best for my family and have far fewer qualms about walking away.

At this moment, starting over fills me with great confidence. It feels as though the job offer was a personal challenge for me to determine how much I'm willing to compromise so I can decide if this is what I really want or if I want to take the bigger risk to work on my own terms.

Working Mother

2007-09-21T08:22:00.000-07:00

The good news: I got the job!

The bad news: I have no idea how to be a working mother.

Any ideas?

Suggestions?

I start October 1.

The Waiting

2007-09-18T10:23:00.000-07:00

Opted-out, former nonprofit professional seeks extraordinarily flexible part-time employment. Position must be meaningful (though not all-consuming), with special consideration to causes that stir my heart. Job responsibilities must include only the things I like doing and none of the things that I swore I'd never do again. Salary must be enough to make my efforts worthwhile, not make a mockery of my former salary and earning potential, and cover the occasional extended care at preschool. Interested employers may submit a statement of no more than 250 words describing how your position might best suit me; please apply directly to jakelliesmom@gmail.com.

As my children enjoyed summer camp, I started on my own adventure - staging my re-entry to the workforce.

It took some getting used to, this idea of transitioning from stay-at-home-mom to (ideally) working-from-home-mom. I've spent many hours in the past five or so years considering what I'd do when I went back, because the professional life I formerly had was far too consuming to resume. Would I return to school for yet another degree? Try to make ends meet as an unpublished freelance writer? Stuff envelopes? Send the kids away and work on a fishing boat in Alaska?

It struck me one day that I didn't have to start over. I'd use my skills to do the things I do best, just doing less of them. Once I realized that five years of sitting on the couch watching Oprah and eating bon bons did not delete my entire professional tool box, I dusted off my resume, bought some appropriate clothes, and began the hunt.

I was flattered and relieved to receive positive responses to my inquiries, and have since been juggling the hiring process with a few potential employers. The first was easy - I sent in a resume and they called me. We met, and later the same day they offered me a job. I asked for a few days to consider the offer (it wasn't a great fit for me, and I was interviewing with another group that afternoon, and someone else the next day), then had to decline. The next two seemed even better.

(I'm now wondering if this was maybe one of those "bird in the hand" things?)

I submitted a writing sample for one, and scheduled another interview with the other. Weeks passed. I was invited for another interview and references were checked. Then the waiting began.

Though we've exchanged e-mails, I've convinced myself not to stalk my potential future employer like a desperate ex-girlfriend. I am confident that if this is indeed the right position, I will get the job. So I'm waiting. And waiting, and waiting. (Auntie Banana reminded me that for her current position, it took two months (!) for all the details to be sorted and an offer made.)

While I am a patient person, waiting for an answer is not one of my strengths.

Waiting makes the mind wander. I amuse myself with the myriad possibilities of how this might all work out wonderfully well, leading to a dynamic professional life and a paved road ahead of me with all the possibilities lined up as ducks in a row, never having to worry or wonder again. At the same time, I've made a convincing argument (to myself, of course) that having received no offer means that I am no longer being considered, and I will be at square one again. That this amazing opportunity that seemed so very perfect might have to be put aside for something else makes me sad, and I hate that I've invested so much of myself to only start over with the possibility of something else that already feels like something less because it's not this.

So I wait. Patiently and impatiently I am holding out hope.

(I'll let you know how it goes.)

A week in the life

2007-09-15T06:34:00.000-07:00

Monday: We go to Ellie's preschool for a Meet & Greet. She is beyond excited! As she sits in circle time, she eagerly offers information. I am amazed at her teachers' abilities to contain the non sequitur conversations of sixteen toddlers while keeping their attention focused on a story. After, we have lunch with her Auntie Banana, and she is so happily amused and quiet throughout our meal that I reward her with a quick spin on the carousel. Following that is a visit to her pediatrician for the removal of stitches from her forehead,* and she surprises me again, this time with her patience and bravery. We then rush to pick up her brother from Kindergarten, singing songs together as we wait in the carpool line. It is a good day. They should all be so easy.

Tuesday: It's her first day of preschool! She picks a special dress to wear, abandoning her usual t-shirts and shorts. She can't wait to cram her Tinkerbell lunch box into her too-big Dora backpack and go see all her friends from summer camp. Her transition back to school is simple and easy. I watch the other parents hovering outside the doors, stealing peeks in the windows while fighting back the tears, and I remember Jake's first day. With Ellie it is different, and I don't have the same worries. I know that my girl will be just fine, and she is. She loves school, and has a great first day! Jake has a great day, too, so I tempt the fates and take them both on a quick shopping trip, armed with jelly bean bribes, but they are not enough to buy good behavior. The day cannot end soon enough.

Wednesday: We drop Jake at school and for the 90 minute window between his departure and hers, Ellie she screams at me because she wants to go to school, NOW. (This helps ease my guilt about taking her in for longer days should I start working soon.) A few hours later, I am able to successfully juggle the conflicting schedules of my two children at different schools released at the same time. I marvel at how well I'm managing our new routines.

The children play cooperatively, a truce in their ongoing battle. I watch, satisfied. They are a delight, but as we begin to get ready to leave for our holiday celebrations, her screams resume. The dress I've chosen is all wrong. Now it's the shoes. I am NOT allowed to brush her hair. Who is in control here? I offer an olive branch, waving my white flag of an unscheduled sippy cup of milk, but she will not budge or bend. I pack her in her seat (at least this week she's keeping her seat belt buckled) wearing only her panties and socks. She agrees that ONLY WHEN we arrive at her grandparents' house, she will put on her dress and shoes. (I've negotiated a side deal with her father that he will take over at this point and I will arm myself with a glass of wine.)

She stays up too late and convinces me that a little bit of milk will help her sleep that much better, which it does - too well. In the dark hours before dawn, I'm awoken by her cries of a pee pee accident. I become supermom, able to change sheets (in the dark) in a single bound! I ease her back to sleep, and consider myself lucky to have not had the battle over pajamas and panties at such an hour. While my loved ones sleep, I stir.

Thursday/Friday: She is more agreeable, most likely because Daddy is home from work. His tantrum management tactics are different (for hers and mine) - he takes distraction to new levels, and I get a break. I watch her in moments of independence and consider rather heavily what it means when she tells me that she's not a baby anymore. On one night, she screams from her bed that she is not tired (she is); on the second, she melts into her bed with her favorite twelve different plush companions and is happy to go to sleep so long as Daddy comes in to give her one last hug and kiss (she does).

Saturday: At 4:50 a.m., my alarm clock rings (the alarm that has not been set in 5 1/2 years!). Rafe groggily turns to me and explains that Ellie was playing with my clock yesterday. Of course she was. Why wouldn't she?

Again, in the darkness before dawn, my loved ones sleep while I stir.

*In case you missed the post where I explained Ellie's most recent adventure, she had a minor incident on Labor Day weekend that yielded a set of stitches in her forehead, but she's fine. Clearly it hasn't slowed her down even a tiny bit.

Interviewing: A Tale of Two Shirts

2007-09-03T09:00:00.000-07:00

"Which one do you like better?"

"I have to choose?"

"Seriously."

"Let's see...that one makes you look kind of like a librarian trying to be a sailor, and I think you should take the other one back."

"But I like it."

"It's just that it looks like one of those things, what's it called?"

"A straitjacket?"

"Actually, I was thinking of a Gi, but straitjacket is funnier."

Afterword

2007-09-02T19:51:00.000-07:00

"I didn't like the fixing part."

Asking Ellie about her experience in the E.R. last night, that's what she told us. She liked going in the ambulance with her grandmother, and found the firefighters, paramedics and doctors to all be very nice. She liked the happy face pictures on the wall (she wanted to be the pink one on the pain scale), and she really liked watching the movie on the TV in her room. She liked being wrapped up like a burrito (while she was immobilized and strapped to the table). She especially liked the Barbie Fairytopia stickers the nurse brought, and even more, the Hello Kitty band aid. But she didn't like the fixing part.

Personally, I liked the fixing part. The part of the evening when the kind doctor stitched my little girl's forehead back together was the highlight of the night for me. I didn't like the part when my cell phone didn't ring until we left the restaurant. I didn't like that I couldn't figure out how to bypass an unimportant message to get to the three very important messages the minute I realized that my phone had received information and I had not. I didn't like the seconds I had to wait to talk to her grandfather on the phone to learn that my baby had hit her head on the fireplace, cut her forehead, and needed immediate care. I didn't like the ten minutes it took us to drive home, change cars, gather a few changes of clothes and some special toys, then drive to the emergency room. I didn't like having to leave Jake at home, not able to explain that Ellie and her grandmother were doing just fine, but we needed to hurry to be with them. I didn't like that the nearest hospital's E.R. was full, and I didn't like that we couldn't park closer to the door. I especially didn't like seeing the laceration in my little girl's forehead. I didn't like most of what happened last night.

In fact, while the evening's activities were a pretty grand adventure for my little girl, I'd rather not think about it. I'm trying to think about how she seems not affected by it at all, how she's as happy and well today as she was before this incident. I'm trying not to think about much else, because anything else leads me to horrible scenarios of how it could have been so much worse.

She's fine. We're all fine. Her scar will fade and she won't think about it.

It won't be such an easy recovery for the rest of us.

I really, really liked the fixing part. That was the best part of the night for me.

Quiet

2007-08-29T23:16:00.000-07:00

10:15 The kids and I leave for the beach.

2:00 We arrive home. I notice that the outside temperature registers 108F.

2:42 Ellie is naked and still sandy. I suggest that we take a quick shower and change into comfy clothes to go play some Wii.

3:17 Nothing is quick with Ellie, but at least now we're not tracking sand around the house.

3:57 Ellie and I come to terms regarding her choice of clothing. Jake has built and rebuilt an elaborate city using foam blocks, creating traffic, a parking lot, and an intricate tunnel system and using at least 20 cars acquired at his recent birthday party.

4:02 The blocks and cars quickly find their appropriate containers when it is suggested that there will be no Wii today, or possibly ever, if they are not removed from the floor.

4:07 I figure out how to set up Wii. The bunny game is loaded. We I begin to play.

4:12 The power goes out. Each of us independently assumes that it's something I've done. Ellie questions the disappearance of the bunnies. Jake realizes the seriousness that is an afternoon without Wii, television and Daddy (out for the evening), and ~~begins to panic~~ shows his concern.

4:20 After waiting a reasonable amount of time, I call the power company to check if this is a quickie or something more serious. The recorded message gives me no hope, but does indicate the exact geographical location of the outage - my neighborhood.

4:30 I reassure the children that we can still have fun without electricity! We make popcorn (real popcorn!) on the still operable gas range. Jake considers which toys must be plugged into the wall to work, and which will still operate on batteries. I explain, as only a Political Science major can, the difference between energy from batteries and the wall. Before he asks for better detail (or I have to call upon his Daddy or Auntie Banana to explain it to me because I can't just Google it), I suggest that we all sit down for a board game. We agree to play Candyland.

4:58 We have gone through all the cards once and I hide Plumpy so that the game will end before sunset.

5:02 I call the power company again. The outage has spread to more local cities. This is probably not good news. Now I'm going to miss Top Chef.

5:26 The block city is rebuilt, and I am considering options for dinner. I'm thinking of a post at Foodiepalooza about hurricane food, except, of course, my Internet connection is out with the power. I rummage through the cabinets to make a cold dinner.

5:57 Our cold dinner is followed by a lukewarm bath. It is hot and stuffy upstairs. I wonder how the kids will sleep?

6:51 Apparently, they'll sleep just fine. Ellie gave up fighting and managed to drift off without her usual Mozart. Jake and I talk for awhile, and I convince him that it's warm enough for him not to sleep wearing socks.

7:02 It's a good day for a power failure. The kids were exhausted. I call the power company again, and am disheartened to hear that there has been no update since 5:10. I am tempted to stay on the line to check with customer service, even though the recorded message says don't bother.

7:10 I open the curtains to capture the remaining light of the day. I find as many candles as I can (5). I wish our only working flashlight didn't moo. This is beginning to feel like Colonial House. I've forgotten the usual buzz and hums of my Modern House and find the stillness eerie.

7:18 There is an update at the power company! It's worse than they thought.

7:48 I seek out the best view from the house, searching for signs of light, of life. In the distance, I see houses aglow. I feel a line drawn in our community - those who have electricity and those who do not. The haves and have-nots. I consider that if we were currently on vacation in Las Vegas, we would have power and electricity. Las Vegas is never so dark.

I return downstairs. My mantle looks like a shrine. I am in a little tiny corner of my house, lost in the quiet. I flip on a light switch, hopeful.

8:00 Rafe calls. "Still dark?" he asks. I suggest he stay out later than planned, to enjoy the air conditioning, and did I mention that it was 108 today? In turn, he suggests that I do my best not to burn down the house with my scented votives.

8:12 Power is restored. I can still catch the later showing of Top Chef.

It is not lost on me that today marks the devastating anniversary of Hurricane Katrina. I pause to consider the inconvenience of a few uncomfortable hours where my children are safe, my family is well accounted for, my city's infrastructure is intact and my life is not otherwise turned upside down.

I don't know what to do, but these bloggers have some ideas.

My wish for New Orleans and the Gulf Coast - to be rebuilt with as much love and care as Jake builds his little foam block cities.

The Birthday Party

2007-08-24T14:25:00.000-07:00

Now that the thank you notes have been sent, duplicate gifts returned, and balloons deflated, I can tell you that this year, Jake had a great birthday party! The real story, though, is how much better this party was than the one we threw last year.

Who?

Last Year, I invited all the kids in his preschool class, his playgroup, their siblings, and our friends with kids. I wanted to make sure there would be no omissions, no unintentional snubs. I wanted to be gracious to everyone who had past invited us to a party, and especially to those who had welcomed my little girl as an extra guest when she couldn't be elsewhere entertained. Almost everyone came, which netted us a group of about 30 kids, plus parents and family, so we hosted about 60 people at our home. We may as well have put up fliers up at every local park, playground and school offering free cake and goody bags. Not only was it a mob, it was not Jake's scene.

This year, I asked Jake which five close friends he'd like to have join us; when he couldn't commit to just five, I caved, and we invited seven. Because his is a summer birthday, I let the moms know a few months in advance that we were having a small party and that it would mean the world to my son if their children could join in our celebration (and I believe I did lay it on that thickly, in case you're wondering). Every child that came to the party was someone with whom we had a relationship, and wasn't there out of obligation. Rather than the screaming hordes from last year, Jake got to play with his closest buddies, and Ellie enjoyed the company of a special few younger siblings with whom she's also bonded. The total attendance was about half of last year's.

What?

Last year, we did a Winnie the Pooh picnic in the Hundred Acre Woods (our yard, though not the least bit woodsy). We had a bounce house. We had an entertainer (with that many kids, I felt it was a necessity). There was a treasure hunt, a craft, a parachute - all great things at a kids party, unless you happen to be Jake, who avoids group activities at birthday parties as though they were opportunities to be stung repeatedly by a swarm of bees while cannons were being shot in the distance (not that these make sense together, but they are things that Jake would rather not experience).

This year, I asked around and found a great race car birthday party company (if you're local, and interested, let me know and I'll give you their details. Since they handed out their business card to every adult attendee of my party, I'll assume I've already advertised for them enough.) The pros came in, set up a variety of tracks in our yard, and let the kids play. And play they did, together, with my little guy. Everyone had a great time (especially my kid who would likely contest that he had the BEST time - he's competitive that way).

How?

Last year, I printed my own invitations. I woke before dawn to make literally hundreds of cut-out sandwiches (two different kinds), most of which went uneaten. I had the big Costco cake and bought out the dollar store in party favors. By the time the party started, I was exhausted, and spent most of the party attending to guests. The most time I spent with my son was when he was so sad, he couldn't be a part of the party anymore.

This year, I made some key decisions early. Since it was a race track theme, we had race appropriate food. We served Jake's favorite foods - lemonade, hot dogs, chips, and watermelon - and no one even needed a fork! The cake was made of cupcakes, so we didn't have to take the time to cut it. The invitations were done online through Shutterfly, and I ordered only as many as I needed. Favors went with the theme (one Hot Wheel or Polly Pocket car per child, some stickers, a couple of lollipops, and a take-home craft Jake had begged for from the arts & crafts store). We were ready early and everything was easy. My only worry was refilling the lemonade and ice when they ran low.

Why?

Nowhere in the parenting literature does it say, "Try to be all things to all people, especially when celebrating milestones." I have been accommodating, probably to a fault, but I think I've learned my lesson. There is no point to including everyone if it, in turn, excludes the guest of honor.

I don't think anyone intentionally plans a birthday party to make their child miserable. Looking at the photos, I can't isolate many great moments from his 4th birthday party. Each shows a flurry of activity and a very serious boy looking a bit overwhelmed. This year's collection is sweet, and fun. Everyone, especially the birthday boy, looks to be having a wonderful day.

As for me, well, it looks like I came out the victor in a battle with a clown.

In Motion

2007-08-23T07:30:00.000-07:00

Every body perseveres in its state of being at rest or of moving uniformly straight forward, except insofar as it is compelled to change its state by force impressed. - Newton's First Law

"Mommy, can you sit with us?"

No, I can't. Not right now.

I am in a flurry of activity. Too much to do, too little time. Place to place, thing to thing. Gotta go, gotta go, gotta go NOW. Come ON kids. It's time to get those little feet moving. Let's GO, people. MOVE IT!

There's not been a whole lot of daydreaming, drifting or lazing away these summer days. We are busy, but not too busy to wish my blog a happy first birthday!

A year ago, I started with a teeny little placeholder to create a space to write and call my own. I followed it with my first real post, added all my favorite MOMS Club President's messages (not content to only have them lining the cages of my friends' bird cages or recycling bins), then began the blog you've come to know and love, my ~~six~~ twelve faithful readers.

Mine is not the biggest blog, the most widely read, nor the most clever or prolific, but it is mine alone, and I can't say that about a lot of things.

It's time for me to switch from my state of constant motion to some serious inertia.

A funny thing happened...

2007-08-15T10:51:00.000-07:00

A funny thing happened while I was parenting the other day.

I may have alluded to some of the challenges my boy had in school last year. When my pediatrician and school weren't able to give me the answers I needed, I went to my next best expert adviser: the Internet.

When you Google "tense, neurotic preschooler," you don't get much. Throw in terms like "anxious," "perfectionist," "cries about everything and nothing" and "easily frustrated," wade through all the b.s. about how great it is when your child has unreachable standards for themselves (at age four, mind you), and you might actually find something helpful, like I did in Rosemary Callard-Szulgit's Perfectionism and Gifted Children.

And the funny part?

While I read about the perils of giftedness mired with perfectionism (not an entirely great attribute at all, by the way), thinking about how I could use this information to help my boy and his teachers, and I was smacked in the forehead with a dose of reality: it's not just Jake, it's me, too.

From chapter one:

Adult perfectionists may also become workaholics. Because their internal locus of control is not secure, their self-esteem is tied to external rewards.

Um, hello. Did she read my Accomplishment Junkie post?

Emmet and Minor (1993, 357-58) found that perfectionists were most concerned with (a) the best preparation for the future and the most potential for future advancement; (b) not being ordinary (the desire, need, or both, to accomplish more in one's career than the average person; (c) ability (in most cases, the concern that one does not have great enough ability for a particular occupation); (d) making a difference (work must be meaningful and make a difference in the lives of human beings); (e) sense of accomplishment; and (f) true to self.

Chapter five provided me a list of some common behaviors and delightful quirks (my words, not hers) of gifted perfectionists, and a few struck a chord more loudly than others. (Perhaps you read The Look?)

Procrastinate
Are highly critical of others
Are highly critical of self
Are very controlling
Can't have fun or really enjoy a game because they must try to win (more Jake than me)
Are extremely sensitive
Focus on the one thing that is wrong rather than the multitude of things that are right
Are chronic worriers
Take on more tasks than they can ever realistically do or do well in the allotted amount of time

There it was in black and white.

My name is Karen, and I am a perfectionist.

The worst part as I see it, is that I'm not even the good kind of perfectionist. I'm not the superbly ordered, do everything on my list before bed, thorough to the point of overkill kind of perfectionist. No, sadly, I'm the "if I can't do it better than everyone else, I might as well not try" kind. I'm the procrastinator, the self-doubter, the pleaser.

I can give you example after example of things I've quit or done poorly because I was afraid of failing, or even worse, succeeding and still not being good enough. Tap lessons when I was seven (and how watching every Broadway musical and episode of So You Think You Can Dance, I wish I'd stayed), my written-the-night-before-the-deadline application to Stanford (coupled with my refusal to apply to other outstanding schools where I didn't think I'd be admitted), a summer not spent abroad, bad relationships, poor paying jobs, hiding in my blog-shell. I keep a lot at of things at arm's reach - relationships, goals, exercise, weight loss, writing, career advancement - because I'm afraid of getting too close and letting someone down, even if that someone is me.

I've also made some really good choices. I married well and have lovely children. I am a confident parent and a loyal friend. Because I am constantly questioning myself, I am willing to consider many perspectives and am open to new ideas. When I make a decision (even one that's been over-analyzed, wrangled with, and dissected from every angle), I am steadfast and driven.

While I may have joked that parenting Jake is like parenting myself, I am fully aware that we are indeed unique. Lucky for him, he will benefit from my experience as a similarly misunderstood kid.

We'll make a lot of mistakes together. Nobody's perfect.

Welcome to Eastland Academy!

2007-08-14T20:19:00.000-07:00

While I plan to continue my blogging hiatus for a few more weeks, it is the content of the next few weeks that has drawn me back to Blogger like any of the moths that seem to find the one light on in my house.

Jake is starting Kindergarten in three weeks. THREE WEEKS!

It's no surprise. I applied to schools. He was accepted. I came to terms with our new arrangements. We even began paying tuition (!).

June turned into July, the kids finished summer camp, and we took a little vacation. We came home to find The Information Packet. And the Information, it is daunting. It started with a letter that began:

Dear Parents,

I trust that you are enjoying leisurely summer activities.

AAACK! Are they for real? Is it really so very serious? And formal?

It went on to tell me (in so many words) that my boy would be in for a long day (please drop him off at 7:45, and come back to pick him up at 3:00), and would be held to dress standards ("modest and appropriate" are in, shoes with wheels are out!). There are also school supply lists (folders, people, for ~~homework research memos dissertations~~ whatever it is that 5 year old kids are doing these days), and a zillion other standard forms to return in the next few days. I am, again, overwhelmed.

But the thing is, it's not an "overwhelmed" of panic or anxiety. It is the weight of a huge decision Rafe and I made, and are reasonably confident that it will be a good path for our children, that has now come to fruition. My brilliant husband and his genius sister, Auntie Banana, went to a similar school, and value the kind of education, challenge and preparation the school gave them. Giving our kids the same kind of experience has been agreed upon since before they were born.

Though I was California public school educated through college, I would have killed (though probably not the best metaphor) to have gone to private school like this as a girl, so enamored was I of the girls who got to wear uniforms and take the train into the city from the precious town of Peekskill, New York. My parents probably would have sent me, too, if not for the realities of boarding school and being away from home that scared me enough to stop asking (if I ever even asked out loud). That I made my way as a big fish in a big pond was probably just fine anyway and prepared me well enough to stay afloat at a huge university and on to graduate school (where I found out that private school was not quite what I'd built it up to be).

I've begun the gentle preparations with my boy, planting a few seeds to help him succeed in his new school. I am reminding him that it is okay to make mistakes, that the teachers are there to help him learn. I've also suggested that other kids might be learning things that he already knows. I've told him that his Daddy and I think a lot about what he likes, and that this school should be a really nice place for him to be, just as his preschool was, and just as his summer camp turned out to be.

It's his time now.

Reluctant blogger

2007-06-24T09:00:00.000-07:00

Some time ago, I was nominated for the Thinking Blogger award. Twice. And I didn't even know it (the second time, at least). Paige found my Accomplishment Junkie post to be noteworthy, and Sillychick's recognition came from my overall blog. I thanked them in their comments, and (oops!) kind of forgot the point of the award was to nominate other bloggers that make me think.

Everyone makes me think. How does one choose?

Here's what I think about blogging. I like it. It is a fun distraction, and you never know what you're going to read. I've been moved, laughed, cried, you name it. Some blogs evoke a sea of emotions.

But what I also think about blogging is that maybe it's not for me. I started blogging almost a year ago to establish a place where I could post favorite things I'd written, with the belief that I would continue my writing practice and become a published author. But, I never quite established a rhythm with my blog. I haven't devoted the kind of time to it that one might if they wanted their blog to be amazing. Almost as quickly as I decided I wanted to pursue writing, I decided maybe I should be doing something else.

With both my kids in camp this summer, for the first time in my adult life, for a few hours a day, I will have time to myself to carve out a path for my future. It's exciting, and a bit unnerving. All things considered, I don't think my future will be as a professional blogger. But to give myself the time and space I need, I need to be away from my computer. I need to stop spending so much time thinking about my blog and the rest of the blogs in the world.

For now, consider this my summer vacation. If you want to keep in touch, you have my e-mail (jakelliesmom@gmail.com). If we know each other in real life, let's get together soon! I'll miss you and all of your wonderful, thoughtful, and moving stories.

Love,
Karen

Unwritten

2007-06-19T08:50:00.000-07:00

I've been mulling over this idea for a few weeks.

I have had a million titles, but I don't know how to write it.

This is our last goodbye

Everything old is new again

Times, they are a changing

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

The Graduate

This is the end, my only friend, the end

It's the end of the world as we know it, (and I feel sad)

A couple weeks ago was Ellie's last Mommy & Me class. From here on out, it will be just her.

Last Tuesday was our very last day alone together as just the two of us.

The next day was Jake's last day of preschool. The school produced a huge culmination celebration, professionally recorded, where the children dressed in coordinating outfits and sang songs, with dance moves and everything, in Hebrew and English. The teachers gave gifts, there was a reception with cookies and punch. The children seemed happy (cookies and punch!) and somewhat relieved to be done with the thing that had them practicing for the better part of at least a month if not more (it's hard to get the details from a reluctant participant sometimes). But they didn't get it. The moms, we got it. We all sat comforting each other with tissues and tears, sharing our knowing glances - our babies are growing up and there is nothing we can do about it.

As the children hugged and mugged for photos, we moms exchanged promises of playdates and trips to the beach this summer. I'm sure I was not the only one wondering if this would be the last time our children saw each other, if these would these be lasting friendships, ours and theirs ("We've been friends since preschool!") or if they would fade away?

Next week both my children and so many of their friends will start summer camp. Jake will go on a bus and be gone for almost nine hours of his (our) day, not knowing anyone. Nine hours! Can you believe that? He's four, almost five, but still a very little boy. And he'll be gone like this three times a week. One hundred and thirty five hours of his life will be his alone.

On the same day, at almost the same time, Ellie will start preschool summer camp, or as she calls it Big Girl School. Every night as she goes to bed, she asks if she gets to start school tomorrow? I tell her no, but soon. She can hardly wait! Her Tinkerbell lunch box and Dora backpack are practically packed and waiting at the door.

It is another bittersweet parenting moment and I can't escape it. I am coaching their success, helping to build their confidence, hoping to provide some kind of insurance that as they try new things, they will love them, and want to do more, and learn and grow as much as they can. They will be happy, independent and successful. I will have done my job well.

If they asked me (they won't), I wouldn't dream of telling them how much I'll miss them, how sad I'll be to be all by myself, and how hard it is for me to imagine our future, day by day, when I am not a part of all the good stuff.

I will simply tell each how proud I am and how much I love them.

I think that's all they really need to know.

Victory!

2007-06-12T10:42:00.000-07:00

I think that my problem with fixing things around the house is this: because I have not done things before I assume that I cannot.

I am not crafty or handy, mostly because I am also impatient and have perfectionist tendencies and why start something if it is not going to turn out exactly right? Right? I suppose that with some amount of training, I might actually be good at home repairs because I am rather diligent and attend to details.

It was with the latter mindset and not the former that I decided to address my garage door issue this morning. Without going into all the boring details, it didn't exactly work and no one could figure out why.

Thanks to representative Chris at the Genie Garage Door Company, I was mailed a new part that might or might not solve our problem. It arrived last week, and I presented it as a gift to my husband when he returned home from an extended trip.

Him: I'm so happy to see you. You look amazing. I brought this for the kids, and I thought you would love this!

Me: Thank you so much. You know what I have for you? A replacement part for the garage door. Isn't that great!

Him: Wow. Gee. Thanks. Maybe I'll get to it this weekend.

Then I thought about how this weekend is Father's Day, and how we already have a lot going on, and how he probably doesn't want to spend his few free moments at home in the garage insisting that everyone stays out of the way while he tries to make sense of some electrical thing with no instructions that, of course, may or may not fix our problem.

I considered a different possibility.

Maybe I could do it.

You see, when kind representative Chris and I discussed my issue, he said the replacement piece didn't come with instructions, but it would be easy enough for my husband to install.

I was equally relieved and offended. If it should be easy enough for my husband to do, should it not be as easy for me?

I was careful and deliberate. I employed every safety measure I could imagine. I struggled with it, worried that I would break the replacement part and that nothing would work. I practiced on the old piece, not wanting to ruin the new.

I figured it out.

I installed the replacement part, and do you know what?

It worked!

It did everything it was supposed to do, and now I can open our garage door at least six different ways, but most importantly, it still goes up and down.

If I didn't already have other plans, I might consider spending the day scraping my ceilings or installing solar panels or something.

In the weeds

2007-06-11T13:57:00.000-07:00

Sometime in May, I learned that John Mayer was coming to play at a local venue. I ~~begged~~ asked Adrienne if she wanted to make it a date. She did. We went. Last night. It was fun.

If you click through the photos, you'll see the extent of what my camera-phone can do, which isn't much from afar, but took a lovely shot of our "dinner."

As a side note here, I remember concerts where people held up lighters. Years later, mini flashlights were held in the air. Last night, I saw a sea of hundreds of camera-phones recording posterity in the same way, their tiny screens reflecting the show in front of us, blue lights raised from arms swaying lazily along to the music.

I don't know how to write a narrative of the whole night, nor if you'd really want to read it. But I can tell you a few things:

If you have the chance to go to the Hollywood Bowl, take one of the Park N Ride shuttles. Parking there is a nightmare. The shuttle is a $5 round trip with routes conveniently located throughout the city, and it drops you off steps from the entrance gate.

They say there are no bad seats at the Bowl, but I would beg to differ. We bought our tickets a little late in the game and were lucky to have seats in the exact middle of the theater. In the very last row. As we hiked up to the top of the hill, asking for directions from staff along the way, at our last stop we were told, "You don't want to know." (But we did. We didn't know where our seats were. Why else would we have asked?) I have never had seats like this. Adrienne contends that our seats were so bad, they were good. From our vantage point, the performers on the stage were smaller than Ellie's itty bitty Polly Pockets dolls. Behind us were a row of hedges (that kept finding its way into my hair) and an access road (more about that in a second).

The food at the Bowl is pretty ~~good~~ expensive, but most people bring in picnics. We would have had a lot more mileage from a cooler with snacks we selected and wine we pre-poured into a travel container (it's okay to do this) than from our $9 glasses of wine and way overpriced, but tasty cheese tray that came with four crackers. Four. Two for each of us.

Even though it says "No Smoking" throughout the facility, I think people took it as a suggestion, or a recommendation (like the Surgeon General's), and not as The Law. Because we were in such close proximity to the end of the Earth, and the access road behind us was protected by a dense row of shrubbery, it became the gathering place for everyone who wanted to indulge in some herbal refreshments. It was staggering. Mind-numbing even. Not since college, (actually never), have I been in the presence of so much weed. The variety was astounding, and its use throughout the show, constant.

I don't care if you find John Mayer's music sappy, sentimental or corny pop, I like him. I like him like him. You wouldn't have gone to the concert if he wasn't your thing, and by and large, it was a predominantly female population in attendance. Some were older than us, some younger, a lot right in our demographic, and we were all smitten in our own way.

This is a few seconds of "Your Body is a Wonderland," (a full version is here) recorded on my camera-phone at last night's show. You'll hear the chorus of at least 16,000 women singing along, wishing Mr. Mayer or perhaps their significant others were singing it just for them.

Okay, so I'm having trouble organizing my little slideshow in Flickr without it rearranging my blog. If this post pops up and disappears, its me, not Blogger.

One last thing before I forget

2007-06-08T10:23:00.000-07:00

Last month, I took a much needed weekend away by myself.

As I was leaving, I kept reminding my husband of how to take care of the children in my absence.

"Make sure they drink a lot of water. They can each have one juice, and that's it. If you're going to be outside, please make sure they're wearing sunscreen."

"There is plenty of milk in the refrigerator. Everyone has clean pajamas. Make sure they eat real food, not just snacks."

It went on like this far longer than necessary. Eventually they pushed me out the door.

While sitting alone the next day and enjoying my quiet morning, I realized that while I've become an expert at taking care of my family, I no longer remember how to take care of myself. It's not that I've entirely let myself go, and I do have most of the basics covered, but most days, I'm not what one might call "thriving."

With that in mind, I created a list.

How to take care of me, by me - 5/5/07

Let it be quiet. Don't turn on the TV or computer for company.
Remember to feed me. Fill me up with tea.
Let me cook. Fill my home with wonderful smells, with fresh herbs growing on the windowsill. Give me clean space in which to work. Clean up so that it is worth coming back. Eat more vegetables, make green ones tender with steam. Cook soups. Visit the farmer's market with no purchase in mind, but not one of the ones with carnival-like concessions.
Let me read. Fill my head with new ideas. Take me to far off places, imagining a life that isn't mine.
Take me for walks - long walks up hills, with beautiful views. Let me smell the world as it wakes up in springtime and cools in the fall. Be stronger, endure. Take the dog sometimes.
Fill my life with friends. Be with people who love to be with me, who find me interesting, who make me laugh and think.
Love my children. Watch them grow into themselves. Laugh with them. Show them the world piece by piece. Tell them what you believe to be right and true. Read to them. Help them to blossom. Give them roots.
Love my husband. Find in each other the truth of who we are. Encourage and support, still being the voice of reason. Sit closer. Hold hands. Gaze lovingly.
Help me to take a break. Don't let me fill every moment with busy-ness. Teach me to meditate. Write. Be moved. Do yoga.
Let me help others. Allow me to give freely my time and love.
Make sure I don't forget things - birthdays, deadlines, lunches, backpacks. Use my calendar. Make lists (but only use one so they don't get lost).
Help me feel pretty. Dress me well, but comfortably, especially the shoes. Give me pedicures, keep my hair trimmed. Shower daily if possible. Put on my makeup. Keep me fit so that I can feel confident and happy when I see myself in pictures (so that my memories are of the days well spent and not of how I wore unflattering clothes or should have been treating myself better).
Help me spend my money well. Use the food we have, hire a cleaner, take tennis, ballet, yoga, time away. Find a way to bring in an income and still be at home. Don't be afraid of not having enough.
Show me new things, take me to new places (especially restaurants); broaden my experience. Let me enjoy the quiet reflection in museums, especially the Getty.
Make sure I get enough sleep. If I'm always going to be up at 6, be in bed around 10.
Take me out for sushi.
Bring more light, warmth and color into my home. The bedroom can be too dark. The dining room is too cold. Paint the kitchen blue, the dining room red. Install better lighting. Make the bathrooms a spa experience.
Remember Tlaquepaque - the best of everything. Do more with less.
Make date night fun and special.
Take good care of my skin, it is sensitive now. Treat it gently, moisturize.
If you're going to try to repair me, fix my eyes so I can see and make me stronger and more flexible so I don't feel like I'm getting old. Keep me away from the sugars/bad carbs that make me feel bloated and edgy (and crazy in the head). See #2, 3.

Since I've been back, I've been more consciously living to my list. I planted the herb garden and found some paint samples. I even found a great new sushi restaurant. Some days, I forget to take care of myself at all, and I come across my list to remember what I need.

After you take care of everyone and everything, how do you take care of you?

(If you're a Friday friend stopping by to see if I've posted about weight loss, please hop on over to my new blog.)

Lost in Translation

2007-06-06T11:32:00.001-07:00

On our recent vacation, we saw a different side of our son. He and Ellie shared a room for the very first time, and while it was quite a novelty, it didn't work out exactly as we'd hoped.

Because the room had two queen beds, we attempted to allow Ellie to sleep in one of them. (Note, here, the use of the word "attempt.") We talked about her sleeping in the big girl bed (we had brought our trusted Pack N Play where she has slept every night on every vacation ever, and where she'd slept the first night of our trip), and reminded her of the story of Winnifred and her Big Girl Bed that Miss Nancy told at baby school time and again. (Not quite The Princess and the Pea, or even Once Upon a Mattress, in this story Winnie moves from a crib to a big girl bed, there is room for all her toys, and she sleeps there all night without getting up a hundred times to beg her parents for one last thing. It's a classic.)

The children spoke of how they'd sing songs together, and we imagined them drifting to sleep as we sipped wine on the balcony, watching the sunset, hearing the waves crash on the shore, comforted knowing that our children have grown so much, showing their independence and adaptability. Long story short, it didn't quite work out that way, and after several close calls, failed attempts, and unexpected visits, Ellie was moved back into the crib.

She protested.

Jake was a child transformed. He became his sister's protector, her provider. He was the messenger, the conduit of information between parents and children. He was her link. Her hero. He took it all rather seriously (as he often does).

We heard the door open, and Jake padded out to find us, now guzzling that glass of wine on the patio, hoping the ocean sounds would cover the racket of the children fighting off sleep.

Jake: Mommy, Daddy, Ellie says she wants to sleep in the big girl bed.

Daddy: But Jake, we tried, and Ellie's just not ready for the big girl bed. She doesn't understand that she can't keep getting up and leaving. She has to sleep in her crib.

Jake: But she really wants the big girl bed.

Daddy: Sorry, Jakey, Ellie's not big enough for the big bed yet. She's still a baby, and she's going to have to sleep in the crib so we can all be rested for tomorrow.

Jake: Oh. Okay.

He slowly walked back to their room, considering the weight of what he'd been told, balanced against his sister's desires. We heard him pause at the door to report back to her: "Ellie, Daddy says you're a baby. You're sleeping in the crib."

+ + +

Nights later, we were in a new hotel with a new arrangement, but the kids still shared a room. In the new setup, our sleeping areas were separated by a set of French doors. We had exhausted them with a day at Disneyland, and expected less drama at bedtime. Kissed and tucked in, we closed the door between us to collapse and recover.

The door opened. It was Jake, delivering news from his sister.

Jake: Mommy, Ellie needs you.

Me: Jakey, I said goodnight already. So, goodnight.

Jake: But Ellie needs you!

Me: (Gently, and filled with motherly love) Goodnight, Jake.

He turned back to their room, addressing his sister as he closed the door, "El, Mommy's not coming."

The door closed, and that was the last we heard for the night.

I suppose he'll learn to soften his delivery to spare her feelings another time.

Or not.

We have a situation

2007-06-05T20:01:00.000-07:00

A few years ago, my darling husband and I had enough wherewithal to purchase a home, sell it, and then purchase an even better one (in a good housing market, no less!). We deftly managed the moving in part, the buying furniture to fit into the rooms part, even the finding the best deal on major appliances part, but when it comes to fixing things, handy we are not.

We are presently in the midst some ongoing situations. I hesitate to refer to them as problems to make them out to be worse than they are, and they are not so bad, at least not all the time.

1.) We have an ongoing vermin issue. Gophers dig holes in our lawn. Rats stop by our attic, run races that wake us me from the deepest sleep (from the noise, not from any personal visits), then head outdoors to eat my beautiful tomatoes (the tomatoes that my mother so lovingly plants and cares for in my yard so that I can enjoy them all summer and my children can understand that food comes from nature, not just the store).

I've tried many kind and humane ways to Pied Piper them off my property, but when they started in on MY TOMATOES, I went to war. With an early harvest of a few delightful tomatoes (thanks, Mom!) today, I found one had already been gnawed. Nasty little rodents. At least the gophers have been absent of late, perhaps they cannot swim?

2.) Now why would I consider the aquatic abilities of our underground friends? It's our plumbing dilemma. Our house is a bit older than we are, as are some of it's pipes. Last year we had a dramatic leak, patched without great confidence. I never believed the issue totally solved, and just before our vacation, we started seeing pools and puddles in our front yard. Turning off the water didn't exactly help, and the drain wasn't quite draining all the time (though sometimes, it did). We returned home, scheduled a plumber that day who TOOK A GUESS at what might be wrong, fixed something, crossed himself, muttering something in Greek I believe (and I wish I was kidding), and turned the water back on, leaving us with the promise of a return visit and call in a few days. Neither happened and the water stood.

Ever the schooled engineer, Rafe dug and dug, finding a small drip, then doing the math to determine that we had a leak that was likely putting five gallons of water into our soil a day. The ground is so saturated that the water had nowhere to go, pooling in the growing swamp in our front yard. A new plumber came, undid the work (and prayers?) of the last, discovered some irrigation inconsistencies, determined that a natural spring under our lawn was unlikely, and gave us better drainage. Now our pond is starting to dry, leaving us less likely to landscape our yard in waterlilies (though thanks for the lemons-into-lemonade idea, Adrienne!).

3.) Inside the house, our garage door opener has put us on notice. The mechanism works. One remote works. The other quit. I have spent many hours on the phone with all kinds of tech support people who aren't exactly sure why I can get one remote to program and not the other. They ask what I've done, I tell them I've followed their instructions exactly. They give them to me again. I follow them again. It still doesn't work. It doesn't make sense to them, to me, or to my engineer husband. Yet, I have to imagine that it it was their home, they'd want to have an an answer, too. I'm now waiting for a part that they've assured me will be very easy to install that might fix our quandary (but also might not).

4.) For the week's coup de grâce, we figured Auntie Banana and Uncle C wouldn't be bothered by our trenches and puddles and we invited them for an informal barbeque on Sunday afternoon. All went well until we came into a grilling predicament, in which our trusty Weber did not reach a temperature above 250 F, and gosh, it's awfully hard to grill chicken when the grill itself is kinda lukewarm (though the corn on the cob cooked fine). Impromptu, I broiled instead (the oven still working and all) and no one was served raw poultry.Fortunately, this was an easy fix (Weber's online support is very useful), and it gave Ellie and me another chance to spend a fun morning at the local hardware stores.

These are not big deals and will likely be resolved in due time at not horrific costs. They are inconveniences. The real problem is that at the end of the day, when it comes to not having things go my way, I turn into a neurotic princess. I get frustrated, flustered, and become obsessed with finding an answer, convinced that if things don't get resolved quickly, they might never be resolved, and then what will we do?!

I panic, and imagine our life upside down. All this at once means it can only get worse! I'm convinced that we'll never be able to sell our house (we love our house, our neighborhood and are not planning to leave), and I'll have to work full-time (I'm planning to start working anyway) to help cover the costs of the major repairs. This is all taking up so much time that I can't manage to exercise anymore, and the stress has me eating all kinds of things I shouldn't (see my blog WW). I'll gain all my weight back, and I won't be confident enough to get a job (regardless of the employment I kept before I ever lost weight). Then where will we be? What will become of us? What will we do?

(Sigh.)

(Deep breath.)

It is in times like this that I am grateful for the engineer turned financier that is my husband, who gently reminds me that these are, in fact small problems (if they are actually problems), each with its own solution, and that we will be fine.

(Another sigh.)

All I'm saying (princess that I am), is that I'd prefer my castle to not have a moat.

Crocs-periment

2007-06-01T07:21:00.000-07:00

We went on vacation last week. It was a perfect opportunity to try out my new Crocs and see if they were, in fact, everything promised.

Before we left, I found them to be pretty comfortable around the house and running errands, but how would they fare against sand and sea? Could they compete with classic flip flops poolside? Would they withstand a day at the Zoo? Disneyland?

Here's what I found:

The Beach: Sand does flow well from the vents, surprisingly so. The shoes stay on if you step into the water. Stepping out of the water into the sand yields yucky, damp sand stuck in your shoes. Winner: Flip flops (because damp sand is not trapped inside your shoe), but only if you're going in the water in them. If you're just playing in the sand, I'd pick the Crocs.

Jake was smart enough to take his shoes off before putting his toes into the ocean.

The Pool: I don't wear shoes in the pool, but I do poolside. Again, with their clever design, water flows right out the sides of the Crocs, and the raised bumps inside the shoe manage to keep a wet foot pretty stable. Classic flip flops had me sloshing, slipping and sliding. Winner: Crocs - wet is fine, wet and sandy, not so much.

The Zoo: Crocs were just as comfortable as athletic shoes for a brief zoo visit. Even better, when Ellie and I were (quick note to patrons of the Santa Barbara Zoo: if the ground near you appears covered in bird droppings, move quickly to somewhere that isn't) showered with bird poop, the Crocs washed clean off, without a trace of the offending residue. Though classic flip flops would have also washed clean, I wouldn't even attempt wearing them to the Zoo, as my feet would be in pain the next day. Winner: Crocs.

Disneyland: When I was researching the merits of these ugly shoes, I found a medically based article that gave me reason to believe that my plantar fasciitis would not be made worse from wearing them. The article cautioned, however, against wearing Crocs for an extended walking day, and used the example of Disneyland. But what if I wanted to wear them at Disneyland? For our first day at the amusement park, I chickened out and wore my very well structured running shoes. At days end, my feet were a little tired, but it was a day at Disneyland, what would you expect? On day two, I took a risk and wore the Crocs instead - AGAINST MEDICAL ADVICE (if the doctors in the article were my doctors and if I had actually sought advice). My husband insisted we bring my running shoes "just in case." I am happy to report that the Crocs caused me no issue at all. Winner: a tie between running shoes and Crocs, giving the Crocs a slight advantage because of their versatility and rinse-ability (in case ketchup and ice cream were as surprising and aggressive as those birds at the zoo).

Thankfully, it hasn't been all that hot here, so the verdict is still out on if sweaty feet stay put in the Crocs, but if my experience at the pool tells me anything, it's that moisture is not a threat to these shoes.

The Croc is not a pretty shoe by traditional standards, but it certainly has more the style than the classic flip flop or standard running shoe. And at $30, it was a bargain for the mileage I'm likely to get from them this summer.

Prettier than a Croc, but not nearly as practical, versatile or affordable.

(Note to Friday readers: I've started a new blog to track my weight loss journey. If you're interested, I'll be updating periodically at My Life on Twenty Points a Day.)

I'm a Genius!

2007-05-17T10:00:00.000-07:00

"Necessity is the mother of invention." - Plato

Parent Hacks offers up daily parenting tips from the trenches - real parents (not marketing experts or other people trying to sell you something) submit their suggestions for things they've figured out how to do a little better. I subscribe to the feed and do a periodic review because you never know what you might find, and I appreciate the site's focus on making these ideas as concise as possible.

Every parent has their tricks and knows that what works for one family/child/parent may not work for all. This said, I feel I'd be doing the parenting world a huge disservice if I neglected to share my own mommy magic.

1) Macaroni & Peas - My kids complain about the temperature of their food. They like things on the lukewarm to cold side and demand ice if their dinner is, in their words, "HOT! HOT! HOT!"
We stir ice into our oatmeal, and many dishes are sent to the freezer to chill before the dinner service.

Trader Joe's makes a great frozen Macaroni & Cheese that heats beautifully in the microwave. (Jake will even eat it cold for lunch the next day, and that's saying something.) Even removed at 4 1/2 minutes, with some of the cheese not quite melted, it was too hot to serve. I stirred in about a quarter cup of frozen peas into each kid's serving and presto! Macaroni & Peas, the perfect temperature meal with vegetables cleverly incorporated.

2) The Yogurt Straw - We love the convenience of yogurt sticks, especially the Stoneyfield Farms YoKids Squeezers (also available at Trader Joe's). They are great frozen (not so much once they've thawed) and are the ideal serving size for my kids. While my 4 1/2 year old has mastered the tear and squeeze method for eating his, the little one just makes a mess of herself and her immediate surroundings. Introducing (ta da!) the Yogurt Straw! Instead of tearing off the top of the yogurt tube, I snip the corner just big enough to insert a plastic drinking straw. It makes this healthy snack portable and manageable for my busy toddler.

What works for you?

A parallel universe, among other things

2007-05-16T16:22:00.001-07:00

I was chatting yesterday with Miss Nancy, our much loved Mommy & Me teacher, about Ellie's transition to preschool ~~in the summer~~ NEXT MONTH. She suggested that if we have a doll house or a set of Little People (each with age appropriate counterparts) we could do some role playing to prepare the girl for my daily departure.

I thought to myself, "That Miss Nancy is a genius!" Miss Nancy was the one who got me over the potty-training hump, "At some point, you have to commit to underpants," as well as a more global perspective on Ellie's readiness, "You can't control what goes in them or what comes out." We love Miss Nancy.

What a surprise it was to see that Ellie was already setting up the role-play, but for her own alternate reality. What I saw, well, what I saw prompted me to fetch the camera.

These are in no way staged; they are exactly as Ellie designed them and how she described them.

Scene One: Mommy: What happened to the Mommy?
Ellie: She fell down.
M: Is she okay? Do we need to call Dr. Greenberg? (We ask this a lot around our house. It helps me to determine if our issues will be solved with an ice pack or a visit to the ER.)
E: The Mom is being fun. Funny Mommy.

Okay, so the Mommy is doing pratfalls to amuse the children. Should I be taking a hint? More comedy?

M: What are the babies doing?
E: That's Ellie and Jakey. They're watching a show.
M: What show?
E: Poker. Just poker.

Scene Two:

Mommy: What's the Daddy doing? (I'm thinking, "Watching poker?")
Ellie: He's watching Jakey.
M: And what is Jakey doing?
E: He's swimming.

Now that is just plain sweet. The day before, Daddy did come to swimming lessons to watch Jake, and he certainly was proud. I'm glad Ellie felt that, too.

There may be something to this doll-house-role-playing thing. (It will be even better if Texas Hold 'Em is part of the preschool curriculum.)

* * *

Later that day, Daddy read the kids their stories before bed. (As I've mentioned, it's not uncommon for him to ride in on his white horse around 5:30 to rescue the end of the day from me.) We had brought home new books from the library, including one from Mommy & Me that puts fear in my otherwise fearless girl.

Each week when Miss Nancy begins this story, Ellie removes herself from my lap to hide behind my shoulder. She doesn't like the story or the scary monster and makes it painfully clear. Because I prefer her fearless, I brought it home from the library, thinking that more exposure to the monster might help.

So while I took a breather, and against Ellie's wishes, Daddy brought the book in for stories. As he went through each page, he encouraged the kids to tell the monster off, each in their own special way. From down the hall, I heard shouts of "NO!" over and over, shouts over their laughter.

As I sat with Ellie before putting her in bed, she confidently recalled how the story went.

"And we said, 'NO' with Daddy at the monster. It was so funny. I'm going to tell Miss Fancy. We said 'NO' to the monster. It was funny. I'll tell Miss Fancy. We said 'NO' to the monster with Daddy."

I think Miss ~~Fancy~~ Nancy will be proud, too.

If only every fear were so easily conquered.

I caved

2007-05-15T12:36:00.000-07:00

I don't know whether I should feel good or bad about my most recent purchase. It was impulsive, and I was a bit obsessive.

I caved. I did what everyone else is doing. I hate when I do that. I'm not a trendy kind of person, nor am I a follower.

Go ahead and mock me if you must, because all summer, you're going to see me wearing these, and I love them.

They are everything a girl could want. Chocolate brown. A classic style. And you can run them through a dishwasher!

UPDATE for Liz:

Home sweet hotel

2007-05-11T11:34:00.001-07:00

I'm still feeling great after being away for the weekend by myself. For 48 hours, I did exactly what I wanted, when I wanted. I ate what I wanted to eat (neither rushing nor sharing), read a magazine, watched a movie, and wrote a lot. Oddly, the things I wrote were not things I'd blog, they were much too personal. I wrote a poem to my husband. A poem! I've never written a poem (outside of an assignment for school) other than my Ellie haiku, but I was moved and he loved it. The time away gave me exactly what I needed.

One of the things that has stuck with me since my retreat is how much I enjoy a nice hotel stay. The place I stayed was lovely; they had thought of everything. I was so comfortable that for the first part of my day on Saturday, all I did was sit in bed. Tell me, friends, how often do you sit in your room - except this was a room much nicer than my room - uninterrupted, to sip tea, gaze out the window, write in your journal, and read? For me, the answer is never. There is always noise: the dog, a child, the sounds of the home waking each morning, my husband readying and leaving for work. Add that to the constant noise in my head and frankly, while staying in bed seems like a great idea, it is neither reasonable nor practical.

The bed, host of a good night's sleep and a few uninterrupted hours of peace and quiet.

Leaving my little nest and walking into town, I began to appreciate the simplicity of a hotel room. You bring with you exactly what you need. The hotel provides what they think you'll need to be comfortable (and believe me, I was!). I think it was easy to quiet myself there because there were so few distractions (contrasted with our frequent family trips to Las Vegas!). At home, there is so much of everything. I have stacks of art projects and paper airplanes, unread magazines and handouts from classes, loads of laundry, piles of clothes the kids have outgrown, toys that are no longer enjoyed, and a pantry filled with great ideas. Things do have their places, but in all fairness, my kids (and I, not to mention my husband) are much better at taking things out than returning them to their places of origin.

I began to understand and value the goodness that is the local thrift store, not only as a place to give what we no longer want or need to someone who might need or want it more, but also as a place to give our things a new home, a new life. To enjoy a margarita, I don't need to use a glass from a set we received as a wedding gift nearly ten years ago. I've probably used those glasses once, maybe twice. I don't think the set is complete anymore and they are way too fragile for our life. In fact, if I'm going to enjoy a margarita, it will be most likely at a restaurant that buys alcohol more often than we do (ours is more likely to evaporate than to be imbibed), and if I make them at home, they taste no worse from a glass that can be run through the dishwasher.

Since I've been home, I've been spending less time at the computer and more time actively engaged in my life. I've missed it. I've also kept my kitchen much cleaner and the laundry has been put away more frequently. The herb garden I kept thinking about planting is now planted in little pots I painted with my children and sits outside my kitchen window. I sold an old car seat and bought tickets to a concert that I'll attend with a girlfriend next month.

It will be a while before my home turns into the total spa experience of my dreams, even longer before it will feel like a luxury resort where I am a guest. In the meantime, I'm recycling my magazines, cleaning out the cupboards and making room for new ideas.

Spaaaaaaaaah

2007-05-09T11:49:00.000-07:00

In a word, my weekend away was Delicious.

In two words, it was Long Overdue.

I have much to say, and much more to share, but in my new focused, more relaxed state of being, I'm doing less at the computer. Go figure!

This sign, just in front of the entrance to the spa where I melted away most of Sunday, says it all.

Free from worries, cares, children, stress, noise ....

Packing List

2007-05-04T14:07:00.000-07:00

sunglasses
sunscreen
hat
bathing suit(s)
~~sweet smell of Ellie's breath when she wakes up, warmth of Jake cuddling with me on the couch~~ picture of the kids
book, magazines
sandals
~~laptop~~ pen & paper
~~fancy outfit for dinner~~ sweats

See you all next week!

(Friday friends: I'm down from last week, hopefully the start of a losing streak for the rest of May!)

Burnt

2007-05-03T07:32:00.001-07:00

Burnt Toast
Originally uploaded by geek.beard.

This was the best image I could find to describe my current state of mind.

I'm going away this weekend. I need it.

I'm very excited. And also tired. Kind of fighting off a cold, too.

I've lost my steam. My patience has worn thin.

I'm just, plain, burnt.

I am looking forward to the quiet, to only doing the things I want to do.

I'm hoping to find some peace and to renew my spirit. (At least that's what the brochure said ....)

Rafe asked if I was planning to come back with a baby cow?

I don't think so, but you never know.

A Moment

2007-04-30T06:42:00.000-07:00

Perhaps this was not my invention after all

2007-04-27T21:57:00.000-07:00

Widely distributed and shared throughout the Internet, this piece from Anna Quindlen was new to me today.

Had I read it five years ago, I would not have understood. Reading it now takes my breath away.

In defense of doing less, part 2

2007-04-25T19:59:00.000-07:00

Oh, Man! Have you had that happen before? You're mid-thought, the kids are making cat noises down the hall, and you hit "Publish" instead of "Save as Draft?" Then a kind anonymous commenter sends comments that you see in your e-mail, and you realize that your mid-thought draft was inadvertently posted? So your mid-thought rant is posted but not as a gripping intro and stunning realization?

It's not so bad. Really. (But I did finally take my husband's pleading seriously and am getting away for some alone time next weekend. The massage is booked and everything.)

Instead of going into the whole story of how the last few weeks have been tough, but I'm finally seeing the light at the end of this particular tunnel, I'll cut to the good part.

Amidst these very uphill battles of Ellie vs. Potty Training and Jake vs. A Good Mood, I changed tactics today. Instead of trying to be reasonable and rational with Jake, crying over his rendition of spilled milk, I had had enough. Nothing has worked so I made cat noises at him. With a stuffed toy cat and everything. Hissing, fur-ball coughing, screeching, fighting in an alley cat noises. It was what I had on hand, and I figured there was no way he'd cry through crazy cat noises so I'd make him laugh.

I looked like this at the park today

It's what Daddy would do. Then when Ellie made it to the potty for her very important business this afternoon, I cheered like she'd just medaled in the Olympics. Knowing that it would be a long evening without Daddy, after they finally put their toys away (not counting the 13 billion times I asked them nicely to do so), I hugged them both with love and sincerity, and I took them out for Happy Meals, even allowing Ellie out of the house dressed in pajamas, Dora slippers and a cow-print hat (she dressed herself, so what if it's a little, um, original). We ate our dinner picnic style in front of the television watching Barney and the children went to bed happy.

The lesson learned: sometimes less is more. Sometimes the best intentions are futile, and high expectations are recipes for disaster.

We'll see how things go tomorrow. I'm not out of tricks yet.

Posted to Flickr by sassnchcrazy

In defense of doing less

2007-04-25T17:54:00.000-07:00

I'm not even going to ask if you've ever had one of those days. (Open another window and cue the Daniel Powter song, I'll wait.) Everyone has those days. And I'm going to go out on a limb and state that moms tend to have a few more of those days than the rest of the world's citizens.

These days are frustrating. They don't wrap up with a happy sitcom ending.

Mother. Artist. Entrepreneur

2007-04-23T11:13:00.000-07:00

Now that my pal Adrienne has posted her clever and witty answers to the circulating interview meme, I figured it was also time to share an interview I did for my last MOMS Club newsletter.

Last newsletter? Big deal, right? Well, it is in a way.

If you're a careful reader, you've probably noticed some important facts and recurring themes in my recent blog posts.

1. Both my kids will be in school soon, and I will have some free time on my hands. (This makes me alternately cheerful and sullen).

2. Same children will be concurrently enrolled in fancy, private schools because we're hell-bent on giving them the best education we can. (It was one thing for one kid to be in one expensive school, but another altogether to have them both doing it at the same time. And did I mention that it will be for the next decade?)

What you don't know is that this week marks the fifth anniversary of my last day of paid employment. Probably not entirely coincidentally, I recently made the connection between not working and missing a sense of accomplishment that tends to come with a paycheck and not with diaper changes and sippy cup refills, not to say that the latter is not as worthwhile as the former, but as a full-time occupation, it is just not the same.

If you put the pieces together like I did, you'd see that maybe it is time to dust off the old resume and start networking again. I'm ready. It's taken me a full five years to realize that while I don't want to do exactly what it was I did before I left to have Jake (technically, to sit on my ever-growing behind for three months waiting for Jake to be born since my doctor insisted that my unborn child needed me more than my employer did), I think I could be very effective doing a version of what I used to do, from home, part-time. (I hope.)

MOMS Club is featured prominently in this blog. It was because of MOMS Club that I developed my voice as a writer. It has been my link to post-employment involvement, and I've made some wonderful friends while growing roots in our community. When my membership expires this year, I will not renew. I will not volunteer for a new position. And just like it was when I stepped down as President, moving on is somewhat bittersweet.

My last newsletter doesn't have to be important to you, but it was to me.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Mother. Artist. Entrepreneur. A profile of Tally Oliveau.

Tally Oliveau is like many of us. She is a wife, a mother of two busy children (with a third due at any moment!) She holds advanced degrees, but ended her professional life when she chose to stay home to raise her children. As her children have grown, she has reinvented herself and started a new career to suit her lifestyle. Once an environmental engineer, Tally is now working as an artist managing a successful paper goods company from home.

In relatively short time, she has taken a hobby and turned it into a thriving business. She started with an idea – could she sell some of her handmade cards to local businesses to pay for art supplies? The answer - yes, but where she is now is not what she imagined when she began. With a patent pending on a greeting card concept she designed last year, Tally has seen her business grow from individually designed pieces to mass marketed items and now has distribution far beyond our little corner of Los Angeles.

I’m certain that I’m not the only stay at home mom who has dreams of bringing in an income doing something that I love that also gives me the flexibility to be home with my children when they need me. I asked Tally how she manages, how she finds the time, and how this change has affected her as a person and as a mother?

On starting something new: Tally suggests that if you have a dream, you just have to have the guts to try. People will say no, but you don’t have to accept no for an answer. Let people say no to you five or six times, then approach them with something else. Don’t take it personally – what you love doing might not be good for their business and while one piece or product or item might not be right, something else you create may.

On balancing work with family: Tally advocates spending quantity time over quality time – you never know when you are going to have magical moments with your children, so she makes efforts to do as much together as they can. She still carpools and takes her kids to classes and lessons, but when they are home and the kids are entertaining themselves, Tally is always present. She works when her kids are in school, after they’ve gone to bed, and for a period in the afternoon when she’s allotted time for her kids to watch television. On Friday afternoons, Tally and her kids always have a special outing - she calls it their Shabbat treat – it might be a movie, or a quick trip for yogurt.

Tally and her husband also make a point to have a babysitter every Saturday night, and they make sure that each has their own “alone” time to recharge and pursue their own interests; though hiring a sitter can be expensive, she says it is cheaper than divorce or therapy, and feels that even two hours together browsing at a book store is worth the time out of the house as a couple.

On how she’s changed: Tally says that her success in this venture has given her greater confidence, though she admits that confidence also comes from age and experience. She expects that as her business grows, she will need to make adjustments and find more help – both at home and with her work. She hopes that the growth of her business will eventually allow her family to travel more and be a bit more comfortable, and maybe one day she’ll be able to outsource some laundry folding and dish doing.

We can all dream.

You can find Tally’s cards and artwork at her web site: www.papierstudio.com.

Accomplishment Junkie

2007-04-17T16:22:00.000-07:00

So there I was, sorting through photos and thinking about my most recent and introspective blog posts, when two thorns kept poking at me (and no, it wasn't Jake and Ellie). First, was I always so blue? And second, what happened to my big plans for the future, the ones that don't revolve around my children?

As I put my pictures back into their sorority-girl fabric-covered puffy padded albums, I noticed something else. Evidence shows that I have been truly happy, not critical nor brooding. I have shining moments. Without further ado, I present ...

Accomplishment!

Each of these moments is, in itself, a great big Ta Da! (Can't you just hear the fanfare?) These are moments of completion and achievement, satisfaction and success. Look at that face! It's not just happy, it's giddy. It's "I can't wait to tell the world about how freaking great this is!" I am delirious. Ecstatic. Joyful.

As a person who loves a good checklist, I know that I am motivated by accomplishment. I am a high achiever. I like being an expert and a resource. I like mastering new skills. I like a clear path. I obey rules, and instructions are my guide. I like a beginning, middle and end.

I don't improvise in the kitchen, I follow recipes, knowing that if I do the steps in order, I will get the desired results. I like group fitness classes (and the dvds I can follow along at home). Slim in Six? If you say so, I'll give it a try. I am a process person. I like results. I like believing I can determine my own outcomes. I do not like uncertainty or taking risks. I like to know that if I'm going to try something, I will succeed. A favorite movie? The Sure Thing.(Do you see where I'm going with this?)

Beginning. Middle. End.

Motherhood is not this way.

I love my children, and I love being their mother, but a lot of this stay at home parenting gig is a grind. In the five years since I left my outside employment, I've not had one single raise or bonus. I've not had a report card with all A's nor been listed on the honor roll. I didn't even get into Who's Who of outstanding mothers in America.

Motherhood is not a competition, but I can see why some try to make it into one. We want to be valued and esteemed. We want to be lauded and congratulated on raising wonderful children and for taking the time to give it our best efforts, whatever those efforts might be.

Motherhood is as filled with uncertainty as it is with dirty diapers and tears. Every day is a gamble. Will he have a good day or bad? Will she be the terror of Mommy & Me again? Will they nap? If they do, will they go to bed? If they don't will they have nightmares? Will they eat? Are they growing? Will someone get hurt? How will I get through?

Beginning. Middle. End?

I keep hoping that someone else has the answer that I've missed or overlooked, but I keep coming back to the same realization.

It's me.

No one else gets to figure out how to be a mother to my children.

And no one else is supposed to figure out how to make me happy.

This is the life I always wanted.

Education.

Marriage.

Children.

Now that I'm here, I have to figure out what I want next.

And the clowns have all gone to bed

2007-04-11T19:51:00.000-07:00

As the children's day stretches into evening, and they are readied for bed, we have the most interesting discussions. Fortunately, my husband is almost always home to help ease their transitions, giving me a few minutes in which I might catch my breath.

* * *

From the bathroom:

Daddy: Ellie, what do you say to Mommy?

Elizabeth: Thank you.

D: No, Ellie. What do you say to Mommy after plugging the toilet with all that toilet paper?

E: YAY, ELLIE!

D: No, no, Ellie. You made a mess and now there's pee pee all over the floor. What do you tell Mommy?

E: (Reluctantly) Sorry.

* * *

On another day, Daddy has made a new CD with favorite songs to help Jake fall asleep. He is explaining the music and the artists as they listen to the music together. From the dark corners of Jake's room, over the faintest whisper of "The Wind Cries Mary" I hear:

Daddy: This is Jimi Hendrix. He was really good at playing guitar.

Jake: (Considers this for a moment) I'm really good at hopping!

* * *

Sometimes I think they save their best for him.